Hey guys, it's the day of the funeral and Jean is having about as good a day as I've had, hope you enjoy it

The morning of Marco's funeral dawns and Jean is awoken by the sun steaming in through the curtains he forgot to close the night before. He would be in a good mood (and he is for all of thirty second) if it weren't for the fact that he has to go and watch his best friend get cremated later this afternoon. If he closes his eyes he can still remember the last time he and Marco were in bed together – limbs entangled and lips finding skin just before Jean went to medical school and they decided that they should just be friends.

Sometimes he wishes that he had been more selfish. He wishes he'd tried harder and told Marco that he wanted the two of them to stay together. Maybe if he had things would have turned out differently. Maybe if they hadn't broken up he would be waking up to Marco in his arms rather than in a cold, empty bed. Maybe he wouldn't have been in that car...

But he can't think that way forever. What's done is done, you can't change it so you just need to keep moving forward as his grandmother used to say. Jean sighs as he heaves himself out of bed. Today is going to be a long day and the sooner he pulls himself together the easier it will be to get through.

He switches on the radio so that he doesn't have to be alone with his thoughts as he showers and starts to get dressed. He's struggling with his tie and getting more frustrated by the minute – he hasn't worn a tie in years and apparently the muscle memory isn't enough – when a knock at the door catches his attention. He leaves the tie open around his neck and goes to answer it. Armin is standing there holding coffee and a brown paper bag.

"I bought breakfast," he says smiling.

"Hi," Jean says a little confused.

"Hi," Armin echoes shyly.

"Come in," Jean stands aside so that Armin can enter. "What time is it?"

"Half nine," Armin replies. "I'm early, sorry."

"It's fine, thank you for breakfast."

"How are you doing?" Armin asks as Jean leads him through to the kitchen.

"I've been better," Jean replies.

"Sorry," Armin winces. "Stupid question."

"It's okay," Jean says giving Armin a small smile. "So what's in the bag?"

"Bacon sandwiches," Armin grins, "and actual real world coffee that doesn't taste like dish water."

Jean places his hand over his chest theatrically. "Marry me."

As soon as the words are out of his mouth he half wishes he could take them back. The most adorable flush springs to life on Armin's cheeks and it makes Jean's heart skip slightly.

"So... um... I didn't put sugar in either of those 'cause I didn't know how much you took, if any at all," Armin says, abruptly changing the subject.

"That's cool, I've got some," Jean says opening a cupboard and routing around for it. "Um... you er... you look nice by the way."

"Thanks," Armin says and Jean doesn't have to look at him to know that the blush is still there. "So do you."

"I can't seem to get this tie right though," Jean chuckles humourlessly, flipping one of the ends of it.

"I can fix it if you want," Armin says.

Jean shrugs. "Sure."

He's about to take it off and hand it over when Armin takes hold of it while it's still around his neck and begins to tie it. Jean can feel a heat creeping up the back of his neck. He can smell the sweet fruity fragrance of Armin's shampoo and he has to look up at the ceiling to stop himself from freaking out. Armin's eyes are fixed on his hands as he works, neither of them wanting to say anything and break the spell.

"There," Armin says smiling as he straightens it out. "All done."

Jean looks down to see that he does, in fact, look half way presentable. "Thanks."

They're close, too close and Jean doesn't know if it's his imagination but Armin's fingers seem to be lingering on his tie. He shakes himself because he must be imagining things and thinking like that is so fucking inappropriate today of all days. He clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair.

"Shall we eat up and head off before the traffic gets awful?" he suggests.

"Sure," Armin smiles in return.

Another angry honk of someone's horn sounds from behind then and Jean can feel his fury spiking. Of all the days for there to be traffic it had to be today. No one in Trost drives like a sane person and every single time Jean is cut off by someone he really has to bite down on the urge to hurl some obscenities back at them. The traffic lights are also trying his fucking patience on top of it.

"Suck a cock!" he yells, finally giving in when someone cuts in front of him and has the audacity to honk at him as well. He grumbles to himself before he remembers that Armin is sitting next to him and he flushes. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Armin chuckles. "I know traffic around here is insane, it's fine."

"You drive?" Jean asks.

"I can, I just don't," Armin replies. "My places doesn't have parking and it's easier for me to bike places."

