Chapter Text
“Leaves from the vine
Falling so slow
Like fragile, tiny shells
Drifting in the foam
Little soldier boy
Come marching home
Brave soldier boy
Comes marching home”
-Iroh; Little Soldier Boy
In all honesty, Jean shouldn’t have kept that worn, silver ring of Marco’s. It’s a constant reminder that someone he cares about is dead and never coming back, and every time he sees or turns over the damn thing, a pang of hurt rips through him like a tidal wave. It’s a horrible, awful fucked up feeling that makes him want to curl up and cry. He’s not over Marco. It has only been three years. In fact, he’s never going to forget finding Marco so pale, half of him torn away like a piece of meat, his freckles covered by blood. The chilling image flashes through his mind at least twice a day, and then haunts his dreams almost every night. That ring he keeps only makes it worse.
Still, he wears the band inscribed with a tarnished ‘Bott’ to every battle he fights because in some improbable circumstance, the ring makes him feel like a part of Marco is alongside him, like a ghost who gives him an immeasurable amount of strength. A spirit who is there, but isn’t because there’s no such thing as the dead being alive. Once you’re dead, the ground is your resting place. But Jean still wants to believe that their love—if you could call it that—can transcend any sort of universal truth. For a second he feels as though Marco is with him, and that’s enough to make him slaughter any titan that comes in his path.
So, as he lies in his bed at the barracks, he ignores Connie going on about Sasha and just stares at the ring, making the bald kid’s voice become background noise. There’s that throb in his chest when he runs his finger over the worn metal; one that makes his throat burn. ‘Bott’ he reads over and over again ‘Bott Bott Bott’. Then, he pictures the freckled dork smiling in his head and has to bury his face into the pillow so Connie won’t see his face contort in a desperate attempt not to cry.
Fuck. Why is it so hard for him to get over it? Plenty of people died in the Survey Corps. Other people that Jean had cared about have been savagely murdered by the titans. More than he could count. Marco wasn’t the only star in the sky, but he is the one that shined the brightest. The other stars have long since gone out, disappearing within space and time, their only memory small droplets of dust. Marco’s blinding light keeps reaching him. The day Marco goes out will be the day Jean dies.
“Jean, are you even listening?”
He’s gone out for others. But not Jean. Never for Jean.
For some reason, Connie’s voice seems even more irritating today. He’s always annoying, but right now Jean just wants to take him by the collar and tell him to shut the fuck up. He doesn’t give two damns about potato girl at the moment.
“Not really q-tip head,” he mumbles into the pillow, mouth dry.
Connie sighs. “I’m just…”
But Jean blocks him out again because he can’t find it in himself to care.
As Connie keeps babbling on, taking a seat on the bed opposite to him, Jean finds his mind wandering to how incredibly unfair it is that Eren Jaeger got swallowed by a titan and still managed to live. Why couldn’t have Marco of been part titan—because it seems like today a shit ton of people are—and just pulled himself back together?
Because this world is never going to be fair, Jean thinks.
That’s right.
It goes like this; he’s caught in this constant loop of things fucked up and things completely fucked up. That’s how Jean’s life has always worked. There are the titans who ravage their lives, a constant looming presence behind the caging walls that supposedly keep humanity safe. Then there’s that fact that Eren Jaeger is probably around the barracks, a titan himself, and carrying on a casual conversation with one of his friends.
He had Marco at least--the only thing in his life screwed up in a good way. Because, damn, who else smiled so brightly out of the entire Survey Corps? No smirk could compare to that stupid grin that made Marco’s freckles disappear into a cavern of dimples. Just picturing it makes Jean’s heart ache, so he pushes the image out of his mind and tries to think of other things.
He wonders how the team sent out is doing; hoping that titans haven't been encountered along the way. They are heading to the place where Eren was held captive and tortured by a guy who apparently Corporal Levi had connections with. Jean doesn't know much. Basically, he just got the general gist, because he's not part of that exclusive group. A month Eren was gone, and in that month they managed to break him. It sucked for all of them when he was kidnapped, but Jean knew how much it got to the Corporal and Mikasa and Armin. At least Marco’s dead so he doesn’t have to worry about whether he’s still alive or if he’s in so much pain that he can’t handle it anymore.
Of course, his thoughts go straight back to Marco. Figures.
With a grunt, Jean rolls over and stands up from the bed. Connie is still talking.
