Wings : Attack on Titan x Reader Scenarios / Imagines ▼

[That Day :: Marco]

(F I V E  Y E A R S  B E F O R E)

"[Y/n], honey? We need to get going!" Your mother's voice drifted into Marco's room from farther down the hallway.

A frown formed on your lips. You'd only been with your friend for an hour or two, telling him all of your crazy stories from school and city adventures, but it had been enough to put a smile on his face. After six months of not seeing him, this was all the time that you two had? You weren't going to stand for that.

Marco had told you how he'd been sick for awhile with something that puzzled the doctors, thus leaving his nervous parents no other option than to pull him out of school until he got better. But the days had turned into weeks and the weeks into months. Improvement had been minimal, all up until recently, when a doctor from out of town had arrived with the correct diagnosis and medicine to help. Something like Dr. Jaeger, he'd said.

Nevertheless, he was getting better. He mentioned that he should be able to come back to class in a few more days if everything continued as planned. But how were you supposed to wait until then? After being stuck in his own home for nearly half a year, you'd feel guilty leaving him all by himself again. In fact, you were just about to protest when an unfamiliar voice traveled throughout the entire household, leaving you with an open mouth and unspoken words suspended on your tongue.

"Wall Maria has been breached!"

The voice of Marco's father cut in, much quieter. "What are you talking about?"

A pause, and then, "The Titans have broken through Wall Maria. Refugees are pouring in. The Garrison has sent messengers to inform inhabitants of the unharmed villages of this tragedy."

Amidst the horror, the sounds of the adults' discussion was smudged into an incoherent swirling of panic and discord, a vortex of all-consuming terror that sucked the hope from your heart and the rationality from your mind, pulling on your very skin. The words from before vanished atop your lips and you slammed the door of Marco's room shut. Nothing else mattered anymore. Nothing mattered anymore.

The world around you was crumbling down, and Wall Rose would be next to fall.

"[Y/n]!"

A panicked voice. Your father? Too young. Maybe not panicked, maybe concerned. Hands on your shoulders.

The tornado of emotions vanished, and in its wake was Marco, face flushed with fervent fever. His chocolate eyes were locked on yours. "It's okay," he said, "we'll be okay."

Something about seeing him up after weeks of being bedridden for the sole purpose of comforting you made your racing heart slow. Your mind cleared and Marco let go of you, instead offering a hand down to help you up. For a moment you blinked back at him, confused, but then felt your clawed hands against wooden planks, and realized that you must've sunk to the floor in your fear. Gratefully, you took his hand.

"Sorry," you murmured.

He shook his head. "No, it's - it's scary," he began, looking like the sickly boy he'd been for the past months again, face drained of color and hands shaking, "I just hope that everyone's okay."

This drove a wedge through your heart. Marco's naïeve optimism was both a beautiful and sad little trait; while it kept his head high, it always made telling the truth seem all the more difficult. You swallowed your former trepidation and led him back to his bed, quietly motioning for him to sit down. The truth tingled your tongue with a relentless desire to escape.

But you were his friend. You needed to be the anchor pulling him back to reality, just as he had been yours. So you shoved your former thoughts away and said, closing your eyes for a moment: "They will be."