It's so frustratingly white. The bed, the chair, the walls – even he has become white from being shut up in here for so long, the sun-soaked tan he had once sported leaching away, swallowed into the emptiness of this depressingly blank room. White bedstead blurs into whitewashed wall, white slippers blur into the white floor. Even his damn bodysuit, covering him from neck to toe, is devoid of colour. If he squints, he can almost pretend nothing exists in the room.
He's even forgotten what he used to look like. There's no mirror for him to look into; nothing to distract himself from this endlessly silent white void.
Except Gray.
Jellal flicks his gaze to the other, perched on the end of the bed, drinking him in thoroughly. Jet-black hair, navy blue eyes, his blue jeans and red shirt, the ink-blue stamp on his breast – he memorises each plane and angle of Gray's face, scared he'll forget the colour if he looks away even for a second.
"What, do I have something on my face?" Gray asks laughingly, and Jellal, still unwilling to shift his gaze, shakes his head slowly.
"No, you're the only thing in this room it doesn't hurt my eyes to look at." he replies.
Gray smiles. "Okay." He gets up, walks over. Sits down next to Jellal. "Are you still worried about her visit?"
"Of course. No matter what I say, she just doesn't understand. I'm fine; why are we still here? And if I'm the problem, why are you locked up with me?"
"Erza is trying, you know," Gray says, ignoring Jellal's questions. "She's doing her best. She cares for you, Jellal," he adds, covering Jellal's palm with his own callused one. Jellal wraps his fingers around it like it's a lifeline, the last thing he has to cling onto.
"If she really did, she'd get it." he says quietly, looking down and feeling guilty instantly. Erza cares about him more than anyone; she's been the kindest here. Obliging all his little requests, doing her best to make him feel comfortable. Except when it came to Gray – because no one would oblige him when it came to Gray. Not even Natsu, who loved him almost as much as Jellal does.
Gray blows out a breath. "Don't worry. I'm here with you. Even if no one else is here, I am."
"I know that," is all Jellal replies. He's getting even more anxious – it's time for her visit. Erza is the only person he trusts here; but she's also the one that always leaves him in the worst of moods.
Three… two… one…
The door clangs open right on time, and a beautiful woman with scarlet hair strides in. She's wearing plum-coloured pants and a lavender silk blouse – Jellal appreciates the colour. He'd asked her to wear purple time, seeing as Gray only ever wore the same thing (to be fair, they were in a cell; it wasn't exactly easy to get a change of clothes) and she'd obliged. Like always.
"Hey," she says, sitting down on his other side. Jellal shifts to allow her more room, and she settles herself comfortably on the bed. "How are you doing today?"
"Not too good," he answers softly. "It's starting to get to me again. Cooped up in this room; it's depressing. I'm sick of it."
"Should I come more often?" she asks worriedly. "I hate that you're not allowed any colour in here,"
"And take time out of your already packed schedule?" He laughs. Erza has always been an over-achiever. Gratitude fills Jellal's heart suddenly, a rush of gratefulness for how much Erza does for him. "I can stick it out, okay? Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." he assuages her.
As long as Gray is here, and Gray isn't going anywhere, are the unspoken words.
Erza hums and takes his hand, looking sadly at him. "I'm sorry. I wish I could do something. It's not good for you to be all alone like this; I wish there was a better way."
As soon as the gratitude came, it is gone, replaced by a wave of outrage. Jellal's hands curl into fists. This – this is the part of them all that hits so hard. Are they all blind?! Do they not see the boy sitting on the edge of the bed, listening quietly to everything they say and occasionally putting in sarcastic responses?
"I'm not alone," he says defiantly, pulling his hand away from Erza's. "I have Gray."
"Jellal," Erza says, and her tone is anguished. Like always, when Gray inevitably comes up. "I – Gray – Gray isn't here,"
"How do you not see him?!" Jellal shouts. "He's right there!"
