Work Text:
It's a cloudy Wednesday afternoon when Jean finds himself with a new gig at a cosy family-owned brewery lounge. Picking at stray threads hanging off the denim folds of his pockets, the aspiring singer wraps a particularly long thread around the callouse on his ring finger knuckle loosely. A habit of his, really. His digits are always fidgety, constantly having the urge to do something so it keeps the restless fingertips busy. Tossing his lavender-bronze fringe aside with a gentle flick, Jean anxiously pulls open the door of said lounge, hoping that the crowd isn't as demanding as the last place he performed in (he can still see the unimpressed faces of the audience at the back of his eyelids).
"Hey, Kirstein!" Turning at the mention of his name, Jean plasters on a pearly smile, trying his best to conceal the utter adrenaline running through his veins. A man approaches him, with platinum hair neatly parted in the centre, and a friendly grin spread across his face. He's stretching out a hand in courtesy, and Jean automatically reaches to shake it, praying that his palms aren't sweaty and his wrist isn't trembling like how he feels it is.
"You made it! It's lovely to see you here," the man speaks, his voice authoritative and guttural, "I'm Erwin, I hope you'll enjoy working here, Jean."
Nodding, the singer bows quickly as he slips out of Erwin's hold. "Yeah, I hope so too. When does my shift start?" Eyeing the wall clock behind Erwin, he notes that he's a good ten minutes early, the lounge only opening after four in the afternoon.
"Oh, whenever you feel ready, just hop on stage and give us your best shot! We're alright with whatever song choice you have in mind, but just a tip, the customers here seem to really enjoy songs from the jazz, soft-rock kind of genre."
Jean breaks into a relieved beam, and he thanks Erwin for the advice, heading towards the stage while pulling out his iPod, creating a playlist of songs to perform later on today.
"Hello Erwin!" calls out a mellow voice, and Jean looks up, only to see a face full of freckles, coming in through the frosted glass door. Freckles spots Jean, and he pauses in his footsteps, the corners of his lips curling into a surprised smile. Jean doesn't even hear Erwin's answer, eyes fixated onto the guy that just came in.
He waves at Jean, who only dumbly stares back, an awkward silence settling between the two. Breaking away the eye contact, Freckles walks towards the counter of the lounge, swinging his satchel onto a hook under the table, and he hastily slips on a black apron. Jean could've sworn that he saw a slight blush underneath all those dots on his cheekbones.
Feeling rather embarrassed himself, Jean gathers up his courage and decides to advance towards the other, yanking out his earpieces.
"Hi-"
Before he could even do anything, Freckles jolts in shock, completely not expecting Jean's appearance, and bumps his knee against the counter, fragile glasses clanging like unmelodious windchimes. And of course, he flings the rag in his grasp towards Jean on accident (it's a good thing Jean has decent reflexes to dodge before it hits him square in the face), startled by the sudden intrusion.
"O-Oh no, I'm so sorry," Freckles stutters, flustered and beet red. He attempts to pick the rag up, only to collide heads with Jean, who happens to be reaching for the cloth as well.
Laughing sheepishly, Freckles rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "Hi, I'm Marco. I'm a waiter here," he extends a hand towards the singer, crescent eyes complimenting the little dots of stars scattered across his face.
Shit, he's adorable, Jean thinks, and he immediately shakes Marco's hand, snapping out of his little trance. Marco's palm is rather small, but his fingers are long and slender, making their hands of an identical size (It's 60% palm, 40% fingers for Jean, but the other way round for Marco). Jean also desperately pleads that he doesn't grip the other too tightly for his comfort, releasing the hand hurriedly in pure jumpiness.
"Kirstein, Jean Kirstein. I sing," he responds, and Marco's eyes seem to light up, an excited glisten in each of his orbs. "I had a feeling you did, your voice was just s-"
Stopping halfway, he instantly flushes, eyes enlargening. "N-No! I didn't- I mean- Well- You sound nice." He looks down, face pretty much glowing crimson, and Jean finds himself reaching over towards the other's shoulder.
"Hey, don't worry about it. And thanks," Jean manages to force out words from his tight jaw, his voice shaky and a little strained, but Marco doesn't seem to notice it.
"You're w-"
Marco's interrupted by a loud bang, and the two break away from each other, eyes diverting towards the source of the sound.
And a guilty-looking girl, with locks of silky ebony is seen, struggling to keep her scarlet scarf on her shoulders, the knitted fabric constantly slipping off.
