A/n : Yo, what's up, guys! I'm done with the last chapter! Please take note that I might have a sequel to this :D This is the first time I've thought about a sequel so it's gonna be good, probably. This is my first JeanMarco thing so haha... Yoroshiku onegaishimasu! I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I do, though I cried while writing this. The perks of being a writer~ Anyway, enjoy!
"Thank you, Jean."
These words were nothing but left behind.
Time flew.
Or rather, it seemed to disappear into the dusty sunlight and smoke as the days started growing shorter and shorter... For Marco, that is.
It has been almost two months since Jean brought Marco to Inokashira Park where they spent almost an entire day there, having the best time of their lives with each other. For both of them, it seemed like they had only ate bento under the watch of beautiful pink cherry blossom trees and had their first kiss in a swan boat - and many others - just yesterday.
This is how it feels like to be blessed.
It has been almost two months, and Jean could see that the effects of the car accident finally kicking in at long last. This was the last thing he wanted to see - Marco staring at him as if he had not heard what he had just said, which was not really true, because Marco heard it. Every word, every bit, but his brain just did not want to do him a favor. He took a long time to process what Jean had just said, creating an awkward silence between them for what seemed like an eternity to Jean.
Every time Jean said something, he could feel something die inside him - hope.
This is how it feels like to wait for death to come.
"Man, today's lecture was hilarious!" Jean dropped his bag onto the chair before following suit. "Eren had really gotten himself into deep trouble - Professor Levi officially marked him as the 'teacher's pet'! He'll get targeted for answers now, hahaha!" Jean laughed at Eren behind his back.
"Eren..." Marco stared at Jean with innocent eyes, almost questioning him. One second. Two seconds. "Pff- Ahaha! I wish him luck then!" Marco tried to cover up the earlier silence with a quick laugh.
Jean beamed his 1000 watts smile but he could feel his chest ache a little.
Every now and then, Jean would come in and talk about what was happening and the latest news going around in the university they attended. Marco would listen, but he would respond only after a while of processing Jean's words.
This "a while" could only grow longer and longer with time.
"... And then Connie slipped and fell and spilled soup on Sasha! I mean, can you believe it? After that, Sasha..." He would go on for a while and Marco - still listening - would not spill as much as a single word out.
As Jean went on, Marco could only force his greatest smile and say nothing more, even when Jean stopped talking.
And every time - every single time - Jean wanted to burst out in tears, just from seeing that forced smile of Marco's. Up until then, his forced smile was the most painful thing ever.
It was like a dagger, stabbing deep into his chest repeatedly, drawing out more and more sorrowful blood.
Jean hated it.
He hated the pain. He hated the way Marco smiles like it was nothing, trying to act like he understood everything he had said. He hated how he just goes on and on... He hated himself.
At the end of the day, he realized that he was simply running away.
Marco would insist on practising writing with his left hand every now and then. He was really bent on mastering it for some reason he did not tell Jean.
Maybe it's on his bucket list or something, Jean had thought.
Of course, they did practise, but Marco could only last for two hours before dozing off.
Two hours.
Two months ago, Marco could last from the time he woke up to lunchtime, which was about five hours.
Five hours.
Jean would then adjust Marco's posture so he could lie down.
It was pretty obvious to Jean now, and he felt like crying every time he sees Marco sound asleep, because he knows that eventually, he would fall asleep and never wake up again.
He didn't want that.
He was afraid.
He was scared. Scared of the day when Marco would never open his eyes again.
He was scared of death.
Just like how Marco was.
In the end, what goes around comes around.
Life at the university was finally becoming more relaxed now that the examinations were over.
Jean did not tell Marco that nearly their entire class already knew what happened because a couple of days after the accident, Eren and company decided to corner Jean during lunch period and make him spill the beans.
Over the span of the past two months, Jean had received a number of phone calls from their classmates complaining things like, "Hey Jean! Why wouldn't you let us see Marco?! Well... We wouldn't if Marco was the one who insisted!" or "Man, we tried stalking ya, but we ended up lost instead! How do you do that?" And Jean would just laugh them off, because he knew the real reason why they did not come to visit Marco on purpose.
