Author's note : HELLO FRIENDS I AM HERE WITH A SAD MARCO/JEAN FANFIC. Basically Marco became a ghost and haunts Jean, so yeah uwu ahhh i just hope you guys enjoy this, especially you, James! ;3; dedicated this shit to you because YOU JUST HAD TO GIVE ME MASSIVE FEELS DIDN'T YOU. This one took me +/- 1hour (on phone, i typed it on the way back home from school) and is really, really short. ;u; i still do hope you guys will enjoy it! uwu

Well, this was a new thing to Marco. Very new and strange indeed.

New, and has this odd, slightly creepy feeling that made him shiver.

He just became a ghost.

A ghost.

Those creatures that his parents had told him were the souls of the dead, but still had his 'soul' rooted on earth because of something that he or she couldn't let go. And which, to popular beliefs, cannot ascend to heaven if his or her problem are not solved yet. They would often cause trouble or haunt the people they love, or so they said.

Why did he become a ghost in the first place, anyway?

Not a hard question for him to answer, though. He missed everyone. He missed the city. He even missed slaying the titans and protecting humanity. He couldn't let go of all of those things. Take a string from each of those reasons and tie them together, and he had found out : he missed being alive.

Being a ghost was boring and lonely, he thought. Most of the times he would just get frustrated of this brand new way of 'living', and would just knock off the things on the table or knock off anything he could find. Which, usually led to the ones in charge being angry at the trainees.

Another way to pass this boring period of 'waiting', he pulled pranks on them (especially on Connie); the pranks which he couldn't possibly done if he was alive. One time, he swapped Irvin Smith's shoes with Eren's, which made Eren earn a few hours of running around the city (though the punishment was given by Rivaille).

Sometimes, he would poke someone in the shoulder. Like one time he did with Sasha. "Bertholdt, do you need something?", Sasha turned around and asked the tall guy behind Marco (obviously none of them couldn't see Marco, it was like he was a glass door; but anyone who hit a glass could still feel it). "N - no! I didn't!", Bertholdt shook his hands in front of him. The two (sort of) argued for a moment, while Marco just stood in the middle of them, chuckling lightly and tried to ignore the fact that they couldn't see him.

But none of them made him happy, nor contented, or even relieved. Those things just made it more clear to him that he was a ghost, since people didn't accuse him for the things he did and couldn't see him. They couldn't ever hear him! He once yelled to Jean when he was about to get into another fight with Eren, "Jean, don't!". But Jean landed a punch on Eren's face anyway, and of course, it turned into fight. Marco tried to think that Jean could hear him, but he was just too focused on beating Eren up.

He never really saw another creature like him, though. Or could he not see them? It was getting even more lonely and sometimes he would just cry alone under one of the buildings in the city.

But ghosts just love to haunt people, don't they? And Marco had found one person in particular, that he really loved to follow around; and sometimes played pranks on him.

That person was none other than Jean Kirschtein.

He wasn't there when Jean found his corpse. He woke up on the place where he died, after the clean up was done. He had thought that he was still alive, since he didn't know his corpse was removed from the scene.

But then he realized that he got half of his body bitten off by a titan. So how could he survive?

He didn't know where he should go, and what he should do back then. Furthermore, he didn't know what he was.

And so he walked around Trost for a moment, before accidentally stumbled upon two soldiers conversing in a small alley. Marco had that smile plastered on his face, relieved that he had finally found someone.

"Hey!", Marco yelled.

None of them seemed to hear him, though. Maybe i didn't yell loud enough, he thought. He walked closer to them, yelling even more louder, "Hey! Can't you hear me?". He got tired, so he walked even closer and patted one of the soldiers with one hand.

Marco's hand went through him like air.

"Dude, did you feel that?", the guy rubbed his shoulders with both hands, his body shaking a bit. The other chuckled, "What? Like a ghost?", he laughed, mocking the other. The other stomped his feet at the ground, "No!", and the taller one kept laughing. The one who got a pat in the shoulder by Marco looked behind him, and found nothing other than the dull brick wall of a small partially destroyed house.

Marco stared at his hands in horror. He could still see himself clearly, so why couldn't they? They looked at him (or was it through him?) like he was nothing. Like there was nothing behind him, staring in horror, with eyes began glimmering with tears. Marco sank on his knees, while he kept looking at his hands, tears slowly falling down from the corner of his eyes.

But the ground didn't look like it was hit by tears. It looked as dry as it was in the hot summer.

The shorter one looked around for a moment (he didn't seem to notice Marco's presence too), making Marco look up at them, still on his knees; "Anyways, are they going to seriously burn them the corpses? There?".

"Yeah, how else? Like the usual."

"How about the ashes?"

"Thrown away to some place else or just... Leave it right there!"

"Man, they're treated like shit."

"They're dead, what do you expect them to be treated like?"

"But they're are still alive out there! Wait, have you heard about the guy who died... Shit, i can't remember his name. I suppose it was-"

Marco didn't even bother to hear more of it (and he didn't want to). He quickly stood up and dashed to the place mentioned, the rain that slowly fell down on him just went through his body; so he noticed. He actually knew what it meant, but he decided not to know about it.

And there they were. His friends. Ymir was there, Christa was also there, Reiner, Bertholdt, Annie, Connie, Sasha... Everyone was. Jean was, crouching down in front of the flames. Marco approached him and crouched next to him, patting Jean in the shoulder, "Jean!".

He couldn't hear him, though. Jean was closing his eyes, looking desperate and like he was in this infinite abyss of sadness. He grabbed one small piece of the burnt bones in his hands, closing tightly with his palm. "Jean, what are you-". Then he heard a small sob escaped Jean. Was he crying?

