"Hello?"
"Hey."
Jean leaned against the glass dirty wall of the cramped space that was the payphone booth. He glanced around and watched as a few people walked past, but no one really seemed to be paying any attention to him. The voice on the other line seemed to light up, and just the sound of how cheerful the other sounded brought a smile to Jean's face.
"Jean! Where are you calling from? I didn't recognize the caller ID."
"Payphone on the corner where that bakery is. My phone ran out of battery."
He could hear Marco stifle a small laugh and could practically see those brown eyes rolling.
"You know you don't have to call me every day. I think I'll survive one day of you not calling or texting me on your way home from work."
"Heh. Yeah, well you say that but then what would have happened if you hadn't gotten a call, huh? You know you'd be worried. Hell, I'm sure that by the time I got home the FBI would have been doing a full blown investigation or something."
There was that laugh again. Jean lived for that laugh, and it always felt good when he could make Marco smile.
"I think maybe you overestimate how concerned I'd be if you went just one day without calling."
"Maybe. But I think you underestimate how much I just really need to hear your voice."
"And you couldn't wait the fifteen minute walk?"
Jean didn't answer that. There was a silence as Marco waited for some kind of witty or sarcastic response, but Jean didn't have one.
"Jean? You there?"
"Yeah. You wouldn't believe what Jaeger did today."
He could hear the smile return to Marco's face.
"Why don't you tell me about it when you get home?"
"No. I have to tell you this shit like right now. That's how bad it was. I swear, that dick only applied there because he knew I was working there and he just wanted to annoy the fuck out of me."
Marco laughed.
"Or maybe he just needed a job too?"
"No. He's out to get me."
"I really doubt that."
"If you'd have been there, you'd understand."
"Alright. Then tell me what happened."
Several more minutes passed as the two talked. Jean recounted the days shenanigans with Eren, bitched about their boss, and talked about how he'd finally tried that new cafe across the way and how he would take Marco there some time soon. Before he knew it, they'd been talking for almost forty minutes.
"Jean."
"Yeah?"
"You could have been home to tell me all this by now. And aren't you almost out of quarters?"
"Nah. This phone must be busted or something, it never asks for more money which is kind of cool actually."
"How would you know that? Do you use the payphone often? Heh, do you have some secret lover that you don't want me to know about?" He teased, "so you use a payphone so I don't go snooping through the phone bills?"
"Yeah, sure. That's totally it. Nah.. I've used this thing once or twice before. But yeah, you're right; I should get going now. Love you. I'll see you when I get home."
"See you soon."
Jean hung up the phone, his hand lingering on the receiver for a moment. Letting out a heavy sigh, Jean's grip went limp and he let his arm fall down to his side. It took another minute before he finally moved again. Picking up his bag, he walked slowly back home. His footsteps were heavy as he trudged up the stairs to where their small studio apartment was located. He took his time looking for his keys, after all he was in no rush to get inside.
Upon opening the door, he entered the apartment and looked around.
"I'm home."
Just as he expected, he didn't get a response back. He tossed his bag onto the bed and threw himself next to it. He landed with a heavy thud, and as he sank into the mattress, it was as though a heavy weight was laying on top of him and pushing him into the cushion.
It was still relatively early, but he didn't feel particularly hungry. Without bothering to change his clothes or even take his shoes off, Jean closed his eyes and just felt a sudden wave of exhaustion crash over him and drift him off into a restless sleep. It was a warm night, but the spot on next to him felt so cold.
A Month ago
The news of Marco's death had become a recurring nightmare. The words played over and over in Jean's head and haunted his dreams as like some broken record. It was as though every time he fell asleep he was stuck in a loop of getting that phone call and getting to the hospital too late. He'd seen the body. They needed someone to identify it and Jean had been listed as one of Marco's emergency contacts. The accident had been terribly brutal. He had hardly even recognized his boyfriend. Jean wasn't sure if it didn't look like Marco because the body had been missing half his face or if it was because he just couldn't imagine Marco without that shining light and energy in his eyes that he'd always had while alive.
For days Jean didn't leave the apartment. Work had been understanding and he'd gotten some time off to go to the funeral and grieve. But Jean had found that while he couldn't find the motivation to work or even get up, it was also painful to stay home. The apartment had seemed so small when they first moved into it together. There hadn't been enough room for everything and Jean would constantly complain about how tiny it was and how they were gonna get out of there as soon as they saved up the money. But now the studio just seemed much too big. Suddenly there was all this space and silence. The bed that they used to accidentally elbow each other in seemed to stretch out for far too long.