And he flings out a hand to point at Gray, who stands up and waves sheepishly at Erza. "Hi,"
But Erza just gazes at him desperately, tears gathering in her eyes. "Jellal… there's nothing there."
"What do you mean there's nothing?! There's a whole damn person there! Gray's wearing a red shirt and blue jeans, and he's got his necklace, and his tattoo-" He stops abruptly when he sees Erza shaking her head, wiping away the salty water that's flowing from her eyes.
"I shouldn't have come," she whispers. "I should have known, it's always the same. It'll never change."
And she leaves just as suddenly as she came in, nearly running to the door, throwing it open, and rushing out crying.
"YOU'RE THE ONE THAT DESERVES TO BE IN AN ASYLUM IF YOU CAN'T SEE SOMEONE RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!" Jellal shouts after her, losing it completely.
They don't understand – none of them get it. They think he's alone; they think that the atmosphere has him so desperately in need of companionship that he's made someone up.
But Gray isn't a hallucination. Gray is real, realer than anything and anybody in this place. Erza and he have known Gray since they were five, for crying out loud.
If he were so real, why does he wear the same thing every day? You're given fresh whites; wouldn't he be given a new shirt at least? asks a nasty little voice in his brain.
Jellal freezes.
"What?" he says aloud, unable to believe himself. Voices in his head? This is a sure sign he's going mad.
Think about it, continues the voice. What did you do on Gray's twenty-fourth birthday?
That had been a week before he'd been put in here. Jellal frowns, but finds himself compelled to obey the instructions. Memories rise to the surface, assaulting his brain, and he cries out loud, falling to the floor.
With a pleasant buzz in my head from the drinks I've had tonight, I chase after Gray, who's weaving through the crowds with incredible speed and beckoning me to follow. The birthday boy, escaping from his own party? Well, it's only natural. Gray has always been popular, but he hates the attention.
I follow him out of the house and behind it, to the cliffside Gray so loves. He's sitting down, swinging his blue-denim-clad legs. Somehow, he's managed to keep on the red shirt I helped him pick out for the party.
Red is a good colour on him. Brings out his olive tan perfectly.
I squat beside him and take his hand.
"You might fall," I tease. I know he won't – he's careful.
"I might die," he teases back. "Will you cry at my funeral?"
I pretend to think. "Hmm…"
Gray gives me a hurt look. "I'm your boyfriend. You're supposed to be weeping over my coffin, you know?"
I snort. "I'm not weeping over anyone's coffins. If you die, I get all your hoodies, and if you don't, I can steal them off you. So, it's a win-win situation."
"No, it's not. If I'm alive, you have me and the hoodies. If I'm dead, it's just the hoodies. I'm a definite plus!" he argues.
"An emotionally constipated jerk is a definite plus? I think not," I say jokingly.
Gray gives me a flat look, and we both burst out laughing. After a few minutes, our giggles subside, but we both still have dopey smiles on our faces.
He turns his head to the sea then, looking out over the miles and miles of it, starlight dancing off the shifting waves.
"Jellal, if I die before my time…" he says suddenly, tone completely serious.
I frown. "Shut up. Nothing like that is going to happen."
Gray places his hand behind him, using it as a support, and leans back, putting his weight on it.
What he and I both don't see is that he's got his palm on a loose rock.
His hand slips, and he loses his balance, tumbling forwards in a graceful arc. I scramble to help him, to do something –
Jellal screams out loud, a blinding pain shooting through his head. His vision starts to swim, and he clutches his head, turning this way and that. Looking for Gray.
The boy is nowhere to be found.
Terror races up Jellal's spine.
Gray, Gray, have you left me? You promised – you promised – please! Don't leave me!
The last thing he sees before he blacks out is the sterile, empty room.
Erza looks at Jellal, lying prone and limp in the hospital bed, and looks back up at Lisanna. Mirajane, standing next to her, squeezes her hand reassuringly.
