Based off a roleplay with KiwiFruit07

Jean/Marco 2: Never Leave My Side

Come on, babe, this isn't funny.

U haven't responded all morning, where r u?

BABE?

Look, Im sorry I didn't respond, I was sleeping.

…Marco?

Marco, I'm srs, answer me

Being the self-important, carefree guy that he was, Jean could hardly remember being this worried in his entire life.

Every morning since they started dating (or even since they exchanged numbers), Marco would wake Jean bright and early with a text reading, "Good morning! :)" On this day, however, Jean had accidentally turned his phone on silent, and thus did not hear it go off when it received his boyfriend's morning greeting. Consequently, he had slept in, missed the bus, and had no choice but to walk to school. Gaping at the time and list of unread messages, he sent "Sorry babe, slept in" while simultaneously tugging on his uniform and popping a breakfast bar in his mouth.

Marco tended to be exceptionally good at responding to texts in less than 3 minutes, especially when he was excited about a conversation. That being said, Jean routinely slid his phone out of his pocket as he bolted out the door (calling a muffled "See you" to his mother), expecting a response. Nothing. His eyes widened a bit at the unusualness, but decided Marco had either already arrived at school, or ran into someone he knew, or forgot to charge his phone, or something. There was no need to panic. Jean popped his earphones in to give a bit of pep to his unwilling trek to the school. No need to panic.

…by the time the first song ended, however, Jean's composure began to slip away again. It had been nearly 10 minutes since he texted Marco, an hour since he received a text from him. The hell was he doing? Narrowing his eyes, Jean unlocked his phone and sent, "On my way 2 skool now." Perhaps Marco just hadn't seen his last message. Surely, he'd notice this one... He sighed deeply as his phone shuffled to the next song, once again reassuring himself that there was nothing crazy or worrying about Marco not answering his texts. He continued walking, habitually checking his phone every few seconds, his heart leaping then immediately sinking as he anticipated a message.

As Jean rounded another corner, sounds of police sirens and honking car horns overpowered the music in his ears. He was met with quite the surprising sight in his normally calm city: crime scene tape marked off an entire section of road, creating a massive backup of traffic. Inside the tape were police cars, an ambulance, and a completely totaled tour bus, crashed into an apartment building. A group of immensely shaken people, mostly elderly, were being led away from said bus by an officer. Hypnotized by the air of adrenaline, Jean's eyes stayed glued to the scene as he unlocked his phone, went to his conversation with Marco, and sent, "Bad accident by the school. U kno anything about that?" This one. This text Marco would see, and respond to. Jean insisted upon that to himself.

Nonetheless, a good 10 minutes later when he arrived at Sina High and sent 6 more texts to Marco, Jean still received no response. It wasn't until he was pushing open the school doors that he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. This time, he knew it had legitimately gone off, he wasn't just imagining it, and he slid the lockscreen and entered in his passcode quicker than lightning. He began to smile in spite of himself. His heart was racing, a thousand possibilities of messages racing through his head: "Sorry babe, got caught up in something!" or maybe "Oh, okay, I can't stay mad at you 3" Anything would do, so long as it was contact from Marco…

"Yo, Jean, I didn't do my English last night can I borrow ur notes? Thx man –Connie"

Jean's entire body froze, his exhilaration dropping to dull disappointment in the blink of an eye. He began to shake with anger; he groaned and shoved his phone back in his pocket, unintentionally growling, "Where the hell is Marco?!"

His voice had come out louder than he intended, and people stared; amongst those peers were none other than the group of delinquents he sat with in detention. While everyone else returned to their conversations as if nothing happened, those boys abandoned their discussion and instead made their way over to Jean.

"You mean you don't know?"

Still fuming, Jean's eyes darted over to the guy that was speaking to him. "Know what?" he asked in total oblivion. He wasn't aware of his outburst at all.

"Where your little boyfriend is."

Jean paused, taking a moment to allow his thoughts to rekindle. These boys were surrounding him like a pack of wolves surrounding a crippled, burdening pup, a vicious hunger twinkling in their eyes. Still, the full impact of Jean's desperation was gradually beginning to dawn on him. So, body tense, he raised a taut eyebrow to signal that he was listening. "…where's Marco," he practically growled.