Last month, Marco caught Eren talking, or rather yelling at Jean through the phone when he was visiting. Jean was already sitting and all ready to eat his homemade bento with Marco when his cellphone rang and he had to put aside his chopsticks.
"What is it, Eren?" Jean had grumbled, sounding deprived of food.
"Can Mikasa, Armin and I visit Marco today?" Eren had yelled rather politely that day, much to Jean's surprise.
"No way, even if it's Mikasa," Jean replied.
Eren sighed on the other side of the phone, while Jean could hear Armin in the background going, "It's alright, Eren! Don't disturb them!"
Jean hung up and set his phone aside.
Marco overheard a little of their conversation, since the ward was so quiet, and asked, "What happened?"
It was Jean's turn to sigh as he said, "Sorry, Marco. I don't want them to visit you..."
"That's obviously a lie, Jean," Marco simply said, matter-of-factly, completely able to read him.
"Fine, fine... As you know, they seemed like a persistent bunch, but actually, they don't want to come visit you, since I always do that everyday. They just..." Jean paused before continuing. "They just don't wanna get in our way, I guess..."
"I see," Marco smiled and Jean could feel his heart becoming lighter.
But if it's possible, I'd like them to visit you before you leave, even if it's just once.
Every now and then, Jean would walk in on Marco talking on the phone.
After he hung up, Marco would give him the answer he wanted to ask for, before he actually asked, "It's my mother. This way, I can at least assure her that I'm fine... In some other country." Marco chuckled dryly as he breathed the last few words.
One time, Jean remained silent for a while, then said in a low and serious voice, "Hey Marco... When you die, should I call your mother first? Or do I do that before your death?"
Marco, in turn, remained silent, looking down at his left hand which was resting on his thigh.
Seeing his friend's troubled expression, Jean quickly said, "O-Of course, it's your decision so I have no say in it..."
"It's fine," Marco whispered. "You don't need to let her know. I'll... You can do that after I leave."
Marco had never used the word 'die' for a long time.
"Sure, I will."
"Then I'll leave it to you."
Now.
It is night.
Probably the last one for Marco.
He knew.
He knew it will be his last.
The other patients in the ward are sound asleep and a couple of them is snoring away.
Marco cannot sleep.
He knew.
He knew he can't.
Looking up at the greyish ceiling that is timidly illuminated by the ceiling light above his bed, he squints.
He wonders if he will see a similar light anytime soon.
He looks over and pulls the notepad that Jean left behind by accident earlier in the afternoon, when they had their last left-hand-writing practice, toward him with his left hand.
Opening the notepad, Marco pushes the pen, which was clipped in between the pages, out and onto his blanket as he flips through the pages that have been 'vandalized' with black ink.
The first handful of pages are filled with curvy, weak and jelly-like looking words, and in the middle of the very first page is Marco's name, written in bold capital letters.
Jean held his hand which was trembling so much and started to write, the pen moving slowly but surely across the fresh new page of the notepad. Jean's hand was big and warm and secure. Marco had never felt safer. When they finished writing their first word, Jean leaned back and looked at the paper, a bit baffled, "Eh? I unconsciously wrote your name…" Marco's mouth shaped itself into a letter 'O' as he realized too, "Ah… That's right…"
The letter 'o' in Marco's name is jelly-like, completely unstable.
Marco flips to the next page to find that the next set of alphabets and words do not look like they are any better.
Marco smiles to himself as the memories gush through his blank, hollow mind.
The next page. And the next, and the next.
The words look prettier as Marco slowly flips through the notepad, gazing passionately at the pages with his black half-closed eyes.
