A/N: God, why on earth does poor sweet Marco's death inspire me in such a way? My poor couple, I feel so bad for writing such drama...ugh, thanks a lot, Isayama, killing the most adorable character of Attack on Titan -_- Well, folks, another one-shot is here, as always about our cute pair, seriously, why aren't these two canon? ;) And did I mention they're so cute it should be a crime? Because they are!
The title is taken from a verse of the song "Start of Time" by Gabrielle Aplin.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Attack on Titan characters in any way
Jean has heard a billionth times that anything can happen from one moment to the other. But nothing could prepare him for this, he can't even process it, it's like everything has died in him and he can't talk or even grieve openly. Because how the freaking hell should he be prepared for Marco ending up in that tragic accident and succumbing to his wounds a few hours later, in that cold and empty hospital room? He wasn't there when that drunk driver ran in Marco's car and when he got the call from hospital he was the one to call the others in a fit of panic. Now, though, as he's slumped in the passenger seat of Sasha's car, he's totally numb, having closed his eyes and leaving broken sighs, unable to cry and burst everything out.
Well, that's also positive, being unable to think; the reality hasn't sunk in completely and that's good because if Jean could think logically right now he'd have to think about how a life was lost tonight, the life of his best friend, his childhood friend, his brother, the only one who knew basically everything about him. He can't even ask Sasha how she is or where they're going, but it seems that Sasha doesn't mind because from the moment Dr. Zoe announced them the news she hasn't said a word, she simply helped him walk outside the hospital…and now she's driving with a blank expression that matches his, eyes focused on the road.
When Jean told everyone to leave, when they still didn't know what would happen to Marco, saying that it didn't have any sense for them to wait in the hospital and that he'd call them, everyone, Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Krista, Ymir, Reiner, Bertholdt, Thomas and Mina did as he told them; but Sasha and Connie had stayed, sitting silently next to him despite his threats that he'd drag them home himself. And while Connie is informing everyone and consoling the rest of the group, Sasha has made it her personal goal to stand by Jean's side no matter how much he'll push her away.
Another sign of the emptiness that's overwhelming him is that he doesn't even have the strength to react when he feels a warm hand on his own, gently squeezing, fingers laced with his. Normally he'd snap at the woman next to him, tell her to leave him the hell alone and that he can damn well deal with this tragedy on his own. Right now, though, Jean is barely a shadow of his usual stubborn self; he can't utter a word, much less pretend to be strong and composed…in fact, he even squeezes her hand back, if only barely.
In the end, their destination proves to be Sasha's apartment, which Jean knows as well as he knows his own from the countless sleepovers and movie nights with the group. He stands numbly in the middle of the hall while she switches on some lamps, takes off his jacket with gentle movements and then leads him to her room, switching on a small lamp on the bedside table. It's the only light in the otherwise dark room, but it does nothing to bring some sort of warmth to them.
They lie down, with absolutely no complain from Jean's side; his back is facing Sasha, he's hugging himself, slightly trembling, and he's staring at the wall across from him. He barely feels Sasha covering him with a blanket before lying down behind him, silently wrapping an arm around him and resting her head between his shoulder blades. They spend several moments like that; whether it's minutes or hours they don't know and they don't care, but when Jean speaks his voice is so meek and quiet that Sasha has trouble hearing him despite the basically not-existent distance.
"I…I don't know if the pain will ever fade away," he whispers and balls his hands into fists, while Sasha's grip around him tightens immediately and right now she's the only one stopping him from going completely crazy.
"I know," she replies with a soft tone and sighs, her voice coming out muffled from where she rests her head, although words aren't necessary; her warm embrace is a loud enough answer for the twenty-five-year-old man.
Despite thinking that they won't be able to fall asleep, Jean eventually manages to close his eyes and doze off, Sasha's silent and yet soothing presence behind him and the soft glow of the lamp being like a lullaby. Only then does Sasha allow the tears to run down her face and she hides her head in the pillow so Jean won't hear her sobs; she cries for the friend she lost, the one who comforted her at school when others made fun of her and who always had a kind word for everyone; and she cries for his best friend, who's drowning in his grief and can't even express it.