"Dead."

The word left his mouth so casually, so tritely, that it flew right over Jean's head. His brain simply couldn't match the coolness of the boy's tone with the crippling intensity of the dread behind the word he spoke. It was as if he had never said anything at all, so Jean continued to stand there waiting for a response. This created a brief uproar of laughter amongst the boys that were less than his friends, but unpleasantly more friendly than acquaintances. "Hello? Earth to Kirschtein! Nothing? Dude, your boyfriend's dead, and you look like you only heard the punchline to a bad joke."

This time, his words hit their mark to the fullest. A cold despair trickled across Jean's skin; his stomach clenched into a knot; his heartbeat slurred. "…well, that's 'cause this is a bad joke. What the fuck is wrong with you?! That's not funny!" he choked out.

"Well duh it ain't funny, Bodt was a nice kid. Saw 'im in 'is last moments; held my hand and told me, 'Please, find Jean, and tell him good-bye. Tell him I love him.'" Although the guy was trying to look at least a little heartbroken, the amusement he was actually feeling gave him the semblance of a snake that just enjoyed a nice meal. His pals snickered, but the furious glare Jean burned into all of them shut them right up.

"Shut the fuck up, you sick BASTARD!" He screamed. "Marco isn't DEAD!"

The group's leader managed to persist his calm composure. "The bus that hit him would beg to differ."

That statement caused a blow that knocked the wind right out of Jean. He stumbled back a couple steps, the room spinning. The bus that hit him… He'd seen the accident. Hell, he'd texted Marco about it. He'd seen the shaken people, seen the ambulances… For all he knew, Marco could have been in the back of one of those ambulances, a doctor calling the time at which this freckled young man passed away. The image of Marco, his Marco, broken and bloody, face contorted in pain as his life slipped away… It made Jean nauseas, and he had to cover his mouth as he felt his breakfast start to come back up. "He's not…. He's not dead… You fuckin' liars…. Marco isn't dead…" he whimpered. Tears began to well up in his eyes and he bit down on the skin of his palm.

"Geez, Jean, what's got your panties in a twist?" Jean drew blood from his own hand as the very voice that he knew preceded a detention-earning fight spoke behind him, and he clenched his teeth even tighter. He ripped his hand away from his mouth and spun around to see Eren looking at him like he was an ill-talented street performer attempting to make money on the street, his arm around Armin and Mikasa on his heels.

"Get the hell away from me, you piece of shit," Jean spat, wiping at his eyes though tears continued to fall. Eren blinked, raising his free arm in surrender.

"Hey, I only asked what was wrong. No need to get so-"

"MARCO'S DEAD!" Jean screamed, loud enough for his voice to reverberate throughout the entire hall and cause everyone to go silent. Eren and Armin exchanged a half concerned, half confused look, their eyes wide.

"Who told you that?" Armin asked.

Jean's voice caught in his throat. "…these, douche bags…" he answered quietly. He slowly covered his face with his hand as it dawned on him that perhaps it was rather idiotic of him to believe those untrustworthy hooligans. Eren casted them a glare that was intense enough to send them scampering off; well, it was actually the icy gaze Mikasa aimed their way that did the trick, but Eren didn't know that.

"Yeah, he was in an accident, but he isn't dead. Sent him to the hospital this morning, I saw it," Eren explained. He paused before adding, "We were the last people he saw before they took him away, in fact... He had asked for you. Woulda texted you, but I don't have your number and Armin's phone lost his contacts."

The pain in Jean's body throbbed, leaving him numb. He was almost relieved: relieved that Marco was alive, but still terrified that he was hospitalized. "…gimme the hospital. His room, if you've got it. Please."

Armin asked for his phone, which Jean dazedly handed over; he typed the name of the hospital ("It's the one up the hill from my neighborhood") into the notes and returned it to him. "Thanks," Jean replied dully, already heading toward the door.

"Don't mention it… And don't worry, Jean. Marco's going to be fine," Armin insisted. He smiled gently at him and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he passed. Jean tried to smile at him.