"We're really using it up fast, aren't we? I better go and buy a new one soon..." Marco heard Jean mutter as he tried to write Jean's name in secret, at a corner of one of the pages, while Jean was cutting some fruits for him."Yeah," Marco replied dryly, focusing on the paper. "Maybe a new pen, too." Jean nodded upon hearing Marco's suggestion, placing the slices of apple on a plate just before turning around, causing Marco to forcefully flip to the next blank page as naturally as possible.
Marco flips slowly, and soon he was at the middle of the notepad. It is still filled up to the brim.
His meek smile twitches and trembles a little as he caresses the neatly written 'Jean' at the bottom right corner of the page. He had written it so hard that he can feel it on the next page.
Jean...
He keeps flipping, and soon he is at the last few pages of the flimsy notepad.
It is pretty empty at the back, and the ink is laid out nicely in the form of randomly written words.
Gently gripping the pen, he writes Jean's name once more.
I think I'll keep this short.
If I can.
The pen moves across the mostly blank page swiftly. Marco is in four to five words and his hand feels numb.
He doesn't think he can keep it up much longer.
As he writes more, the paper gets stained with small droplets of tears hitting it, like it is drizzling mildly inside the ward.
Jean, Jean...
I'm sorry...
Sorr...
The pen slips silently through his pale fingers as he tries to wipe the stray hot tears away.
He closes the notepad rather hesitantly, and lays his head back on the soft pillow, staring at the blank ceiling once again.
Gravity really does its job well, and tears slide down his pale cheeks unwillingly once more.
He does not bring his hand up to wipe it away this time.
He's tired.
Way too tired, already.
Instead, he musters some strength and grabs the Sony Ericsson Jean bought for him two months ago from the table.
He brings it up to his face and punches in a set of numbers that he did not save.
It rings once, and Marco can feel his breaths becoming fainter.
Twice. Hurry...
She picks up.
"Hello?" Hearing the gentle and familiar voice, he feels a small smile tug at the corners of his lips as he tries to greet her back.
"I'm so sorry, mum..."
If only I could have...
He hangs up before she could say another word and the phone drops onto his blanket, along with his arm...
As his last warm breath escapes past his lips.
Ah... It's so cold.
Why is it getting colder and colder?
Ah... I'm falling.
Why am I falling deeper and deeper?
And where to?
All I see is darkness...
Am I breathing?
I don't know.
But, it's really cold, and I need something warm.
But, I'm falling so deep, can I get something warm?
Jean.
Jean.
Jean, where are you?
...
I'm reaching out to you.
But where are you? I can't see you.
Do you mind... reaching out to me, too?
Because I want to hug you.
To feel your everlasting warmth once more.
Just once more.
Is that okay?
Jean.
Jean, I miss you.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry I had to leave first.
If only...
If only I could have...
If only I...
Could have said 'I love you'.
Then everything would have been so much better.
Hah...
So this is... How death feels like.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I can't tell you how it feels like.
You're scared of it, too, right? Like how I was.
I'm sorry.
Death is a really scary experience.
...
Please.
Please help me.
Please pull me out of this eternal unyielding darkness.
It's scary down here.
Pull me out, please. I want to spend more time with you.
I want to view the cherry blossoms with you.
I want to laugh at your lame jokes with you.
I want to eat your handmade bento with you.
I want to hug you.
I want to kiss you.
I want to fall in love with you.
But, my time is limited... So...
I'm sorry.
If only I could have done something for you.
If only I could have repaid you for all the things you've done for me.
If only I had said, 'I love you, Jean," instead of thanking you, everything would have been so much better.
Thank you. Thank you.
I'm sorry.
I love you.
"Excuse me?" Jean croaked into his phone at two in the morning. "What did you just say?" Jean had an urge to smash his phone against a wall and felt something gnaw at him.
Déjà vu.
"I'm sorry," the nurse on the other end whispered back, in an attempt to sound sorry.
Jean did not even bother hanging up and just squeezed his cellphone into his pocket, and left his warm and comfy fortress of blankets and pillows to head to the hospital in his singlet and shorts.
He knew what to expect, but he did not want to expect it.