“The thing with Sasha is—“
“Just take her out on a damn date,” Jean orders to shut him up. That moron never gets quiet, though, so he keeps on talking much to Jean’s dismay.
“That’s a great idea!” Connie exclaims, eyes wide and happy in a way that almost reminds Jean of Marco. He swallows back the memory of him. “Where should I take her, Jean? We don’t have much time off except for after dinner like this.”
Jean sighs, “wherever.”
Before Connie can say anything else, Jean says he has to go and slips out of the room. As he closes the door behind, he takes a deep breath, trying to calm his anger and annoyance. He stomps down the hall, rubbing the ring back and forth almost painfully against the skin of his finger.
He thinks about what Marco would do, because the freckled dork always listened to everyone’s problems and knew how to balance Jean when his emotions got the best of him. For the past three years, a scale has been tipped without Marco there to equalize it, and Jean doesn’t know how to fix the difference in weight.
Jean would really like to take a walk outside, but the sun has nearly set behind the horizon, pulling back the long lazy shadows it casts through the windows. Walking had always been somewhat calming to him, but he hates going outside in the dark. Despises it. He knows there’s nothing out there at night that isn’t out there in the day, but it still freaks the crap out of him. So, he settles for walking around the halls. Maybe if he takes enough laps, the scale will pull a little.
Why does everyone annoy me so much? He thinks. Hell, even Marco bothered him at first. It’s something he can’t help, and that’s annoying too. As a kid, he was never like this.
He had a good family who never really thought to worry about the titans. He wasn’t bothered through his childhood by the fact that he was trapped in a cage. There was plenty of room, plenty of things to do. Who cared about an ocean a million miles away? He thought the people from the Survey Corps were idiots for exposing themselves to the outside when they didn’t need to. To stay safe was to stay alive.
However, his happy life was tainted by the fact that he was a little more heavy weighted than the other children. It wasn’t his fault that his mother was an amazing cook who always made too much to eat. Food is not something you ever throw away or take for granted in the exterior walls.
He can’t count the amount of times he would come home crying that he wasn’t fast enough to catch anyone in a game of tag, or that the other kids had been taunting him with names again. His mother would take a rag and wipe his face, telling him not to let anything that others said bother him. Jean took her words to heart. That’s probably what started his annoyance issues. Those children made him realize just how judgmental others could be, and by seeing that, everyone presented to him came off as those kids. Did they really need to be making comments on anyone’s appearance or ideals while they were fighting an unbeatable war?
Of course Jean isn’t afraid to voice his beliefs or tell you something’s stupid when the time calls, but he’s never going to comment on something that you can’t fix. No way. Not gonna happen. He’s an asshole, not a douchebag.
Great, now he’s angry again.
He tries to focus on his breathing as he walks, trying to make his footsteps to an imaginary rhythm. His mind just needs to a wander away from everything and everyone so that his body goes on automatic.
In and out, he imagines Marco’s voice talking him through his temper. In and out. Breath.
Jean finds himself heading to the gathering room and when he passes he can see Mikasa sitting on the couch, staring at a wall. He thinks back to the time he had a crush on her and how that slowly faded with Marco’s presence. It’s almost amusing that he gave up on Mikasa, one of the most amazing girls he’s ever met in his entire life, for dorky Marco.
He knows why she is so upset. Everyone does. The Corporal and Eren Jaeger had admitted to holding feelings for one another after a long time of sharing small glances and aiding each other to the best of their ability. And although they are trying their very best to keep it under covers, everyone is fully aware.
For a second he considers stopping to talk to her, because he knows what it’s like to lose someone you love, but then decides against it. Mikasa is one of those people you don’t comfort unless you’re really close to her. If she needs help sorting out her emotions, piss-baby Armin will be there for sure.
He can’t help but feel bad for her. It’s obvious she has always loved Eren, and he loves her too, but in a different way. And now she’ll have to stand by his side as he’s with another person. Jean tries to imagine Marco with another person as he turns a corner in the hallway with himself standing in the background, and then decides he can’t do it. It hurts too much to think about Marco, let alone him with another man.
“Come on people, fucking move!”
He hears the shout coming from the end of the corridor, followed by an array of voices responding ‘sir’. The group sent out must be back and by the sound of Corporal Levi’s voice, they have returned with something. Perhaps they have the guy who hurt Eren. Jean imagines they’d let Hanji have some fun with him.
Jean speeds up his walk, anger dissipating into fragrant curiosity. What made his usually calm Corporal’s voice sound so urgent? He doesn’t think he’s ever heard so much emotion in Levi’s voice. This has to be good.
