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Feel New Chapter Nine: Pacing The Church Corridor, The Zombie Prepares His Eulogy
”Your heart they liked the meat
It was too tough to eat
To chew and grind with teeth
To chew and grind with teeth
Your love zombies
And all those men you beast
You beast
You beast!
You BEAST!
Gentlemen are we”
-Chris Garneau “Love Zombies”
Taking a deep breath, you stood in the dawn, still in your pajamas, staring down at the overturned dirt at your feet, rocks surrounding the dark circle. And on a small plank of wood, there was the carving that Hanji had been working on in the confinement of her room, ever silent.
The god damned dog looked so happy, even when his last moments were spent in unbearable pain until suddenly…there was none. And darkness returned, disguised as slumber, and the animal gave in willingly, not knowing that death’s hand had taken his leash.
You brushed your fingers over the carving of Bean, fingernails tracing the gentle carves of his fur in the wind, until you rested your fingers on his eyes, so lifelike. And you yearned for the gleam to return to those beautiful dark eyes.
Speaking of dead eyes…
Squinting through the maze of logs and past the side of the house where you caught a small glimpse of a lone lanky figure sitting with his back to the tree, the tree you knew his freckled friend climbed so many times before, memorizing where each foot should go and what branch to grab.
There was still nothing from him, even if the funeral for Marco Bodt was tomorrow. No words had left Jean’s mouth, no flick of the tongue, nor the movement of his lips. And you had begun to worry he wouldn’t say anything at the funeral.
You didn’t have to say anything, though.
Two days ago, Mrs. Bodt had knocked on your door, and being in your room, Hanji had answered. Moments later, you heard her call for you. You remember running down the stairs, hoping for it to be Jean, just knowing it was, when you slowed down on the last flight of stairs, (e/c) eyes taking in the sight of Mrs. Bodt, looking more presentable than the day you had visited. You still remembered yelling at the poor drunk woman, and hearing her cry as you let yourself out of the humid house.
The freckled woman gave you a small smile, but it wasn’t enough to crinkle the corners of her eyes. Her sad, dark eyes regarded you quietly as you stood in front of her, waiting.
"I…," she began, but you waved a hand.
"Mrs. Bodt, I’m sorry for last time if that’s what you were going to-"
"No, __," she sighed, eyes firm. "I wanted to say thank you. You…"
"Yeah…you don’t have to say it," you finished for her.
She took in a deep breath. “I thought about the things you said. I can’t do that to Marie, not after what we’ve been through. __, I wanted to invite you to the funeral.”
She produced a small white envelope from her pocket, the corner of it slightly wrinkled, and held it out to you. You stared at her for a moment before taking it.
"Thanks…," you said, not sure what to say. What, do you say ‘thank you’ for being invited to a funeral? It’s not exactly fun and games at those things, and you knew from experience.
"Do I…have to say anything?" you asked her.
She shook her head. “You don’t have to. I already asked Jean to give an eulogy.”
And that was that. You were invited to Marco Bodt’s funeral.
Staring at Jean’s figure from across the yard, you crept closer, eyes never leaving his face. As you stepped into the stone path on the front of your house, you noticed his eyes were closed. The wind blew a little harder than before, and you brushed your hair away from your face. Carefully stepping across the street, you let your curiosity take lead. Finally, you were standing right in front of him, the slow rise and fall of his chest signaling he was asleep. This was just like the time you met him in the forest. You leaned down and stared at his face, eyes taking in his sharp, prominent features, like the jutting angle his jaw made to connect with his ear, or his pointy nose. His eyelashes cast small shadows across his cheekbones, and the dappled light streaming from the leaves above highlighted his skin with patches of bright light.
Noticing he truly was asleep and wasn’t going to wake to warn you about treading too far, you leaned forward until your lips were pressed against his forehead, right between his eyes. You pulled back, then yelled when you realized his eyes were open. He yelled back, just as startled as you. You stepped back but tripped, falling on your ass and staining your kitten pajama pants in the grass. Jean clutched his heart, staring at you with wide eyes.
"W-wha…" he breathed.
You felt your face heat up. You pulled back your head and laughed nervously, embarrassed. “I thought you were asleep…” you said, calming down.
He stared at you, mouth agape.
"Jean? Buddy?" you asked, tilting your head.
”__?” he exhaled, confused.
"Uhh…y-yeah," you answered.
Suddenly his face became red, even more so than your own. Confused, you watched his face contort into a scowl as he stood. You watched as he stiffly walked away, your eyes trailing him as he walked past the tree, then disappeared.
You sat there, unimpressed. Obviously he was still there, you could tell by the way you heard muffled curses, “God…fuck…dammit.”
But you knew he still wasn’t going to say anything to you, even if you showed him you still loved him. Jean and his split second confidence. Sighing, you decided to give it up. Standing, you turned back in the direction of your house, vaguely disappointed.
You turned around, though, when you felt his hand take yours. You barely had a chance to look into Jean’s copper brown eyes before he kissed you. You didn’t even have enough time to react when he pulled away ever so slightly and breathed out, “Thanks,” before stepping back, shoving his hands into his pockets, and walked towards his front door, a small smile on his lips.
Unconsciously, you licked your lips. Face heating up, you stiffly turned and continued back to your home across the street, fuzzy feelings in your head and warmth spread throughout your body.
Split second confidence my ass.
—
You closed the door behind you and exhaled, lips still tingling. You didn’t know what compelled Jean to kiss you so randomly like that.
In front of you on the floor Sawney lay, curled up, amber eyes watching you. You stared at him for a moment before scowling.
"What?" you asked the cat.
He blinked, eyes full of amusement.
You groaned and got down on one knee, petting his head. Ever since Bean’s death, the cat had been isolating himself from everyone else. It was only yesterday that he came from his spot on the stairs to the kitchen for something to eat.
He purred as your hand rubbed behind his ear. He closed his eyes momentarily before opening them to gaze up at you.
"It’s going to be alright, Sawney," you murmured to him.
There was a wolf whistle behind you, causing you to jump. You whirled around, finding Hanji sitting not the couch, eyeing you with a playful smile on her lips.
"So…," she said, "how was the little smooch with Jean out there?"
You were caught off guard, that was for sure. Not only because she had seen the kiss, but because she was looking normal again. Her eyes were no longer red and her hair was back to its usual ponytail, somewhat neat.
"What are you doing up so early?" you asked her.
"I could say the same to you, ya know," she countered, crossing her arms. She nodded at the door. "I see he’s a little bit better."
You felt your face heat up. “Uh huh,” you answered.
"Did he say anything?"
"He only thanked me for who knows what."
"For everything you’ve done for him of course!" Hanji cried, a grin on her lips.
"Hanji, I don’t want to talk about this anymore-"
"So how was the kiss? Isn’t that your second?"
"Y-yeah-"
"Ooh! There’s definitely going to be more!"
"Hanji," you spoke clearly, catching her attention. "You’re rambling."
She sighed. “Sorry about that.”
The two of you settled down in the kitchen for breakfast. “Hanji, don’t you think it’s time to look for the uh…the clothes for the funeral tomorrow?” you asked her, pulling out a bowl from the cabinet over the sink.
She paused in pouring her cereal. “We won’t bother buying one. I have a dress for you.” Her boisterous tone was replaced with a calm, quiet voice.