"Sorry, it's really windy and I can't control the door-" She halts her movements, blinking, as she notices Jean. "Oh, hello! My name's Mikasa. You're the new singer?"
Nodding, he pulls the corners of his lips upwards in a friendly grin, and at the corner of his eye, he sees Marco slip into the staff-only room, frantic and panicky.
"I see you've met Marco!" Mikasa continues, following Jean's line of sight, and chortling, "He's a mess of limbs, always out-of-balance. Out of all the employees, he's got the record of 'most dishes broken'. And half of them were on a customer." Raising an eyebrow, Jean holds in a laugh, his gaze trailing after Freckleface.
It's about two minutes to opening time when a number of employees come rushing in.
"Mikasa! You forgot to-" A head full of brown comes crashing into Jean's face, an employee walking straight into the singer as he turns into the lounge, the two yelping in pain at the impact. Jean loses his balance, collapsing onto the plush couch behind him.
Looking up, Jean glares at the employee, eyes narrowed. He meets the turquoise eyes of an equally furious guy, who's rubbing his forehead gingerly.
"Watch where you're going," Jean mutters, and he stretches his jaw, his chin sore and numb. A coppery taste lingers around his mouth, and all the more upset he became.
"It's not my fault you decided to stand in the middle of the fricking hallway. Newsflash, the world doesn't revolve around you," Blue-eyes scoffs, crossing his arms and furrowing his eyebrows.
Before Jean could retort, a boy with blonde hair slightly shorter than shoulder-length pulls the aquamarine-eyed employee away, apologising to Jean worriedly.
"I believe Eren's trying to say that he's sorry and it won't happen ever again," the blonde says anxiously, "Right, Eren?"
Elbowing Ocean-eyes, the blonde timidly laughs, his friend frustratedly huffing and stepping past the singer and into the staff room.
"Sorry about that," Blondie speaks, eyes tired but still sparkling, "You must be Jean! I'm Armin. It's a pleasure to meet you!"
Hearing the sudden clang of pots coming from the kitchen, Armin sighs. "And that's probably Marco."
Jean gets up from the sofa, still a little peeved at Eren's rude appearance. "What's his problem?" he mumbles, and a voice pipes up.
"Don't mind Eren, he's got quite the temper. Connie, by the way!"
A clean-shaven head bobs from behind Armin, and he points to the four employees beside him, "This is Sasha, Bertolt, Annie and Reiner. I hope you like it here, new guy!"
Yep, that's my name now. New Guy, Jean nods in acknowledgement, waving before introducing himself. He watches the crowd disperse, before walking to the stage, getting ready for the lounge to open.
Connie follows Jean, beaming as he makes himself comfortable at the piano, Bertolt tuning his double bass and Reiner warming up on the saxophone. "What song are you intending to sing?"
Jean shows the trio his iPod, and Reiner chuckles in agreement, "Couldn't have asked for a better playlist. Could you sing a note for us, though? To see what pitch your voice is at?"
Just as he's about to hum a note, he spots Marco from the counter, anticipating Jean's performance with an eager smile.
"Ah--A!" Jean's voice cracks at the end, and he feels his face go hot in embarrassment. "Sorry, could I do that again?" They're laughing, but they let Jean try it again once more, and are extremely impressed with the strong, solid tenor pitch he intones.
The preparation's interrupted by a couple that walks into the lounge, seating themselves in a corner of the bar.
"Whenever you're ready," Bertolt speaks, and Jean clears his throat, holding the microphone close to his lips as the instrumentals start flowing smoothly throughout the room.
"L is for the way you look at me,
O is for the only one I see,
V is very, very extraordinary,
E is even more than anyone that you adore can-"
Jean accidentally meets Marco's lovestruck eyes from across the bar, and his head blanks out, the lyrics, tune and rhythm of the song completely slipping his mind, the little pause he causes blunderly messing up the tempo of the song, but he continues singing, without even knowing what the hell comes next.
"Love is knowing all the things you do,
Love is more than just a game for two,
Two in love can make it,
Take my heart and please don't break it,
Love was made for me and you!"
Sasha squints an eye, and she turns to Annie, confused. "Isn't it 'love is all that I can give to you' instead of 'love is knowing all the things you do'?"
Shaking her head, the platinum blonde snickers, nudging her chin in a certain freckled-boy's direction, "Loverboy's messing up the lyrics because of a clumsy little crush."