He yells after the group, but nobody turns and he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to break through it. So, he just stops, leans against the wall to try and peek through the crowd. They are carrying something, someone, but it’s impossible to tell who. It’s probably somebody else that those people tortured. Poor fucker. The guy probably wishes he was eaten by a titan right now.
He waits there for a little while, and then decides he’s going to find out what happened later on. It’s not like somebody is going to come out and get him or anything. So, he just turns and decides to go back to his bed, hoping that Connie has left by now.
It’s about an hour into lying peacefully in his bed that Armin crashes through his door, muddy and covered in blood, blue eyes wide with some sort of emotion that Jean can’t even begin to comprehend.
Jean raises his eyebrows, heart rate picking up as he stares at Armin. He looks as though he’s just seen hell. Had they run into a titan along the way? That would explain the blood and mud and the pure look of horror.
“Armin?” He questions.
The blonde’s voice is strangled when he speaks. Jean wonders who died.
“It’s Marco…”
What the fuck? Marco? What about Marco?
Armin seems like he’s seen a ghost. Marco. Jean stands up and places his hands on the shorter teenager’s shoulders, shaking him a little to snap him out of the daze he’s fallen into. Marco. Had he heard the name right? Did Armin really just say Marco?
“Armin?” He asks, “what about Marco? Did you just say Marco?”
He nods.
Jean freezes.
“What about Marco?”
Did they find his other half somewhere? Oh god…
The thought makes Jean want to throw up. If Armin says so, he’s going straight back to his bed and crying for a week. He doesn’t care who sees him. Why is it always a half and never a whole? God, why does Armin look so distraught?
“He’s alive.”
…
What?
Jean doesn’t know what to say. He can hardly even comprehend what in the absolute fuckery Armin is talking about. Marco being alive? His heart falls all the way down to his stomach, twisting around before being pulled out of his skin. This has to be the cruelest joke anyone has ever played on him.
He steps back to stare at Armin. “You’re lying. There’s no way—“
“Follow me,” Armin interrupts.
He does as he’s told, unable to even begin to wrap his mind around how out of character Armin is acting, and that he’s just told him that Marco is alive. The word in his head sounds so weird next to the freckle boy’s name. He really, truly hopes that this isn’t some surprise party and this was the only way they thought to get him into the room.
He is stiff as he walks. Mind blank.
Marco is alive?
To be frankly honest, he doesn’t want to believe it because after about three years Jean had finally been somewhat able to accept the fact that Marco fucking died. Ripped apart by a titan. Body torn in half and left to rot like he wasn’t one of the most wonderful things this shitty world had to offer. Yes, Marco is dead. Deader than dead. There is no way that Marco can be alive after what happened to him.
As he follows behind Armin in the dark, too clean corridors—thanks to their neat freak Corporal—Jean actually contemplates turning around because fuck, how can something like this happen? Marco had been dead. Jean had saw it with his own two eyes, gave the name to the lady in charge of clean up, then went and shattered Marco’s family’s souls by telling them that their son and brother had been killed.
His head hurts so badly, a jar of swirling emotions, but he is so numb that no feeling can even begin to touch him. Is Armin actually leading me to Marco? The thought alone makes his knees weak and jelly. How can this be?
He fingers the ring on his finger, feeling the fading ‘Bott’ inscription. Should he turn around? There’s no way he’s going to be able to handle if Marco’s not actually alive after being told so. Maybe it’s better not to deal with the pain of having him be taken away twice from him.
“Armin?” Jean says. His voice is uncharacteristically weak. “Are you sure Marcos alive?”
He sees the head bob in front of him. “I’m sure, Jean.”
How?...
They are in front of an open door now and Marco can see a crowd of people. He can see Mikasa and the Corporal and Hanji and Eren and several people he can’t remember the names of. Through them, he can somewhat get a glimpse of the person who is supposedly Marco. Jean doesn’t hesitate to push past Armin.
He grabs Eren and moves him over, earning him a small glare from the titan shifter and now he’s standing right over the person, who is staring back at all of them with large, frightened eyes. The guy is so scarred and bruised that Jean almost can’t tell that it’s Marco. His skin is painted with an array of lines varying from large to small, thick to wide, hair longer, almost touching the nape of his neck. But Jean can see those freckles.
Marco…
“Marco,” he whispers.
This is Marco.