"He's going to be all right," says Lisanna, blue eyes sombre. Erza can hardly believe this is the same girl who cried when she saw even a scrape on someone's knee. "But I don't know how long he's going to be in this coma. He'll wake up for sure, but it could take a few days, months… maybe even years. There may also be memory loss. You might have to reconcile with the fact that he may not be the same Jellal you knew and loved."
Erza swallows, throat dry. She expected this; it's the natural response. Even a doctor of Lisanna's calibre can't tell the exact reason that Jellal fell into this coma until he comes out of it.
"He hasn't been that Jellal for three years," she says truthfully. "I think I'll be able to manage." A wet laugh escapes her throat, and she realises she's crying. Tears stream down her face like rivers. She hastily paws at them, the world blurry through her watery eyes. "I wish it was different, but this is what it is. So… I'll just… get on like I have been," she sobs shakily.
God, she hates how weak she sounds. How utterly unable to comprehend – and deal with – this situation she is.
Mira wipes away each tear gently and says to Erza, "We should go. Sleep on it; it'll hit less hard once you've had some time. Think about it in the morning."
Erza nods. It's the most sensible thing to do – you can always count on Mirajane Strauss to keep her head in emotionally stressful situations and provide a solution.
Still, before she leaves, she has one request to make.
"He used to tell me how much he hated that room of his, that it was so white, like bleach. That Gray and I were his only bits of colour in there." The memory of Gray brings a painful lump to her throat, but she soldiers on. "I – when he wakes up, I want the first thing he sees not to be white. It's the least I can do. Could you get him a blue bedspread and red pillows? Like – like the colour of Gray's eyes, and the colour he so loved to see him wear. You know." Her breath runs out just as she finishes speaking, and there seems to be a block in her chest that would prevent her from saying more even if she wanted to.
Lisanna nods gravely. She does know – she was always close with Gray, being the only other bisexual person in the group and thus a suitable rant partner. Even Mirajane didn't know half the things about Lisanna's preferences that Gray had.
Erza suddenly recalls that they both used to own T-shirts which said 'Bisaster'. She wonders if Lisanna still looks at it sometime, still takes it out and thinks of all the times she'd had with Gray.
"I can make an exception. Jellal is… a special case." Lisanna looks at Jellal, smiles sadly. "I'm so sorry, Erza. But he'll come back to you. Don't worry."
Her white coat shifts, and Erza catches a glimpse of the purple collar underneath her scrubs.
So, she's wearing it. Figures. That's such a Lisanna move – never one to live in the past, just wear it with pride and keep going like she always has, allowing those memories to give her strength in hard times.
"Thanks, Lis," Mirajane replies for Erza, who is still unable to speak.
Erza reaches down to brush blue strands of hair out of Jellal's face. It always bothered her when his hair was messy, but he never really cared. His tattoo, for once, flows smoothly down the right side of his face, undisturbed by crinkles of laughter or tears of sadness.
She places a kiss on his forehead and sends a silent prayer to the gods Jellal loved so to heal her best friend. To heal his broken heart; to fix his broken mind; to soothe his broken soul.
Mirajane hugs her sister and whispers, "You're amazing, Lis. Thank you,"
But Lisanna simply shakes her head.
"I haven't done anything yet," she says. "Thank me when he wakes up and we find out why he went into a coma."
Erza straightens up, dusts her raggedy jeans off. Shakes Lisanna's hand and looks her in the eye when she says, "I want to be the first to know. Take your time to get him rehabilitated or whatever, but I need to know. And, call me when – if," she quickly corrects, "he's ready to see me.. Me first, okay? You know the situation with his parents."
Jellal's father had given exactly zero fucks about him when he was younger, and his mother passed recently from cancer. Erza is the one that patched up his cuts from playing rough and sat with him at lunch when no one else would. She is the one that's seen him grow, seen him grow and live and love. She deserves to know before anyone else.
She and Gray, if he were still here to know.
Lisanna nods, eyes firm. None of that childish glint in them that always used to shine bright. None of the fear and worry and self-doubt. She no longer stands in her sister's shadow like she did as a child, and it shows.