He was. One small tear escaped from the corner of his eyes and dripped down into the dry ground. He put what was on his palm down on the ground, and took out a small piece of bone from his left pocket. It looked like a rib bone; sharp on one edge, and the other looked like it was torn from something.

Jean gripped it hard, looking at the fire that feasted upon the corpses of his team mates, "Marco...", he muttered in a small voice the other could barely even hear, but Marco could (if only Jean knew he was there). "I don't kniw what i'll do without you.", his grip on the small piece of bone became stronger, but he stood up and dumped the bone into his left pocket and turned at the others and shouted with a determined face. Jean had made his decision.

Marco didn't even pay attention to it. He was crying quietly (not that anyone could hear him), sitting on the ground and hugging his knees, burying his face in his arms as he sobbed. He now knew that he had to accept the fact that he was really dead.

And so Marco stayed there even until the others had retreated back to their quarters to sleep, only leaving the place after the fire was gone; and what was left, was ashes.

Marco went into Jean's room, and snuck in to lay himself next to Jean, who was sleeping. Though, he was actually sobbing, still crying over the death of his dear team mate. Jean had Marco's bone in his hands, holding it like it was a precious treasure that if he lost it, it would cost him his life. Jean muffled his sob on the pillow, laying on his left side as he did.

Marco couldn't stand seeing Jean like this. It was too much for him to bear and he felt like he needed to do something about it. He turned to his left side, just like Jean did. He wrapped his arms around Jean from behind, feeling his own shoulders heaving from Jean's sobs. "It's alright, i'm here.", he let his mouth slide into a sad smile, before feeling his own tears escaping his eyes, "I'll always be here.".

And so Marco stayed there and lulled Jean to sleep, silently. Not that Jean could hear him, but he knew that he could feel him. He must've felt it, he tried to convince himself over and over, as he kept hugging Jean even though he was already asleep.

The next day, the team had dinner in the dining hall. This time, the seat next to Jean was left empty.

Or at least they thought it was. Marco was there, sitting next to Jean, watching him eating the tasteless soup provided. Connie and Sasha, who were usually the loudest, being the most 'hyperactive' teenagers on the scene, were quiet. None of them said much, other than comforting words (to forget and somehow cherish the memories of their dead team mates) or to ask for help.

Jean sipped the soup from his spoon before setting it aside. Reiner, who sat in the opposite side of the table was a bit confused by this. Jean always finished his food. Not to mention, he hadn't even hear a single insult from him and Jean's bastardly smirk.

"You okay, Jean?", Reiner asked, still eating his last piece of bread. "Huh?", Jean looked away from his soup to look at Reiner, "It's nothing.", he replied with the same face he wore since the day Marco died : no expression, but his eyes had that signal that said he was afraid.

"Jean, don't lie.", Marco put on a concerned face and patted Jean lightly on his right shoulder. Jean looked at Marco's direction, which startled Marco and almost made him jump off the bench. "Jean!", he cried, his lips slid into a huge smile. Could it be? Was someone able to see him? The adrenaline rushed through his body faster than a jet plane, knowing that if that was right, it was Jean who could see him. Jean Kirschtein.

But Jean didn't see him. He was looking through Marco, not at him. Marco realized this, because Jean acted like his best friend wasn't there, wasn't next to him. Wasn't the one he was staring at.

Marco felt like it would be better if he had died and just that.

The days after that only got more boring and Marco swore that he never felt this lonely in his life. It only got more painful from there on.

Today was the day of the expedition. The team had prepared themselves, sharpening their blades and filling up their gas tanks. When the gates were open and the commander had gone first up front, the others followed behind him, keeping their pace and staying in formation.

Jean, didn't seem to mind, though; when Marco took a ride on his horse right behind him. Marco only swung his arms around Jean's shoulders, sometimes grabbing the fabric on Jean's chest and made Jean wince.

Sometimes, he would lean closer to one side of Jean's body whenever he could. Even though he was a ghost, he still had something that kept him tied onto the ground : gravity. So, he couldn't levitate like what was told by others about ghosts. So he had to balance himself on Jean's horse as well, without a saddle; which just made it even more hard.

He leaned closer to Jean, feeling Jean's hair brushing against the left side of his face. He whispered with his arms wrapped around Jean's abdomen, "You know, sometimes i wonder...", Jean looked back as if he heard someone. Even though he didn't see Marco, Marco could definitely see that he felt like he was being followed.

Marco wore a faint smile, hugging Jean even tighter.

He definitely felt it, Marco could feel him moving a bit from the contact.

"Can you see me?", he whispered. He always had wondered if Jean could. He always thought that he probably could; but maybe Jean only shook the image of Marco next to him on the dinner bench (and also on the other times where Marco had been there with him), dismissing it and classified it as an illusion due to his inabilty to let go of Marco's death.

Or could he not see and hear him at all?

No response came from Jean.

Not even a single word was uttered. Instead, he lifted his blade from its slot, and moved it closer to his mouth; placing his lips on the cold steel, giving it a small kiss before moving it away, a few centimeters from his face. "I miss you, Marco.", he whispered before concentrating on his target.

That was one of the most devastating things Marco had ever heard in his life.

He never let go of Jean until they got to close the female type titan, and Jean jumped off his horse. Marco stayed on the horse, before slowly fading away with a smile; a relieved, content, smile.

He didn't care anymore if Jean could see or hear him anymore. Those words are enough to made him feel like he was not a piece of paper; to write stories on and to be thrown away when its usefulness had come to an end. Seemed like he was afraid of being forgotten. That was his root; that was what kept him here.

It was about time that he went away.

Truly, went away.