He can’t help but reach out to touch him, heart beating so loudly that he’s sure every single person can hear it. If his hand goes through Marco, he’s going to know this is a dream. At least he got to be near Marco again, in a way.
“Jean,” it’s Mikasa. She had a hand on his shoulder. “You shouldn’t touch him…”
But Jean doesn’t listen.
His hand only grazes his check when it happens, the tip of his finger touching a small, fresh cut on Marco’s face. He finds his hand stinging as soon as it makes connect, and hears a sharp scream rip from Marco’s throat.
“Don’t touch me!” His voice makes Jean recoil instantly. “ Don’t touch me! I hate you! I wanna go back, I wanna go back!”
I hate you
I wanna go back
Marco may be here, but he certainly isn’t ‘alive’.
He is shouting at everyone now, telling them to get back and let him go. Even though he is broken, scarred, and perhaps unsavable, Jean falls to his knees and starts to cry along with Marco, laying his forehead on the bed where he calls his name, even though no one cares. Fuck, Marco is back. This is Marco Bott.
To know someone you love isn’t dead makes your heart do weird things. So, he shouts his name again. He’s told to shut up by Marco, who puts his hands over his ears like a child. Hands grab Jean and pull him away from the bed. Away from Marco. He struggles to get back. He can’t leave him alone. Not like this.
“Stop! I can’t be here! I need to go back!”
It has been three years since the break of the wall. Three fucking years since Marco had been declared legally dead, and Jean told the Bott family that their son wasn’t coming home. Three years since Marco’s mother opened the door, saying her baby’s name, only to find Jean standing in their standard salute with tears running down his face.
Marco isn’t the only one who has been broken.
As he’s pulled out of the room away from Marco, he wails;
“Marco, oh Marco.”
No.
This isn’t fucking happening.
Marco is alive and he’s not being separated from him.
He attempts to pry the hands off of him so he can run back into the room and be by Marco’s side. There’s nothing more that Jean wants right now than to grab the freckled idiot and never let go. But the Corporal and Mikasa are pulling him away. Eren is following in front to catch him if he does somehow manage to struggle out.
“Let go of me!” He shouts, reaching towards the open door. “No, Marco! Marco, I have to see him!”
None of them say a word. They just keep pulling him away. He’s crying even harder now, feeling weak as he can’t even move one of the fingers gripping his shoulder. How can they do this to him? Marco is in there, surely broken, and they are forcing him to leave.
God, there are so many thoughts swirling in his head at this moment that it’s near impossible to breath. How could he be here when he saw him ripped to shreds? Was he really with the man who tortured Eren? And why won't they let him go, dammit?
“Let go of me now!”
And they do let go Jean. By throwing him against the wall, hard.
He grunts in pain as his back thumps against the wall, sliding to the ground where he silently starts to whimper. At this moment, he could care less about how pathetic he looks to any of them.
“Jean,” it is Corporal Levi who speaks, staring down at him with an indifferent expression. “Knock it off. I’m fully aware that you are happy Marco is alive, but there are some things we need to discuss with you before we’re able to let you see him.”
Jean sucks in a breath, wipes his eyes. He nods.
“Okay.”
But he really wants to break past them and go right back to that room.
The three of them kneel down in front of him, and he’s still kind of looking for an opening. At the same time, he wants to hear what they have to say. If it means being by Marco, then he will listen, even if he doesn’t agree.
It’s the Corporal who draws in a long breath and speaks first.
“Marco is broken,” he starts, and Jean thinks about how he already knew such an obvious fact. “He’s been conditioned into thinking that the Survey Corps are out to get him by the same man who tortured Eren.”
He sees Eren shift uncomfortably on the side. It’s not a topic that he likes to hear about in any situation, but he’s tolerating it for Jean. Eren’s wringing his hands in that way he does when he’s nervous, focusing on them like they’re the most important thing in the world.
Jean bites his lip, “so he genuinely hates us?”
Marco hates me.
Marco can’t hate him. Jean wants to murder the man who made the naïve, freckled dork distrust his friends. He wants to destroy him in the same way he destroyed Marco. He wants revenge. He wants blood.
“Yes.”
The Corporal’s terse answer nearly sends him into hysterics.
Mikasa’s hand stops him from falling over the edge. She rests it on his shoulder and provides the comfort that the Corporal can not.
“He may hate us now,” she says. “But we can fix that, Jean.”
“How?”
“There’s always a way,” Eren tries.
