i was certain
this would never end.
i swear i thought
i knew you.
Years had passed since he lost him.
Now, the event felt like it was both yesterday, and a milennia ago. Although he knew the clock that was his life had begun ticking steadily toward his demise ever since he took up arms against the titans, somehow the days, weeks, months had all blurred together into a haze of terror and adrenaline and a dull, aching pain.
He never could quite sleep properly.
Years had passed since he lost him.
Each night the space beside him on the bed felt a little colder, a little emptier.
He couldn't say the exact moment he realised what had happened, but once he did take notice, the realisation hit him like a wave.
Maybe it was that one night he confronted what he had been trying to push away the entire time. That night when, lost in an uneasy half-dreaming state, he tried to picture Marco's face.
Years had passed since he lose him. In reality, he had never truly lost him until now.
I can't see his face.
He knew Marco's face had been strong and kind and beautiful, but the harder he tried to recall him the more blurred the image became, until it morphed into darkness. Under the cover of night he tensed, fear suddenly snaking into his veins.
Then it was the feel of his hands.
On his shoulder, on his back, fingers intertwined with his, a pressure sometimes filled with loving comfort or wild passion. It all faded away until he was left desperately trying to convince himself he knew the sensation was still there.
The feeling of Marco's warm, welcoming embrace had long since slipped into the abyss of lost memories. The imprint of his strong arms was like a ghost's touch on his body, a touch that disappeared as quickly as a dream. Jean sat up on the bed, his fingers clawing viciously into his hair as he tried to cling on to the threads of Marco, hang on by the memories of his heartbeats.
Marco's eyes...why couldn't he see his eyes?
Jean's own flew open and his gaze strained through the the darkness as if trying to see through door of his room, through the city, through the Walls themselves. Panic seized hold of him, strangling him in its grasp.
He couldn't remember Marco's voice. His laugh. His smile. He couldn't...He couldn't...The breath was knocked out of him; he couldn't recall the secrets they shared, the kisses they stole, the confessions they made, Marco's whispers, Marco's lips, Marco's heartbeat thudding next to his ear as they fell asleep in a tangle of limbs, steady and strong and alive and there.
He took a gasping, shuddering breath and felt hot tears coursing down his face. Marco, come back—he stretched a hand out blindly in front of him. "Marco, Marco!"
The choking cry had him pressing his hands to his face, the tears seeping between his fingers and dripping onto the bedsheets.
No, please, no.
It was so cold.
A/N: I dunno? Hope you liked it. Eh. Sad JeanMarco is sad. Thank you tumblr for making me think of this.