Author's note: Sorry for the long break between updates. I had to rework the story a bit. So hopefully that won't happen again.

Jean sat in the dark of Bertolt's room. He wanted the tears to pour out of his eyes and just look like he was sad. Instead, he just felt so numb. How was a person supposed to feel at these times? Jean wanted to know. He never could get it right- not for his dad and not for his best friend. He collapsed on the bed and listened to music, hoping to get some great realization about life and death and grieving. Instead, he stared up at nothing and hugged himself while hearing Morrissey warble. They were born. And then they lived. And then they died. It seems so unfair. I want to cry.

In the middle of the night, Jean woke up. He realized he had slept the whole entire day. Bertolt was already sleeping, lightly snoring and wrapping his arms and legs around Jean's body. Jean noticed he was covered in sweat and breathing heavily as if he had ran a marathon. His movements woke up Bertolt who frowned as his eyes readjusted and saw Jean exasperated.

"Hey… you okay? I mean… not about you know. But like… okay with like sleeping and stuff," Bertolt said.

"Not really. It's not your fault. I'm just…" Jean said.

Bertolt placed his hand on Jean's back. His thumb rubbed down Jean's spine as Jean bent forward, hiding his head in his arms.

"When your dad died, I wanted to say something. I didn't think it was right at the time. So I didn't say it then, but I think it's fine now," Bertolt said.

"Huh?" Jean turned around, his mouth agape.

"You know, one of my best friends in high school died in a car accident. I was in the car along with Reiner. We were hit by a speeding semi truck, practically head on. Reiner and I were unconscious when it happened, but our friend Marcel died there at the scene. The coroner said it was pretty much instantaneous, but I can feel like I remember Marcel screaming right before. I don't think that's a sound you ever forget. Anyway, there isn't a day where I don't think about that because it's something that always sticks to me. And with Marco, it's probably going to be the same. Maybe not exactly, but if you're wondering if I know how it feels, I do."

"How come you never told me that before?"

"I didn't really think it would reach you back then. Not like it does now."

"Thanks Bertl."

"Jean, I'm here. It's not going to be like the last time. Okay?"

"That was my fault. You know it was. I mean, it's always my fault."

"Don't say that."

"It's true."

"It's not. It was just a different time. Things are different. I'm not leaving you even if you want to."

"Bertl…"

Jean collapsed back onto the bed.

"Marco's dad asked me to give Marco's eulogy," Jean said.

His eyes closed as Bertolt scooted in closer.

"You said yes, I assume. If you did, then you don't have to worry about it. You always say the right things when it comes down to it," Bertolt said.

Jean nodded and smiled through the tears that were finally coming to him. The tears welled in his eyes because those words that Bertolt gave him were the kind of words he expected out of Marco. He knew he missed Marco, and that he would miss him forever. Bertolt's hands reached out to Jean's face to wipe the tears away- to comfort Jean the way he wanted to the last time this happened to them.

The day of the funeral, Jean left early to meet with Marco's family. They asked him to come early and be a part of some of the more private family ceremonies. He didn't know why even though part of him had an idea. He stood around the funeral parlor awkwardly until his friends started to walk in. They all put their arms around Jean, but he wasn't sure if he even deserved this. He needed this to all end, but he needed to be stronger for Marco's parents who had pulled Jean aside to tell him how much they appreciated his presence. It was the kind of thing that made Jean ashamed that he was a coward.

The white lilies seemed to float in the wind. The skies were muted in grays, and everyone seemed to know that it was going to rain. Jean tightened his tie and followed the procession. He fumbled around with the radio before putting in a tape. He felt jolted when he heard the song playing. He had held back crying before but tears easily rolled off his cheeks as he heard the lyrics: Well I'm afraid. It doesn't make me smile. I wish I could laugh. But that joke isn't funny anymore.

"God, Marco, why'd you have to fucking die?" Jean said as he slapped the steering wheel.

He was almost too depressed to be pissed that the cassette playing in his car was a mix tape that Marco had made for him. Stupid messages from a dead man were haunting Jean, and he hadn't even put his body in a grave yet.

When procession stopped at the cemetery, Jean sat in his car listening to the music before he pried himself from the car and walked out. The cemetery was as quiet as one would hope for, with willow trees and their branches swaying in the wind.

In the corner of his eye, Sasha stood by Connie, Armin, Mikasa, and Eren. She was crying but not the obvious sobbing Jean did. Instead, it looked like tears streamed from her eyes as if she was trying her hardest not to breakdown, only rolling down when she blinked.

Jean pulled out the worn piece of notebook paper from his coat pocket and unfolded it. His tears dotted across the lines and started to bleed with the black ink. He looked at Marco's parents before he got in front of the crowd, standing in front of Marco's casket. There was the faint scent of white lily of the valley that oddly comforted Jean. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he nodded at Marco's parents to begin.

"I… I think I'm the last person people want to give a eulogy, but maybe that's because I'm actually thinking about myself and how I don't know what people would say about me in that case. But that just goes to show you what kind of guy Marco was. He never saw the terrible things about people- just the good things. He always believed in me even when I couldn't do the same for myself. Sorry. What I think I'm trying saying is that Marco has touched everyone here in some way or another. He was anyone's friend who wanted it. He didn't do that out of an obligation or because he felt bad for you. He did it because he genuinely wanted to be your friend. He would be there with you through the good and the bad. I didn't know Marco my whole life, but I knew him well enough to catch a glimpse of what he probably was like before then- probably the same guy I met in college who insisted that we hang out and that we stick together throughout our four years of undergrad. And we did. It was some of the best times of my entire life. He gave us those moments- each and every one of us. I know each of us have a special memory of Marco to keep with us forever, a special part of our hearts that will always ache knowing that there is something missing. I know Marco wouldn't want us to cry over him or miss him. He would want us to go on living and make the best of our lives. So I will live on, and keep Marco's memory with me as I do as I hope each of you do as well."

Sasha wanted to grab Jean just then. Pull him away and keep him safe from anything, she just wanted to make sure he was okay. She knew she didn't really have the right to say anything to Jean- especially how she treated him before Marco died. But being right in that way didn't really stop her from trying. She blamed that on her being stubborn. So she chased after Jean finished speaking, but as she walked closer, she noticed Bertolt grab Jean's sleeve and kissed him on the cheek. Jean leaned into Bertolt and enclosed his arms around Bertolt. Another lost chance, Sasha thought as she saw Bertolt follow Jean to his car. She felt lonelier than ever watching the two of them leave. She knew why, and it made her hate herself more when she thought about it. This would be a time where she would need Marco, and that's why it hurt the way it did.