[ A/N ] I know I should be trying to finish (or at least decide what to do with) my other fic, but instead I started writing this Jean/Marco thing. This will probably only be 3 or 4 chapters long, if people like it. I actually have another Shingeki no Kyojin AU planned which will be longer and will feature Jean and Marco as the main characters of it, but it might be a while before I start that (sneak peek, Marco plays ice hockey).
I should just quickly mention that the inspiration for this came from a tumblr post, and I haven't actually read many Jeanmarco things, so if this is really similar to something else out there, I'm sorry.
Also, this is my first time writing in first person :S
I hope you enjoy!
That face. I know that face.
I sighed and looked out the train window, watching the tunnel lights flash past in a glowing strip and thinking of that face. There was something about it, something eerily familiar, although I'm sure I've never seen that person in my life. I thought about the possibilities of him being some sort of celebrity, but the way he was seemingly out in public with his friends was too casual, at least for someone who'd be famous enough to be recognised by someone who has no idea what they're even famous for. Why do I recognise his face? There's a name that goes with that face and it just feels like I should know it, like it's on the tip of my tongue.
The train turns the sharp corner that leads up to my stop, so I drag myself out of my trance and shuffle over to the doors, still racking my brain to try and remember where I could have possibly seen that person before. The fact that I cant stop agonising over remembering makes me think that, who ever this person is, must have had some sort of importance in my life. No, I know that they did. At least, I think I know. The painful, loud screech of the breaks sounds throughout the train as it pulls into the station, doors hissing with relief as they slide open. I step off the train, readjusting my schoolbag over my shoulder as I fish around for my train ticket in my pocket. I line up in the queue of people moving autonomously through the ticket gates, holding my ticket so I'm ready to zip through without holding up the line and breaking this perfectly oiled machine.
The strange thing is, I can picture his smiling face, an expression I'm sure I didn't see as I carelessly ran into him. When I looked up to apologise, he seemed to be staring back at my face with the same confusion, as if he recognised me as well. I wonder if he's thinking about me…
I sigh as I unlock the front door to my home.
"I'm home," I call out, but no one answers. Looking up, I notice that the house is completely dark. I dump my school bag by the door and drop my keys into the front pocket. "Hello?" I squint as my eyes try to adjust to the darkness.
The lights suddenly snap on, and I'm nearly scared to death by the streamers that burst towards me from three directions.
"Happy Birthday!" my family call out. I roll my eyes, smiling stupidly. They do this every year, yet I still manage to think that they've forgotten and convince myself that I'm too old to care about my birthday. My little, three year old, sister runs over and is followed by my parents.
"Marco!" she calls out enthusiastically, slurring the syllables together.
"Polo!" my dad responds. I roll my eyes again. Ever since my sister took to calling me 'Marco', a nickname I'm quite fond of, dad hasn't missed a beat. He's lame like that.
"Daaad," I protest. He walks over and ruffles my hair while my little sister crash tackles my leg, nearly causing me to fall. I'm beaming like an idiot, but I can't begin to describe how happy it makes me just to be around my family. I remember I once told that to my dad and he mentioned something about 'not having great experiences with family in my past life,' which I just brushed off as being some stupid 'dad joke'. The image of that face pops back into my head, and I start thinking about that comment again, wondering if perhaps I knew that person in a past life. Things like that seem trivial, but I honestly don't have any clue as to why I recognised his face as if we should have been best friends.
Mum comes out of the kitchen with a small cake, which was obviously decorated by my sister, and I'm distracted once again from my train of thought. I give her a questioning look as if to say 'cake before dinner, really mum?' but she just smiles.
"Happy birthday Mark!" She places the cake down on the coffee table in our lounge room and begins to light the candles. My sister prances energetically around the room, pointing at the cake.
"Look Marco, I did the pictures all by my self!"
"They're great, Millie." I place my hand on her head and bend down so we're at the same eye level. I smile and raise my eyebrows, "Did you really do them all by yourself?"
"Yep!"
"Really?"
"…" she looks down, "Mumma helped a teensy bit."
