Alright! Another new fic! I know, so much inspiration lately! NOTE: If any of the airport/plane stuff seems unrealistic, I'm sorry! I've never even been in an airport before, only seen the in the movies and such. As well as the Skype app, I don't even have a Skype. SO, PLEASE FORGIVE ME!

Sitting at a small table just outside the little café in the airport, I open the little blue Skype app, waiting the few moments it takes to load, I tap my fingertips against the plastic tabletop. I plug in my earbuds and tap on Jean's icon once I'm able and call him. Angling my phone so my face is visible, I grin when he accepts and I see his face appear as well. "Jean!" I call into the microphone portion of the earbuds.

"Marco, baby! How's it going?"

"I'm going to be getting on the plane in about fifteen minutes, then only a little over an hour before I'm back home!" It had been almost a whole year since I had last seen my boyfriend in person, and I was excited to be getting home again, I missed him and the rest of my friends.

"Fuck yeah! It's been way too long." His face lights up, causing my smile to spread wider.

"Well, I better go. See you in an hour!"

"Of course! I'll be waiting for you!" After we say our goodbyes, I close out of the app quickly finish my coffee. After arriving at the Departure Hall it's only about five minutes before I'm loaded onto the plane and not long after we're up in the air on our way to Portland.

I nervously check the time again, it hasn't even been a minute yet. I run a hand through my hair and sigh, toying with the bouquet of merrybells, Marco's favorite. My phone suddenly begins ringing, without checking the caller ID, I answer. "Hello?"

"Hello, Mr. Kirschtein? My name is Erica Dominguez, with Legacy Emanuel Hospital? It appears you're listed as Marco Bodt's emergency contact. Mr. Bodt was checked into our trauma center earlier today." My world stopped. Crashed down. I click my phone off and run out of the airport, leaving the flowers behind as I sprint to my car.

The drive to the hospital is a blur and it seems like seconds later I'm at the hospital. Crashing my way to the reception desk, I gasp for breath, trying to force out words before I'm able. "M-Marco Bodt.. Wh-where is he?" I heave in a gasping gulp of air between each word.

"Your name please?" The receptionist looks worried, but continues anyway.

"Kirschtein. Jean Kirschtein." She nods before clicking around on her keyboard.

"I'm going to need to see some photo ID please." I fumble for my wallet and manage to pull out my driver's license. "Right. Room 825." I nod before taking off in that direction. Soon I'm just outside the room. It's not in the ER or ICU, so I take that as a good sign. I pause to breathe, if he's here, he's fine. Raising a hand, I knock briskly on the door. A moment later, it swings open to reveal an average height male probably around my age with medium golden brown hair and heterochromia iridum, resulting in one eye being a brilliant bright green blue, a shade I'd never seen an eye before without the aid of contacts, the other light golden amber like molten honey.

"Jean Kirschtein? Marco seems to be doing fine, just some mild scrapes and bruises, a slight concussion." He flips through a few paper secured on a clipboard.

"So doc, can I see him." The man looks up seemingly confused, looking around the hall searchingly before pointing to himself.

"You mean me?" He gives a short laugh. "I'm no doctor. Just a nurse. But yeah, though he won't be able to go home until tomorrow. You know, evaluation, just in case, et cetera. But you have a few hours left for visiting." With that, he gave a smile, put the clipboard in the soft plastic holder hooked on the wall and walked off. I take another few calming breaths before pushing open the door, my eyes automatically going for the tall, freckled brunet sitting on the fake leather bench 'bed' covered with a strip of wax paper and an almost transparent piece of cardboard as a pillow, looking down at his hands and playing with his fingers.

"Hey Marco." His head snaps up immediately and his lips curl up into a grin.

"Jean!" Before I can brace myself, he throws himself at me, arms around me in a millisecond, I stumble a bit but as my arms go instinctively around his waist and pull him closer I'm able to steel myself enough to accept his greeting. Kissing his forehead, I squeeze him tightly against me before letting him down again, setting him on the 'bed', but never letting him out of reach, keeping a hand on him at all times.

"Fuck, I was so worried!" I pull him into my lap, burying my face in his hair and taking in the scent that was so uniquely his own.

A couple hours after Jean was shooed out at nine o'clock, I was still awake thanks to the dose of epinephrine injected to my thigh. My throat felt dry, so I stretched out to reach the pitcher of water and cup on the bedside table. Coughing, my hands automatically go to cover my mouth, a searing pain enters my chest and throat, my fingers and palms suddenly feel wet, a thick, hot liquid splatter on them, breathing becomes more difficult, and my tongue could taste something metallic. After the coughing fit was done, I glance down at my hands and my eyes widen at the red substance covering them. Coughing takes over my body again and I fight to get to the small bathroom attached to the room, feeling my stomach churning. I barely make it to the bathroom before my stomach's contents spill from my throat, into the toilet bowl. Kneeing down in front of the toilet, I grip onto it as I heave again, saliva and puke running down my chin and down the front of my throat. When I finally feel as though my stomach is settled enough, I go to flush and notice that most of what had just left my body was blood. My head spun and suddenly, I was collapsing onto the floor, unable to move, everything was black.

When I wake up in the morning, there's a new voice message left on my phone from an unsaved number. Dread builds up in my heart as I click on it, listening. I don't even bother getting dressed, I grab my wallet and keys, shove my feet into my shoes and rush out the door, barely pausing to lock it.

Once I get to the hospital, the same woman is at the front desk I begin rushing straight to her, but before I make it to her desk, the nurse from yesterday is entering the room and I change direction mid-charge. When I make it to the man, I look at him desperately. "Marco Bodt." As soon as I say the name, his face drops a bit and so does my heart. "Where is he? Tell me he's okay." I somehow managed to speak clearly without stuttering or gasping for air. He steers me over to some of the chairs, sitting me in one of them.

"Jean, right? Marco… It appears he had punctured a lung and suffered a lot of internal bleeding, we somehow didn't catch it. We found him this morning… I'm sorry, he… He didn't make it." As those words sunk in and clicked, I dropped to my knees, almost disbelieving, as sobs wracked my body and fat, hot tears stung my eyes and burned my cheeks. I cried, for the first time since my middle school years, harder than ever before. And suddenly, I was glad I was the only one in the lobby at the moment. I wouldn't have been able to handle more piteous stares than the ones already thrown my way from the receptionist.

"I'm sorry Jean, I have to go back to work now. But if you want, we can hang out sometime. I was friends with Marco in high school…" He hands me a piece of paper. Scrawled in sloppy handwriting is the name Eren Jaeger and a phone number.

So, there's that. I'm sorry for the character death, but it was necessary. Gods, it feels good to type that out, this idea has been circling around in my head for close to month.

Let me know what you think!