A little more than half an hour later, Jean- exhausted from running the entire distance- stumbled through the hospital doors and dragged himself to the receptionist desk. "Marco Bodt… I need to see a… Marco Bodt…" he panted, gripping his side with one hand and the corner of the desk with the other. The receptionist peered over her horn-rimmed glasses at him, her manicured fingers pausing in typing away at her computer.

"Only family is permitted to visit. Who are you?" she demanded.

Jean wiped the back of his hand against his sweaty brow and caught his breath. "I'm his fiancé." He said these words with more certainty than there was truth behind them. The receptionist's eyes bulged, her glasses sliding down her nose.

"…room 304, down that hall" she told him hesitantly with a nod, then returned to her computer. Jean nodded and jogged in the direction indicated, ignoring the protest of his aching legs.

"300… 302…" he muttered, his eyes darting from door to door. His eyes widened when they glazed over the number 304, written on a silver plaque above a door. He wavered before opening it; not because he wanted to wait any, not even a second, longer before seeing Marco, but because he was afraid of what he would see. He grabbed the doorknob, swallowed his fear, and threw the door open. "Marco!"

It was nearly as awful as Jean had imagined. Marco's hair was windswept and messy, and not in the cute way like when he overslept and hardly had time to brush it. Drying blood stained various places on his forehead, ear, arms (both of which were bandaged), and even had begun to seep through the blanket. His usually rosy skin was pale, and he sat in a stiff position which made it obvious that moving was painful. This was further proven when he perked up at the sound of Jean's voice, yet even that slight movement was enough to make his face contort with pain. Nonetheless, he managed a tiny smile. "…Jean…"

"…Marco," Jean repeated breathily. He closed the door behind him and stumbled to Marco's bedside. Despite the stinging pain he felt throughout his body at seeing Marco in this condition, there was no denying the immense relief that flooded through him at seeing him alive. He wasn't well, no, but he was alive… "…I was worried as hell," he murmured, kneeling beside him and taking his hand in his. He hadn't realized how badly he was shaking until he noticed it quivering against Marco's still hand. "You always text me back, so I started to panic."

Marco flashed an acute sad smile. "I'm sorry… My phone fell out of my pocket when I got hit." His voice was a raspy whisper: another sign of his obvious hurting.

Jean's eyebrows furrowed. "What even happened? I saw the scene of the accident, but…" He began absently stroking Marco's hand with his thumb.

"The driver of that tour bus was driving under the influence… I believe they're currently investigating his case. I had noticed it coming before I crossed the road- you know me, always looking both ways before I cross," he attempted a silly grin, "but I hadn't acknowledged just how fast it was going… I'd taken a mere three steps, I think it was, when it came barreling over the crosswalk and drove right into me. I remember hearing a disturbing combination of cracking and squishing, and thinking, 'I'm going to die.' This may have been a dream, but, I saw Armin and Eren… I said something to them, I haven't the slightest clue what, and then I blacked out…" he explained. He coughed softly afterwards; it had taken a great deal of energy to elucidate that much.

"No, that wasn't a dream…" Jean answered, slowly shaking his head. "They told me that you had asked for me." Marco smiled gently and appeared as if he had something to say, but wasn't able to muster the correct words. "…how bad is it?" Jean asked hesitantly.

Marco took a deep breath (which made him flinch) and paused for a few seconds before answering. He tapped his fingers gently against his legs, counting off all of his ailments. "Well… I have a slight concussion, I'm nearly deaf in my left ear, a couple fractured ribs, nerve damage in my left arm, and…" He hesitated here, his determinedly pleasant expression faltering. "…and the doctor said my leg is may need to be amputated."

A shuddering breath mixed with a quiet groan of horror left Jean's lips. "….Jesus Christ, Marco…" Tears jumped into his eyes. He stood upright and brushed the hair away from Marco's bandaged head as gingerly as he could with his shaking fingers, and pressed a long, soft kiss against his forehead. "…I thought you were dead," he whispered. Marco's eyes widened a little in concern. "The guys… Those assholes I hang out with in detention… They said… you'd died…" His voice was beginning to quiver as the tears in his eyes multiplied and slipped down his cheeks.