I laugh and lift her on to my lap and face the cake with its, now brightly glowing, candles. We pose for the standard birthday photo, and then I tap Millie on the shoulder.
"Will you help me blow the candles out?" I ask her. She nods. "Ok, on three. One…"
"Two," Millie's cheerful voice counts.
"Three!" we say together and blow out the candles. Millie claps and giggles. She stands up and announces her wish,
"I wish for Marco to always be my big brother because he's the bestest brother ever!"
"Ah, Millie! You're not supposed to say your wish outloud!"
I take the small slice of cake that mum hands me and I look over to the clock. A small sigh escapes me as I remember the homework I have to get done tonight. I apologetically excuse myself, grab my school bag and head up to my room. Mum says that dinner will be at seven, so I have more than enough time to finish everything. I probably could have left it to later, but I hate letting my work pile up and I like to get things done. I set my books down on my desk and open up to the page in the text book on calculus first principles. I don't mind maths, but sometimes it's long and repetitive, and even when I understand how to do it, I still have to answer all the questions. First principles is a killer. I've only done about five questions, but I'm starting to fall asleep. I glance sideways, looking at the clock.
"Just five minutes…" I mumble as I allow my head to fall to the table. It's been a long day.
I'm flying through the air and my heart beat is racing. I can hear the loud thundering of giant footsteps behind me, but I don't dare turn around. I can't bring myself to look. I don't think I've ever been this scared in my life. I keep looking around, looking for someone, but I don't see anyone. There is a metallic smell in the air, and I'm pretty sure it's blood. Sure enough, when I look down at myself I'm drenched in it. I notice that in my hands are two blades which are also covered in it. I can hear the footsteps getting closer and closer, and I'm urging myself to keep flying forward. How is it that I'm moving this way? I notice that I'm subconsciously controlling my movement with my hands, but as soon as I make that revelation the 'auto pilot' switch in my brain flicks off and I'm left to my own wits. I'm sure I've pissed myself by now, but I don't even care. I squeeze down on the triggers in my hand, praying to God that the grappling wires connect with something to pull me forward and out of the way of the monster following behind. I can feel it's hot breath on my back now. It probably could have gotten me ages ago if it had used it's hands, but it's trying to catch me with it's mouth. It's just playing with me. In a split decision, I shoot one wire out to the left, hoping to pull myself out to the side to throw him off. Going forward is getting me nowhere. I jerk sideways, but the thing lunges forward and bites down. I black out as I fall to the ground, smashing into a building wall.
When I come to, that face is there. He's looking at me, and his eyes are pained. Is he crying? He walks towards me, shaking his head.
"No… No… Marco?" He kneels down in front of me and places his hand on my left shoulder. "Marco..? Hey, Marco? I'm right here… answer me!" Marco. He's calling me Marco like my sister does. I try to reach out my arm, but it doesn't move. It's not even there… I didn't make it in time. I need to let him know that I'm fine. I'm right here! I try to speak, or to move, but I can't. Jean… His name is Jean. I remember now. How could I have forgotten? Jean, don't cry. I'm fine, just… please… stop… crying…
"You can't be gone… We were going to join the Military Police… Marco…"
Reality came crashing down like a tonne of bricks. I'm nothing more than a fading consciousness. As I begin to realise this, it feels like I'm being drawn further and further away from him. He stands up and wipes the tears falling from his eyes with the back of his hand. The sadness in his eyes suddenly replaced with a vengeful fire. He salutes, and I notice that he's wearing the same thing I am… was?
"I won't forget you," he says before he's joined by another soldier. I smile inwardly. I won't forget you either.