Maybe he did not want to accept it instead.
Jean did not wave for a cab once he reached ground floor and decided to run instead.
Running in this time of year in a singlet and shorts is a bad idea. It was freaking cold, but Jean could feel nothing but his hot tears welling up in his eyes. He told himself not to blink too much and run faster, so that the tears could 'evaporate' in one way or another.
On the way to the hospital, he tried to clear his mind, telling himself over and over that everything was going to be okay and that when he steps into the same old familiar ward again, Marco will be there, waiting for him, sitting upright and beaming at him.
Yeah, that's right. Marco's gonna be there.
Yeah.
The night was freezing but Jean was sweating like a pig in mid-summer. He had forgotten the last time he had ran so hard.
When he reached the entrance of the hospital where the doors slid opened for him automatically, he was sure he made it there in record time, with his slippers on.
Panting hard, he did not slow down as he ran straight to the ward.
Past the receptionists, past the greyish blue waiting chairs where parents and relatives wept their hearts out, past a handful of nurses and doctors trying to stay composed, turn left, then right twice.
He halted.
Yeah... He's gonna be in there. Right in there, in that ward right in front of me.
Right?
It was only when Jean stopped in his tracks that he realized that his whole body was trembling, shivering like a little kitten lost in a pile of white snow which had fallen on it. His legs, especially, he felt like they were going to give way any time soon and probably never be able to get up again.
Jean knew he had no choice but to go in, since he had already came all the way here.
It's too late.
Taking a really deep and exaggerated breath, he shook his limbs a little to loosen himself up, to stop the trembling.
Okay, okay, let's do this.
Stepping into the same old familiar ward that he would never forget, he was met with quite a heart-wrenching scene.
Standing there like a statue, he stared at where Marco was.
His mother was there, sobbing a puddle beside his bed with her back facing Jean, shoulders jerking up and down while soft hiccups echoed from her. Meanwhile, a young nurse attended to her, patting her back as gently as she could, trying to comfort her.
Jean had not taken a single step from the doorway and was just staring at the whole scene : Marco's mother sobbing uncontrollably, a nurse trying to comfort her but to no avail... And Marco.
He could not see Marco's face from where he was standing, and he felt an urge to move forward, to stand right in between Marco's mother and the bed.
Hey, Marco, I wonder what's your expression's like now. Haha... Looks like your mum found out about it. The cat's out of the bag now... There's no need to hide anymore.
There's no need to.
Taking a couple of steps forward, he could see more of his best friend's torso now.
Jean was glad that during his previous health checkup in school- just about a couple of days ago - the nurse told him that he needed to get a pair of spectacles, because he knew that he did not want to see more of Marco.
He was afraid.
He did not want to know more.
However, his body downright refused to listen to him, and moved further in.
He could nearly see Marco's face now, almost to the chin and his body started to tremble all over again. He started to breathe harder and his heart was pounding loud in his ears like a huge drum.
He did not want this.
Subconsciously, he walked over to Marco's mother, nearly tripping over his own feet, and stood beside her like a bodyguard.
Marco's mother noticed him, and looked over and Jean could feel his fists clench by their own. Her eyes were like two black pearls, about to crack open.
Her face was completely wet despite the number of tissues the nurse handed her. Seeing Jean, she calmed down a little and the Jean could hear the nurse heaving a small sigh of relief to herself.
"J-Jean..." Mrs Bodt croaked.
Jean was bad at this.
As long as he is near someone who is crying, he will cry along with that person.
Clenching his teeth and pressing his tongue hard against his gums, he held his breath. No way in hell was he going to cry now, not when he had not even seen Marco yet.
Mrs Bodt's face scrunched up and there came another round of tears streaming down her face, causing the nurse to have a bit of a shock.
Jean looked away almost immediately and was thus facing Marco's legs which were hidden under the blanket. Eyes widening, he covered his mouth as he tried to push the tears back, which were coming at full throttle now.
Unfortunately, the stubborn tears just had to come sliding down his cheeks and into the tiny cracks his palm had made with his face.
