𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑳𝑨𝑺𝑻 𝑩𝑨𝑻𝑻𝑳𝑬 ⇢ 𝘙𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘹𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

the boy we knew

i was all over her - salvia palth
0:23 ━❍────── 2:32
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You arrived home safely. Injured, but in one piece.

The barracks were eerily quiet, barely a noise to be heard as you aimlessly walked to the Mess Hall in hopes of company. Silence suffocated the thick air; tension restricting your movements as you stiffly wandered through each bleak hallway and corridor.

You wondered how many lives had been lost in the Battle for Trost. You wondered if all of your friends were safe.

You pressed your palm to the oak-wood door that led to the Mess Hall, your E/C eyes swiftly searching the area in hopes of finding either of your closest friends. The double doors creaked obnoxiously loud as you flinched at the squeal: the croak rattled the air, shattering the eerie silence that surrounded you.

And then, your eyes finally landed Jean.

Hunched over; face covered by his hands; head rocking back and forth.

"Jean!" You called out his name, instinctively running over to comfort him: "Jean, what happened?"

You draped an arm across Jean's broad shoulders: your free hand nestling into his soft, fawn hair. Your fingers delicately traced patterns on his skull, delicately drawing with your nails in circular motions. You heard the subtle whimpers from under his breath. You pulled Jeans shivering body closer towards yours, his face resting against your chest. Salty tears stained your favourite shirt.

You muttered comforting words to him, unsure on why he was so distressed.

You felt as he pulled away whilst dropping his hands from his face, revealing the misty, crimson eyes that his thick tears fell from. You traced your thumb beneath his eyes, wiping the tears from his face.

Your eyes searched around the Mess Hall, making note of who was there and who was not.

And then you made a revelation.

Your face slowly began to falter, your lips cracking down into a lour. Your pupils gandered around each inch of the large hall, your arms loosening around your best friend. Your heart picked up pace, each thud seeming louder and swifter than the one before.

"Where's Marco?"

Jean didn't respond to your question. His body stiffened; his breaths became hitched.

"Where's Marco?" You repeated yourself, yet again was left with no response.

Jeans golden orbs locked onto yours with a mournful glare of sorrow, telling you more than you needed to know.

"No." You shot up, shaking your head as if denying what Jean was telling you, "No."

Jean murmured your name under his breath before his head fell back into his hands.

"No. You're wrong." Your voice was calm, steady, as you remained in denial of what Jean was attempting to tell you, "You hear me, Jean? Wrong!"

Turning your shoulder, you swiftly ran towards the double doors: shoving them open to make your way towards the dormitories. Your feet moved swiftly, the withered floorboards creaking beneath your heavy boots.