Erza looks down at the fine-boned boy in the bed, prone and limp. He lies as still as a porcelain doll, eyes shut as if he were merely asleep.
No, not a boy.
But a man.
Erza realises, then, what she's been ignoring when it comes to Jellal.
None of them are children anymore. Not her, not Natsu, not Mira, not Lisanna, not Meredy, not Ultear – and not Jellal. They've grown up, matured. Ready to take their own decisions, to live their own lives, and she's known that for a very long time.
She hadn't wanted to believe it about Jellal – had wanted to think he was still the little boy who needed her to pull him out of this slump. Because he remains stuck in the past, living an impossible dream as the child he used to be. Building the world that he so desperately wants rather than existing in the world that is.
But he's grown up now. He's old enough to choose his own way.
Erza cannot do anything anymore. It is up to Jellal to get better, to set himself on the path of recovery. She'd believed it was her job – but it wasn't. Never was, never will be. It's time to let go.
She's done enough.
So Erza hugs Lisanna, tells her to give Juvia her best. She takes Mira's hand and strides out of the hospital, back straight and chin high.
When she thinks about Jellal, there isn't that heavy worry anymore. Only a wistfulness and a bittersweet taste of the golden summers of their youth that will never come again. Hope and joy and the slightly painful knowledge that things will never be the same.
But change is what keeps life interesting, she decides. And the pain goes away, just like that.
Jellal will wake up, and he will be all right. And if he's not stable, then she can help him be. But she's not going to force it anymore.
When she looks down at the ring on her finger and its twin on Mira's hand, she can finally allow herself to feel fully the rush of giddiness that creeps up her spine, free of regrets, of the Jellal-related guilt that had always accompanied thoughts of marriage – how can I get married when he's like this, it's my responsibility to look after him, it's my responsibility to make him better.
Responsible has been the word that defined Erza for so long.
Maybe it's time for a change.
And on an impulse, as they walk home, she points out the first bridal store she sees and asks, "Do you want to take a look?"
The expression on Mira's face is a thousand suns, a thousand worlds, a thousand joys. Erza feels the weight she'd never known was there fall off her shoulders, and suddenly she feels like she's flying.
"Yes," Mirajane breathes, and they cross the street together, giggling like schoolgirls as Erza squeezes Mira's hand as if it's a lifeline.
Things aren't perfect; but life isn't perfect. You have to take the joys you get with a smile. And that's what Erza will do.
She'll take this joy, this joy of a wedding to Mirajane Strauss, and she will celebrate it. And of course she wishes her best friends could be there, but she will not be sad if they can't.
After all, marriages are occasions of happiness. What's the point in being sad when you're planning one?
One month later
The heart monitor by the side of the bed starts to speed up. Little by little, till it's almost at the heart rate of a conscious person.
The boy in the bed lies still, blue hair splayed messily over the bright red pillow, navy covers crumpled.
His honey-brown eyes flutter open slowly. They widen as they take in the surroundings, the IV plugged into his arm, the heart monitor at his side.
Fear and confusion take control, and he screams.
The nurses rush into the room, assuaging him, persuading him that 'everything will be fine' and 'we'll get Doctor Lisanna'.
He calms a little at the familiar name. Lisanna – yes, she's a doctor now, isn't she?
Lisanna comes in, calm and collected – nothing like the harried, nervous girl who was always overshadowed by her older and much more sport-inclined siblings, whose brains turned out to be her greatest asset as she managed to graduate alongside her brother, a full year early, and join the most reputed medical college in the country. Jellal blinks, reconciling the image of then-Lisanna to now-Lisanna as he always has to do when he meets her, despite it having been years since she was a shy little girl hiding behind her sister's skirts.
Not that she could hide that well. Mirajane's goth miniskirts weren't very good for hiding behind, despite how good the oldest Strauss sibling looked in them.
"Jellal," Lisanna says with a smile. "How are you doing?"