Jean knows how incredibly un-fucking-true that is. Because when it comes to people, you can’t just glue them. They’re complex, different, and Marco won’t be put back together like Eren. He saw the way he looked at all of them with recognition, but with that same fear and hatred one would share with a titan. Then, there was the way he slapped his hand away even though he had touched him so many times before. It still stung.
Jean clenches his fists.
“Who…did this to him?”
He will pay.
There’s no way this man will leave this earth unscathed by Jean.
The Corporal sighs and stands. “The information is classified until we have a meeting tomorrow,” for some reason, Jean thinks the Corporal wants to tell him but really can’t. In a way, it is comforting. “It’s going to be at the court where Eren was first held. Be there.”
“I’ll be there,” he says, staring forward past the three and towards the room. God, the feeling of wanting to run in there is like an incurable itch, making his toes and fingers curl with anticipation. He suspects nobody will let him back in until a later time, but that does not stop him from wanting to see Marco.
“Did you tell his family?” Jean asks, his voice low.
He can remember the pure heartbreak on their faces, the way Marco’s mother refused to accept the fact her son had died, and then collapsed as the realization dawned upon her that Marco wasn’t behind Jean, or this wasn’t any kind of sick practical joke. Her son was dead, never to come home.
“No,” the Corporal says, pressing his lips into a tight line. “We cannot tell them anything until Marco’s mental health has been reestablished, or the man who captured him has been apprehended. Both could prove as dangers to the Botts if not fixed.”
How fucking cruel of them. She’s going to have to feel the hollowness that Marco left for a while longer. It’s not fair to his family at all. What’s Marco’s little brother doing right now? Trying to comfort his mother who can never be fully comforted?
But, Jean understands. Returning Marco like this would only pain them more. To see their son, to hear that he hates them, would be too much to bear. Hell, Jean’s mind is still reeling from his words.
Eren goes, “it’s going to be alright, Jean.”
Jean nearly laughs in the little shit’s face. Right now it seems very far from alright, like a whole world away. Marcos alive, that was enough to make the heavens rejoice, but he had been torn apart in a non physical way. So, no, it probably wasn’t going to be okay in the way Eren thought it was.
“Yes,” Mikasa agrees, “Jean, it seems bad, but it will get better. Remember the person who Marco is.”
Jean realizes the reason they’re all trying to give him reasons to hope is because he’s still crying. In fact, he doesn’t think he ever stopped. This whole last twenty minutes has been such a blur and his head is just pounding. It’s still unbelievable that Marco is lying in the room across from him, breathing, surely alive.
“I will.”
The only thing he can do right now is remember the person Marco was before his ‘death’, because he can’t be by his side to make a new memory. Kind, loving, happy Marco is who he knows and will always associate the name with.
The Corporal turns, “I suggest you get some sleep. Eren, follow me. Mikasa, take Jean to his room and make sure he doesn’t have a breakdown along the way.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jean watches as Mikasa pulls her red scarf to cover her mouth, sending a longing look at Eren’s back as he walks with the Corporal. Don’t do this now, Mikasa. Don’t be hurt when Marco is in there hurt more.
After a moment, she reaches forward and grabs him, tugging his heavy body from the ground. He really has to lean on her for support as the room Marcos in disappears from view. He’s numb, like his soul had been left back there. Maybe he should go retrieve it…
“Jean,” Mikasa breaks his mindset of running back. “Promise me you will stay here and get some sleep. A visit won’t do Marco any good right now. Hanji is trying her best to reverse any physical harm.”
Jean nods dumbly, swallowing to dampen his dry throat. It’s a hard promise to make, but he does it anyway.
As Mikasa drags him through the dark corridors, Jean can’t help but think how impossible this situation actually is. Jean had saw Marco’s limp and lifeless body, the expression of horror frozen on half of his face. The blood. There had been so much blood around him, spilled carelessly across the street.
Then it hits him.
The body hadn’t been Marco’s.
Fuck.
Upon seeing one of the few people he loved looking so dead, Jean had been overcome by immediate grief with the fact that Marco had been murdered and there was nothing he could have done to stop it. Really checking what was left of the body never crossed his mind, and he just carelessly handed out Marco’s name because, after all, he had been missing in action. The dark hair and nearly indistinguishable freckles disappearing with rigor mortis had given him the idea that it had to of been Marco. Jean just assumed when he found the split body…
You know what they say about assuming; it makes an ass out of you and me.
