Jean Kirstchtein, twenty years old, had just finished up packing his backpack full with school work and messy, disorganized binders, before walking out the door of his college classroom. He did the same thing he did everyday; He would meet with his friends by the locker room, they'd all order a coffee to go at the student café. Sasha would always get the sweetest, most fattening pastry available that day. Her friends had always wondered by what sort of twisted miracle she did not get fat, since she also bought one in the morning, and at lunch, and between classes…

It was the same thing daily, the same routine; they shared pleasantries until they reached the sidewalk, where Jean would go in a different direction than his friends did. It had not always been this way. He saw his friends off and walked in the opposite direction. He would spend most of his time with Sasha Braus and Connie Springer, since they had been friends since high school and been accepted to the same college. It had been two years and a half since then,and the three of them would graduate next semester.

A few months ago, Sasha had dared question Jean about his routine, despite being afraid of what reaction she would trigger in him. "Jean…I'm sorry if this is none of my business but…Are you sure this is okay, what you're doing? Are you sure it's… healthy?"

"You're right, it's none of your business, Sasha." He had replied curtly, leaving her behind on the sidewalk. She had not brought it up again.

Jean entered the familiar room where he had spent literally every single afternoon in since the last year. He dropped his bag on the table and pulled a chair close to the bed. "Hi Marco." He greeted his friend who laid in the bed. There had been mountains of flowers, gifts and cards a year ago by the bedside, but in time, the flowers had wilted and stopped being replaced by new ones, the cards and gifts had been stashed away.

Jean did not mind this. He was used to the bare room, used to the monotonous beeping of the heartbeat monitor Marco was connected to. "School went okay, today… I got an A on my test, you know." No reply.

Sometimes he would talk to Marco for a while, or rather, at Marco. Other times, he would pull out his school work and study by the bedside. Today, he was simply playing some stupid games on his smartphone. After a hour or two had passed, he would get up, lean forward and kiss Marco on the forehead, whispering "See you tomorrow, I love you." before heading back home.

Marco had not awaken since his car accident a year ago. He could breath on his own, his brain stem had remained intact sufficiently for him to be able him to do so, but the rest of his brain activity had been reduced to nearly nothing. The hemorrhage had been too severe.

"I am truly sorry." The neurosurgeon had added as he explained the situation to Marco's parents. How their only child was a step short of brain dead. Jean had been there too, he had seen his mother wail and crumble to the floor. He had miraculously managed to wait until he was alone at home to cry. And cry he had, for what had literally been hours.

There was no chance he would ever awaken, and even if there had been the smallest odd, there would have been nothing left of the very essence of who Marco Bodt was, or had been. Of how he had always been the kind, levelheaded, paternal one of their group of friends. The one who had always brought them back to earth went things went a little too crazy. He was the one who would temper Jean and Connie when they had teased each other enough until they had legitimately gotten angry at each other and began rolling their sleeves up, fists closed. "Hey there there, guys, come on, calm down, calm down." He would smile gently, and there was something in his manners, in his voice, that would stop them both.

Jean remembered hundreds of small, seemingly random and pointless events such as this as days went by. He was almost surprised he had not run out of memories by now. There was almost a new one every day, a small thing he had forgotten, a thought that would make him smile again. He would see, or hear something around the city or in class, watching TV, wherever, whenever, and it would remind him of Marco.

That week, an outing to the movie theater with Sasha and Connie reminded him of how once, Marco had tripped and spilled his entire drink on Jean's lap right before the movie started. He had been so angry that time, but now, he could not help but recall the memory with a smile on his face. He kept those memories to himself, nowadays.

His friends had liked to think of Marco in this manner too, in the moments after the accident. It helped them remembering him for who he had been, and not the permanently comatose shell of a man he had become. Eventually, they had moved on, the thoughts coming up less and less often, but for Jean, it had went on...And on, and on.

After a few weeks, Sasha had pulled Jean aside.

"Jean, you need to stop mentioning Marco all day, everyday like that…W-we can't handle it anymore…I'm sorry."

Jean had exploded with anger, "Whatever, fuck you, Sasha!" He had walked out of the empty classroom they had been in, slamming the door so hard that the entire hallway must have felt it vibrating. Sometimes, he scared her, now that Marco was not there anymore to calm him down. They had not talked for three weeks after that. He got tired of being alone after a while, and had finally apologized. He stopped mentioning Marco for the most part after this had happened, although he still enjoyed the rare occasions when his friends would.

