“Bro?” you ask, reaching up to rap on his forehead with your knuckles. Somehow your hand just tangles itself all up in his fine-ass hair and you sort of yank and turn and then two of you are kissing. It’s sloppy and hot and awkward, the angle all wrong and neither one of you used to each other at all, but when he gets your lip between his dull choppers and bites until you’ll bruise it’s just about motherfucking perfect.

Marco wakes up dead, and it isn’t really what he expected at all. He’s not sure how he knows he’s dead, but he opens his eyes and sees the building across from him and the gore strewn merrily across the cobblestones and he knows he’s dead the same way he knows that the sun rises in the east and that Jean will never, never get over this. "Fuck," he says.

Three perspectives on three sworn brothers, at three different times in their relationship. (Or, three times 3zun got it on and some of the feelings they had along the way.)