I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry.
Please forgive me for not being strong enough.
I was too weak to leave my post.
To fight for what I truly believed in.
For that,
For leaving you alone,
I am sorry.
Jean swore that every muscle in his body was frozen. He couldn't move for the paralysing fear running through him. The sounds of the battle raged around him, but he heard nothing, only the frantic beating of his heart. Gunfire zipped over his head from where he was crouched behind the relative safety of a pile of empty gunpowder crates, as much as he could possibly be safe in an area surrounded by the rebels. Jean himself was no rebel, but a leader of the defensive force against the battles sweeping through the streets. Nevertheless, he did not believe that the side he bore the uniform of was in the right in this war; he was simply too scared to join the rebelling army, for fear of his family being the ones who would pay for his betrayal.
Jean couldn't really care less about the political games played by the aristocracy and the rebellion. All he wanted was one chance to kiss his lover, just once, when he wouldn't be beaten or judged. He didn't care what leadership or government was in place, as long as he and his lover could be safe. Of course, the likelihood was that he would never even see his lover again, being that they had been part of the force storming the inner city, trying to breach the walls of the castle.
The night before, they had met in secret, for what they both knew (but neither wanted to admit) was the last time. Their union had been passionate, filled with deep kisses and declarations of undying love, pour toujours et à jamais, forever and always. As they had moved together, Jean driving himself deeper and deeper under his lover's beautiful, calloused, sun-kissed skin, neither had been able to hold back their tears either, and had climaxed simultaneously with Jean crying into his lover's freckled chest and his lover sobbing tears and praises into Jean's hair.
The rest of the dwindling hours of night were spent laying side by side, staring into one another's eyes and praying for a miracle to save them both. Some hours were light-hearted, filled with jokes and tickling and play-wrestling leading to smile stretched kisses. Other, which appeared more frequently the closer the threat of dawn became, were almost silent. Jean smoothed away his lover's frowns and chased after each teardrop with butterfly kisses.
In his self improvised barricade, Jean squashed the urge to break down again. He had cried enough and he wouldn't cry again. Gripping the handle of his gun in a shaky fist, Jean could feel the engraved initials, MB, carved out by his lover in a moment of madness.
"I'll find you Marco," he vowed, "Even if I have to find your corpse."
As he burst out of his hiding place in a rain of gunfire, the rebel soldiers were too preoccupied with dodging bullets to notice that their assailant was red-eyed and wet cheeked.
AN - Again, this can be read as part of the reincarnation AU all of these fics make up, or it doesn't have to be... (I mean, for extra sads it really should be.)
This was originally going to be set during the French revolution, hence the bit of french in the middle, but that doesn't come across particularly well, so it can just be a generic revolution.
I promise Day 6's entry will be light and funny, I promise. It's a Grease AU.