"Why am I here?" he croaks, voice raspy from disuse. "What's – going on?" He notices absently that the covers are dark blue, and the pillows are red, unlike standard issue hospital rooms. Must have been Erza; she knows how much he hates a total lack of colour.
Lisanna sighs. "It's… a long story. You went into a coma, and the details are a little more than grisly."
Jellal chokes on a self-deprecating chuckle, throat dryer than a desert in summertime. "Well, I'm clearly not going anywhere," he wheezes. Lisanna uncaps a water bottle and hands it to him quickly.
Jellal takes a long drink, allowing the water to freshen the three-week-old taste in his mouth. Or has it been more? How long has he been out? Gray would be so worried -
Oh, God.
Gray.
It all comes crashing down like a wave. Gray tumbling off the cliffside like he was a rock falling into the void. Mouthing 'I love you' as he fell. Slamming headfirst into the huge, jagged stones that constituted the upper half of the beach. Jellal, racing down the pathway to the beach, running over to Gray's body, limp as a rag doll. Lifting it up only to recoil in horror.
Gray's face had been streaked with crimson, the flow coming from his temple. Jellal had half-expected his skull to look like it had been smashed in with the impact and all, but the wound was in the back of his head. There had been so much blood – could there actually be that much in the human body? Jellal hadn't been able to stand it. He'd turned around and thrown up.
That's how Erza had found him – curled up in a pool of his own vomit, staring up at the night sky he so loved with empty eyes, Gray's dead body hugged close to his chest. Blood on both their shirts, smeared liberally all over both their faces – Gray from the wound he'd suffered, Jellal from kissing his face again and again, begging him to come back; screaming with tears and blood streaming down his cheeks like he was in some sort of cheap horror-romance movie; then falling silent, swaying sideways into the ex-contents of his stomach, completely devoid of any feeling except empty, empty, empty.
The days after Gray's death play in his head like a scene from an old-timey film; the funeral which Jellal had attended and stood at like a statue, barely able to get out a single word, even though he had a speech written by Erza in his hand. Spending all his time at home, lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling Gray had painted to look like the sky with empty eyes. He hadn't had the energy to cry, to frown, to scream – so broken had he been. He hadn't eaten, hadn't slept. Erza hadn't forced him to go to school; his mother hadn't either. He'd been lifeless, limp – just like Gray's body had been.
And after that – after that –
Jellal struggles to remember, the wave having abated suddenly, vanished into nowhere. But it's a huge blank. Nothing can fill that space – his next memory is here, now. In this hospital, with Lisanna. It feels wrong, almost, like something should be there, but nothing is. It's just empty.
He connects the dots immediately.
"I went into a coma after Gray died, didn't I," he says listlessly.
Lisanna frowns but does not answer. Jellal can see in those blue eyes that she's clearly thinking hard.
"Jellal," she says eventually, taking his hand. "That's… not something I think we should discuss right now. I'm not the right person to tell you. But – but you seem really mentally stable," she adds, eyes brightening with some of that familiar 'Lisanna spark'. "And that's amazing."
"Not the right person?" Jellal repeats, confused. "Mentally stable?"
Lisanna swallows, Adam's apple bobbing. "I – you should see Erza. Do you want to?" she asks quickly, not wanting to force him into it. "It's totally okay if you want to – I don't know, get used to the world again, or something? Just… get comfortable again before meeting her?"
Jellal shakes his head, a little amused. Without Erza, there is no world. She's his best friend, his definition of comfortable. She's one of the two constants in his life.
Now the only one, he reminds himself. Gray is gone, dead. No longer to return.
It brings a sting of loss with it, as is natural. But the pit of emptiness he expects doesn't appear. The dull refusal to accept that Gray is dead doesn't appear.
It's as if he's finally moved on, in a sense.
There can never be a real moving on, not from Gray, who was his first – and possibly only – love. But maybe there can be an acceptance, an understanding of the fact that Gray isn't here anymore, and possibly a whole life to be lived, just like Gray would want him to.
"I want to see her." he says firmly.