"Oh," you breathed, looking away from her piercing gaze.
"No one ever said it would be this hard," Hanji spoke after a moment’s silence, and you turned around to find her head in her hands. "What a wild ride we’ve both taken, huh?"
You blinked. “Yeah…”
"I would say it would get better…but I’m pretty things are only going to go downhill from here." Her brown eyes stared down at the rice flakes in her bowl, solemn. They flickered back and forth, taking in the details.
"Things will get better tomorrow," you said, unusually optimistic.
"Uh huh," Hanji replied bitterly. "You’ve forgotten we have a funeral to attend tomorrow?" She raised her head when you didn’t say anything. "Can you sound so sure?"
"I don’t know, really, if tomorrow will be better," you answered, pulling back a chair and taking a seat in it. "But maybe if we keep saying it, who knows? Maybe tomorrow will be better." You aimlessly picked up a frosted corn flake and ate it.
Hanji’s dark gaze bore into your own (e/c) eyes, mouth slightly agape.
"What?"
"Have you ever realized that you’re the wisest person in this town?" she asked bluntly.
"Uh…" You poured in your milk, watching her from the corner of your eye.
"You’ve been through so much. You lived a perfect life growing up until one ordinary day, and suddenly your mother and baby sister are dead-"
"Please don’t say it so bluntly like that, it kind of adds insult to the injury," you said.
"-sorry. Your father became a heavy drinker and you had to live with him for two months before you ran from home. Officials found you and you were forced into foster care, and you’ve been with seven different foster homes in a span of just a few months. None of them you were able to connect to and ended just the same, them taking you back or you running away.

“Now you’ve finally stayed at a foster home you actually enjoy, and you made friends, and met Jean. You’ve helped each other in the first month you moved here. But now we know Marco is…dead, and you’ve pretty much lost your only friend-“
"Well, I wouldn’t say friend since we’ve kissed-wait, pretty much?-"
"And you’ve been through so much pain," Hanji finished with a gasp.
"What’s your point?" you asked her, dipping the spoon into the bowl.
"Most kids who’ve been through the same would start cutting themselves, or they need therapy sessions," she rambled on, trying to get to the conclusion in her head. "So why haven’t you?"
You felt a little taken aback. “Are you saying I should start cutting myself or something…?”
"No! Goodness, of course not. What I’m trying to say is: how do you stay sane after so much grief?"
What? Sane?
"Hanji, I don’t go insane or anything," you said after a moment of silence. "And its not like I’m invincible either." You looked up to her, puzzled. "Why would you even ask something like that?"
Her nose scrunched up a little. “Because I’m amazed by you,” she answered honestly, dark eyes meeting yours for a second. “Amazed by how strong you are.”
Was this what she thought of you? This whole time?
"Me too," you agreed, exhaling and shoving a spoonful of cereal in your mouth. "Me too."
—
The dress Hanji had laid out for you was beautiful. It was, in fact, a rich dark black, but it was a color worn in funerals. You knew from experience. So you tried it on. It fit the contours of your body perfectly, the bottom ending near your knees. The dark floral patterns on the lace skittered across the dress in aimless patterns, like a night sky garden.
You wrinkled your nose at the reflection of you in the mirror. You had your hair pinned up into the messiest of buns, and you removed the band, watching as your (h/c) (h/l) hair draped across your face.
You looked absolutely dreadful.
You stripped from the dress and laid it back onto your bed carefully, as if you might break the petals on the floral patterns of the dress. You settled for a pair of shorts and a random band t shirt, this one being My Chemical Romance.
Despite the awful heat outside, your eyes lingered on the Nike hoodie you favored, mostly from its smooth and comfortable fabric. Turning around, you glanced at the pile of art supplies at your desk, then towards the window. An idea popped up in your head.
You strode over to the window and opened it. You stuck your head outside. Reaching a tentative hand up, you grabbed the gutter and held on for life. You pulled yourself out of the window, gasping with you looked down. Your other hand flew to grasp at the gutter, and you pulled yourself up onto the roof of the house with a grunt. You let out a yelp when you fell onto the shingles. Settled down, you caught your breath and stared at the sky.
You could definitely get used to this.
You closed your eyes and pulled back your head, letting the sun warm your face.
The summer’s were hot as hell here.
You sighed. The question from earlier still hung in your mind. “How do you stay sane after so much grief?” What a question.
It wasn’t like you would go insane if you didn’t let your emotions out someday. It was more like you would slowly corrode from the inside, rusting ever so slowly. And what Hanji said was true, most kids would start cutting themselves, others would result to suicide. So why haven’t you?
Well then, it must be your mentality.
Fifteen minutes later and you hastily scrambled back into your bedroom window, the dark shingles of the roof burning to a crisp from the blazing morning sun. Once in the safety of your room again, you patted your arms where the shingles had burned them, and you were lucky there weren’t any marks.
This was going to be a long day.
—
It was late into the night when you woke up to your phone buzzing on the nightstand. One eye opened, then the other, and you groaned, shifting to grab the cellphone. Instead of taking it, you only pushed it off the nightstand. It fell onto the carpet with a small thud, the buzzing continuing. Impatient, you rolled to the side of the bed and reached for the phone just as the buzzing stopped. Your eyes still haven’t adjusted to the darkness, much less the light, so when you unlocked the screen, you squinted and drew back into the blankets, blocking as much of the bright screen from your hurting eyes as possible. You settled for making a little fort around you, a small hole letting your eyes land on the phone in front of it without straining from the massive amount of light.
You checked who had called, and you nearly dropped your phone. You waited a few more seconds to see if he would call again, and it was only when you texted him, “Did you call me?” was when the phone buzzed in your hand again.
Answering it and bringing it to your ear, you groggily said, “Jean?”
The other end was silent for a moment. Then-“I’m sorry.” His voice was quiet, like he was trying not to speak too loudly of fear he may wake someone up, or because he didn’t want his emotions to spill out all at once.
You didn’t say anything at first. “Why are you calling so late into the night? It’s nearly-” you checked the time on your phone-“two o’clock.”
"I know…I just couldn’t sleep," Jean replied.
You sighed. “Is it because of tomorrow…?”
No answer.
"Jean?-"
"Yes," he answered, too quickly. "Yeah…"
The night sounds filled your ear, as well as the silence that poured in from the other end. Crickets chirped brightly outside, and some dog barked into the night.
"I guess I’m just scared," he said.
"If I know anything about funerals, then that’s all I know, Jean. And believe me. I’ve been to one…only for two."
"…oh."
"Yeah." You glanced through the hole in the blanket fort you made. "So…if you think I’m going to tell you being scared is stupid, then you’re the stupid one."
”__, I’m sorry,” he said suddenly. “The night of celebration…I shouldn’t have said what I…did. I was just…”
"I know. Been there done that, remember? I’ve said and done somethings I regret, too."
"Oh yeah? Like what?"
"Well, I don’t regret the things I did at my previous foster homes, but its like I somewhat feel bad for them? I, uh, vandalized some of their houses, may or may not have "accidentally" dropped some chocolate in the pet dogs’ food bowl, or fought a few kids on the street." He whistled on the other end.
"Like, physical or…?"
"Oh. Yeah, physical. Uh, usually I’d come home with a few bruises and a bloody nose and knuckles, but you should’ve seen this one bitch when my fist kissed her face."