Sometimes he remembered things the others had never even aware of. Not that there had not been doubts in Sasha and Connie's mind that there was more to Jean and Marco than a good friendship, but they had never officially brought it up, and somehow, everyone had been okay with that.

Jean often remembered that time when they had slowly, ever so slowly gotten closer and closer together while watching a movie while sitting on the couch, both curious how far the other would go, until their shoulders and their head touched, and an arm wrapped itself over a shoulder, and another around a waist, and both of them pretended to keep watching the movie, well aware that neither of them would still be able to focus on it at all.

He recalled their first awkward kiss in Marco's dorm room, how fast it had made his heart beat, and that inexplicable feeling he had felt all over, from his chest, down to that tingle in his lower abdomen. He remembered the playful, devilish look in Marco's big brown eyes the first time he had slid his hand between Jean's legs, and how they had both blushed at the growing bulge it had triggered. He remembered the first time Marco had gently wrapped his lips around his cock, and the first time they had made love, and how beautiful it had been, despite the awkwardness. Both virgins, they had tried to figure out how this all worked, and wow, it was not as easy as they thought, but it was okay because they had held each other's naked, warm bodies all night and they had kissed, and laughed, and had never felt so happy.

Sometimes, at night, Jean would masturbate to the memories, unsure if he should feel sick with himself for it or not. Sometimes he managed to finish, and at times, he started crying before he could. Sometimes he managed both, coming in his hand as he whimpered Marco's name, tears rolling down his cheeks.

And so, a year had passed since the tragic accident, and Jean could literally count the days he had missed a visit on one hand. One afternoon, as Jean read a required book for classes in the hospital room, Marco's mother entered the room. She smiled at Jean as she pulled a chair next to him, sitting by her son's bedside. She grasped his limp, pale hand, staring at his beautiful, peaceful, freckled face.

-"Hi Jean, how have you been?"

-"Hi, not bad, not bad." He replied with a small, timid smile. "You?"

-"We're doing okay." By we, she was referring to her husband, of course.

They stood in awkward silence for a moment. Jean had closed the book he had been studying and rested it on his lap.

"Jean…" The woman finally spoke up, without taking her brown eyes away from her son.

"Do you think this is the life he would have wanted?"

The question shocked Jean, making his heart skip a beat. What kind of question was that?! Of course this is not the life he would have wanted. He thought about it every day, especially these days, as he had been thinking about making career choices with Connie and Sasha, discussing graduation, internships, where they would apply for jobs. All those things Marco had been supposed to be doing along with them.

He stayed silent for a moment, trying to find a way to reply to this question without insulting Ms. Bodt the way the question had insulted him. It was her son, after all.

"N-no…of course not." He replied meekly. "There are so many things he should be doing with us right now and…" He could not bring himself to finish the thought out loud.

She sighed, her eyes still staring intently at her son's soft traits.

"That is true, but...what I mean is…the coma…His dad and I, we've been thinking…"

Jean's heart started pounding hard in his chest, cold sweat quickly formed down the back of his neck and dripped down his back. He hoped this was not the discussion he had been dreading for months. The worn out woman went on, confirming his very worst fear.

"We've been thinking that…there's no point to this anymore, isn't there..."

That's all she said before standing up, kissing her son's hand, and then his forehead. "See you, Jean."

Jean knew too well what the woman meant. He felt tears well up in his eyes as soon as Ms. Bodt had left the room. He slid his chair across the floor to get closer to Marco's bed, and he rested his forehead on his comatose lover's chest. He took solace in hearing him breath faintly, hearing the quiet beating of his heart. "You can't…y-you possibly can't… be thinking…" The thought tortured him as he clamped one of Marco's hand between both of his and squeezed as hard as he could.

The few next weeks were as normal as they had been in the last few months, if only for the greater load of school work as finals approached, and the dread he felt every time he saw Marco's parents walk through the door when he spent time in his room.

His dread was justified. One Saturday, Ms. Bodt had called Jean and asked if they could meet him at the hospital. Jean could barely breathe during the whole bus ride. Marco's parents were both sitting next to each other, looking at their son. They smiled weakly at Jean as he entered the room, and asked him to sit down.

"Jean…We know how dedicated you have been with visiting Marco, we understand he was…He is very important to you."

Marco had told Jean his parents were quite Catholic, old fashioned. He had not gotten too deeply into the details, but he had added: "They don't need to know about us, it's none of their business, right?" Jean had not been insulted by that, he was perfectly fine with their love being their little secret.