A gentle squeeze on her hand startles her and for one moment she fears that she's woken Jean up, but he's still breathing evenly, a sign that he's still asleep. Sasha doesn't know if he sensed her pain in his sleep and this squeeze is an instinctive wish to comfort her or if he's simply searching for something steady in his nightmares; in any case, though, she squeezes his hand back and rests her head back against his shoulder blades, closing her eyes and trying to control her breathing. Despite everything that's happened, Jean's presence is warm next to her and that soon helps her fall asleep as well.
The next morning Jean wakes up first, abruptly opening his eyes after his uncountable nightmares. The alarm clock next to him reads seven o' clock, but there's no way he's going back to sleep. His numbness hasn't left him, he still feels weaker than ever, but he spends a few moments focusing on Sasha's breathing behind him, their hands still entwined on his chest. Taking care not to break the contact he carefully turns around and watches her as she sleeps, the worn out expression and some tracks on her cheeks, surely by tears. It pains him that Sasha's also hurting for Marco but suppressed it as long as he was awake, looking after him and crying only afterwards.
He stretches his hand slightly, wanting to caress her tear-stained cheek and to move some strands of hair behind her ear so they won't disturb her, but then he changes his mind; he's already so vulnerable and such gestures of intimacy will bring her closer to him—and if Jean's learnt anything from this tragedy it's that the more you open up to someone the more you'll get hurt when losing them. On the other hand he finds himself unable to push her away now that it's early, before he reaches a point of needing her in his bad moments; it seems like the best solution for the both of them, but he can't push her away.
And so he thinks about everything that's happened, gently caressing Sasha's arm and wondering why the hell there's not some switch to simply make the pain disappear.
The funeral is dramatic as it is, but what makes everything way worse is Marco's parents wanting to talk to him afterwards. Mr. Bodt is trying his best to keep his composure for his wife's sake; the short woman whose freckles Marco inherited is crying with sobs in her handkerchief, her deep green eyes dull with pain. Jean feels useless because he has nothing to say; what on earth do you say to parents who lost their only child, a young man with his whole life ahead of him? They're planning to move to Jinae, Mrs. Bodt's village, unable to handle living in the small town of Trost which holds so many dramatic memories.
"You were like a brother to him, you know," she whispers nonetheless and manages to smile a little at him, sensing his own pain. "He always said there was more in you than the stubborn and arrogant boy you wanted everyone to believe you are…and he was right, Jean."
Jean leaves a sad laughter at the sound of these words because he can totally imagine Marco saying that to her; he used to say something similar to him, that pretending to be strong made no sense because his strength lay exactly in his weakness. It's too overwhelming for him to say anything and so he only nods and briefly squeezes her arm while Mr. Bodt places a hand on his shoulder.
"Take care of yourself, son; Marco wouldn't want you to give up on your life," he advises him and Jean nods again; it's too difficult right now, but he knows that he has to continue with his life.
"Look after yourselves too," the young man replies, still with that soft and numb voice that doesn't remind the old Jean; he hates sounding like that, but he can't help it, the wound is too fresh.
"Jean, I think Sasha is waiting for you," Marco's mum gestures with her head towards the road, where Sasha's indeed standing next to her car, eyes locked at the hills in the horizon. There's distance between them because she wants to be discrete, yet she still gives him the message that they're in this together, than she won't leave him alone; although the way she has lowered her head is enough to tell him that she's going through her own drama as well. "She doesn't look well either, I think she will need you."
The worry about Sasha doesn't surprise Jean; Mrs. Bodt was always fond of the funny girl of the group and how she messed with him in their high school and college days. "Don't fear for her, Mrs. Bodt…right now she's much stronger than me."
Ever since the night Marco passed, Jean sees Sasha's apartment as a shelter, a place where he can rest without anyone pestering him with stupid questions like "How are you holding up?" He slumps down on the couch in the living room, looking blankly at the switched off TV in front of him and lets memories invade his mind: memories about the countless nights he's spent here with his friends during college, when they would constantly argue about which movie to watch, he and Eren playing video games, Sasha and Connie and their endless karaoke games, with Marco and Reiner joining them sometimes.
