At first, visiting the hospital felt like ripping open the Marco-shaped hole in my soul. I hadn't been there since my breakdown in the woods behind, reminding me of the truth that refused to get easier to accept. He's dead. He was killed.

Before crossing the threshold, I took a deep breath. I counted five things I could see, four things I could touch, three things I could hear, two things I could smell, one thing I could taste. My therapist told me that the more I practiced, the more automatic the soothing would feel. I wasn't sure about that, but what I did know is that I owed it to Eren, and to myself, to try.

Making my way to room 438, a sinking feeling that began in my stomach began to rise to my throat. What if that man had already died? What if the weeks I had spent wasting away were his last? What if my promise to him the day after Marco died had been a lie? I could hardly bear to bring my fist against the door to knock – when I did, it was scarcely audible. Still, after a couple of seconds, a familiar voice called me in.

On the other side of the door, I saw my old friend. He looked a little weaker than I remembered him to be, but then again I supposed I did too.

"Jeez, what happened to you? You look terrible," was the first thing out of my friend's mouth. I chuckled. No pulling punches here, I guessed.

"Would you believe me if I said this is the best I've looked in weeks?" I responded, smiling to stave off the tears.

"Sure, I would. Was he – what was his name again? Anyway, was he your first friend to pass on?"

"Marco. Yes, he was."

"Are you hoping it'll get easier?"

"Are you saying it doesn't?" I felt regret start to creep into my jaw. I didn't need anyone shaking my resolve to get better so early on.

"Well, it doesn't. So don't get your hopes up." I considered how I would go about leaving so soon after arriving. I felt a bead of sweat form on my temple. "But eventually it's not as heavy," he continued. "Marco's never coming back, but there will come a time when you can recognize him in the here and now. He'll be there to comfort you, to laugh with you and cry with you, just as he was. And your job is to keep him with you, too. Remember him. Talk about him. Celebrate him. Even though it's hard, you're all that's left of him here. It's a big job. But he deserves a job done right."

I managed a small smile as tears welled in my eyes. I'd been so wrapped up in my suffering, my shame, that I had forgotten Marco. Yet, somehow, despite my betrayal of his legacy, I knew he had already forgiven me. Damn Marco. A better man than me, even from the grave.

"You're right," I replied after a pause. "He does deserve that."

"Hmph," came my friend's self-satisfied reply.

"So, old man, tell me about yourself. I'm here to visit you, after all. To be your someone."

"Well, what would you like to know?"

"Your name maybe?"

"Nope, too personal," he chuckled.

"OK, weirdo. Then tell me about the first time a friend of yours died."

"That's more like it. I like you, kid."

Back when the old man was young, not much older than I was when Marco died, he got a call from an old friend. Though they hadn't spoken in some time, this was something that couldn't wait.

"I got it. The virus."

Less than six months after the call, he was already dead. And within a year of the call, four or five more friends had died of the same mysterious disease. It was later identified as acquired immune deficiency syndrome. Seemingly a death sentence, it tore through the man's circle and through the world with minimal attention from governments with the ability to fund research on treatments. In the end, it left a deep scar in the gay community that cannot and should not be soon forgotten.

The man's story was sobering. As a young gay man, it's easy to forget the courage and sacrifice of the elders in the community. Especially when many of them didn't live past their 20's. From my seat at the end of his bed, I reached out a hand to hold his. I saw that he was crying, remembering the dozens of friends gone too soon, but I didn't say anything. I sensed he preferred it this way. We sat together in the grief and loss, hand in hand.

After a while, I asked again, "What's your name, old man?"

A pause. "Lenny. It's Lenny."

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Lenny." A squeeze of my hand.

"You too, uh…"

"Jean," I completed his sentence.

"Jean. I'm sorry, too."

Silence again.

"I'm glad I met you. And I'm glad I get to carry your story – your memory."

"Don't get mushy on me, Jean. You don't survive loss like I have being soft like that."

"Maybe. Or maybe I have to be soft to repay you for your strength."

