Roman Holiday

Sick Boy (The Chainsmokers)

Bertolt didn't text Reiner the next day. In fact, he didn't text him the rest of that week or into the weekend, despite all of the messages and phone calls Reiner left, playing off the fact that he was worried shitless about the boy. The blonde kept saying things like "I'm just hoping you're not sick from something you ate," or "we need to work on that project,". He would leave short voicemails telling Bertolt to call him, or at least give him a sign that he was still alive.

Truth was, Bertolt was struggling. He would watch his phone ring and he would ask himself if he should answer it, and by the time he would begin to reach for the device, it would stop ringing and go to voicemail. He was fighting with himself, knowing that he was obviously overthinking everything that had happened. He wanted to forget it, tell himself it was okay. He was just so tore up about it that he couldn't.

"Bertolt, sweetie, if you keep staring out of that window, the neighbors are going to think you're going to run away." Bertolt's mother said from the door, her soft smile showing that she was only kidding. Bertolt smiled back at her, a small one, but it quickly disappeared again and he glance back out into the street. "Honey, if something is bothering you," she sat on his bed after shutting the door. "You can always tell me. I may be old but I can at least listen. Sometimes talking about it helps."

"I know, ma. I'm just thinking about some things that haven't really come across my mind yet. Guess I'm a late bloomer." He joked, but he knew that he wasn't getting out of it.

"Is it a girl? I know you never have been one to deal with girls other than your friends, so that doesn't seem reasonable. If it's that friend of yours, then I'd like to know. If he did something you weren't comfortable with then I'd like to have a talk with him-"

"No, ma, he didn't do anything I was uncomfortable with. He would never do that to me." Bertolt finally admitted, whether he wanted to or not. He knew Reiner cared about him, as strange as it was to say, and he knew he would never do anything to put him in a tough place.

"Well, I'm very glad to hear that. What's bothering you, then? I can't stand seeing either of my babies feeling down." She told him, a gentle hand being placed on his shoulder like she always did when he was having a hard time at school making friends.

"Ma, I'm seventeen. Eren is eighteen. We're not really babies anymore." Bertolt told his mother, even though he knew they would always be babies to her.

"You may not be a baby, but you're my baby, my son. The one I carried for seven and a half months. And Eren, even though I didn't carry him, he's always going to be my son. I love you both, and I'll do anything to make sure you're both okay. So please, if you ever feel the need or want to talk to me, or your father, don't hesitate to do so." Momma Hoover said before getting up from the bed and heading towards the door.

"I don't like girls, ma." Bertolt finally said, his breath catching in his throat as she stopped and turned. He couldn't look at her, he couldn't see the disappointment or hurt on her delicate features. His eyes burned with tears that were bound to slip out from admitting that secret that he had held inside for so long. He had always known that, but he thought he would grow out of it.

"I know, sweetheart. Your brother doesn't either." She said softly before stepping out and shutting the door gently. Bertolt sat there with wide eyes. Did Eren tell them? Had they known all along? Her head popped around the door again. "I think that Reiner boy would be good for you, by the way." She said before disappearing once again.

Jean was in his room, the lights out and the black out curtains closed to where no light was entering the room at all, and he had hit rock bottom. He had went downhill so fast that he didn't have time to find something to hold onto and keep him afloat. He was so lost, he didn't know what he was doing anymore. He didn't even remember the last time he showered.

He laid there in his bed like he had done the last week or so. His parents were at work, that's all they did these days, he didn't talk to anyone anymore so he couldn't call someone to go hang out, Ymir and Marco always went to Belgium during spring and summer to see their grandparents and other relatives. They'd done that every year since the two had become old enough to travel without being so susceptible to sicknesses that could be in other countries.

He laid in the darkness, he couldn't sleep because that's all he ever did. His body was tired, but not enough to actually sleep. He wished to drift off somehow to keep himself from thinking so much. He closed his eyes and attempted to doze off, but before he could get even close a knocking sound came from downstairs. He tried to ignore it, hoping they would go away, however the knocking became persistent. He forced himself out of bed and down the stairs. His head was spinning from the light that hit him. He had been in the dark for so long that the light was nearly blinding.

The knocking continued, and when he reached the door he yanked it open and was rather surprised to see a boy. It was a tall boy, dark hair, tan skin, an infestation of freckles. His hand was still mid-air from knocking and his eyes were wide at the sight. Nothing about Jean could be as shocking as the fact that Marco was here.

"M-Marco?" Jean said, his heart was pounding in his chest and head.

"Yeah that's me." Marco said quietly. Jean stood there, looking at this boy, this beautiful boy. "Can I come in?"

"Now isn't a good time." Jean said quickly.

"It's never a good time." Marco retorted. Jean stared at him in shock for a moment, Marco had never been assertive like that with him. "Jean, move." Marco said before pushing Jean out of the way and closing the door behind him. "Now, was it really that hard?" Marco asked gently, his body close to Jean's. Any other time, Jean would have been strained by how close the boy was without being able to kiss him or hold him, but Jean could only think about one thing.

"I haven't showered in at least a week." He blurted out. Marco chuckled quietly.

"Yeah, and I'm sure your eating habits have gone out of the window too." Marco added. Jean was pained to know how right he was.

"I think everything has pretty much gone to shit." Jean replied. "Hell, I think this is the first time I've been out of my room in a few days." He informed the freckled boy.

"Well, lets get you washed up, then I'll cook you some soup, yeah?"

I had most of this already written but Yee ole wattpad decided it was going to delete over half of it :)