"Oh, Jean…" Marco murmured sympathetically. "Well, as you see, I'm not dead! So chin up…" With a teensy smile, he tried to give his hand a reassuring squeeze, but immediately cried out in pain.

Jean's eyes widened in alarm. "Hey, don't hurt yourself even more-!"

The slight smile on Marco's face softened. "…I love you, Jean." The tenderness in his tone made Jean's heart flutter; the sincerity and affection wrapped around those four words made a mysterious warmth glide throughout his body. His immediate response would have been, of course, "I love you, too." Yet for whatever reason, that was not what left his mouth…

"…why," he whispered. Marco blinked in mild bewilderment.

"Why what?"

For a moment, Jean wasn't even sure what he was talking about. "…why do you love me?" he finally concluded. "I'm a douche. I'm selfish, I'm brash, and I don't have any plans for the future. …and worst of all…." He closed his eyes tightly to lessen the flow of his tears. "I wasn't even there for you in your time of need."

A sad sympathy graced Marco's face. If he could have, he would have lifted Jean's hand and planted a kiss against it. "But you're here now, aren't you? That's all that matters," he insisted. Jean bit his lip, glaring down at his lap while his thumb still skirted itself comfortingly across Marco's hand on its own accord. After a couple moments, Jean snapped his gaze up and met Marco's gaze.

"I'll never leave your side again," he suddenly decided. "I'll walk you to school, and to all your classes, and home, and never get a detention again. Whenever you stay after school, I'll find a way to stay after too." His expression was 100% serious as he vowed these words. Marco listened to him with a surprised expression; once he was done, unmatchable affection seeped into his features.

"You're so determined… I love that about you, Jean." He paused. "And I love how you're not afraid to speak your mind, ever, regardless of what it'll make people think of you… I love how you're able to act under pressure, even though you come off as a bum." He winked teasingly here. "I love how you never beat around the bush for anything, you always get straight to the point… I love how you're able to differentiate your true friends from the wrong people, and lay your loyalty in the right people. I love how you hold me like you don't want to let me go, I love how you kiss me like you mean it, I love how you make love to me like I'm truly something special to you…" An embarrassed, but pleasant, blush flushed Marco's freckled cheeks. "I love you, Jean."

Jean opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, totally speechless. He had asked Marco why he loved him, and sure enough, he gave him an answer…. An answer that was more than enough. "…I… Damn it, I love you more than anything in the whole damn world," he uttered, and as a fresh tear rolled down his cheek, he closed his widened eyes and buried his face in Marco's shoulder.

They stayed like that, their hands entwined and Jean pressing his forehead gently against Marco's shoulder, for a few more minutes. Finally, Jean sat back up and moved himself to sit on Marco's bedside. "You look exhausted…" he commented. As if on command, Marco yawned, a tired smile appearing on his face.

"I am exhausted… …Jean? Can you stay with me?" he requested quietly, a cherubic innocence mixed into his expression.

"How unlike you to suggest skipping school… I like it." Jean grinned, pulling up one of the cushioned (thankfully not plastic) chairs set off to the side for visitors and sliding into it. Marco smiled at him, but it quickly faded and was replaced with a look of concern as he realized something.

"I'll probably fall right asleep… It's still only morning, I'm sure you won't want to sleep yourself… You'll get so bored," he worried. The grin remained on Jean's face, providing some comfort for Marco by itself.

"Please, I can always do with more sleep. 'Sides, I'm pretty tired myself… Stayed up till 2 watching porn," he joked. Marco laughed- lightly, so he wouldn't hurt himself. He closed his eyes, gradually and carefully slipping into a laying down position.

"Mm, you're too funny…" With those words, the gentle smile slipped off of his lips, and he fell right asleep. Jean's own grin melted into a soft, hardly visible smile. He gingerly brushed Marco's hair into place again, and then leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek.

"I love you, Marco… I'm never leaving your side again," he promised under his breath. Soon, he fell asleep himself, his fingers still wrapped lightly around Marco's.