Lisanna smiles a little. "I knew you would."
She dials Erza and tells her to rush to the hospital as fast as she can. Jellal doesn't hear the reply on the other end of the line, but he knows it will be short and urgent in that Erza way of hers.
He smiles and allows Lisanna to help him sit up; his muscles are still a little weak from lying still for… how long now?
He voices his thoughts, and Lisanna says, "One month."
"What day is it?"
Lisanna smiles sadly. "This might shock you, but… it's the twenty-first of December, 2017."
Jellal gawks at her in complete bewilderment. The part of his brain that has always been ruthlessly calm even in the worst of situations does the math quickly – and it doesn't add up. Not in the least.
"But – but that can't be. I remember up to a month after Gray died, and I then presumably went into a coma, didn't I?" he says aloud. "Gray passed on his birthday. The twenty-sixth of December, 2016. The last day I clearly remember is the fifth of February this year, because it was Erza's birthday and Ultear tried to coerce me into going to her house, at least. I just… couldn't move. The dates blurred for about a week after that, and then it's just… blank. Until now. It should be, what, the thirteenth of March if I went into the coma after he passed."
Lisanna nods. "That's correct."
"But it's December, you're saying. Five days before his birthday. It's – how is it a year?! I was only out for a month, right?!"
Lisanna nods again.
A cold feeling creeps up Jellal's spine. "Unless… unless… I lost my memories. Of a good nine to ten months."
"It's natural. You weren't exactly very mentally stable during that time," comes a new voice from the door.
Jellal looks up to see a new figure, with long, scarlet hair, twinkling brown eyes and muscles that could rival Gajeel's.
Another wave of emotion punches him in the gut, and he can't help the tears that begin to flow down his face. He paws at them in an effort to stop crying, but it's no use. It's like trying to dam a river with a piece of cardboard.
And then there is warmth, an unbelievable warmth, like he's been cold for so, so long, and the fire in his heart is finally burning again. Not the blaze it once was, but a spark. A something in place of the nothing. And Erza holds him to her chest, whispering, "It's going to be okay."
Then he loses what fragile grip he had on his emotions, and he's hiccupping and crying and sobbing like he's lost everything, and Erza's arms are around him, whispering soothing words, rubbing circles on his back. Her natural fragrance of vanilla and strawberry, as familiar to Jellal as the air he breathes and the water he drinks, assaults his senses, and he starts weeping harder, clinging to Erza, clutching her like she's his lifeline. And in a way, she very well may be.
When Jellal finally goes still in Erza's arms, juddering, shaky sobs replaced by soft, short sniffles, she pulls away and wipes his tears. Yanks a handkerchief out of her bag and stuffs it in Jellal's palm, telling him to clean his nose. Such an Erza move – she's more like a sister, a mother, than a best friend. And Jellal cannot appreciate that enough.
He gives her a wet smile and says, "It's been a little while,"
"A little while?!" Erza's voice is indignant, but there's a note of humour to it. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears and her lip trembles, but she is brave. She is Erza, and so she holds them back with the strength of a thousand armies. "You've always been such an idiot."
He laughs. "Yeah, but I'm your idiot."
And the tears suddenly disappear, and Erza's eyes are shining like a million suns. "I'm glad you're back."
"I'm glad too," he says, and means it.
It's like he is a whole different person now. There is Then-Jellal, and there is Now-Jellal. Then-Jellal would have wanted to stay in his coma; wanted to float in space, untethered, wanted to be numb, because without Gray there was nothing. Then-Jellal would have lashed out, not knowing what else to do. Not knowing that he has people with him, people who maybe don't understand his loss, but will do their best to listen.
Now-Jellal knows different; knows better. Now-Jellal can accept that Gray is dead – not without a sharp sting of pain, but he can acknowledge it and understand it will take time to heal. Now-Jellal can look further than the ground below his feet and hope for a future that he never could before. Now-Jellal knows his friends will help him through this, and that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. No matter how dim it may seem.