The blonde teenager had always made sure to take a look over his shoulder before his daily kiss on Marco's forehead, but he figured his constant presence surely had raised suspicions by now. He did not care, and he was glad Marco's parents did not seem to as much as Marco had feared. That, or they were really oblivious.

"I hope you don't take this too badly but…We've decided that it's time."

"…" The pressure in his chest felt so heavy, he was not sure he remembered how to breathe at that moment.

Marco's mother began crying quietly, she wiped her tears with the back of her small hand. "They…they are going to take out the feeding tube next week. Tuesday night. You…you can be here If you want to."

Jean stood up, he could not look at them, his eyes were fixated on Marco's face. He could feel his legs and his knees shaking, his head felt light, I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe. He had to get out of there. "Thank you for letting me know. I will be here." He spurted out quickly, his voice cracking up before running out of the room.

It was not his place to beg them not to, no matter how much he had wanted to. It was their son. It was them paying for this. He knew insurance had run out a long time ago. He knew it had to be done someday, he knew, deep down, that Marco was gone. The Marco he had known and loved, he was gone, he would never come back, but now that he had to face the truth about it, now he would be really, physically gone. Now he would not be able to kiss him, or to rest his ear on his chest and listen to the slow, steady beating of his heart ever again.

He knew he would not able to last the bus ride back to his house without breaking down. He locked himself in a bathroom stall, and cried quietly, his face in his hands, quiet sobs shaking his back painfully as he tried to contain them. He stayed there for half an hour, until he felt strong enough to at least get back to his room. He cried some more once he got there, laying on his side in his bed in the dark, his curtains closed. He obsessively flipped back and forth through the pictures of Marco he had on his cell phone, looking at them as well as he could through the tears until he fell asleep.

He spent that Sunday locked in his room in a daze, curtains closed. The next day, he told Sasha and Connie what was going to happen tomorrow. They pulled him into a tight group hug. "It's going to be okay." They said kindly, supporting Jean as best as they could.

Deep down, they were almost glad this was happening. It hurt to see their friend unable to let go like this, both had felt so helpless for so long.

The next evening, Jean was in Marco's hospital room with his parents. It was almost anti-climatic. They simply pulled out the IV in Marco's arm that had been providing him with fluids and minerals, while the gastric tube that had directly been feeding him through his stomach was removed and plugged shut.

That was it…Really, that was it huh? Jean had been so upset about the news that he did not realize until now that this would not be instant. So he was just going to starve then? How awful. The three people in the room avoided each other's gaze, and mostly just kept on staring at the peaceful, freckled man laying in his bed. He looked no different than he had been for the last year, if only that his hair had gotten longer, and his body skinnier, frailer, paler. Mr and Ms. Bodt held each other's hand, the woman's head resting on her tan, freckled husband's shoulder. They had usually been very understanding of Jean's presence, and Jean was thankful for that, but this time, Marco's dad finally spoke up: "Jean, can you leave us alone for tonight please?" He asked gravely.

Jean felt a painful weight crushing his chest all over again. He opened his mouth a few times, failing to speak, before finally nodding silently and walking out. The next morning, he skipped his first class so that he could visit Marco. Usually visits were not allowed until 10am, but considering the situation, he was let in without a word.

Jean stood next to Marco, staring down at his face. It looked the same, he thought. "You're dying, and I can't even tell…"He bent over, laying his ear against his lover's chest as he often did, taking in the sound of his heartbeat. It was beating in harmony with the constant beeping of the heart rate monitor. He stayed like this for a few minutes, just taking it in all in, his eyes closed, picturing Marco's lively, happy face in his mind. "I can't believe this is the last time…that I…" He couldn't finish his sentence, he felt his bottom lip shaking, and he bit it down to hold back whatever feelings were stirring inside of him again. He moved up to Marco's face, and instead of kissing his forehead as he usually did, he went for his mouth. He kissed the unresponsive, dry lips for one last time, and then forced himself to back away, afraid someone would see him, wiping the tears he had accidentally shed on Marco's cheek.

"I love you Marco. Good bye."

At the burial, Jean was glad to feel Connie and Sasha's arms around his shoulders, supporting him. He could barely focus on the words some priest was uttering, speaking of some God and His Kingdom and some other crap he could not bring himself to believe in even if he wanted to. Because he did, he wanted to believe Marco was there, watching over him, but he could not bring himself to. He could not even cry anymore, he just felt dead inside.

That night, Jean laid in his bed again, flipping through Marco's pictures on his phone as he had done countless times before.

"I'll always love you, Marco."