Jean Kirschtein sat on the edge of his bed. His face resting inside the palms of his quivering hands. The bitter tears were fighting their hardest to slip from his shut eyes. But Jean would not allow them to fall. Growing up Jean was taught to be a strong soldier. Crying was for the weak and helpless. It had been nearly two years since this male has cried. His emotions were always bottled up inside... That's the way he was trained. But for how much longer could he keep at it? He almost shed a tear at the battle for Trost. And he was quite close to sobbing when he decided to join the Survey Corps.
The only time Jean has cried... Would probably have been the time... Marco died...
Just thinking of that time was more than enough to allow for a tear to roll down Jean's cheeks. He quickly wiped it away. But was that enough? Everyone knows one tear leads to two and two leads to many many more.
Speaking of Jean could feel the wet sensation of the clear tears run down his face. His cheeks were quickly stained with the water marks. Try as he might the spell was impossible to contradict. Jean continued to sob, silently. He did no want any passer by to hear his cries. Especially Eren or the Commander. It would just be best if he kept this to himself.
About thirty minutes pass and at long last Jean's eyes were once again dry. Red and puffy with his abandoned tears but dry to say the least. The remainder of the sat tasting liquid was wiped away by the back of Jean's left hand. He slowly brought himself to his feet. A pocket-sized mirror was retrieved from Jean's breast pocket and he looked himself in the eyes. He needed to clean himself up. With a comb in hand Jean began to groom himself, staring into the pocket mirror.
But something caught his eye...
There was someone behind him. A silhouette of a man stood behind him. Jean could see him in the mirror... But this man looked familiar. If only he were to step out of the shadows so Jean could get a better view at him. As if reading his mind the man stepped forward, the light seeping ever so slightly onto his face. Jean knew this man... He was one of his best friends... This was a man Jean used to know.
"M-Marco..."Jean's mouthed the name to himself.
A firm hand was placed on his shoulder. Jean jumped slightly and turns around to see who or what it was that touched him. But much to his surprise there was nobody there. The startled male blinks in shock. He saw him though! In the mirror! This made no sense... Was Jean going crazy? Certainly not. Jean picked up the mirror once again, looking into it intently. Was Marco really here? Or was he hallucinating?
Sure enough... The figure still stood behind him. Jean turned around only to see his wall. How is this possible?
"Jean?"
Jean gasped, slamming the mirror closed. The glass shattered onto the floor all over the place in shards. Marco just said his name! No no no! This wasn't real! It couldn't be real! These kinds of things were only possible in stories! Horror stories to be specific!
"Jean?"
"I'm not crazy..." Jean told himself, backing away. "I'm hearing things I just know it..."
With those words Jean took off running out of his quarters. He took off down the hall. This wasn't right. Jean had to go find Hanji...Or someone who could help reassure him he was still mentally sane! This was so confusing... He needed help, fast!
Meanwhile. The glass shards lay spread out on Jean's bedroom floor. Marco stood within them. Tears rolling down his cheeks. Why was Jean afraid of him? The upset boy fell to his knees, his face buried in his hands. Jean could hear him... But why couldn't he see him? Why wasn't he happy to hear from his best friend? Marco continued to sob. Caring not who could hear him. This man was devastated! The glass pieced represented his heart... Shattered.
Marco was dead... And locked in this prison... Forever...