He chuckled. “I didn’t take you to be a girl of violence. How many fights did you start?”
"For the record, I never started them, I only fought back for self defense," you countered. “‘Girls don’t start fights-"
"-they finish them’" he finished the quote for you. "What, I’ve seen some Disney movies, too."
You laughed, closing your tired eyes. “I’m glad you’re talking to me again.”
"O-oh. Me too," he replied. You could almost see the blush on his face growing in the dark and his white teeth shining in the dark as he grinned.
"So what took you so long?" you asked teasingly.
"Oh, you know," he replied quietly. "Grief. I mean, I won’t be able to see Marco ever again…but you know how that feels…"
"Well, yeah. My mom and sister are dead. Of course. Let us sympathize with each other."
He chuckled bitterly on the other end. “Now you’re making me laugh.”
"I used to think it was good thing to do it all the time. Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have said that."
"No, it’s fine."
"What made you call me?" you asked him, finally getting the question out.
"I…I don’t know."
"Very convincing," you quipped.
"S-shut up," he answered quickly. "I just…I really like you and I don’t I can’t stand not talking to you or some shit."
"Oh…! That explains the kiss."
"F-fucking-yeah of course it does-"
"Can’t stand being away from me, huh?"
"Shut the fuck up," he growled on the other end, voice muffled. You could already see his bright red face.
You grinned, feeling your cheeks heat up as well.
"But yeah," he coughed, "listen, I really like you. I think you’re awesome and can I just officially ask this?"
"Jean, you’re such a fucking middle schooler," you laughed, rident.
"Piss off okay? Now, will you go out with me?"
"Of course you dingus," you answered, smirking.
"Dingus?"
"Don’t question my vocabulary," you barked back.
You could hear his muffled laughter on the other end.
"So where are you? In your room?" you asked him.
"Nah," he answered, and you could hear the grin in his voice. "I’m on my roof."
"Holy crap," you breathed, an idea popping into you head. "Hold on for a sec."
You didn’t wait for an answer, so you shoved your phone into the waistband of your shorts and underwear. Crawling out of bed, you stumbled to the window, where you opened it. Cool air hit your sweat slicked skin, and it caused you to shiver. Seeing that your phone would fall from its place in your shorts, you took it and placed it between your teeth. Carefully, you lifted yourself out from the window and onto the roof, eyes wide. Once you had settled down on the noticeably cool shingles, you took your phone out of your teeth and put it to your ear, breathing hard.
"I can see you," he said.
You squinted, running a hand through your hair, gazing across the street to Jean’s house. On top of his roof, barely illuminated by the bright moon and glittering stars, was Jean, a phone to his ear and a grin on his face.
"I can see you, too," you replied. "I guess."
"Well, now that we can see each other, I think I’d like to tell you how beautiful you are."
"Oh my god-"
"You are as beautiful as the night sky before us," he went on in a soft voice.
"Jean-"
"Your eyes are like the stars in the night sky…"
"God dammit-"
"Your hair is as milky as the Milky Way…"
"You piece of shit for ideas. Is everything about me like space?"
"Well, dear, you’re my universe."
You actually blushed at that, because his voice sounded so genuine.
"Now, if you’ll allow me to continue…"
"Shut up for a second."
"What?"
"Shhh, do you hear that?"
There was a pause before he asked, “Hear what?”
"It’s the sound of you being a hopeless flirt."
He snorted, and so did you.
"You’re a big idiot," you laughed, tilting your head back.
"I’m your big idiot, though," he shot back.
You were quiet for a moment, and so was he.
"Jean…"
"Hm?"
"Do you ever worry that something really big is going to happen?"
"Like…what?"
"I don’t know."
Silence again, save for the crickets and occasional dog or car.
"Sometimes I imagine how it would be if I died," you admitted, pulling your eyes to the dark sky. "Who would miss me? Would anyone miss me? How would I impact people? What have I left in their minds? That kind of stuff, you know?"
"And you wish you could just die, and see how it is, but be able to chose whether to stay alive or not…," he supplied.
"Yeah…yeah…"
There was silence.
You yawned, and soon after he did.
"How long have we been talking?" you asked, mid-yawn.
There was a pause before he answered, “‘bout fourteen minutes.”
"Oh."
”__? Are you okay?”
"Hm? Me?"
"No, Obama. Yes you," he remarked.
"Jean, I’m doing better. Things are really getting better…I can feel it…even we do have a…funeral to attend to tomorrow."
"I really miss him."
"I know you do."
He sniffed. “A lot.”
"I know…I know."
"Yeah…you know."
—
Soon it was almost four in the morning. You yawned again, watching small streaks of light beginning to smear across the dark blue sky in the horizon. You were both silent, your phones up into each other’s ears, listening to each other’s silence.
”__? Maybe we should go to sleep…” he murmured.
"Maybe," you said.
He yawned, stretching his mouth wide open. “Okay…”
"Okay."
Silence.
"Uh…are you going to hang up?" he asked.
"Are you? Or do I have to?"
"This is stupid-" you laughed, hanging up just as he said something.
From across the street, you could see him stand on his roof and wave his arms.
You squinted. “What?”
Jean said something, but it wasn’t loud enough.
Confused, you shouted, “What?!”
He cupped his hands around his mouth, took a deep breath, and yelled, “I LOVE YOU.”
Warmth rising to your face, you broke into a grin. He grinned back. Shaking your head and laughing, you edged closer to the edge of the roof and swung back into your room. You closed your window shut and looked back across the street to find Jean struggling back into his room, legs kicking as they searched to the window opening as he hung from the roof.
You could almost laugh, but worry seemed to overpower that. That was until he clambered back into his room that you let out a sigh of relief.
You hopped back into bed and placed your phone on your nightstand, crawling deep into the covers. Soon sleep came, and you gave in willingly.
—
”__! __?”
Something hard prodded your cheek, and you let out a terribly loud snore, one eye popping open.
"Hah?" you garbled.
”__. Wake up. Funeral starts in an hour,” Hanji told you. Her hair seemed to be tucked into her ponytail more neatly today, and her blazer added more to the ‘sophisticated Hanji’ effect.
She turned around and left your room, not saying another word. There were no words to exchange, after all.
You sat up, almost expecting Bean to burst into your room at the first sign of life and bombard you with wet kisses, only…he wasn’t here. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, not even regretting staying up with Jean.
Your eyes shifted to the bright sunlight streaming into your window. A small burst of air left your nose in an amused chuckle, a dark one, though. The last funeral you attended was your very own mother and baby sister’s funeral. The next one you expected to attend to was your father’s, him with his drinking and all. In the time you spent with him after your family member’s deaths, you found yourself wishing for that funeral to come, when the look of pity from the adults would find you again, and they would place their hands on your shoulder, almost in a comforting way, but little did they know, it only numbed you more. You wished for the dark coffin to be carried off soon, and into the graveyard, where you would take a pile of dirt and fling it into the deep hole where it was laid, before turning away and going home, finally, yet ever so reluctantly, be alone.
Honestly, you really thought your father would be next. But then you escaped and police found you, and you were taken away from your father. Levi helped you so much, despite the two of you constantly being at each other’s necks.
And now you were here.