I shoot upright in my chair, having a mini heart attack as it tips backwards before I'm able to adjust my weight to stop it from falling. My face is wet and my eyes feel puffy. I realise that I've been crying. I look over to the clock again: 6:55pm. Small segments of my dream are played back in my mind, but not the entire thing. Such an odd dream… The thing that shook me up was that the dream had felt so real. But I guess all dreams feel real while you're in them…
I get up from my desk and wipe off my eyes, I don't want my parents to be worried over nothing. I dismiss the dream as a weird reaction to having sweets at this time of day and head down stairs for dinner. When I walk into the kitchen, my mum points out that I'm limping. Come to think of it, the right side of my body feels kinda numb and weird for an unexplained reason. I inform her of this and she, as usual, freaks out. She's a doctor, a paranoid one at that, and begins checking me for signs of 'premature stroke'. I reassure her, by telling her it was probably because I'd fallen asleep at my desk, and she stops fussing.
We're having jacket potatoes for dinner tonight, which is unfortunate because I've never really liked potatoes that much. I hope my reaction isn't too obvious when the steaming, stuffed potato is placed in front of me, but my dad picked up on it.
"I guess you must've eaten too many potatoes in your past life, and now you're sick of them," he remarks with his, more common than not, 'dad joke' tone. I roll my eyes again and sigh. He's obsessing over this whole past life thing. Either that, or he was just parodying himself and his previous remark. It gets me thinking though, about the dream and everything else. Could it have been, not a weird dream, but a memory? In that case, was it normal to have memories of your past life? It just seems… impossible… implausible.
"Mark? Mark. Hey, Mark!" I realise I'd zoned out and turn my attention back to my dad.
"Ah, sorry. Yeah?"
"I forgot to tell you, this letter came in the mail today." He slides a letter across the dining table and I pick it up, expecting it to be birthday wishes from a family member, but I realising it wasn't when noticed my school's logo printed on the envelope. I look at my parents dubiously,
"I haven't done anything.. wrong have I?"
My dad starts laughing, "No, nothing like that. It's just a reminder about career interviews and university selection. Have you been thinking about what you want to do with your future?"
"I'm want to join the Military Police," I state as if it's a default answer I'd given so many times I didn't even need to think about it. My parents stare at me, blinking with confusion. I realise that, I too, had no clue as to why I'd said what I'd said. I put my hand to my mouth and furrowed my brows, staring at my other hand which lay on the table.
"I- I have no idea why I just said that…" I admit, and my parents exchange concerned glances. We sat in a brief silence before my sister spoke.
"If Marco's joining the milohary police then I'm joining the milohary police."
"Military," my mum corrects, "but Mark isn't joining the military police because there isn't a 'military police'…" she looks back at me, her eyes possessing clear concern for my sanity, as well as a little annoyance for encouraging my sister to think of joining something which sounded dangerous. I mouth an apology to her and quickly finish my dinner, not giving them the opportunity to question me further on the subject. I excused myself when I finished on the basis of wanting to get an early night.
My bed croaks under the sudden weight as I fall forwards onto it, landing on my face. I roll over and cover my face with a pillow, hugging onto it with my arms. I think about the dream and about my odd slip of tongue in the kitchen. I remember that person, and suddenly I recall him mentioning Military Police in the dream, I just can't remember the context it was mentioned in. Maybe it was just the dream that subconsciously caused me to say that I wanted to join the Military Police, but it felt like more than that. I don't know why, but when I said it, I really had wanted to join. My thoughts stir back to the person from the train station. His name… what was his name again? I remember hearing it in the dream… Jean! His name was Jean… is Jean? He was calling me Marco, like my sister does. I have always liked the fact that my sister called me that.. could it have anything to do with…
I let out an exasperated sigh. I'm probably just reading in to this too much. Coincidences happen all the time and I probably only saw him in the dream because I was thinking about his face all afternoon. That would make sense. The right side of my body starts to tingle again, so I roll over onto it and flick off my bedside light. I don't bother to change into my pyjamas.
Jean...
[ A/N ] So... should I continue? The next chapter will be from Jean's perspective.
I love reviews, so don't hold back. Even if you want to offer constructive criticism. Honestly, I think the tense I wrote in was weird, and might have fluctuated... so yeah, let me know if you find mistakes.
Thanks for reading!
(Oh, and if you're wondering why I've rated it 'T' there'll probably be course language in future chapters.)
