In Another Life (EreJean)

four

Chapter summary: Jean finds a mysterious letter.

"Marco."

Marco's signature smile stretches wider. "Good morning."

Jean's mouth hangs open, but no words come out. There is a myriad of things he can say, that he wants to say. But the realization that the person who shaped his character above anyone is again living, breathing, and standing less than two feet away is too heavy to form proper sentences.

He's taken back to that fateful day. Over 170 soldiers died at the Battle of Trost. Without Marco, Jean would've been one of them.

Jean still remembers the alarming rate his heart pounded as he and Marco loaded their shotguns. They were alone, and there was a good chance it'd be the last conversation they ever shared. Jean wasn't ready to die, but he was a realist. Only the strongest and smartest soldiers would make it out alive, and Jean was neither.

When he relayed that sentiment to Marco, his friend hit him with a new perspective.

"Promise me you're not gonna take this the wrong way," Marco tells him, "but I don't think you're a good leader cause you're strong. I think you're a good leader cause you know what it is to be weak. You're one of us."

Those words carried Jean through the rest of that day. He committed to every decision he made, not worrying about what ifs. Someone he deeply admired saw his capabilities as a leader. The least he could do is believe it himself.

And it was those same words that sprang to Jean's mind when he discovered Marco's body.

There were corpses everywhere. Nurses walked around with clipboards doing their best to identify the deceased. Jean confirmed Marco's identity to one of them, though the voice in his head shouted that he was wrong. It couldn't have been Marco. The body that laid before him, what was left of it anyway, possessed no lingering warmth or positivity. The discoloration of the skin even concealed his freckles. It was too brutal a death for Marco's kind disposition.

It's an image he's worked desperately to forget. Marco was the sunlight seeping through the dark cloud that hovered Jean's shoulder, and he deserves to be remembered as such. It's for Jean's sake as well. Lamenting on Marco and the ways Jean could've saved him may drag him into a pit of agony he's not strong enough to crawl out of.

But with Marco in front of him, those feelings rush to Jean's brain without his permission.

His balance betrays him, and he stumbles sideways. Marco gasps but catches him in time. Firm hands grip Jean's biceps with no intention of letting go.

"What's wrong?"

Jean steadies his breathing, zeroing on Marco's face. He's scared to blink, like Marco will disappear if he does. Luckily, Marco's hold offers as much emotional support as it does physical.

The corners of Jean's mouth turn the slightest bit upwards.

"Nothing," he chokes out. "You're here." He cups Marco's forearms and squeezes, just to be sure. "You're real."

Marco beams at him. "Of course I am. What else would I be?"

"Ignore him," Connie says. "He's been acting weird all morning."

Marco scans Jean's face, his sweet smile vanishing as soon as it comes. He loosens his grasp to brush his thumbs against the leather of Jean's waist jacket.

"Jean, you're crying. Are you sure you're okay?"

It's not until Marco mentions it that Jean notices himself. A pair of hot tears rush down his cheeks. When they curl beneath his chin, two new ones replace them.