Guys. I am so sorry. I don't own Attack on Titan. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was a breezy day, the mildly cold air swirled in and around everything in the area. A boy named Jean Kirstien was outside in the cold weather, still in his uniform from being released from work early. He worked for the Scout Regiment, a group that was devoted to protecting mankind from the titans. The titans were the greatest threat to humans to ever exist. They were huge, human-like creatures that got energy like plants and filled the voids of their non-existent stomachs with people.
Recently, though, the Scout Regiment achieved their goal. Jean didn't listen or care how, though. All he needed to know was that it sacrificed some of the last of his friends. Two people he really cared about had just been taken from him in one day. He may have looked like he was going nowhere, just on a casual stroll around town. The truth was much worse.
His head was pounding from stress, each surge of pain matching up with the steps of his shoes on the cobblestone. As he reached the site, his eyes began to fill with hot, salty tears. 'Why am I still crying?' He was thinking this as he wiped away the traitorous tears that ran down his flushed cheeks. He looked at the tombstones yet again through his blurry vision. He started silently sobbing into his jacket, staining the brown sleeve with the salty water. He was okay with crying, though. He knew he was human that way.
When his vision cleared more, he could read the engravings on the gloomy gray stones. Not that he needed to, he probably memorized them by now. The first one on his left read: Mikasa Ackerman; Humanity's Hero. The other, equally depressing one on the right read: Eren Yeager; Humanity's Titan. Jean didn't like what they said. It made Mikasa sound like some soulless robot that only knew how to fight. Eren's was worse than hers, making him sound like a lab rat for the Regiments. Jean sat in between the tombstones, his legs folded up against his beating chest.
"Jean…Hey, Jean…just breathe…," a voice spoke softly. Jean turned his head towards the source. The anger in his eyes would've been intimidating if there wasn't a coat of stress and sadness covering it. He was less angry when he saw it was only Marco. Not the real Marco, he knew that, but he got used to the hallucinations appearing it was just a part of daily life. He looked around to confirm no one was around to think he was insane; just talking to himself. When he didn't see anyone, he turned back to "Marco". Jean spoke in a scratchy voice, "Why do you always turn up at the wrong time"? The other boy smiled sweetly. He stood up and held out his left hand, practically begging Jean with his eyes to get up. He took his hand, lifting his heavy chest. As soon as Jean stood, he pulled Marco into a giant hug. His arms wrapped around the boy's torso, squeezing him lightly for a long, long time. Marco hugged back about tenfold, happy to be able to hug him again.
And that's when it hit him. Jean pulled away from Marco, his eyes wearing so many emotions it was hard to pick one out of them. He was tearing up again. Luckily, Marco knew how to calm him down. He reached up to the confused boy's cheek, gently kissing him. Even though the kiss was soft, it was filled with a unique passion only they could share. This relaxed Jean a little, as he took more control over the second kiss. He could taste the longing on his lips and in his mouth again after all this time. He didn't care how, though. All he knew was that Marco was alive.
I want you all to know I cried much, much more than you.
