clementines. 🍂 a jean kirstein collection

witness marks.

summary ; witness marks are usually used for antique clocks, to tell the functioning of the insides so it would be easier for them to be repaired, usually being indicated by little scratches or wear-and-tear, and it's clockwork how you love jean. its a choice against your will, but neither of you would have it any other way.

warnings ; reader likes rain (again)

a/n ; the story with the bike is actually true and did happen to me hehe. also marco is a grammar police thru and thru and in highchool use to push his glasses up and point and say "erm, actually.."

- 🕰️-

Its raining again.

For the sixth time this week, it's raining. Perpetual, gloomy shadows with unsparing clouds in the sky, its raining. From your view, the window is littered with usually bright leaves sparkling, almost ironically, under the water that showers them. They dance as happily as you'd want them to, the breeze waving them without synchrony but togetherness still. Whatever thoughts you might've had come to a slow stop, and despite being in the common, affectionate company of your friends, you look at the window, reminding yourself to not close it at night even if it may be hazardous.

You don't care. The starless night could be forgiven under the heaviness of the clouds that disrupted it.

Connie calls your name. "your turn!" he says, slinking an arm around your shoulders. You're reminded where you are, suddenly, and heat fills up your usually cold body despite the shivers that line your shoulders. Playing a game of two truths and a lie after lazing around all weekend, the Monday afternoon was decided, almost like every other day. Your friends would come over to you and sasha's shared apartment, and whatever sweets you'd had the time to bake would be hidden in the back corners of the pantry before sasha would wake. She'd ask you what that smell was, and you would shrug, and she would complain about her mouth watering and how it would distract her in class, but you withheld the information well. After your classes; boring and long-drawn and so drowsy, your friends would be back in your apartment before you, seemingly having never left. Connie would be in the middle of "helping" sasha, if you could even call it that, find the treats you had concealed. Marco would be reprimanding them with a soft smile, his back turned to them while making coffee for everyone, and jean would be sorting through the menu of an inexpensive take-out place, asking questions of preferences that would all go ignored.

It was easy. Simple, predictable clockwork that filled up your weeks. Every Monday evenings, despite literally rain or shine, the same scene would greet you, and just like clockwork, your body would chime in the acknowledgment of this routine. with years and years of working with the same gears and metal and pangs and hurts of your unfamiliar body – the Monday evening bell of your being sounds out as you enter the apartment because you know the exact events, the exact tick-tick-tick, and enjoy it all the more. Every week. Every Monday.

And you'd enter, your hands filled with treats from the gas station on your way home, and you'd smile after knowing, for sure, that this is what you would call home. Without so much thinking about any other place to go to, not your childhood walls with demeaning darkness and not your first dorm with its drawn curtains and coldness, none of those. None of the places could call out to you with their monsters and gleaming teeth while you were here.

And then jean would turn to you, like clockwork that's forgotten that it rings out every hour, every Monday at six p.m., he'd get up and say, "finally!" and take the bags from your hands, peck your mouth before anyone could see and groan for you to get a room. And just like the same clockwork with the same inner workings, you tell him what you think everyone would like to eat. sasha would like the ham and cheese- yes, you know this because she's been craving intensely savoury things this week – and connie, just to piss her off but also because you've learnt how he's made it a point to force himself to like it, would have the Hawaiian one. And then marco says he'd be okay with anything, and you know that this means he'd love for there to be olives and bell peppers. So that's what you go with.