"I'm not stronger than you. Always remember that. You're not weaker than anyone." Now his eyes were locked with mine. Something in me refused to look away. I nodded, as if in a trance. "When they look down on you, spit on you, remember the grief and the rage passed down from my generation to yours. We're counting on you to keep up the fight. To remember how they let us die, and they loved it. And if you ever find happiness in this world, just know that that is the greatest act of resistance there is for us." I squeezed his hand, my voice trapped behind the wall of tears now streaming down my cheeks.

I would resist. For Lenny, and for his friends who should have been here as he expired.


When I finally got back home, I could see the concern on Eren's face as he saw that I had been crying – crying a lot. There was no time, there were no words, to explain that I wasn't sad, not really. It was like missing someone you've never met, loving someone you don't know. Yet somehow, I knew that I had the responsibility to do right by them. To live the life they died for me to have.

I dropped my bag in the open doorway and ran to him in the kitchen. All I could do was hold him tight, a reminder that we were here, we were real.

"Eren," I managed finally, "I love you."

"I love you, too, baby. Did something happen? Are you OK?" The concern in his voice was obvious.

"I'm… I'm just so grateful. For you, for us. That we're alive." I could tell this didn't totally reassure him, but it was all I could say. Eventually, I would tell him about Lenny and his life. For now, though, I just needed his touch, his smell, for a while longer.


Just a week later, school was starting up again. Going into our senior year of college without Marco felt…wrong. But I reminded myself of Lenny's advice. I had a responsibility to him to carry his memory with me, to never forget him. So, as I waited for my blonde roast latte, I smiled to myself as I thought of Marco poking fun at my utter inability to drink black coffee.

"You'll need to grow up someday," he would joke.

Once I had my order in hand, I let the warmth of it spread through my body and soothe my grief, just a little.

From the coffee shop, I made my way to my first class of the day with Marco's blessing.

After a few classes, in the last few hours of sunlight, I made my way to the quad, where I had first been paired to work with Eren on that fateful day. The day that would allow me to know real love.

As I laid with eyes closed on the grass, enjoying the warm evening rays, I felt a nudge on my side. Upon opening one eye, I saw that it was Mikasa. We hadn't spoken since the funeral; I wondered what she needed.

Sitting up, I cocked an eyebrow to invite her to speak. To my surprise, she sat down close to me before responding.

"Hey, Jean. How are you holding up?" Despite her flat tone, I saw what looked like genuine care in her eyes.

"I… I miss him every day. But I'm managing. I, uh, I've been getting help with it, which has been good." I wasn't sure how much I should say, how much she would care to know.

"I'm glad. I… Eren told me it's been a rough few weeks. But you're, you seem more hopeful now. It's good to see."

"It was. I've been finding out just how hard it is to grieve. Harder than I ever thought. But knowing that somehow makes it more bearable."

"It does," she said, almost a whisper. Then, a bit louder, "And so does having people to talk to. Just… You have more friends than you realize, Jean. We're here with you."

"Oh. Thank you. I just… I didn't want to crowd Armin. I know he's been going through a lot, too. And I…I don't know. I just didn't want to make it worse, for him."

"We're your friends, too, stupid. Including Armin. I'm sure he'd want to hear from you, too. Maybe you could talk about Marco. Remember him, together. And, just so you know, Armin's not as weak as you probably think."

"I didn't mean—" I started, but she cut me off.

"Just try reaching out. He might surprise you."

And just like that, she stood up and walked off. I wasn't sure if I'd ever be able to understand Eren's stoic sister, but I would try to take her advice.

I pulled out my phone and pulled up Armin's number. I had his contact saved as "Armin (marco's bf)." I chuckled a bit at that, deciding not to change it just yet. I hit 'call.'

"Hello?" Armin said from the other end, sounding tired. So tired. I couldn't tell if the feeling in my chest was nerves or regret.

"Hey, Armin. It's, uh, well… I was wondering if you'd wanna catch up sometime. Coffee maybe?"

"I…didn't expect to hear from you, Jean. But, yes, I think that would be nice."