He doesn't show anything of that, though; outside he remains stoic and numb. Only the sound of a muffled sob catches his attention and he turns slowly, spotting Sasha standing in front of the window with her head lowered and her shoulders shaking. Mentally cursing himself for drowning in his mourning without even looking after her, he spends some moments staring at her, wondering if her crying is only due to today's funeral or if it is a general outburst that's been building up these few days.
"Sash?" he speaks softly to her, not wanting to further distress her and the brunette raises her head at the sound of his voice and the use of the sweet nickname she hasn't heard for years. "Hey, what is it?"
"I-It's everything, Jean….I-I still can't believe that Marco…that Marco…" the young woman stutters and another sob leaves her as she is unable to even say the word. "A-And I want to be s-strong, I want to be here for you, I-I honestly do, b-but you're not talking and you're s-so numb and I feel so useless, like I can't help you a-and—"
"Hey, hey…Come here." Jean still speaks with that emotionless voice, but he tries to give a comforting hint in his tone as he feels guilty for hurting her like that, as if her grief isn't enough. Sasha neither looks at him nor approaches him, but Jean won't give up that easily; it's too difficult for him to talk about everything that's paining him, but at least he can stand by her side. "Sash, come here," he repeats, this time outstretching his arm invitingly.
Something in his voice makes her turn around and Jean suppresses a gasp at the sight of her disturbed expression; right now he misses the always optimistic Potato Girl and a part of him wonders if she will ever go back to her trademark goofy cheerfulness, it's as if Marco's untimely death made all of them grow up. Sasha walks towards him, taking the hand he's offering her and allowing him to pull her into his hug. She hides her head on his shoulder and Jean gently lifts her legs and lays them on his lap so she'll be more comfortable, letting her cry and rubbing her arm.
"I'm sorry, Sasha, I'm sorry, it's…it's too early, I-I can't talk," he whispers and leans his head against hers. "I'll talk when I feel ready to, though, I can assure you about that…I know it's not enough—"
"Will you talk to me, burst everything out when you'll be ready?" she interrupts him between her sobs and she wraps her arms around him to steady herself. "I-I won't push you, I know you need time, b-but will you?"
"I promise." Jean nods and he's honest; he can't know when he'll reach the breaking point to come and express his mourning openly, but when the time comes she'll be the shoulder he'll cry on.
And as Sasha continues crying and he holds her, he realizes something.
Not only does he need Sasha's presence, but Sasha needs his too.
Which means that all thoughts to push her away to protect himself from more pain disappear for good.
Because after everything that's happened he can't do this to her as well.
The breaking point comes six months after Marco's death and during these six months Jean manages to fall into the trap he's sworn to avoid and has ended up needing Sasha more than ever; she's the only one who has truly convinced him that life needs to go on. Despite the numbing pain that still tortures him he's returned to work at the Scout Regiment Law Agency, which focuses on defending the innocent without accepting cases by those who aren't as clean as they claim to be. He still meets pitying glances or comforting pats on his shoulder, but work helps immensely: since his friend passed so unfairly and early, at least he can help defending those who deserve it and make sure that those who harmed them receive justice.
Sleeping at Sasha's when he really needs it is natural to him now; she doesn't mind, quite the contrary, saying that it's a nice change to have company in her empty apartment. Thanks to her has he managed to catch up with their friends without losing himself in unpleasant memories; the nights are still difficult, but at least he's active in the mornings, without the feeling that he'll go crazy at any moment. None of the group have forgotten, of course; they've returned to the usual rhythms of their lives, but Marco can never be forgotten.
And one evening, without any warning, he starts talking about Marco. It's one of those quiet, sunny evenings that give him not a sense of joy exactly, but surely contentment. The rest of their friends have just left after having lunch all together—after all who would say no to Sasha's cooking?—and now they're both working while sitting on her bed: Jean's looking through some files Mr. Smith, his boss, sent him and Sasha's thinking about new food recipes for the diner she works at.