You slipped out of bed and found the black dress hanging up on a hook behind the door, and you reached for it. After dressing and fixing yourself up, you walked down for breakfast.
Hanji had already sat down, chewing haphazardly at a bagel, eyes downcast at the orange juice carton, scanning the label. Sawney was at her feet, mewling every now and then, golden fur highlighted from the sunlight cascading into the room from the windows behind the two. He lapped at the water at his paws in between meows. Together the two ate, mourners in the early morning.
Well, two of them.
You strode into the kitchen and opened a cabinet. What did people even eat before a funeral? Their favorite cereal, hoping the bursting flavors will cover up the taste of bile about to rush out from their throat from the amount of sympathetic people that no, they didn’t actually understand what it feels like. A Danish? Roll? Sandwich? Funeral themed cake that, in little black letters on lace grey icing, said, “WE’RE SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS”? Or did people eat nothing?
Nothing, seemed appropriate.
And so you slammed the cabinet shut, startling the cat and scientist at the abrupt noise. You hadn’t even intended for your anger, grief, and helplessness flow out all at once in that one motion. They turned to look at you as you dragged a chair back and flopped down into it, defeated.
Hanji stared at you with glasses over eyes. Finally, she spoke, “You alright?”
You didn’t answer.
—
It was sad. Disgustingly sad. People were crying. Children glancing around at the tears, wondering if they too should cry. A few kids did. Others didn’t, and you assumed it was because they didn’t know Marco well enough.
And you sat next Hanji in the pews, somewhat near the front. Marco’s family was packed together on your side, three freckled relatives sitting beside you, sniffling and wiping at their puffy red eyes, Jean’s family, friends of the victim, coworkers, bosses, and others on the other side of the vast room.
You wondered if you should cry.
As Marco’s father gave his eulogy, you focused on your grief, channeling, willing-forcing for that all too familiar prick in your eyes, for your vision to blur and the world to lessen in clarity as the tears spilled.
They never did.
Instead, you had somehow channeled those feelings to your bladder.
Mr. Bodt droned on, describing a fond memory of Marco when he was a child, and someone sobbed loudly, unable to contain their emotions.
Disgustingly sad.
You rose and shuffled out into the aisle, hopping over feet and apologizing. You knew it was a bad time to get up, but if you didn’t, your bladder was going to explode.
Even if that was a god damn exaggeration, you had to take a breathe outside, where you weren’t choking on the air. After all, it was all you had left.
You hurried down the aisle and slipped through the large wooden doors, closing them carefully before turning to look for the restroom. You finally found the door labeled WOMAN and went in.
As you had expected, no one was there. You quickly peed and washed your hands. Drying them off and throwing the towel away, you turned back to the mirror above the sink.
She stared back with drooping (e/c) eyes, (h/c) hair pulled up in a seemingly tangled mess, a mess that could be taken as socially acceptable to take outside the house. Her lips, pink from lip gloss, neither curled up nor down, just a think tight line it was. Her expression as a whole-dreadful.
She wasn’t the girl you wanted to be.
You stared for a minute more before stepping back out into the corridor, glancing down the hall at the corner, where just around it a quiet voice spoke from.
You froze, startled, listening intently.
"God dammit how am I going to fucking do this shit…Jesus Christ…fuuuuck."
You peered around the corner and nearly fell back, eyes widening at the backside of Jean facing you, his blonde hair a mess as he ran his hands through it, still muttering to himself. He paced the corridor, feet making silent thuds to the beat of his thoughts.
"Jean?"
He yelped in surprise, bumping his elbow on the bookshelf beside him, causing a few books to clamber off and fall to the floor. He desperately tried to catch a few of them, but they slipped from his grasp. Jean whirled around, eyes wide as he stared at you.
"Jesus shit, Jean," you breathed out in alarm.
His gaze flickered downward, pink tinting his ears. “Hi,” he said, voice small, like a scared child before his first roller coaster, which just happens to be Kingda Ka.
"Mind telling me what’s up?"
He made a low gurgling noise, like that of a clogged sewer drain.
"Or not, okay, that seems fine, too."
He coughed awkwardly. “N-no, I mean, I’m just nervous…”
A small huff of air escaped your lips in amusement. “No shit.”
Suddenly it became silent between the two of you, and you just…stared. You took him in: his pursed lips, hunched form, and eyes…they shone eerily like…stained glass windows in a the buff of the dawn light. He looked…dead.
"I’m sorry," Jean whispered, "I-I’m just so…tired." It was like all the stress, grief, crying, staring, starving, and frustration was poured all into that one short word.
"Stop apologizing. I’ve heard enough of that as it is…," you sighed, trailing off. He nodded, understanding what you meant.
"You’ll…you’ll do fine, Jean. Just breathe."
"Breathing’s the last thing I have left," he relied jokingly, taking a step closer.
"Not exactly the last thing…,"you said.
"Well of course. How could I forget you? You’re my air after all."
"And you’re mine, it seems."
—
You back down beside Hanji as a hush fell over the church as Jean strode down the aisle, a look of determination and worry etched into his expression. It reminded you of a turtle for some strange reason, and he seemed to be walking at the same pace as one. Finally he reached the podium, and he straightened his tie and fixed the height of the mic before fixing his eyes on the people before him and opening his mouth for the first time to a throng.
"I-I’d like to thank everyone for coming here today first before I begin. It’s, uh, really helpful to all of us for your support." He swallowed nervously, eyes turning downcast.
"As many of you may know, I was Mar-" he had to pause for a brief second to gather up the strength to say his friend’s name-"Marco’s best friend. Since, like, kindergarten I think. We were always together, playing, talking, joking around. When we were a little older-I think 9, 10, 11? Something like that. Well, we, uh, made a little pact. He stuck out his pinky finger to me on the playground all of a sudden, giving me this serious look, and said, “‘Together forever, right Jean?’"" Tears sprung to his eyes at the memory, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. "I said, “‘Yeah, ‘course’" and stuck out my pinky and we pinky promised."
So because of that, I had this rough illusion that yeah, we were going to ‘be together forever’. And, well. That pinky promise was like giving a flower to your executioner in hopes he won’t chop your head off. It was useless. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to make this anymore sadder than it is. Being an asshole is just who I am, as I’ve been told multiple times by a certain someone-“here his eyes looked up to you, and you looked away, slightly embarrassed-“and thinking positively clashes with me always thinking realistically. The two don’t mix, because overall, the realistic part is usually negative. Because that’s life.”
If I learned anything about living, is that it’s a fucking son of a bitch. It bites you in the ass. But you know what? Pain is just a mind thing. That’s all it ever was. It’s all up here-“he tapped his head”-and we all have the power to make it go away. I learned that from Marco. He helped take the pain away from life. It’s like wherever he went; he just radiated in this pain blocker, like he took a bath in a tub of it. It was always on him. His voice, his eyes, his laugh, his smile, his fucking presence.”
He’s not here anymore to provide me with these pain blockers anymore. Or to anyone else who loved him. And I found out, that these blockers are in us. We just gotta find them. They may be ourselves, someone else, or a physical object, or a pet. Just find one and latch on. I’m just as uncertain as you as to where I’m going with this eulogy. But I know one thing, and that’s that Marco wouldn’t want any of us here to live without being happy at his memory. Just forget the bad ones. Forget them all. For him.”