Lisanna enters the room again, face grave, and the light atmosphere evaporates. Erza looks at her grimly, a question in her brown eyes.
"He needs to know," she says, and Lisanna nods.
"Know what? About the time deficit?" Jellal asks curiously.
"That's what I came to tell you." Lisanna replies to Erza, ignoring him. "It's best you start with that. I'll stay so I can make an accurate psychological analysis of the situation. And yes, Jellal, it's about that," she adds, turning to Jellal, who spreads his hands in hopeless confusion.
"So… what's this all about?" he asks.
Erza swallows, fiddling with her fingers. She toys with the ring on her right hand, and Jellal briefly thinks, who popped the question? before his mind wanders back to the current situation.
She finally takes a deep breath and blurts, "You went a bit mad."
There is a silence then, only broken by the quiet sound of Lisanna padding over to the door and slipping out of the room.
Jellal stares at her. "I what?"
Erza nods, looking at her shoes. "One day, about a month and two weeks after he passed, I asked you, 'Will you ever try to move on from Gray's death?' and you just gave me a confused look, and you said, 'But Gray's right here.'. And you pointed to thin air."
"I – what are you saying, Erza? I'm not crazy. Gray died."
Erza shakes her head. "He did. You could never accept it. And then, you started seeing Gray. You'd talk to him, kiss him, hug him – but it was just a figment of your imagination. You – I think your mind may have snapped a little from seeing him die. It was like it had never happened; like everything was back to how it was before. We eventually figured out you weren't-" her voice cracks, "-okay. And… it was best to send you to an asylum. The people there, they put you in one of those 'madhouse rooms' we had always joked about. White, white, white; no colour anywhere. And the worst thing was, every week when I came to visit, you were always perfectly normal." Her tone is soft, reminiscent almost. "You were always Jellal – except for the fact that you were seeing things that weren't there. I nearly started to believe that we were wrong, that you were right; that Gray really hadn't died and we were just being stupid, because you were the same except for that. The same sweet, soft-hearted guy that I'm so proud to call my friend. You'd always ask me to wear a specific colour so you had something to look at other than that damn room. Even Gray being there wasn't enough because he wore the same fucking thing as the night he died. Staring at that everyday started wearing on your mind. You were – God, you were the same, and yet so damn different. So damn different. You'd forgotten completely that Gray was gone, as if you'd chosen to block it and live with the illusion that he was still alive. You'd say that he promised never to leave you. You'd say that he was always there. You'd say he couldn't possibly have died. The – the last time I visited you, we argued about Gray being there, just like always. You finally lost your patience, and you yelled that I should be the one in an asylum if I couldn't see someone that was there. I – that was when I knew you'd gone insane with longing."
"So you're telling me I hallucinated my dead boyfriend into being?" Jellal murmurs, still not believing it. "And that I said all those awful things to you?"
"Yeah," Erza whispers, staring at the ground. "Yeah, I am. I'm sorry if it was too much; I should go-"
"No!" The word bursts out of Jellal's chest suddenly. "I needed to know. I'm weak, Erza. That's so damn pathetic of me, to make up things like that. I should've been stronger than that. It's not your fault; not any of it. Don't go. You're the last thing I got."
And he means it, every single word. He catches at her slender wrist and clenches it tight, looking into the eyes so similar to his own, beseeching her to stay by his side.
Erza smiles sadly and covers his palm with her own. "Okay."
Jellal notices the ring shining on it and decides to change the topic. "Enough about me. It was stupid, and silly, and I'm glad I'm awake and able to accept that Gray isn't here anymore. Maybe I'll find someone else; maybe I won't. But for now, I'll focus on the love I can see in front of me." He casts a meaningful glance at her hand. "After all, I do believe we have a wedding to plan. And I'd be very offended if I weren't your bridesmaid. I'll be generous and even wear a dress."
Erza turns pink and lets out a little squeal which Jellal would say is uncharacteristic of her, but that's a classic Erza squeal – one he's grown up hearing, one only the people closest to her are privy to.
