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Traditions are strange—fanciful and even superstitious—and an annual one that most of humanity observes is lighting a candle for someone who’s been lost.
Even the cadets are allowed to do so, often sharing a candle amongst themselves. Though some of them, like anyone from Shiganshina, surely needs more than one.
As days turn into years during training, Marco can see more clearly why Eren wants to light the world on fire. The three of them—Mikasa, Armin, and Eren—always light one of the torches during the meal hour. It’s their vigil, since candles themselves aren’t to be spared, but simply lighting the flame of some wick is enough. Practicality rules supreme in this world, where sorrow is a luxury.
Jean never lights a candle.
It comes to Marco’s attention one evening when there are a few candles to spare on the day the vigils take place as Marco lights his own.
He can feel Jean watching him in the dim light of the cadet barracks as the flame catches the wick, and then he passes it to the next cadet, who blows it out, and relights it.
It’s when they’re sitting on the edge of the bunks, before the lights go out as they wait for the candle to burn down some, that Jean finally turns to ask the question.
“Who?” he says, more of a hard statement than an inquiry. His voice is brusque as always, but lacks the hard-edged cockiness usually found there.
Marco straightens his posture and looks down at his hands, finally callused enough not to feel a bite of ODM blade handles and triggers, but rather a strange, militant familiarity.
“My father,” he replies, staring at the candle.
He doesn’t offer more information, and Jean has the good sense not to ask.
When they’ve all gone to bed, and Jean is lying on his side next to the wall, Marco finally whispers, “You’ve never lost someone?”
Jean makes an uncomfortable noise, but he gives the courtesy of an answer.
“No,” he grunts.
Marco reaches over and slips a hand up to Jean’s neck to trace lightly along his jaw—there’s an expected gasp, since this is only the third time he’s touched Jean this way—as Marco leans over to follow his fingers with a flutter of his lips.
“You will,” he whispers, shaking his head a little between kisses, “we all will. But you’ll never lose me—I’ll always be your best friend, no matter what happens.”
Jean takes in a shuddery, quiet breath, and unexpectedly grasps Marco’s hand, holding on tightly.
Then, they lie there in the dark together, and Marco can only hope that Jean never has to light a candle in remembrance for something else that’s been snuffed out.