"Marco would love to read those files, you know." Jean starts in a sudden and Sasha closes her laptop and puts it aside so she can focus on him, realizing that he has bottled up so many things that he can't handle it anymore. "He always had a tendency to look after the weak and the defenseless…I remember when we were eleven and we went to that trip with our parents for Christmas…he had found that little bird, almost frozen to death outside the inn we were staying. His mom had tried to tell him that there was nothing we could do, but he wouldn't have that; he looked after it, keeping it warm and feeding it until it was well enough to fly and be free…to 'fly with its wings of freedom' like he had said."
Sasha smiles tenderly, almost watching the scene playing in front of her with the eyes of her imagination because that sounds like something Marco would do. She doesn't say anything, though, wanting Jean to finish talking, not wanting to interrupt him now that he's started.
"And then of course I was a permanently defenseless one for him to encourage and keep grounded to reality. No matter how much I tried to push him away when we became teenagers, no matter how rude I was to him, no matter how much I pretended to be an emotionless jerk, he didn't give up, he kept telling me I couldn't fool him, that he knew me too well for that. He always said that I'm strong exactly because I know what it means to be weak, that I shouldn't pretend not to be afraid because that fear was what gave me the courage to become a better person…Goddammit, he was so stubborn in his own way, I used to call him a 'stubborn goody-two-shoes who didn't know when to recognize a lost case'…and he always answered by saying that I was anything but a lost case…Bloody hell, he made me trust everything in him ever since we were kids and now…"
At that point Jean stops talking because his voice is thick with the tears he hasn't shed all these months. Understanding where this is going and a part of her actually relieved that he's finally bursting everything out, Sasha carefully takes his laptop and places it next to hers before hugging him and lying down so that his head rests against the crook of her neck. Overwhelmed by the gentleness and the talking he did, Jean can't hold anything back anymore and he starts sobbing, his shoulders shaking violently, letting go of the pain of losing his childhood friend, sharing the burden with Sasha who's been next to him all this time. Sasha doesn't leave him, she hugs him tightly and runs a hand through his hair, without talking because she knows that right now words are meaningless.
"Why are you sticking with me?" he asks her after hours; night has settled in, but he hasn't left Sasha's hug and the warmth it spreads through him, making the sobs cease. "I-I'm a mess, I'm barely holding up—"
"Because I care, Jean. Of course I care."
Jean raises his head to lock his teary gaze in her determined one, not expecting this confession; the fact that Sasha truly cares for someone as messed up as him catches him off guard. She stares back at him and her expression has no hesitation, no embarrassment, her words were honest and she doesn't regret them.
It's such a weird sensation, what he feels right now as they look at each other; he feels more vulnerable than ever and at the same time he's grateful towards her for everything she's done for him these six months…and he desperately seeks for something else, something to help him forget even for a while, something else to feel beside the pain and the grief. Before he can fully comprehend what's happening, he's already closed the distance between them by kissing her firmly, his one hand cradling the back of her head and his other wrapped around her waist. He's holding her, clinging to her like the life-line she is to him, ignoring the part of him that yells at him that this is wrong, that he has no right to do this. When he realizes, though, that Sasha's kissing him back with the same urgency, her hands grabbing the sleeves of his shirt, something in him snaps and he pulls slightly away, looking guiltily at her and being on the verge of panicking. "God, Sasha, I'm sorry, I'm such an idiot, I don't know what I was thinking…"
"Shhh, don't apologize, no reason for you to be sorry, it's okay," she whispers and they're still so close that he can feel her forming the words. "Stay here, please, don't leave, I'm here for you."
These last words, spoken with all the honesty and the tenderness Sasha has, relaying him the message that she needs this as much as he does, that she needs something to make her forget the pain and the uncertainty, are enough to destroy Jean's already weak resistances. He tightens his grip around her and she does the same as they initiate another kiss, sorrowful and bitter and speaking of their suffering, and they don't let each other go for the rest of the night.
Waking up the next morning is stressful for Jean, who fears how Sasha will react in the light of a new day. She's still in his arms, her head using his shoulder as a pillow and he kisses the top of her head, afraid of what will happen when she will wake. But apparently he has no reason to worry because Sasha only leans in his hug more, her head now on his chest, and mumbles a sleepily "Don't leave"—the same words she said last night that bring a soft smile on Jean's face.
A few moments of bliss won't hurt, he thinks before following her example and falling back asleep.