When Jean had finally returned to work a week after the accident he had gotten the barrage of insincere words of comfort and faux sympathy.
"I'm so sorry."
"He's in a better place."
"If you need someone, I'm here for you."
"It's okay to let it out."
The only thing Jean needed to let out was his fist into someone's face.
Even almost two weeks after everything he was still getting calls, texts, and messages from people about how sorry they were. Why should anyone else be sorry? Were they the ones who had crashed the car? Their apologies only made him angry. Every "he's in a better place" made him feel cold and bitter. Marco had once said that he felt happiest in Jean's arms. That if heaven existed, that's where it was. So whatever better place they were talking about probably wasn't where Marco would want to be. "If you need someone, I'm here." The only person that Jean needed was Marco.
He didn't want people's words, comfort, or any moral support. So he'd decided to leave his phone back at the apartment one day. He didn't want another call from someone checking in on him to make sure he was okay. He justed wanted to get to work, get through his shift, and go back home. It was on his way back home on that day that it had happened.
The last few days coming home from work had been the worst walks of his life. He didn't want to go home knowing that he would just be coming back to an empty apartment. Many of Marco's things had still been left untouched. Jean used to call Marco every day on his way home just so they could chat while he walked. Marco would tell Jean about how work had been, Jean would do the same, then they'd discuss what they would make for dinner before just ordering a pizza or chinese.
Jean had to remind himself that he had no one to call anymore. But he couldn't accept that, and old habits died hard. He'd gotten into the habit of just calling Marco's phone anyways and listening to it ring then go to voicemail. But not having his phone on him that day, Jean stopped at the payphone that he had passed a million times on his way home from work every day.
It rang once. Twice. Three ti-
"Hello?"
Jean froze. That voice. It couldn't be.
"Marco?" His voice came out hoarse and just above a whisper.
"Jean? Jean, where are you calling from? Everything okay?"
This was song kind of sick joke. It had to be.
"No. No, you can't be… This isn't happening."
"Jean, what's wrong?"
"This is fucked up! You can't be answering! You're dead!"
There was a pause. The person on the other line was startled by the statement.
"Jean, are you okay? Did you go out drinking with Eren? I can come pick you up if you need me to."
"Fuck you!" Jean hung up and backed away from the phone booth. He felt nauseous and confused. This didn't make sense. Who had answered? It sounded like him, but how could that be? Jean raced home, practically breaking down the door in his attempt to unlock it and get in. The apartment was empty and exactly as Jean had left it that morning. Marco's phone was untouched on the dresser with no new calls in the history. Had he just imagined all of that?Jean sat on the bed, clutching Marco's phone in his hand. He hadn't gotten any sleep that night.
The next day, on his way home from work, he tried calling again from his cell. As usual, it rang then went to voicemail. What was that all about yesterday? As he passed the phone booth he stopped and stared at it for a moment. It was the only thing he'd done differently. Jean stood on the corner for about fifteen minutes, just pacing back and forth and debating whether or not it was worth a shot or if maybe he was just fucking insane and had finally snapped from the loneliness and grief.
Finally, Jean had just decided that he had absolutely nothing to lose. His hands shook as he picked the receiver up and dropped a few quarters into the machine. He dialed the number and held his breath as he listed to it ring.
"Hello?"
Jean felt his breath catch in his throat.
"Hello?" He heard Marco repeat it, just as curious and confused as Jean was.
"Anyone there?"
Jean's vision suddenly began to blur. He felt dizzy and weak. It took all his strength to make any kind of sound.
"M-Marco?"
"Hello? Jean? Is that you?"
"Marco…" The name left Jean's lips as a shaky relieved sigh. "Is that really you?"
"Jean, are you okay? Where are you?"
Jean's head was spinning. He didn't know how to answer or what to say or if this was even actually happening.
"I miss you so much." His voice cracked, and the tears began to openly flow from his eyes. Jean leaned against the wall of the booth, his knees feeling too weak to support him. "I miss you. I missed your voice. I-... I was starting to forget what it sounded like."
"Jean…" The voice on the line sounded so concerned and alarmed, "what's wrong? I'm right here. Did something happen at work?"
Jean didn't answer. He just stood with his back pressed to the glass crying quietly for a moment.
Marco listened to the other. He let Jean cry, sniffle, breathe, and collect his thoughts before Jean finally said something again.
"I thought you were dead. You are dead. I saw it. I've called every day for two weeks and you don't answer. But yesterday…. How are you talking to me right now? Where are you?"