Teeth clenched harder. Tongue pressed harder.
Mrs Bodt took a step forward and took Jean in her arms, as if she was not suffering as well.
Jean felt her arms wrap around him, and the warmth from her body hit him hard like an arrow, deep into the chest.
Jean looked away from Marco and shut his eyes instead. Mrs Bodt was slightly shorter than Jean and she pushed his head past her right shoulder, almost as if she was trying to hide Jean away from Marco.
In the darkness, Jean could feel his face getting hotter and he, in turn, wrapped his arms around Mrs Bodt in an attempt to comfort themselves.
His arms pressed hard into her back as more tears slid down his face, which was scrunched up now, too.
Amidst the strong struggle of trying not to cry too hard, Jean mumbled into Mrs Bodt's ear while hugging her even tighter, "I'm so sorry... I wasn't able to..."
Mrs Bodt clutched at Jean tighter upon hearing Jean's voice which was about to fall apart, mumbling back, "It's alright, it's okay..." Mrs Bodt was on the verge of losing her cool.
"But..." Mrs Bodt paused to sniff, hard, and Jean could her voice disintegrating slowly as she spoke once more. "Thank you... for helping my son. I'm sure he enjoyed himself..." Mrs Bodt lost the battle and yelled into Jean's shoulder which was now drenched.
The nurse had excused herself a long time ago and Jean could finally breathe properly.
Jean sniffed and said in a broken string of words, "Mrs Bodt... I-If only... If only I could have... I..." Jean did not know what to say. He still could not see Marco's face, and felt like if he were to see him, everything would become clear : The words he wanted to say, the answers to the questions he never asked. However, he was scared. He did not want to see Marco just yet. A part of him knew that if he were to see him now, everything would be gone. He wanted to stay a little more ignorant for just a little longer.
Sorry.
"I already said that it's okay, dear... You don't need to feel bad or anything... I can, I can understand," even though Mrs Bodt assured Jean, he could still feel a pang of guilt strike him over and over on his back.
Mrs Bodt pulled back and the warmth left Jean's skin, making him feel desperate to go back to that same warmth.
"Marco... Probably just wanted to spend more time with the one he truly loves," Mrs Bodt told Jean, wiping her tears away.
"Eh?" Jean mumbled, rubbing his face, even though he knew more tears would be shed sooner or later.
"He left a note on the table there... I didn't read it, but it seems like it's for you," Mrs Bodt said. "I'll go to the ladies' to wash up..." Walking briskly away, she did not look back.
It almost seemed like she was trying to escape.
Now it was just Jean and Marco.
Jean went around the bed, trying not to look at Marco, and took the note quietly.
The note was from the notepad, and it was flipped right to the page where Marco's letter was.
Maybe it was just Jean, but when he gripped the notepad, he could feel warmth radiating from it.
With trembling hands and his heart pounding hard against his ribcage, he read the note.
"Jean, I'm sorry. I'm sorry apologizing is the only thing I can do now. The end is near for me right now. I don't think I can last much longer. But thank you. Thank you. Thank you for all the things you've done for me. I'm sorry I wasn't able to repay you in any way. I'm sorry I troubled you. I'm sorry I had to leave earlier than you. I'm sorry I can't tell you how death feels like. I'm sorry I couldn't say what I wanted to, so I have to do it here.
I'll keep this short. Sorry.
Thank you for everything. Just saying thanks isn't enough I know but maybe at least my feelings will be able to reach you. Thank you for bringing me to Inokashira Park. I haven't forgotten it. Thank you for teaching how to write. Now you know why. Thank you for letting me eat your handmade bento. It was very delicious. Thank you for the kiss. You're the best kisser. Thank you. Thank you. I'm sorry.
Thank you.
I enjoyed it all.
I love you, Jean."
