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Jean backed into the nearest wall, sliding down slowly til he was seated on the ground. He tore his face mask of fiercely and massaged at the irritated skin there. Even with the mask gone, he felt like he couldn’t breathe properly. Jean looked around the room, barely suppressing a shudder at the horror that surrounded him. Hordes of his fellow classmates, scattered throughout the room, looking far too defeated for lives that have barely even begun. He watched as two cadets clung to each other, sobbing into each other’s shoulders, and choked back a sob of his own.
Where were his friends at? They had to be around here somewhere, right? He remembers everyone being fine before they got separated in all the chaos but that was days ago; Connie and Sasha were together, Jean remembers, and if they stayed together, then they would do everything to keep each other safe. He really hopes they stayed together. Then he thought of Mikasa but quickly shook away the worry. She was the most capable one among them all, there’s no way anything happened to her. Then again, she cared deeply for Eren. She would do anything she had to do to keep him safe, no matter the risk to her own life.
Eren. Jean scowled as he thought of the annoying blockhead. This was all his fault. Everyone who died during this operation, died defending Eren’s titan. He’s one person Jean wasn’t in a hurry to see again. Jean closed his eyes, trying to get his breathing under control. He was scared, angry, sad, and so unbelievably tired. Eren sealing the breached wall felt like it was weeks ago. These last few days have been spent on clean up duty for the aftermath of it all.
“One more day,” Jean looked down, speaking to the ground, “we only had one more day til we got to choose where we served. How many people had that choice taken away from them because of this?!”
A fresh wave of tears burned behind Jean’s closed eyes. He felt worse the longer he sat here, feeling useless, though he wasn’t sure what could even be done. He didn’t want to go back outside, he couldn’t go back out there. Jean had had enough walking around the spore filled air, barely able to see through the thick smoke from the burning pyres. He couldn’t bare to look at anymore lifeless bodies that were scattered all throughout their town. He knew only more people would get sick and die the longer the bodies were left out there, and Jean felt so guilty; guilty that he survived and so many others hadn’t and guilty that he was already wasting his second chance, sitting here crying instead of helping in whatever way he was needed.
He took a deep breath, rubbing away the last of his tears and stood up. He looked back and forth around the room, trying to find a superior officer who could offer instructions.
“These are fresh cloths some of the nearby residents have donated. They’re offering what they can to help with the cleanup efforts.”
Jean head shot towards the direction of that voice. A voice he recognized well.
“Marco,” he attempted to call out to his friend, but it came out barely above a whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again, “Marco!”
Jean began running towards Marco, who looked up, searching for the source of his name being called. When he made eye contact with a rapidly approaching Jean, he dropped the towels he held in his hands and began running towards Jean as well. After a few short strides, they met each other in the middle, slamming into each other roughly.
The impact caused Marco to stumble back slightly, but Jean’s grip around his shoulders held firm, pulling the taller boy flush against his chest.
“Jean,” Marco breathed out, bringing one of his hands to rest at the base of Jean’s neck, the other remaining planted at his lower back, gripping the fabric of Jean’s shirt tightly. “I’m so happy you’re okay.”
Jean squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could, burying his nose into the crook of Marco’s neck. He inhaled deeply, finding beyond the dirt and sweat, an overwhelming scent that was pure Marco, and it flooded Jean’s veins with relief. Jean lifted his head slowly, pulling back just slightly so he could look at Marco’s face. He took a moment to study the boy he held in his arms, noticing Marco looked as tired as Jean felt. His eye bags were prominent, his usual bright eyes dulled by the darkness that surrounded them. He had a bit of dirt smudged across one of his cheek, hiding the freckles Jean adored so much. And he was smiling.
A smile should look out of place here; they stood surrounded by crying soldiers and the ghosts of the ones they now mourn. But on Marco, it was the most natural thing, the most normal Jean has felt these last few days. Jean was holding Marco in his arms, and Marco was holding him back, smiling at Jean, and it was all too much. Jean didn’t even have a chance to try holding back his sob before it broke through his lips.
“Marco, I’m so sorry.”
Marco’s eyes widened, startled by the tears flowing down Jean’s face.
“Why are you sorry?”
“Because I haven’t seen you in two days and so many people died since then and you could have been one of them,” Jean choked out, hiccupping between sobs, “How could I not even realize you were gone?”
Marco moved his arms from around Jean’s body, placing them on either side of his face to cup his cheeks. He lowered his head til he was leveled with Jean and waited until Jean made eye contact again. Marco gently rubbed away at the stream of tears with his thumbs, smiling warmly.
“Hey, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“No, I’m a terrible friend. I was sitting over there, wondering where everyone could be, but I didn’t even stop to think about you.”
“That doesn’t make you a bad friend, Jean. You couldn’t possibly have had time to think about every single person you know. Things have been… hectic, to put it mildly.”
“But you’re not just another person I know, Marco. You’re, you…”
“Jean, it’s okay,” Marco brought his hands down to Jean’s shoulders, squeezing firmly, “I’m here now, right? And so are you. We’re both safe and together again.”
“Don’t ever leave my side again. Ever.”
Marcon couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped from his mouth.
“If it were up to me, I wouldn’t. There’s no place I’d rather be than wherever you are, Jean.”
“I’m serious. I don’t care what it takes, but you have to stay with me from now on. You were gone, and to think that there was even a chance that I would never see you again. Especially before I got to tell you…”
Jean’s voice began to falter as his mind finally caught up to the words that were spilling from him freely.
“Tell me what?”
“Marco, I think I love you.”
“Jean-“
“I mean, I know that no one else makes me smile like you do. No one is ever as happy to see me as you are. I haven’t planned my future out with anyone else like I planned it with you. You’re the one I’m most comfortable around. You see me for who I am and still like me for some reason,”
Jean breathed heavily, his voice growing stronger as he became more sure of himself each word he spoke. “You’re it for me, Marco. I love you.”
Marco stared in awe for only a moment before he drew Jean in close again, bringing their foreheads to rest against each other.
“Oh Jean, I love you, too. I love you so much.” Marco closed his eyes, reveling in being so close to the person he cared for most in this world, knowing his feelings were returned.
Jean, however, kept his eyes open, fascinated by the crinkles around Marco’s eyes brought on by his smile. Tears began streaming down Marco’s cheeks, washing away the dirt and revealing his freckles once more. Jean leaned forward the short distance and placed a lingering kiss on them. He pulled away only because he missed looking at Marco.
When he looked up again, Marco’s eyes were opened, and their usual brightness had returned. The way Marco looked at Jean now made his knees weak. Despite the chaos exploding around them, Marco only had eyes for Jean. He realized then, that Marco had always looked at him this way and he couldn’t believe he’d been so blind to the taller boy’s feelings. Feelings, he thinks, Marco fought to keep hidden in fear of scaring Jean away. Jean would like to go back and beat his past-self up for never trying to acknowledge his own feelings, for denying the gift of his love Marco offered so freely. Maybe Jean never felt worthy of it, so pretending he didn’t notice was easier. But now, standing here with Marco in his arms, Jean was just grateful to have a second chance for them to tell each other how they felt. They would never let themselves live with regrets again. This world was scary and unfair, but it was one they could endure together.