Description

Feel New Chapter Nine: Pacing The Church Corridor, The Zombie Prepares His Eulogy
”Your heart they liked the meat
It was too tough to eat
To chew and grind with teeth
To chew and grind with teeth
Your love zombies
And all those men you beast
You beast
You beast!
You BEAST!
Gentlemen are we”
-Chris Garneau “Love Zombies”
Taking a deep breath, you stood in the dawn, still in your pajamas, staring down at the overturned dirt at your feet, rocks surrounding the dark circle. And on a small plank of wood, there was the carving that Hanji had been working on in the confinement of her room, ever silent.
The god damned dog looked so happy, even when his last moments were spent in unbearable pain until suddenly…there was none. And darkness returned, disguised as slumber, and the animal gave in willingly, not knowing that death’s hand had taken his leash.
You brushed your fingers over the carving of Bean, fingernails tracing the gentle carves of his fur in the wind, until you rested your fingers on his eyes, so lifelike. And you yearned for the gleam to return to those beautiful dark eyes.
Speaking of dead eyes…
Squinting through the maze of logs and past the side of the house where you caught a small glimpse of a lone lanky figure sitting with his back to the tree, the tree you knew his freckled friend climbed so many times before, memorizing where each foot should go and what branch to grab.
There was still nothing from him, even if the funeral for Marco Bodt was tomorrow. No words had left Jean’s mouth, no flick of the tongue, nor the movement of his lips. And you had begun to worry he wouldn’t say anything at the funeral.
You didn’t have to say anything, though.
Two days ago, Mrs. Bodt had knocked on your door, and being in your room, Hanji had answered. Moments later, you heard her call for you. You remember running down the stairs, hoping for it to be Jean, just knowing it was, when you slowed down on the last flight of stairs, (e/c) eyes taking in the sight of Mrs. Bodt, looking more presentable than the day you had visited. You still remembered yelling at the poor drunk woman, and hearing her cry as you let yourself out of the humid house.
The freckled woman gave you a small smile, but it wasn’t enough to crinkle the corners of her eyes. Her sad, dark eyes regarded you quietly as you stood in front of her, waiting.
"I…," she began, but you waved a hand.
"Mrs. Bodt, I’m sorry for last time if that’s what you were going to-"
"No, __," she sighed, eyes firm. "I wanted to say thank you. You…"
"Yeah…you don’t have to say it," you finished for her.
She took in a deep breath. “I thought about the things you said. I can’t do that to Marie, not after what we’ve been through. __, I wanted to invite you to the funeral.”
She produced a small white envelope from her pocket, the corner of it slightly wrinkled, and held it out to you. You stared at her for a moment before taking it.
"Thanks…," you said, not sure what to say. What, do you say ‘thank you’ for being invited to a funeral? It’s not exactly fun and games at those things, and you knew from experience.
"Do I…have to say anything?" you asked her.
She shook her head. “You don’t have to. I already asked Jean to give an eulogy.”
And that was that. You were invited to Marco Bodt’s funeral.
Staring at Jean’s figure from across the yard, you crept closer, eyes never leaving his face. As you stepped into the stone path on the front of your house, you noticed his eyes were closed. The wind blew a little harder than before, and you brushed your hair away from your face. Carefully stepping across the street, you let your curiosity take lead. Finally, you were standing right in front of him, the slow rise and fall of his chest signaling he was asleep. This was just like the time you met him in the forest. You leaned down and stared at his face, eyes taking in his sharp, prominent features, like the jutting angle his jaw made to connect with his ear, or his pointy nose. His eyelashes cast small shadows across his cheekbones, and the dappled light streaming from the leaves above highlighted his skin with patches of bright light.
Noticing he truly was asleep and wasn’t going to wake to warn you about treading too far, you leaned forward until your lips were pressed against his forehead, right between his eyes. You pulled back, then yelled when you realized his eyes were open. He yelled back, just as startled as you. You stepped back but tripped, falling on your ass and staining your kitten pajama pants in the grass. Jean clutched his heart, staring at you with wide eyes.
"W-wha…" he breathed.
You felt your face heat up. You pulled back your head and laughed nervously, embarrassed. “I thought you were asleep…” you said, calming down.
He stared at you, mouth agape.
"Jean? Buddy?" you asked, tilting your head.
”__?” he exhaled, confused.
"Uhh…y-yeah," you answered.
Suddenly his face became red, even more so than your own. Confused, you watched his face contort into a scowl as he stood. You watched as he stiffly walked away, your eyes trailing him as he walked past the tree, then disappeared.
You sat there, unimpressed. Obviously he was still there, you could tell by the way you heard muffled curses, “God…fuck…dammit.”
But you knew he still wasn’t going to say anything to you, even if you showed him you still loved him. Jean and his split second confidence. Sighing, you decided to give it up. Standing, you turned back in the direction of your house, vaguely disappointed.
You turned around, though, when you felt his hand take yours. You barely had a chance to look into Jean’s copper brown eyes before he kissed you. You didn’t even have enough time to react when he pulled away ever so slightly and breathed out, “Thanks,” before stepping back, shoving his hands into his pockets, and walked towards his front door, a small smile on his lips.
Unconsciously, you licked your lips. Face heating up, you stiffly turned and continued back to your home across the street, fuzzy feelings in your head and warmth spread throughout your body.
Split second confidence my ass.
—
You closed the door behind you and exhaled, lips still tingling. You didn’t know what compelled Jean to kiss you so randomly like that.
In front of you on the floor Sawney lay, curled up, amber eyes watching you. You stared at him for a moment before scowling.
"What?" you asked the cat.
He blinked, eyes full of amusement.
You groaned and got down on one knee, petting his head. Ever since Bean’s death, the cat had been isolating himself from everyone else. It was only yesterday that he came from his spot on the stairs to the kitchen for something to eat.
He purred as your hand rubbed behind his ear. He closed his eyes momentarily before opening them to gaze up at you.
"It’s going to be alright, Sawney," you murmured to him.
There was a wolf whistle behind you, causing you to jump. You whirled around, finding Hanji sitting not the couch, eyeing you with a playful smile on her lips.
"So…," she said, "how was the little smooch with Jean out there?"
You were caught off guard, that was for sure. Not only because she had seen the kiss, but because she was looking normal again. Her eyes were no longer red and her hair was back to its usual ponytail, somewhat neat.
"What are you doing up so early?" you asked her.
"I could say the same to you, ya know," she countered, crossing her arms. She nodded at the door. "I see he’s a little bit better."
You felt your face heat up. “Uh huh,” you answered.
"Did he say anything?"
"He only thanked me for who knows what."
"For everything you’ve done for him of course!" Hanji cried, a grin on her lips.
"Hanji, I don’t want to talk about this anymore-"
"So how was the kiss? Isn’t that your second?"
"Y-yeah-"
"Ooh! There’s definitely going to be more!"
"Hanji," you spoke clearly, catching her attention. "You’re rambling."
She sighed. “Sorry about that.”
The two of you settled down in the kitchen for breakfast. “Hanji, don’t you think it’s time to look for the uh…the clothes for the funeral tomorrow?” you asked her, pulling out a bowl from the cabinet over the sink.
She paused in pouring her cereal. “We won’t bother buying one. I have a dress for you.” Her boisterous tone was replaced with a calm, quiet voice.
