Some things are difficult to understand. Especially for him; he never quite understood the intricacies of relationships. Of emotion.
Which is fine, of course. It has never bothered him.
Except when.
Except when he notices the glance he gives her, when she is not looking. What a strange circle; from a distance he admires her, and she admires Jaeger, and who knows what is going through Jaeger's mind except recklessness and titans and irresponsibility. It is just one of the things that frustrates him, aside from his clear obliviousness to his fortunate situation.
Except when she notices, one day. Her eyes meet those of the freckled boy standing beside him; staring, almost subconsciously, in her direction, one day in the mess hall. And although he averts his gaze immediately, he can be seen blushing fervently; and although she, too, appears to lose interest quickly, a smile can still be seen on her lips as she continues in her everlasting observation of the boy next to her.
Except when he sees them together, out of the window of the dormitory; one night when snow begins to fall outside, only flakes, that rest in her hair and his alike as they talk; the words inaudible through the glass and the distance; as they speak, as he watches.
And that is when he begins to care.
It is a dangerous game. He has never allowed himself to before; for he realises how ridiculous it is, to feel, to allow yourself to do so when all around you the world is crumbling. And it is inevitable, he understands, that one of them is to die. It is assured. It is a certainty.
That does not make him admire her less: though it is silently, from a distance, in the snow; a strange loneliness and emptiness against the warmth in his heart.
That does not make him cling to him less; though it is quietly, from a distance, just knowing that having him in his sight is as good a security as any.
That does not keep him safe. It is stupid and it is cowardly and it is painful; above all, painful. But he does it anyway.
Though he knows this, he watches.
"I'm going to do it."
He speaks directly now. There is no point in doing otherwise now; not now the world has ceased spinning around him, not now he stands there, numbly, unable to fully comprehend that this could have happened.
"I'll protect her, right? You'd want that."
And he would, too. He would want what was best for her. For him, too.
He never realised. That was the worst thing. It only really bothered him in those rare moments when they were concerned about something other than their immanent death; but it gnawed at him, all the same. The innocence. He was oblivious, and that was why he felt such strong affection for him.
Marco was always like that. But he never expected anything more.
He was a friend. He was sure of that, now. He was a friend, and he loved him, and he would do what he knew he must – he would carry on his message. His spirit, if you will. If he willed so hard enough, he could make it come true. He wouldn't have to leave.
"I'll protect her." He swallowed, stiffly. Fingers wrapped around hilt. Be a soldier. And he will have to; if he is to guard her, the one he has admired; the one he has looked upon for so long, unspeaking, who he gave up for another. Though she in no way needed his help, he needed hers, with a kind of quiet desperation. And now he must do his best to return the favour.
It was the best he could do. In a way, it was a promise. A quiet vow, almost silent, but he hoped it would be heard.