Marco has been alive this whole time and, because of Jean’s ignorance, tortured to the point of losing himself. If Jean has just stayed calm…his family…they could have looked harder…they could have…
He suddenly feels very sick, guilt riding up on him in a way it never has before. Dammit, Marco has been alive this whole time and they could have done something. Three years he had probably waited, new scars appearing everyday as he slowly disappeared with his hope, crying for somebody, anybody, to come and save him.
“Jean, are you okay? You look pale.”
Jean nods, even though he feels worse than shit.
“It’s just surprising…”
People don’t come back to life in this world. Good things never happen.
“I agree,” Mikasa says. “But we must accept the fact that he is alive.”
Jean thinks that’s going to take a while, especially when he can’t touch Marco without him freaking out. All he wants to do is to pull him into his arms and hold the freckled dork in the tightest hug possible, and then kiss him over and over again. But that small brush against his cheek that set Marco off tells Jean that won’t be happening anytime soon. There’s an ache in his chest. Why couldn’t his return be cliché and contrived with him showing up at the door, soaked from a heavy rainstorm where he just pushes Jean up against the wall and takes him until he can no longer breath?
Because this world isn’t a novel.
So, Jean has to get over it and make do with a broken Marco. He’s still Marco, just more scarred and not completely there.
“Jean,” Mikasa interrupts his thoughts, flipping dark hair over her shoulder. She’s let it get long again over the years. He can remember a time when he thought just how beautiful she was, and he still thinks she is, but nobody can compare to the way he sees Marco. Her smile doesn’t make his heart flutter in weird ways. “Is there anything else you need?”
He shakes his head, only realizing now that they’ve arrived at the men’s barracks. “No. Thank you, Mikasa.”
She stands there for a moment, staring at him, and Jean shifts uncomfortably under her scrutinizing gaze. He knows she’s making sure he’s not going to scurry back to Marco as soon as she leaves. Although he wants to do exactly that, he feels so emotionally drained that he doesn’t think he’ll make it to the end of the hallway.
“Remember your promise?” She asks.
“Yes.”
“We’re leaving for court at eight,” she informs him, which is nice because the Corporal never actually told him the time. “If you’re not out there by 7:50, I will come and drag you out of bed. Understand?”
A small smile pulls on his mouth, despite the fact he’s a total fucking wreck at the moment, and that the tears from before are still wetting his cheeks. He knows when she says this, she means business. By far, Mikasa is stronger than most of them combined. “Of course.”
“Good night, Jean,” she turns and starts walking. “Get some rest. Maybe you’ll feel better.”
He highly doubts that.
For a moment he thinks of going back to the room to see Marco again, but instead he just sighs and opens the door. Hanji will be there for sure. She’s not just going to let him in, especially when she is doing her handiwork. Besides, she would’ve probably had to knock Marco out to begun fixing up his physical injuries.
When Jean steps into the room, he does not expect a welcoming party of about every guy in his division waiting by the door like dogs. They’re all practically salivating, waiting to hear knowledge of their friend’s return.
“Jean,” one of them calls. “Is it true?”
Connie steps forward. “Is Marco really alive?”
Jean doesn’t want to talk about it now. He’s tired and drained and wants nothing more to curl into a ball and sleep until the court hearing tomorrow. But everyone is just being so damn loud.
“Yeah. Marco is alive.” Is his near apathetic response to it all. It sort of makes him angry that some of these people who never knew Marco to begin with and didn’t grieve for his ‘death’ are asking about him.
He pushes through the crowd of guys, who are now whispering about Jean and the whole situation at hand. Some guys are talking about “were they actually a…you know…a thing?” and “how is this possible?”
Jean wants to shout several things at them. First, that they were a thing. More than a thing. They were in love; had proclaimed it in many physical and emotional ways in countless places. Then, he wants to say that it isn’t possible, but it happened so they just need to get over it and go to sleep. But they aren't going to do that. They're just going to babble on for a while, aren't they?
He’s usually a really forward person, but right now he doesn’t feel like yelling at all.
Instead, he buries his head in his pillow, blocks out all the sounds, and allows his heavy eyelids to fall with the many emotions that today carried. Jean honestly doesn’t know whether to feel happy, or upset, or hopeful.
It takes him a while to fall asleep.
His last thought before he manages to fall after an hour of listening to everybody shuffle around, muttering in hushed tones as they prepare for bed?
Marco is alive…
His heart both aches and jumps at the notion.