"I'm sorry."

The words rung endlessly throughout Marco's mind, like a tunnel cursed to chant the same words. Over and over they chimed, sending chills down his spine. Words had never before crushed him as they did now. Marco new he was truely alone. I don't get it... he quivered as the feeling sunk in, this doesn't make any sense, why am I even here?! No one can see me, hear me, touch me!... if I've been brought back for some divine purpose, at least tell me what I'm meant to do!

Marco felt his eye droop, daring to blink and thicken the darkness. I'm tired? His whispered to himself, b-but I'm a ghost right? Do ghosts even get tired? Marco felt his consciousness fade, his body going limp. He couldn't move, couldn't see, couldn't hear, it was like he wasn't even-

"-I can't sleep with all this stupid noise!"

The spirit jolted violently awake, his eye snapping open. What.. what just?

"Shut up horse face!"

Eren?

"Make me Jeager!"

The feeling returned at once. It slowly began to climb back up Marco's spine, it itched, like a spider's many legs tapping his back. The further the strange sensation climbed, the stronger it became. Marco fell silent, as an almost possessive anger met the base of his neck.
Jean sounds upset, is it my fault? If I stayed quite, if they didn't know I heard then maybe... maybe Jean wouldn't be so... lost. Marco balled his only fist, his knuckles turning a deathly numb, dammit! I wasn't ready to die! It's all her fault! Her fault, her damn fault!

The sound of Jean's restless grumbling filled the room. W-what, what was I just thinking? Am I going insane? It became clear to Marco that he wasn't stable, what ever had that brought him back, wouldn't last for long. It was only a matter of time before death came to claim his wandering soul back.

Marco felt his head instinctively turn towards Jean's bed, was I brought back here... to help you Jean?

"Can't fricken sleep," Came Jean's annoyed voice almost in reply. Marco laughed hollowly, still haven't changed it seems. You never could sleep at night, could you Jean?

Marco crawled weakly forward, his body still wouldn't allow him to stand. Let me tell you a story, Jean, just like I used to. The freckled teen pulled himself against the side of his best friend's bed, ignoring the familiar stench of unwashed sheets.

Marco felt his un-beating heart cripple within his torn chest. There was once, he began, his voice shaking, a boy who cared for all his friends around him. He never showed how much he cared though, in fact, he often got into fights with his friends over every little thing possible. However the boy was smart, he knew what to do to get any easy life, he even made a fine leader, but self doubt always overshadowed him. The boy had one goal, live an easy, safe life. But after he lost someone close to him, his heart began to waver and he wasn't sure what he wanted. He new he had to choose though... the Military Police, a group of slackers who get paid for doing almost nothing, or the Scouts, a group who fight for the freedom of humanity at the risk of their own lives. The boy felt troubled, he wasn't sure what his lost friend would want him to do. What the boy didn't know at all though, was that his friend's only wish was for him to just be happy.