⸝ jean x reader
⸝ no spoilers (except appearances and some characters)
⸝ high school au
CONTAINS SOME MIKASA X READER
⸝ ⸝ ⸝
They were like red and blue, completely different hues that could create beautiful colors.
Maybe that's what brought them tog...
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The clouds were out today, the sky gray as it graced the Earth with a light drizzle of rain. The smell of petrichor blurred his senses, the only thing on his mind was his lost best friend.
He wore Marco's sunflower necklace under his black button up shirt, now stained with droplets of rain. He exasperatedly ran his slender fingers through his slightly damp locks before turning into the graveyard.
The coroner hadn't let him see Marco's body. Nor were they going to open his casket for the funeral. He'd heard from Marco's mother was the only one permitted to see, that his body was injured to a horrific extent, only half of him had remained from the ghastly accident.
But, what shook Jean to his core, was the fact that Marco had sent repeated texts to him just before it happened. He was too busy with (y/n) to even notice them.
Those texts where he pleaded for a sense of hope, that sorrowful hug he'd given Jean in a heap, it was obvious this accident was no mere accident. No, this was intentional on Marco's end. He wanted this.
He knows Marco struggled with self-image and he was a frequent target of bullying, on top of that his dad always pressured him with school work. Yet, Jean failed to help him and make him feel better.
Jean blamed himself. He blamed his selfishness. It seemed as if the entirety of the universe was looking down on him for his sins. Jean felt horrible. And no one was there for him. Marco was the only one that saw through his paper crowns and stoned walls that let no one through. He was the only one that saw through his facades, and yet, Jean failed him.
As he stood in front of the closed off casket surrounded by Marco's family, Jean didn't cry. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, willing tears to stroll down his cheeks like they had in front of (y/n), but they didn't. He'd already cried too much; his body was too exhausted.
He caught sight of his friends from school, but made no effort to talk to them. He stood idly in front of the coffin, wishing he could see Marco at least one more time before saying his goodbyes.
Unbeknownst to Jean, a pair of (e/c) eyes watched him closely with concern. (y/n) made no effort to talk to him, but kept her eyes steady on the boy.
They all watched in silence as the coffin lowered into the dug up grave, and (y/n) averted her gaze from the sobbing family; she felt as if she was intruding. She felt sick to her stomach and she wanted to run home. She didn't want to be there. Couldn't she just express her condolences over a phone?
That would be disrespectful, Mikasa had scolded her for the silly idea.
(y/n) was desperate to get away when she began to hear the gruesome details of what happened. Apparently, it had been a suicide and not an accident. Jean had made it clear to everyone with the texts and his odd behavior prior to leaving for groceries. He only told the family, but word got around.