"Details," Jellal demands. "Who proposed, when, how? I'm assuming this was during insane time?"
Erza laughs. "Yes. About two months ago. When and how – we sort of asked each other. We'd both planned to. She found the ring I'd bought, and admitted that she'd meant to propose that very evening. We got engaged right there in our pyjamas, me sporting drool in my hair, Mira's pants halfway to her ankles because they were so loose; it was the most unromantic proposal ever. But somehow, it feels like the sweetest, best moment of my life. Who would have known I'd get proposed to in my PJs?"
Jellal grins. "I told you when we were six that you'd have the most unromantic life ever." he crows.
Erza rolls her eyes. "You were the one who was always dreaming of castles and beautiful princes. You thought I was boring for not daring to believe there was a princess out there for me."
"You were." Jellal says flatly. "You were the most boring, pragmatic, practical girl I'd ever met. Even Gray, the most cynical of all of us, was sure he'd find the perfect someone. And I mean, just look at me. What's not perfect about this?" He points to his face, and Erza rolls her eyes.
"Sure, Mr. Fashion Model. Keep dreaming," she snaps without any real heat to her words.
"I'll take this opportunity to remind you that I'm actually a fashion model," he sniffs.
"It was one photoshoot for the school magazine, of all the things! One!" Erza yells, holding up her index finger.
Jellal wiggles his eyebrows at her and flutters his eyelashes. "Oh honey, I'm Vogue material and we both know it," he purrs in a failed attempt to be smooth.
"You look like you're trying to smile while you're pooping," Erza says bluntly.
"I'm the next Brad Pitt and you know it." he shoots back, trying and failing to hide his giggles.
"Brad Pitt? More like Brad Erza-Save-Me-I-Fell-Into-A-Pit," Erza snorts.
They continue to bicker for nearly an hour. Erza calls their other friends, who all rush in with a loud cacophony, and they hug him and kiss him and reassure him and smother him in an atmosphere of love. And then they start ribbing Erza about hers and Mira's wedding, and it all deteriorates into general chaos, the kind that always follows Jellal and his friends.
They're all winding down, getting ready to leave because Jellal needs his rest, when Natsu stops at the door. Turns back and looks at him with the fiercest determination Jellal has ever seen in Natsu's eyes.
You loved Gray too, Jellal recalls. Natsu had loved Gray fiercely to the very end; but he'd never interfered with Jellal and him. It had been the subject of a lot of bad blood between him and Jellal before Jellal and Gray started dating, and they'd never gotten along too well. Natsu must hate him for letting Gray die that night.
Which is why it's more than surprising when Natsu says, eyes blazing, "We both loved him. But just because he's gone, doesn't mean we have to be alone. It doesn't mean you have to be alone. I might not have liked that he loved you instead of me, but that doesn't mean I'm not still your friend. It doesn't mean I won't still be here. We have the same kind of grief, because we loved him the same way. I – I know how you feel."
And he turns to go, leaving behind a silent, empty hospital room.
That's what hits Jellal so hard. That acceptance in Natsu's tone, the willingness to help him heal. The understanding they share, despite having disliked each other for God knows how long.
And he suddenly realises, it's okay to move on. Because I'm not alone.
It's going to be a year since Gray's passing. It's finally time to let go, time to hold on to all the memories but say a fond farewell to the grief. He has better things to do than be sad – there's a wedding coming up, and where would Erza be if he didn't do all the planning?
A small smile comes over Jellal's face, and he closes his eyes, ideas already stewing in his brain for Erza's marriage. He's going to make it perfect.
The last thing he thinks before he falls asleep is, Gray would be proud.
And watching from the heavens, a smile on his face, Gray is indeed more than proud.
Fin
W – wow. 6500 words? I did not expect to get that many out, but it is what it is. It did take me three days, though, so… yeah XD. Hope y'all enjoyed the angst! It sounded so Jerza in the middle, but Erzajane all the way