He wrote night and day.

Page after page littered the floor of his unkept room. The minimum necessities were there, and it wasn't a homey place. It was a house that was only lived in and no longer loved. Not in the least but Jean didn't care.

He'd lost Marco days ago; he lost count of how many hours he has had to live without his best friend and beloved soul-mate.

Marco, who had a beautiful view of the world and those around him and had captured my heart without me even noticing as if it wer second nature, smiled up at me and confessed that he could never ever leave me. He wouldn't leave me even if it were my wish. And I tell him that he's an idiot for even thinking I would wish him away. "I love you, Marco."

And with this, he ends another story, another life that contains a living Marco and a Jean that felt whole and not empty inside like he was now.

The pages marked with the story float to the floor to join the rest as Jean proceeds to start a new one. This time, Marco would be the top policemen in their hometown while Jean would work under him. Just like their dream before Marco left him all alone.

Yes, Marco would achieve his dream and so would 'd be together for the rest of their lives.

Jean smiles down at the words as he continues to write and ignore the phone ringing somewhere in the background. He couldn't remember where he had placed it anyway and, surely, it didn't matter anymore because it was never the one person he wanted to be calling him.

He had given up on the phone calls two days ago. Everytime he answered expecting Marco's sweet, melodic voice he'd be disappointed with the voices of their once friends.

An hour later finds him about to finish the life that belonged to him but was taken away in less than an hour all those days ago.

"Jean?" A voice calls out to him but it does not belong to Marco so he does not care enough to stop writing the life that should be. He doesn't even bother to place a person with the voice.

The person in the house gets closer and he can hear them stop at the office door and reach down to pick up one of his stories. A gasp and more paper rustling is heard before the once friend tries to speak to Jean again.

But Jean is gone into his make believe life. His mind playing out everything perfectly and maybe, just maybe, everything is nothing more but a dream. A nightmare of sorts that just won't end.

He smiles as Marco comes back from work and laughs at Jean's blush when arms are wrapped around his waist.

"I've missed you." Jean whispers.

Marco smiles.

AN: Drabble. Thanks for reading. Tell me how much you didn't like it. I may just now be getting over months long writer's block.