"104th Cadet Corps…Squad 19 Leader…Marco Bott." I manage to say, fighting to speak between haggard breaths. The white haired woman who has been pressing me mutters something in response, but I've tuned her out. In fact, the entire world is tuned out right now as I stare down at what's left of Marco's body.

His face…the half that remains is distorted with the beginnings of rot. I'm rendered immobile at the sight of his eye, still peeking out at the world, wide and curious just like it always had been. He would always look at me with those wide eyes, asking me what I thought, or how I was feeling, or what I needed. No doubt, Marco was the best of us. He was the best of me.

I can hear the irritating woman's footsteps as she leaves me alone. I don't give a crap if there is no time to mourn. It's Marco…God, I didn't even know he died. Nobody knows how he died. Although from his missing right side one could guess what happened. I shut my eyes at the gory thought.

Where was I when this happened? I think back to when I was most certainly facing my death, clumsily struggling to get the three-dimensional maneuver gear off of a dead body, a titan stepping lazily toward me, hand about to reach for me. If Marco hadn't rushed down to save me…I would be dead. If only I could have been there when he was in danger as well. Tears finally spring up in my unfocused eyes.

Kneeling down in front of him, I take off my right glove and raise a hand, letting it settle on his cheek. I don't care if I could get sick, and I don't care that he's already cold and hard by now. I have to feel him at least one more time. His skin feels nothing like it did before, but it's still his. I think back to all the times I've touched him, feeling his warm, soft, freckle-littered body. Gritting my teeth, I let the memories roll over me heavily, one by one. They're crushing me, their weight forcing my head down until I'm staring at his limp hand, palm facing up as it lies motionlessly on the cobblestone.

It's over, everything I hoped for. Marco Bott was the only person capable of taking my hard soul and making it care about someone else. What's left for me now? How can I go on without him?

The thought of going back to my old dream of solitarily going to the military police makes me sick now, or maybe it's the smell of rotting bodies surrounding me. Marco's scent comes to mind, that sweet, implacable scent that wafted into my nose every time I was around him. Countless times I buried my nose into his shoulder or chest, trying to figure out what it was. The only reasonable conclusion I ever came up with was wet trees. It sounded so stupid, and he laughed when I told him, but he always reminded me of the fresh scent that fills the air when it rains in the forest.

I lean down, pulling the cloth on my face down enough to expose my nose. Momentarily I press my nose into his jacket on the left side of his chest. All I can smell is blood, soot, and rotting flesh. Disappointed, I sit back up, replacing the cloth on my face. I was hoping for one more whiff of him, but I'll just have to rely on the memory.

I smile sadly, thinking back to the first time I met him. Then I think about all the events that led up to us confessing our feelings to each other. I remember our first kiss…and our first time. I remember the sound of his voice and the feeling of his hair that, to his disdain, I could never help but mess with. Everything is rushing at me so fast, and I stay there, thinking about him for who knows how long. These memories are all I have now, and if I'm going to keep Marco in my heart, I can't let them go.