"Oh," you breathed, looking away from her piercing gaze.
"No one ever said it would be this hard," Hanji spoke after a moment’s silence, and you turned around to find her head in her hands. "What a wild ride we’ve both taken, huh?"
You blinked. “Yeah…”
"I would say it would get better…but I’m pretty things are only going to go downhill from here." Her brown eyes stared down at the rice flakes in her bowl, solemn. They flickered back and forth, taking in the details.
"Things will get better tomorrow," you said, unusually optimistic.
"Uh huh," Hanji replied bitterly. "You’ve forgotten we have a funeral to attend tomorrow?" She raised her head when you didn’t say anything. "Can you sound so sure?"
"I don’t know, really, if tomorrow will be better," you answered, pulling back a chair and taking a seat in it. "But maybe if we keep saying it, who knows? Maybe tomorrow will be better." You aimlessly picked up a frosted corn flake and ate it.
Hanji’s dark gaze bore into your own (e/c) eyes, mouth slightly agape.
"What?"
"Have you ever realized that you’re the wisest person in this town?" she asked bluntly.
"Uh…" You poured in your milk, watching her from the corner of your eye.
"You’ve been through so much. You lived a perfect life growing up until one ordinary day, and suddenly your mother and baby sister are dead-"
"Please don’t say it so bluntly like that, it kind of adds insult to the injury," you said.
"-sorry. Your father became a heavy drinker and you had to live with him for two months before you ran from home. Officials found you and you were forced into foster care, and you’ve been with seven different foster homes in a span of just a few months. None of them you were able to connect to and ended just the same, them taking you back or you running away.

“Now you’ve finally stayed at a foster home you actually enjoy, and you made friends, and met Jean. You’ve helped each other in the first month you moved here. But now we know Marco is…dead, and you’ve pretty much lost your only friend-“
"Well, I wouldn’t say friend since we’ve kissed-wait, pretty much?-"
"And you’ve been through so much pain," Hanji finished with a gasp.
"What’s your point?" you asked her, dipping the spoon into the bowl.
"Most kids who’ve been through the same would start cutting themselves, or they need therapy sessions," she rambled on, trying to get to the conclusion in her head. "So why haven’t you?"
You felt a little taken aback. “Are you saying I should start cutting myself or something…?”
"No! Goodness, of course not. What I’m trying to say is: how do you stay sane after so much grief?"
What? Sane?
"Hanji, I don’t go insane or anything," you said after a moment of silence. "And its not like I’m invincible either." You looked up to her, puzzled. "Why would you even ask something like that?"
Her nose scrunched up a little. “Because I’m amazed by you,” she answered honestly, dark eyes meeting yours for a second. “Amazed by how strong you are.”
Was this what she thought of you? This whole time?
"Me too," you agreed, exhaling and shoving a spoonful of cereal in your mouth. "Me too."
—
The dress Hanji had laid out for you was beautiful. It was, in fact, a rich dark black, but it was a color worn in funerals. You knew from experience. So you tried it on. It fit the contours of your body perfectly, the bottom ending near your knees. The dark floral patterns on the lace skittered across the dress in aimless patterns, like a night sky garden.
You wrinkled your nose at the reflection of you in the mirror. You had your hair pinned up into the messiest of buns, and you removed the band, watching as your (h/c) (h/l) hair draped across your face.
You looked absolutely dreadful.
You stripped from the dress and laid it back onto your bed carefully, as if you might break the petals on the floral patterns of the dress. You settled for a pair of shorts and a random band t shirt, this one being My Chemical Romance.
Despite the awful heat outside, your eyes lingered on the Nike hoodie you favored, mostly from its smooth and comfortable fabric. Turning around, you glanced at the pile of art supplies at your desk, then towards the window. An idea popped up in your head.
You strode over to the window and opened it. You stuck your head outside. Reaching a tentative hand up, you grabbed the gutter and held on for life. You pulled yourself out of the window, gasping with you looked down. Your other hand flew to grasp at the gutter, and you pulled yourself up onto the roof of the house with a grunt. You let out a yelp when you fell onto the shingles. Settled down, you caught your breath and stared at the sky.
You could definitely get used to this.
You closed your eyes and pulled back your head, letting the sun warm your face.
The summer’s were hot as hell here.
You sighed. The question from earlier still hung in your mind. “How do you stay sane after so much grief?” What a question.
It wasn’t like you would go insane if you didn’t let your emotions out someday. It was more like you would slowly corrode from the inside, rusting ever so slowly. And what Hanji said was true, most kids would start cutting themselves, others would result to suicide. So why haven’t you?
Well then, it must be your mentality.
Fifteen minutes later and you hastily scrambled back into your bedroom window, the dark shingles of the roof burning to a crisp from the blazing morning sun. Once in the safety of your room again, you patted your arms where the shingles had burned them, and you were lucky there weren’t any marks.
This was going to be a long day.
—
It was late into the night when you woke up to your phone buzzing on the nightstand. One eye opened, then the other, and you groaned, shifting to grab the cellphone. Instead of taking it, you only pushed it off the nightstand. It fell onto the carpet with a small thud, the buzzing continuing. Impatient, you rolled to the side of the bed and reached for the phone just as the buzzing stopped. Your eyes still haven’t adjusted to the darkness, much less the light, so when you unlocked the screen, you squinted and drew back into the blankets, blocking as much of the bright screen from your hurting eyes as possible. You settled for making a little fort around you, a small hole letting your eyes land on the phone in front of it without straining from the massive amount of light.
You checked who had called, and you nearly dropped your phone. You waited a few more seconds to see if he would call again, and it was only when you texted him, “Did you call me?” was when the phone buzzed in your hand again.
Answering it and bringing it to your ear, you groggily said, “Jean?”
The other end was silent for a moment. Then-“I’m sorry.” His voice was quiet, like he was trying not to speak too loudly of fear he may wake someone up, or because he didn’t want his emotions to spill out all at once.
You didn’t say anything at first. “Why are you calling so late into the night? It’s nearly-” you checked the time on your phone-“two o’clock.”
"I know…I just couldn’t sleep," Jean replied.
You sighed. “Is it because of tomorrow…?”
No answer.
"Jean?-"
"Yes," he answered, too quickly. "Yeah…"
The night sounds filled your ear, as well as the silence that poured in from the other end. Crickets chirped brightly outside, and some dog barked into the night.
"I guess I’m just scared," he said.
"If I know anything about funerals, then that’s all I know, Jean. And believe me. I’ve been to one…only for two."
"…oh."
"Yeah." You glanced through the hole in the blanket fort you made. "So…if you think I’m going to tell you being scared is stupid, then you’re the stupid one."
”__, I’m sorry,” he said suddenly. “The night of celebration…I shouldn’t have said what I…did. I was just…”
"I know. Been there done that, remember? I’ve said and done somethings I regret, too."
"Oh yeah? Like what?"
"Well, I don’t regret the things I did at my previous foster homes, but its like I somewhat feel bad for them? I, uh, vandalized some of their houses, may or may not have "accidentally" dropped some chocolate in the pet dogs’ food bowl, or fought a few kids on the street." He whistled on the other end.
"Like, physical or…?"
"Oh. Yeah, physical. Uh, usually I’d come home with a few bruises and a bloody nose and knuckles, but you should’ve seen this one bitch when my fist kissed her face."
