Like A Fallen Angel

Connecting Constellations

Iyolani's POV

I didn't go to dinner that night.

Instead, I sat on the roof of the barracks, as I did many nights before. It was always peaceful - the soft chatter of cadets winding down for bed, a cool breeze smelling faintly of lilacs - but it was always the sky that got me. Millions of sprawling constellations twinkled just out of reach as if taunting me with each glow. They reminded me of fireflies in fields of amber after dark, one of the few random visions I had retained.

Over the years, I had vague memories such as those return to me, but nothing I could quite understand. Blurry conversations with no context, places with no location but my own mind, and so, so many faces with no names. I wrote every little scrap down fervently as if it might slip away from me again. But it was no use - my pages were filled with nothing substantial.

An overwhelming sense of frustration overwhelmed me - with training, my memories, and Jean - always that horse face.

As far as I knew, I had never been hated before. I read it in each etched frown he gave me. In his rolled eyes, tensed shoulders, clenched fists, and always that glare of utter spite. Being hated made me hate myself, and no matter how I reached out to him, it only seemed to make it worse.

A soft creak pulled me from my contemplation. I rotated to see Marco, climbing up the same way I had. He was as lithe as a cat, making almost no noise, but he must've not seen me yet, as I asked, "Can't sleep?" causing him to jolt.

He swiveled towards me, eyes wide, then relieved in seeing me. "I guess not!" he chuckled, always smiling, "What are you doing up here, Iyo?"

I loved his freckled face - it reminded me of earthen specks peeking through pure snow - almost like the opposite of the cosmos above us.

I shrugged, "I like the stars. Plus it gives me a spot to write without Connie trying to steal my journal... he's so nosy."

We shared a comfortable laugh, "What do you write in that big 'ol notebook?" he politely asked.

"Since I lost my memory, I write every detail of every day in here." I tapped the leatherbound book with a knuckle, enjoyed the muffled thud it made, "Armin suggested it... just so I don't... uh... forget, you know?"

Marco nodded, peering up into the night sky, "Armin's such a smart guy. We're so lucky to have such great comrades!"

Immediately, I thought of Jean and wanted to protest, but he read it on my face before I could say anything, "I know some are rough around the edges..."

"That's an understatement." I huffed.

He held his hands up in placation, "...but I think once you get to know him, you'll see you have a lot in comm-"

I covered my ears, groaning, "Don't finish that sentence." 

He jabbed a finger at me, grinning wildly as if he had caught me in the act, "Just like that! Jean does that all the time when he's upset!"

I quickly stuffed my hands in my pockets, hoping to never emulate the jerk again, "Yeah, Jean also breathes, sleeps, and shits - we must be soulmates."

Marco laughed so heartily I was worried he'd wake up the whole camp, but it was too infectious for me not to join in.

We spent hours and hours watching the stars, chatting about our friends, and sharing dreams for the future. Marco went on and on about how he planned to help others as an MP, and I knew it'd fit him perfectly. As we traced imaginary lines between Orion's Belt and the Big Dipper constellations with our pinkies, I whispered to him secrets and stories of life with Eren, Mikasa, and Armin in the years before training.

With the same pinkies we had mapped the universe with, we locked them in solemn friendship - promising to keep our nighttime routine and the secrets we shared our own.

And despite all that Jean had said, I didn't feel like a freak anymore, thanks to the wonderful boy named Marco.