Shattered fragments of wails escaped Jean's lips as he knelt down, clenching his fist and crumpling the stiff paper, which was originally stained with Marco's tears, in his shivering hand. His eyes pricked with salty tears, he let out a voiceless, silent scream into the stiff, mourning air, dampening Marco's last words in his hand.
Damn, damn, damn!
Dammit, Marco... I...
I'm so sorry.
All along, I was just...
Standing up, his joints cracking, he wiped his tears away once more and exhaled heavily. He no longer felt cold, even though the window was wide open for all the icy wind to rush in and engulf his exposed skin. The tears had left him burning.
Breathing steadily, he tried to stable his shaking heart as he moved closer.
I'm sorry.
All along, I was just running away.
Away from you.
The stubborn stray tears which remained in his eyes blurred his vision and he did not know if that was a good thing or not.
It hurts. It stings.
He moved closer and was finally standing right beside him. He subconsciously blinked the tears away, letting them flow on their own accord down his already tear-stricken face.
He could see Marco clearly now. As clear as crystal. He could feel more tears well up in his eyes as he clenched his teeth and told himself not to cry over and over like a broken record.
Those tears weren't enough.
Finally, he found the answers he was looking for all this while. He finally understood everything.
He finally found Marco.
He could finally cry with all his might, once he was done here. He could finally say...
He took a step closer and bent lower.
Marco's face was as bright as always, his adorable freckles standing out. His hair was still as silky, like it had just dried after a nice warm bath.
However Marco was not that warm now.
Jean held up a hand a brushed Marco's black fringe away from his forehead. He bent down and was about to peck him gently on the forehead when he stopped.
No, not here.
He took his hand off Marco's forehead and cupped his cheek instead. It was icy cold.
He could finally say...
Pressing his warm and trembling lips against Marco's cold and still lips, he breathed, "I love you, too, Marco."
Alighting at the bus stop where not even a single soul could be found, Jean flipped open his cellphone to check the time.
It's still early, Jean thought. Guess I'll go over first.
Strolling through the trees on the concrete pathway, Jean whistled a sad tune, closing his eyes and going with the flow.
He stopped as if on cue, both his tune and his legs. He turned to the left and started walking up the stairs, his black shoes clicking and tapping on the rough concrete.
"1, 2, 3..." He counted the steps off in his head.
"16," Jean turned to the right and started walking down. "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6."
Jean knelt down in front of the sixth grave.
He looked at the monochrome picture of a smiling Marco engraved in the grave and smiled a little, gently caressing it.
"Yo, Marco," he said softly. "How are you?"
His smile grew wider.
"You know," Jean said as he decided to sit cross-legged. "Yesterday, Armin told me that your name roughly means 'Messenger from the God of War'. Haha, it really does give everything a whole new meaning now, eh?"
Fiddling with the small bouquet of white, pink, yellow and peach-colored roses, Jean smiled sheepishly to himself while looking down at his fingers.
"I hope you're... Doing well over there..." He muttered. "We're all doing well. The exams are over already and..."
He exhaled, a rush of air gushing out of his nostrils, as his nose stung, throat cringed and tears came and went, "Your mum's doing pretty well now. I'm glad, but I think the ones you should thank... Are the ones standing behind me."
Beaming his 100 watts smile, he stood up just as Reiner slapped him hard on the back, nearly toppling him over again, and Armin pounced on him, shouting something like, "Long time no see!"
It was the holidays and they had not seen each other for what seemed like ages after the examinations.
Jean knelt down once more and said, "They were the ones who helped your mum and I through this ordeal... The ordeal of losing you."
The classmates lined up and said their prayers silently in their hearts and when it was Jean's turn, he bent over and kissed the picture of Marco, smiling happily at him... From the other side.
Jean placed his bouquet of roses onto the smooth cold surface of the grave, letting the wind carry away the aroma. He stayed there for a second or two before standing up.
"Let's go, guys... I've already said my piece," Jean turned, back facing his friends and walked off, unwilling to let them see his hot tears reluctantly stream down his face.
Thank you, Marco.
I love you.
I enjoyed it all, too.