He chuckled. “I didn’t take you to be a girl of violence. How many fights did you start?”
"For the record, I never started them, I only fought back for self defense," you countered. “‘Girls don’t start fights-"
"-they finish them’" he finished the quote for you. "What, I’ve seen some Disney movies, too."
You laughed, closing your tired eyes. “I’m glad you’re talking to me again.”
"O-oh. Me too," he replied. You could almost see the blush on his face growing in the dark and his white teeth shining in the dark as he grinned.
"So what took you so long?" you asked teasingly.
"Oh, you know," he replied quietly. "Grief. I mean, I won’t be able to see Marco ever again…but you know how that feels…"
"Well, yeah. My mom and sister are dead. Of course. Let us sympathize with each other."
He chuckled bitterly on the other end. “Now you’re making me laugh.”
"I used to think it was good thing to do it all the time. Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have said that."
"No, it’s fine."
"What made you call me?" you asked him, finally getting the question out.
"I…I don’t know."
"Very convincing," you quipped.
"S-shut up," he answered quickly. "I just…I really like you and I don’t I can’t stand not talking to you or some shit."
"Oh…! That explains the kiss."
"F-fucking-yeah of course it does-"
"Can’t stand being away from me, huh?"
"Shut the fuck up," he growled on the other end, voice muffled. You could already see his bright red face.
You grinned, feeling your cheeks heat up as well.
"But yeah," he coughed, "listen, I really like you. I think you’re awesome and can I just officially ask this?"
"Jean, you’re such a fucking middle schooler," you laughed, rident.
"Piss off okay? Now, will you go out with me?"
"Of course you dingus," you answered, smirking.
"Dingus?"
"Don’t question my vocabulary," you barked back.
You could hear his muffled laughter on the other end.
"So where are you? In your room?" you asked him.
"Nah," he answered, and you could hear the grin in his voice. "I’m on my roof."
"Holy crap," you breathed, an idea popping into you head. "Hold on for a sec."
You didn’t wait for an answer, so you shoved your phone into the waistband of your shorts and underwear. Crawling out of bed, you stumbled to the window, where you opened it. Cool air hit your sweat slicked skin, and it caused you to shiver. Seeing that your phone would fall from its place in your shorts, you took it and placed it between your teeth. Carefully, you lifted yourself out from the window and onto the roof, eyes wide. Once you had settled down on the noticeably cool shingles, you took your phone out of your teeth and put it to your ear, breathing hard.
"I can see you," he said.
You squinted, running a hand through your hair, gazing across the street to Jean’s house. On top of his roof, barely illuminated by the bright moon and glittering stars, was Jean, a phone to his ear and a grin on his face.
"I can see you, too," you replied. "I guess."
"Well, now that we can see each other, I think I’d like to tell you how beautiful you are."
"Oh my god-"
"You are as beautiful as the night sky before us," he went on in a soft voice.
"Jean-"
"Your eyes are like the stars in the night sky…"
"God dammit-"
"Your hair is as milky as the Milky Way…"
"You piece of shit for ideas. Is everything about me like space?"
"Well, dear, you’re my universe."
You actually blushed at that, because his voice sounded so genuine.
"Now, if you’ll allow me to continue…"
"Shut up for a second."
"What?"
"Shhh, do you hear that?"
There was a pause before he asked, “Hear what?”
"It’s the sound of you being a hopeless flirt."
He snorted, and so did you.
"You’re a big idiot," you laughed, tilting your head back.
"I’m your big idiot, though," he shot back.
You were quiet for a moment, and so was he.
"Jean…"
"Hm?"
"Do you ever worry that something really big is going to happen?"
"Like…what?"
"I don’t know."
Silence again, save for the crickets and occasional dog or car.
"Sometimes I imagine how it would be if I died," you admitted, pulling your eyes to the dark sky. "Who would miss me? Would anyone miss me? How would I impact people? What have I left in their minds? That kind of stuff, you know?"
"And you wish you could just die, and see how it is, but be able to chose whether to stay alive or not…," he supplied.
"Yeah…yeah…"
There was silence.
You yawned, and soon after he did.
"How long have we been talking?" you asked, mid-yawn.
There was a pause before he answered, “‘bout fourteen minutes.”
"Oh."
”__? Are you okay?”
"Hm? Me?"
"No, Obama. Yes you," he remarked.
"Jean, I’m doing better. Things are really getting better…I can feel it…even we do have a…funeral to attend to tomorrow."
"I really miss him."
"I know you do."
He sniffed. “A lot.”
"I know…I know."
"Yeah…you know."
—
Soon it was almost four in the morning. You yawned again, watching small streaks of light beginning to smear across the dark blue sky in the horizon. You were both silent, your phones up into each other’s ears, listening to each other’s silence.
”__? Maybe we should go to sleep…” he murmured.
"Maybe," you said.
He yawned, stretching his mouth wide open. “Okay…”
"Okay."
Silence.
"Uh…are you going to hang up?" he asked.
"Are you? Or do I have to?"
"This is stupid-" you laughed, hanging up just as he said something.
From across the street, you could see him stand on his roof and wave his arms.
You squinted. “What?”
Jean said something, but it wasn’t loud enough.
Confused, you shouted, “What?!”
He cupped his hands around his mouth, took a deep breath, and yelled, “I LOVE YOU.”
Warmth rising to your face, you broke into a grin. He grinned back. Shaking your head and laughing, you edged closer to the edge of the roof and swung back into your room. You closed your window shut and looked back across the street to find Jean struggling back into his room, legs kicking as they searched to the window opening as he hung from the roof.
You could almost laugh, but worry seemed to overpower that. That was until he clambered back into his room that you let out a sigh of relief.
You hopped back into bed and placed your phone on your nightstand, crawling deep into the covers. Soon sleep came, and you gave in willingly.
—
”__! __?”
Something hard prodded your cheek, and you let out a terribly loud snore, one eye popping open.
"Hah?" you garbled.
”__. Wake up. Funeral starts in an hour,” Hanji told you. Her hair seemed to be tucked into her ponytail more neatly today, and her blazer added more to the ‘sophisticated Hanji’ effect.
She turned around and left your room, not saying another word. There were no words to exchange, after all.
You sat up, almost expecting Bean to burst into your room at the first sign of life and bombard you with wet kisses, only…he wasn’t here. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, not even regretting staying up with Jean.
Your eyes shifted to the bright sunlight streaming into your window. A small burst of air left your nose in an amused chuckle, a dark one, though. The last funeral you attended was your very own mother and baby sister’s funeral. The next one you expected to attend to was your father’s, him with his drinking and all. In the time you spent with him after your family member’s deaths, you found yourself wishing for that funeral to come, when the look of pity from the adults would find you again, and they would place their hands on your shoulder, almost in a comforting way, but little did they know, it only numbed you more. You wished for the dark coffin to be carried off soon, and into the graveyard, where you would take a pile of dirt and fling it into the deep hole where it was laid, before turning away and going home, finally, yet ever so reluctantly, be alone.
Honestly, you really thought your father would be next. But then you escaped and police found you, and you were taken away from your father. Levi helped you so much, despite the two of you constantly being at each other’s necks.
And now you were here.