After that there is a change in their dynamic and both of them can feel it although they don't speak about it, too afraid to ask each other what 'it' means and where it will lead them and with the unspoken agreement that what happened between them was due to extreme despair and feelings of grief that had been torturing them for a long time and exploded—no regrets, but no mentioning it either. Still, there are secret glances towards each other, small and sad smiles and they start noticing things about each other they hadn't paid attention to before. They may not know what point they have reached now, but what they do know is that this whole ordeal has brought them closer.
Jean still visits her and stays over from time to time and talking about Marco and his pain becomes easier and easier, as if he's slowly reaching the stage of acceptance thanks to her. It helps him and brings him a feeling of calmness and content, but something is wrong—not awkward, just wrong. They don't hug each other at nights for comfort anymore—Jean doesn't even think about a repetition of the night he burst everything out, it's a miracle that Sasha hasn't shut him out of her life after that, but he has to admit that even the simple hugs worked wonders on him. On the contrary, they sleep with their backs pressed to each other; they didn't need to talk about it, it just happened, even though both of them secretly hate it.
Jean tries to ignore the way he feels Sasha's shivering from time to time, as if she longs for a hug but is too scared of his reaction to take the risk.
Sasha tries to ignore the way Jean's sleep has become more restless now that there's less proximity between them, although she feels how he spins around sometimes and doesn't dare look at him to see if he's awake or asleep and help him feel better.
Jean senses how Sasha looks at him sometimes; melancholic, afraid, as if she wants to talk about this but gives him space as well. After all, new emotions have awoken and this fear is normal; and Jean suspects that the only reason she's not approaching him is because she doesn't want to confuse him even more. He wants to go to her and speak about everything, but he just can't find the way to do it and he thinks he's in total disarray.
Of course these changes don't go unnoticed by their friends, but most of them don't pressure them or ask them what on earth is going on. One, though, doesn't drop it; of course is Connie concerned about what's happening between them, after all it's about his two best friends.
"You two need to clear whatever this is, mate!" he tells him one day and for one moment Jean is terrified that Sasha has told him something, but Connie quickly puts his fear at ease. "Don't worry, she hasn't told me anything, but I know both of you too well! This is hurting you guys, so why the hell don't you open up about it and be done with it?"
"Because I can't hurt her more!" Jean explains and he's honest; the fear about opening up to someone else only to lose them too has disappeared long ago and now he only has Sasha's wellbeing in mind.
"You know what, Jean, I'm not an expert in such matters, but I think the fact that you're afraid of hurting her is exactly the reason why you'll never hurt her! I don't know if you get it…"
Oh, Jean does get it and he knows that sooner or later things need to clear between them.
If only he knew how…
But, in the end, the idea comes to him unexpectedly, yet the more he thinks about it the more certain he is that this is the best way.
The 104th Diner where Sasha works, which owes his name to its address, Wall Rose Street 104, isn't very crowded and Jean enjoys the soft music coming from the speakers, the few conversations all around, the sight of Krista, Mina and Hannah running around to serve the customers and Sasha standing behind the register machine with her trademark smile. Ymir, who's the one preparing the drinks, stands behind the bar next to her with her usual frown—seriously, this woman needs to learn that working in a diner requires some sort of smile!
When she sees him entering, Sasha beams at him, although Jean can see at once that she's doing her best to appear as happy without actually meaning it—he's learnt her well during these six months. It still stings, but seeing her makes him feel so warm and finally happy as if he's a teenager again and now he's sure that his decision is the right one.
"Hey, Jean, your favorite coffee?"
"Sure…if you think you can guess it," he chuckles and winks at her, trying to give something playful in his voice, like things were before turning confusing.
But when he hears giving Ymir the correct order, exactly likes he wants his coffee to be, that warmth in him increases and now his playful smirk turns into a loving and sweet smile. It's not rocket science, surely everyone in the group knows his coffee preferences, but hearing Sasha saying it without a single mistake and under these circumstances is something else entirely; at school and college they were merely good buddies and here they are now, knowing each other so well.
"Hey, Sash?"
"Yep?"
"Uh…remember when you were talking about moving to a bigger apartment from where you could see the ocean and the sunrise?"
