flawless

the 1.

"We need to talk."

Marco says as he treads carefully through the unkept grass, poking through his jeans. His voice was stern, and his soft eyes stared straight at his best friend, who didn't bother to look up at the person calling out to him.

"Do we, now?" Jean says, his voice calm as he lifts himself out of being under his truck, a rather old pickup with dust particles illuminating through the rays of sun cast on the hood. It's been a few days since the engagement party of Eren and Mikasa, though Jean remembered it at the last time he last saw you. He replayed the little interactions from the hall down to the restaurant in his head like the sweet melody of a broken record, down to the last minuscule detail.

"Yes, we do," Marco sighs, "You disappeared after the party, and I haven't talked to you since."

"Been busy," Jean mutters, avoiding eye contact and rather just waving the silver tool in his hand. This was partially the truth, he was busy, busy figuring out what his next painting was going to be. Jean has never felt his mind be so blank, and it wasn't as if he could ask Marco for help; because then he'd know about the paintings being of you.

Marco stays silent, letting himself prepare for what he was about to ask next, "Jean, what are you doing?"

Jean blinks blankly, noticing how serious his friend had gotten, "Fixing my truck," he states, "Haven't driven it since I got back. Needs a tu-"

"I mean with Y/n."

Marco's voice was clear as day, though Jean indeed wasn't sure exactly what he meant. His first thought was that he found out about Willy Tybur in some way, despite only you and him knowing about it. He tried his hardest to keep a stoic expression, "What do you mean?"

"The party, the dancing, you two leaving together," Marco explains, "Though I was the only one who saw you two leaving, thankfully."

Jean scoffs, "Thankfully? You act as if we were doing something wrong. We went to a diner and talked for hours, is that such a bad thing?"

"Yea, it is," Marco answers in a split second, Jean being taken aback, "It is when you've been madly in love for nearly a decade. Not to mention-"

"I'm not doing anything with her, that old friends wouldn't do."

Jean's voice became low, his head of ash brown hair being warmed by the sun as he looked down. Marco's eyes soften as he sees his best friend, his freckled face waiting to hear what he'd say next – Jean had the look of a man with a thousand impending words, waiting to be spoken.

"I know, Marco. I know what you want to say. She's engaged," Jean interrupts, the words crawling out his throat with painful realization, "But she was once my best friend too. She understood me better than anyone else, how could I possibly act like a stranger to someone like that?"

"I'm allowed to catch up with an old friend."

Old friend. What a weird, unfitting word for you, he thought. Yet, that's what you were. Anything else would be a disheartening deception.

Marco decided not to pry any further, shifting his eyes to the pickup truck, "Still have this old thing?" he changed the subject, "I know for a fact you can afford a new one."

Jean gives a lopsided grin, tossing his wrench in the air and catching it multiple times, "Why should I? I hardly drive with all the traveling I do, plus, she's a beauty."

He pats the truck's hood, the tin-like sound making Marco chuckle, "Right... So why are you fixing "her" now?"

"Mr. Chalamet has invited me to an art event back in Stohess in a few weeks, and figured I'd take the truck since it's a drive from here."