When Jean saw Marco's body, he didn't know how to react. He just stood there, staring at the what remained of his body. There was a huge chunk of him missing, from the bottom of his torso to the top of his head, and it was all on the left side. What remained of his face was dotted with his trademark freckles, if you focused just on that portion of his face, he would seem so alive. But if you looked everywhere else, it was certain he was dead. His eyes were deadpan, his mouth opened and frozen in an expression that emphasized his lack of life.
"What's his name?"
Jean looked behind him, shocked at the sudden question. A lady holding a clipboard was stationed behind him, staring at him as if all that was happening around him was not. She tapped her clipboard impatiently, and repeated her question. "What is his name?"
Her voice was cold, empty. She sounded as if all these corpses weren't bothering her at all, but Jean couldn't blame her. It was obvious that death was something she was accustomed to, she had no room to pity the dead anymore.
"Marco Bodt, 104th Trainees Squad," Jean said.
She scribbled it down, muttering something around the lines of a "thank you", while walking away. He watched her move away, and he watched her assault another grieving soldier. Orange hair and freckles, it was definitely Hannah crying over the dead body of Franz. She looked up at the lady, and it was almost just like Jean's encounter with her. Only, the silence that accompanied Jean was replaced by tragic sobs in Hannah's case.
Jean looked back at Marco, and he sat beside him. Jean reached for Marco's hand, it was cold and limp. Jean closed his eyes, he knew he would have to face the cold reality, that Marco was gone, but he wanted to escape the painful truth, even if it was just for a little while.
...
Jean opened his eyes, a different scenery beholding around him. It was no longer the wrecked buildings surroudning him, nor was he sitting on the stone pavement of Trost. He was in a simple room, lying on a bed. A nightmare, he thought to himself.
He looked towards the floor beside the bed, finding two pairs of jackets, two pairs of shirts, two pairs of pants and more discarded messily on the floor. He noticed the jackets had the logos of the Military Police branded onto them, and above that, wondered why there were two of everything on the floor.
Jean's question was answeredwhen he felt something grab his arm, and he turned over in the bed and saw Marco was lying beside him looking concerned. "You were talking in your sleep and rustling around a lot. You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine. It was just a nightmare, nothing special," Jean said. He reached over and hugged the freckled boy beside him, pulling him into a kiss.
Marco giggled into the kiss. "Pretty excited, aren't we? Wasn't last night more than enough for you?"
Jean blushed violently at Marco's comment, stuttering while saying "M-marco!"
The older boy laughed at Jean's embarrassment, and snuggled up to him. "So, about that nightmare, do you wanna talk about it?"
Jean sighed. "Yeah. I wouldn't mind," he said, while falling back into his boyfriend. Boyfriend, he thought. Yeah, that was something he could definitely get used to saying about Marco. A real, whole, living, Marco, that wasn't just a beautiful lie with a cruel reality hidden under it. Something he knew would last forever, an ideal truth.