Catching on, Sasha smirks widely, her expression scheming and definitely the look of trouble. "I've got a plan."
Seeing the wave of a customer, Sasha skips off to take his order with a pen and paper, and she scribbles instructions under a hastily written 'cherry coke & rum', gently pushing the paper in Annie's direction.
The platinum blonde prepares the drink, after spending a minute deciphering Sasha's horrendous handwriting, of course. Skilled fingers mixing the cordial into the soda-alcohol mix, she professionally pours it into a tall glass, topping it off with a sliced maraschino cherry. Flipping her fringe aside, she beckons for Marco to deliver the drink, who nearly shocks himself to death at the sudden touch of the shoulder. He regains his composure at the speed of lightning, turning away from the stage hastily, as if he was afraid to be caught.
"Stop ogling, Bodt. You've got a job," Annie snickers, and the waiter flushes red like the cherry garnish in the glass, as he picks up the drink with a wary hand, denying the statement with a guilty expression that screams the reason why Marco was always a terrible liar.
Brushing Annie's remark aside, the freckled waiter walks over to the customer, settling the drink on a stained-glass table with a brilliant smile that boasts his pearly whites pridefully.
In fact, the smile was so splendid, that Jean's voice goes off pitch for a fraction of a second, but Reiner covers it up nicely with an extraordinarily loud note on the saxophone.
Bertolt tries not to grin, but when he catches Connie's eye, the two musicians share a secret chuckle as they notice the flustered look on Jean's face, and his fidgety hands that grasp the microphone stand frantically.
Marco doesn't notice a thing, but he does notice something weird when he sees both Annie and Sasha with their awfully suspicious smirks.
The day almost went by too quickly, and Marco found himself constantly serving customers near the stage, even when Sasha was clearly closer to them. It was a little confusing, but he doesn't question it.
"All right, great work everyone!" Erwin beams, as he watches his employees sweep the room and wipe down tables, taking his coat down from the hook behind his office door.
He tosses a set of keys towards Marco, who fumbles around with it but catches it in his hands, and Jean guesses that Marco's the one who locks up the lounge after hours. After all, he is the most responsible out of the lot.
"See you tomorrow, Mr Smith!" Armin calls from the cash register, and the others follow suit, waving goodbye to their boss, and as the latter leaves, the employees lapse into a loud atmosphere, tossing aside their cleaning duties and crowding Jean.
"So that was your first day, huh? We should party!" Sasha sings, as she pops open a bottle of champagne, and Jean's a little taken aback, but he welcomes the celebration with a grateful smile.
Eren dims the lights of the lounge, and Connie sets up a stereo, playing songs that definitely weren't jazz (he's heard enough of that genre during work hours) and Mikasa starts to place plates of leftover hors d'oeuvre on the countertop from the refrigerator. Honestly, it looks like a really nice party.
"Hey," Jean raises his head and he sees Marco approaching him quietly, with a cracker topped with spiced smoked salmon and herbed cheese. He straightens his back automatically. God, it's really stuffy in this room, he thinks, trying to breathe as regularly as possible.
"Hi," Jean cracks a grin, as he reaches over for a small piece of toast with marbled beef and a touch of horseradish, trying not to stare at the other for too long by averting his own attention.
Marco pops the appetiser into his mouth, and watches Jean bite his own in half. He's blushing. I think he's blushing. Why is he blushing. Does he like me? I hope so, Jean darts his eyes around, trying to ignore his own thoughts.
"Welcome aboard, I guess?" the waiter raises his shoulders with a friendly beam, and Jean feels himself melt inside, as he swallows the lump in his throat. You are weak, Jean. Weaaaaaak, he mentally scolds himself.
"You too," Jean utters without thinking twice, and he sees Marco's eyebrows scrunch together in puzzlement, noticing his mistake a tad too late, "You're welcome! Thanks! Sorry! Agh."
At this point, Jean's already covering his face in utter embarrassment, and Marco feels the corners of his lips twitch, before breaking out into a small fit of laughter.
Great, he's laughing at me. Great. G-r-e-a-
"Jean, you're adorable," Marco speaks, but the moment he finishes his sentence, the waiter topples over a plate of cranberry and egg appetisers with a careless hand, and Jean hurriedly catches it before it falls off the table, saving the two of them much humiliation.
Taking a deep breath, Jean looks into Marco's deep cinnamon orbs, and throws away all his pride as he blurts a sentence out.
"I think your clumsiness is rubbing off on me, because I'm falling for you."