You slipped out of bed and found the black dress hanging up on a hook behind the door, and you reached for it. After dressing and fixing yourself up, you walked down for breakfast.
Hanji had already sat down, chewing haphazardly at a bagel, eyes downcast at the orange juice carton, scanning the label. Sawney was at her feet, mewling every now and then, golden fur highlighted from the sunlight cascading into the room from the windows behind the two. He lapped at the water at his paws in between meows. Together the two ate, mourners in the early morning.
Well, two of them.
You strode into the kitchen and opened a cabinet. What did people even eat before a funeral? Their favorite cereal, hoping the bursting flavors will cover up the taste of bile about to rush out from their throat from the amount of sympathetic people that no, they didn’t actually understand what it feels like. A Danish? Roll? Sandwich? Funeral themed cake that, in little black letters on lace grey icing, said, “WE’RE SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS”? Or did people eat nothing?
Nothing, seemed appropriate.
And so you slammed the cabinet shut, startling the cat and scientist at the abrupt noise. You hadn’t even intended for your anger, grief, and helplessness flow out all at once in that one motion. They turned to look at you as you dragged a chair back and flopped down into it, defeated.
Hanji stared at you with glasses over eyes. Finally, she spoke, “You alright?”
You didn’t answer.
—
It was sad. Disgustingly sad. People were crying. Children glancing around at the tears, wondering if they too should cry. A few kids did. Others didn’t, and you assumed it was because they didn’t know Marco well enough.
And you sat next Hanji in the pews, somewhat near the front. Marco’s family was packed together on your side, three freckled relatives sitting beside you, sniffling and wiping at their puffy red eyes, Jean’s family, friends of the victim, coworkers, bosses, and others on the other side of the vast room.
You wondered if you should cry.
As Marco’s father gave his eulogy, you focused on your grief, channeling, willing-forcing for that all too familiar prick in your eyes, for your vision to blur and the world to lessen in clarity as the tears spilled.
They never did.
Instead, you had somehow channeled those feelings to your bladder.
Mr. Bodt droned on, describing a fond memory of Marco when he was a child, and someone sobbed loudly, unable to contain their emotions.
Disgustingly sad.
You rose and shuffled out into the aisle, hopping over feet and apologizing. You knew it was a bad time to get up, but if you didn’t, your bladder was going to explode.
Even if that was a god damn exaggeration, you had to take a breathe outside, where you weren’t choking on the air. After all, it was all you had left.
You hurried down the aisle and slipped through the large wooden doors, closing them carefully before turning to look for the restroom. You finally found the door labeled WOMAN and went in.
As you had expected, no one was there. You quickly peed and washed your hands. Drying them off and throwing the towel away, you turned back to the mirror above the sink.
She stared back with drooping (e/c) eyes, (h/c) hair pulled up in a seemingly tangled mess, a mess that could be taken as socially acceptable to take outside the house. Her lips, pink from lip gloss, neither curled up nor down, just a think tight line it was. Her expression as a whole-dreadful.
She wasn’t the girl you wanted to be.
You stared for a minute more before stepping back out into the corridor, glancing down the hall at the corner, where just around it a quiet voice spoke from.
You froze, startled, listening intently.
"God dammit how am I going to fucking do this shit…Jesus Christ…fuuuuck."
You peered around the corner and nearly fell back, eyes widening at the backside of Jean facing you, his blonde hair a mess as he ran his hands through it, still muttering to himself. He paced the corridor, feet making silent thuds to the beat of his thoughts.
"Jean?"
He yelped in surprise, bumping his elbow on the bookshelf beside him, causing a few books to clamber off and fall to the floor. He desperately tried to catch a few of them, but they slipped from his grasp. Jean whirled around, eyes wide as he stared at you.
"Jesus shit, Jean," you breathed out in alarm.
His gaze flickered downward, pink tinting his ears. “Hi,” he said, voice small, like a scared child before his first roller coaster, which just happens to be Kingda Ka.
"Mind telling me what’s up?"
He made a low gurgling noise, like that of a clogged sewer drain.
"Or not, okay, that seems fine, too."
He coughed awkwardly. “N-no, I mean, I’m just nervous…”
A small huff of air escaped your lips in amusement. “No shit.”
Suddenly it became silent between the two of you, and you just…stared. You took him in: his pursed lips, hunched form, and eyes…they shone eerily like…stained glass windows in a the buff of the dawn light. He looked…dead.
"I’m sorry," Jean whispered, "I-I’m just so…tired." It was like all the stress, grief, crying, staring, starving, and frustration was poured all into that one short word.
"Stop apologizing. I’ve heard enough of that as it is…," you sighed, trailing off. He nodded, understanding what you meant.
"You’ll…you’ll do fine, Jean. Just breathe."
"Breathing’s the last thing I have left," he relied jokingly, taking a step closer.
"Not exactly the last thing…,"you said.
"Well of course. How could I forget you? You’re my air after all."
"And you’re mine, it seems."
—
You back down beside Hanji as a hush fell over the church as Jean strode down the aisle, a look of determination and worry etched into his expression. It reminded you of a turtle for some strange reason, and he seemed to be walking at the same pace as one. Finally he reached the podium, and he straightened his tie and fixed the height of the mic before fixing his eyes on the people before him and opening his mouth for the first time to a throng.
"I-I’d like to thank everyone for coming here today first before I begin. It’s, uh, really helpful to all of us for your support." He swallowed nervously, eyes turning downcast.
"As many of you may know, I was Mar-" he had to pause for a brief second to gather up the strength to say his friend’s name-"Marco’s best friend. Since, like, kindergarten I think. We were always together, playing, talking, joking around. When we were a little older-I think 9, 10, 11? Something like that. Well, we, uh, made a little pact. He stuck out his pinky finger to me on the playground all of a sudden, giving me this serious look, and said, “‘Together forever, right Jean?’"" Tears sprung to his eyes at the memory, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. "I said, “‘Yeah, ‘course’" and stuck out my pinky and we pinky promised."
So because of that, I had this rough illusion that yeah, we were going to ‘be together forever’. And, well. That pinky promise was like giving a flower to your executioner in hopes he won’t chop your head off. It was useless. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to make this anymore sadder than it is. Being an asshole is just who I am, as I’ve been told multiple times by a certain someone-“here his eyes looked up to you, and you looked away, slightly embarrassed-“and thinking positively clashes with me always thinking realistically. The two don’t mix, because overall, the realistic part is usually negative. Because that’s life.”
If I learned anything about living, is that it’s a fucking son of a bitch. It bites you in the ass. But you know what? Pain is just a mind thing. That’s all it ever was. It’s all up here-“he tapped his head”-and we all have the power to make it go away. I learned that from Marco. He helped take the pain away from life. It’s like wherever he went; he just radiated in this pain blocker, like he took a bath in a tub of it. It was always on him. His voice, his eyes, his laugh, his smile, his fucking presence.”
He’s not here anymore to provide me with these pain blockers anymore. Or to anyone else who loved him. And I found out, that these blockers are in us. We just gotta find them. They may be ourselves, someone else, or a physical object, or a pet. Just find one and latch on. I’m just as uncertain as you as to where I’m going with this eulogy. But I know one thing, and that’s that Marco wouldn’t want any of us here to live without being happy at his memory. Just forget the bad ones. Forget them all. For him.”