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Things got quiet after Sasha died.
Not their situation – they were still in deep, far from victory (and yet so fucking close it drove Jean mad sometimes when he thought about it too hard, when he thought about the fact that they’ve come so far and yet nothing, absolutely nothing was guaranteed, this could all blow up at any time, all of it could be for---
[Jean breathed, and kicked himself out of those thoughts. In… out… In… out… In—]
No, their situation was still shit. And Jean, even if he lived through it, would still be dead in eight years because he decided to be the leader Marco always believed he was, and Jean wanted to believe Marco. His weakness was his strength, Marco had said, and that’s all Jean’s been running with. All he had to run with.
But no, what got quieter after Sasha died was Connie.
They’ve never had time to grieve for anyone they lost along the way, and Jean just kind of figured everyone silently cried themselves to sleep to deal with all the death they’ve seen. At least that’s what Jean did — he couldn’t compartmentalize his feelings and just focus on the mission like Eren, and he wasn’t as single-minded as Mikasa to tally up lives and deaths mathematically, with all deaths not being worth Eren’s life. He didn’t know what Levi did to deal with death, though everyone knew he wasn’t the same since Erwin died. Hell, Jean wasn’t the same since Marco. But Sasha— fucking Sasha.
[He could still hear the gunshot when he went to bed at night sometimes, and if he thought about it too long, he would drive sleep away and drive himself mad that something as basic as metal and gunpowder could empty out a human being. It was too much, this world was fucking too much, he couldn’t—]
Connie was like Jean: they weren’t important in the grand scheme of things like Eren or Levi were important. They were like Sasha and Marco, regular human beings. Jean remembers, a lifetime ago, wiping his hand on Connie’s back and declaring his lack of faith in humanity. With Sasha gone, he doesn’t think it would be a joke now.
Jean approaches Connie as the smaller man sits on the edge of his bed. He is quiet. He doesn’t look over when Jean takes a seat beside him. They haven’t had a chance to talk about Sasha, and Jean’s throat aches with that weight. “Connie,” he speaks, breaking the silence. Though Connie still sports the shaved head, his limbs are longer and thicker than when Jean first met him. His voice is deeper too, and it less cuts through the air then falls out of his mouth and sinks to the floor with its heaviness when he says:
“I’m an idiot.”
Nothing follows, and Jean doesn’t press. Not even when Connie begins to cry.
“I—” Connie hiccups, and squeezes his eyes shut, “I never told her I liked her. I—I thought when this was over, fuck,” and then Connie’s really crying, and Jean reacts immediately, puts a hand on Connie’s shoulder and squeezes. Connie’s utterances are a non-sequitur to someone who wasn’t paying attention, but Jean knew that Sasha was the only thing Connie could think about these past couple of days because he felt her absence just as much as Connie. Jean opens his mouth to speak, but Connie can’t stop the emotions flooding out of his mouth and the way they contract his stomach and steal his breath like vomit. “I keep thinking that if, if, I had been standing there instead, she’d still be here, laughing, eating, and then—”
“And then I’d be here crying with her about how we’d give anything to have you here with us.”
Connie chokes back a sob and looks at Jean for the first time. His eyebrows are tilting upwards dangerously, teetering on the edge of weeping, but he holds back. Jean’s crying too, he realizes after a cold tear falls down his cheek, it’s trajectory slowing in his five-o’-clock shadow.
“Connie,” Jean begins, voice wet but steady, “I miss her too. So fucking much. But please, please don’t check out on me mentally. I need you.” Jean clenches his teeth and then bites his lip, his hand leaving Connie’s shoulder to grab the back of his neck. Connie doesn’t flinch at the touch, only stares at Jean with wide and wet eyes. Jean watches them blink before adding, “We need each other.”
An eternity passes before Connie nods, and when he gives Jean a lopsided smile weak with mourning and grief, Jean takes it gladly, and offers up one of his own.