Sasha looks at him with wide eyes as if she can't guess where he's going with that question and even Ymir is staring at him as if she's wondering what the hell he has in mind, but Jean couldn't care less about the latter's presence; he's taken a decision and he's gonna keep it.
"Jean, that happened when we went to college and I moved from my house," she says in the end, raising her eyebrows, but Jean doesn't avoid her small smile, as if she's happy that he still remembers that. "And, anyway, I couldn't afford that back then—"
"Leave that aside, just tell me; is that still a dream of yours?"
"Uh, yeah, it'd be lovely, but—"
"Nope, no buts, here you are!" Jean cuts her off and tosses her a keychain that's decorated with a pair of crossed wings, a blue and a white one. Sasha catches it and runs her fingers over it before looking back at him, her eyes holding confusion and something that reminds him of hope as he quickly elaborates. "Some days ago an apartment in Karanese Street emptied, the pair that lived there moved to Stohess. It's exactly as you like it, the view is amazing and the sunlight just fills every room…So I thought…Well, we can move there whenever we want…if you want, that is," he concluded, because there's the possibility that she won't accept it, that this situation between them is way too confusing.
"Wait, what?! Did you…Did you just say 'we'?" she exclaims and Jean doesn't want to believe it, but the wild joy is clear in her voice despite her attempts to hide it. "Jean, what…what do you—"
"Well, what do you think he means with 'we', you idiot, didn't you learn that pronoun in school?" Ymir rolls her eyes as she interrupts her and leaves the bar to give them privacy and approaches Krista while mumbling something that sounds like "stupid sentimental dorks" and "the Horseface and the Potato Girl a thing, can someone save me from this madness?", but the other two are too lost in their conversation to answer back at her.
"Hey, Sasha, listen, if you don't—"
"Why, Jean? Why do you insist, why do you stick with me?" she wants to know, trusting him with her insecurity; and this question, the same one he asked that night, isn't hard for him to answer.
"Because I love you!"
And it feels so good to say it out loud, so redeeming to finally admit it, that Jean can't stop himself from smiling wider as Sasha returns the smile and tears of happiness dwell in her eyes. She looks around to make sure that no one's watching them—although she has the feeling that Ymir's being discrete only because Krista has made sure that the former's back is facing them, the blonde sending her a warm smile and a thumbs up—before leaning slightly over the bar to minimize the distance between them; a chaste peck that speaks volumes.
"Let's go see it when my shift is over, I can't wait to see that infamous view before we move there!"
"Sounds great."
"And by the way, Jean?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you too."
It's been hard for both of them all this period of time. From high school and college friends they became each other's life-line, eventually becoming necessary for each other. They stuck together when their pain for their friend's loss reached its peak and then they went through that small time of confusion, when they were there for each other but without the comfortable intimacy they had before. But as Jean watches Sasha exiting the diner after her shift, her hair glowing in the afternoon sun and her face lightened by a carefree grin, the keychain in her hand, it feels like all the hardships were worth it.
"Hey," she greets him softly and gives him a brief hug, gentle, because something new has started for them and now they're fully embracing it.
"Hi," he replies, kissing her cheek and ruffling her hair like he used to do when they were teenagers. "Ready?"
"Yeah, lead the way. So, an apartment, eh?" Sasha nudged him tenderly and smiles; she had a million scenarios in her mind, but this is totally unexpected for her; there she was, awaiting a rejection, and the opposite happened. "Well, I guess it won't make a difference, it was like you had moved in my apartment anyway," she jokes and winks at him and Jean bursts into hysterical laughter.
"Don't tell me you're complaining."
"Nah, I got used to it after some time, it was actually quite lonely the days you didn't show up. Don't expect me to be the only one to make breakfast from now on, though, that was the case when you were the one to sleep over and I was the hostess."
"I can live with that."
So, this will be my life from now on, eh? Jean thinks as he throws an arm around Sasha's shoulders and pulls her closer to him. Well, life needs challenges and Potato Girl is the best challenge of all!
A/N: Okay, everyone, another one-shot is finished! Hope you liked it and stay tuned, because more will be up soon :)