"I-..." Marco didn't know how to answer. To him, it sounded like nonsense and Jean just rambling. "I'm not dead, Jean. I'm fine. Did you fall asleep at work again? Maybe it was just a bad dream you were having. What happened yesterday? It's okay. I'm right here. I'm at home. Why don't you come home and you can tell me about it? Or just tell me where you are and I can come pick you up."
"No." The word came out quicker than he'd meant it to. "No, don't hang up. Just talk to me. Say something. Anything. Tell me about your day, sing a song, read the nutrition facts on a cereal box. Anything. Just keep talking to me for a minute."
"Uh… Okay. Um, well my day was pretty normal. Work was okay. Nothing too exciting happened. Nothing comes to mind anyways. Jean, are you okay? I'm really worried."
"I love you."
"I love you too, but what's going on?"
"I love you. I don't know. I know about as much as you do right now. You said you're at the apartment? Just stay there. I'll see you when I get home."
But when Jean had gotten home it was just an empty apartment. It had taken about six days of the same thing before it became routine. Jean would call using the payphone, Marco would answer, but when Jean came home Marco was still dead.
Some days Marco remembered things they had talked about the day before. Other times Marco didn't remember anything. Certain topics seemed to be forgotten more than others. Every time Jean told Marco that he was dead, it was always news to the freckled man. Any information about the accident or things related seemed to be forgotten the next day. That first week or so Jean's ear was practically glued to the phone. They'd talk for hours and hours. But he couldn't be on the phone all night. So he'd end the call saying "I'll see you when I get home." After every conversation it was the same routine also. The apartment would be empty and there would be reminders that Marco wasn't really there anymore.
Maybe he was just going insane.
Now
Just as he'd done so for weeks now, Jean was on the phone with Marco. It was the same usual chit chat. Started off work related and they'd talk about this or that, make plans for a dinner they weren't going to have together.
"Jean?"
"Huh?"
"You okay? You seem kind of off."
"Yeah, sorry."
"What's on your mind?"
"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you."
"Try me?"
Jean hesitated. They'd been through this countless times already. None of it would even matter tomorrow.
"I'll just tell you about it when I get home."
"You sure? You were the one who was so intent on talking on a dirty payphone for this long. And suddenly you find a topic that can wait till you get home?"
Jean felt the corner of his lip lift into a small smile. There really was no hiding anything from the other.
"Do you think it's possible to talk to the dead?"
"What, like with a ouija board?"
"Yes? No? Not exactly. Like do you think that even after someone has died that there are ways to still talk to them?"
"Is this why you won't just come home? The apartment is haunted now?"
"Shut up and answer the question."
Marco laughed then went quiet as he thought it over for a moment.
"Yeah. I think so. But you're the one who brought it up so you can't call me crazy."
"Heh… Okay. Now do you think that if you had a way to talk to someone who's dead that you even should?"
It took longer for Marco to answer this time.
"I dunno. I mean… I guess it depends? Like I feel some people have unfinished business and things they need to say. So it would be good to hear them out and that way they can finally rest, you know? I guess a dead person, no matter how happy they are in heaven or wherever, they'd love to hear from their loved ones and be able to talk to them again…"
"But?"
"I don't know. As much as I'd love to say goodbye and tell some people I love and miss them, I think they already know."
"Yeah…"
"You okay?"
"Yeah. This thing stinks. I'm gonna get going. I love you. See you when I get home."
"Love you too. See ya soon."
Jean hung up and slung his bag over his shoulder before heading home.
The next day Jean left work but was stopped by Eren before he could get too far.
"Hey Jean. Why don't you come with us to get a couple drinks tonight? Mikasa can give you a ride home after. You haven't hung out with us since…" He cleared his throat, "I mean. I'm real sorry. If you don't want to that's fine, everyone else just sort of misses you. I don't. And you always just go straight home. We thought maybe it'd just be a good idea to invite you and get you out for a couple hours."
Jean pursed his lips, contemplating the offer. He glanced down the street in the direction he knew the phone was then turned back to Eren.
"You know, I think a drink is exactly what I need right now. And yeah, I kinda miss everyone. Everyone except you."
"Well fuck you. Consider the offer revoked."
Jean felt himself begin to smile.
"I just gotta make a call before we go."
"Yeah, sure."
Jean turned and stared down the sidewalk for a moment. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he rubbing his thumb over the quarters he had.
"Actually… I'll just tell them next time I see them. Let's go."