"Makes sense," Jean says. "It's not like you can ever get up that fast speeds here although most people try."

"Well you know what they say about people who live life in the fast lane," Armin says.

"What?"

"They don't live in fucking Trust."

Jean chuckles. "Thank you."

"What for?" Armin asks.

"For making this bearable," Jean replies. "I don't think I would be holding it together if you weren't here."

"You'd probably be shouting at other drivers a lot," Armin chuckles and Jean can't help but smile.

"Probably."

It feels like it takes years but they finally reach the crematorium. People are still milling around outside but if Jean squints through the doors he can see Marco's coffin ready and waiting. His breath catches in his throat and he suddenly doesn't know if he can go inside any more. He feels sick and dizzy, like he might pass out, and his limbs feel like lead.

A hand slips into his and gives it a comforting squeeze. The simple action brings him back to himself and he turns to see Armin smiling at him.

"You okay?"

"Um... I... I think so.." Jean replies.

"You sure?"

"No," Jean admits.

Armin gives his hand another squeeze. "I'm here."

"Thank you."

"Shall we go in?" Armin asks after a short pause.

"Yeah..."

Jean doesn't want to and he doesn't really know if he can but he gets his legs moving. Having Armin beside him helps, more than he would have thought. Jean doesn't know many of the people around him, save Lindsay, and she had her hands full talking to people.

The service starts and Jean listens to the vicar talking about Marco and what he was like. It's a strange sensation listening to someone talk about a person they've never met like they know all about them and it might have been enough to make Jean angry if he wasn't so broken. As curtains begin to close around the coffin Jean can feel tears at his eyes but he tries to hold it together. Marco's words from when they first met echo in his mind – you should smile more, you look less scary when you smile – and despite everything he does. A smile that's just for Marco.

From beside him he feels Armin slip his hand into his, linking their fingers together. The tears as his eyes begin to silently make tracks down his face and he squeezes Armin's hand. He wishes he could tell Marco that he doesn't have to worry about him anymore, that he's going to be just fine but he can't. The best he can hope is that Marco knows and wherever he is it doesn't suck too much. Jean's never really put much stock in believing in heaven but, if there is one, that's probably where Marco is.

People start to file out of the crematorium as the service comes to a close, Lindsay thanking each of them for coming as they leave. Jean doesn't want to hang around so he hugs her and tells her to call him if she needs him before turning to Armin.

"Shall we go home?" he asks.

"Sure," Armin replies with a nod.

They don't go straight home. They stop for dinner first, at a greasy spoon where most of the other patrons give them funny looks because they're in all black suits. Armin does his best to lift Jean's spirits a little by pointing out that he had treated the waiter, who is busy shamelessly flirting with everyone he serves, for a horrendous case of gonorrhoea a few weeks ago. Jean's not too proud to say that it works, especially after the waiter then turns his attention on Jean.

Finally they pull up in front of Armin's house and Jean kills the engine. It's dark and it feels like a whole other day when Armin arrived at his that morning. He turns to him and gives him a small smile.

"There we go," he says.

"Thanks," Armin says. "I was going to say thank you for today then realised how horrifically inappropriate that would be so thank you for dinner."

"It's okay," Jean chuckles. "Thank you for coming with me."

"It's fine."

"Seriously I wouldn't have made it through today without you,," Jean tells him.

Silence falls between them for a moment, Armin's eyes flicking from Jean's eyes to something else. He looks like he's going to say something but can't get the words out. Jean is about to ask him if he's alright when Armin closes the distance between them and presses their lips together.

To say that Jean is surprised is an understatement. His entire body freezes and he has no idea what to do because there is no way that he's wanted to do for so long is actually happening. Armin is actually kissing him, in his car no less, and Jean just can't seem to process it. Armin eventually notices that Jean isn't responding and pulls away, looking terrified and hurt in equal measure and even that doesn't seem to wake Jean from his stupor.

"I'm sorry," Armin says hurriedly. "I'm so sorry."

Jean still can't get his brain to work, even as Armin unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the car door.

"I'll see you at work, okay."

And with that he's gone. Jean barely has time to spring back to life and call "Armin wait!" before the door is closed. Armin darts to his front door and is inside before Jean can blink. He sighs and hits his head on the steering wheel, cursing himself for not being faster.

"Fuck!"