Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

b e f o r e the incident ... June 25.

- art credit: @jyundee

____

Here you are. Alone. No plan. No security. Just the aftermath of a mangled heart.

Meandering through the bustling halls of your brand new school, Trost State University, you breathe in the air of the crowded, stuffy hallway weaving through the sea of students.

Pulling at your oversized brown flannel in nervousness, you take a deep breath and let it out slowly. People surround you, but the feeling of isolation still sits heavy on your heart.

The translucent hues of the overhead lights bounce off of the white tile, making the day seem ten times brighter than what it actually is, making your tired eyes burn.

As students pass by, you take notice that almost all of them seem to be engaged in conversations walking side by side with their friends.

Your heavy eyes trace over them, and your ears listen in on the thousands of words being spoken at once. Everyone wholly invested in their own little world.

Making your way to the front of the Humanities building, the automatic doors open, and the cloudy, cool day greets you instantly. You breathe in the crisp air as it hits your face; it smells like anticipated rain.

Rain in Trost is a common occurrence; sunlight here is relatively minimal. This, along with many other things, is something you will have to get used to.

You are used to bright sunny days and very few storms. But then again, there are many things that you were once used to that are no longer.

Change is an unavoidable part of life, but it is said to be something that is necessary.

Honestly, that just sounds like a bunch of bullshit that humans come up with to make life seem more poetic than it really is because, in reality, life is just unfair and full of things people should never have to face.

Starting over is never easy, and it's even harder when you have no one to support you during the process.

From and a rundown tiny town named Stohess to a big college town called Trost that lies smack down in the middle of Paradis, you are doing what you can to find your place in this brand new environment.

However, the tragedy that you recently faced has left you wondering if you even belong. If there is or ever will be a place for you in this stupid life.

Does any of this really matter?

Overcoming the suffering of a significant loss is one of those efforts that take grit, resilience, and determination, all while feeling like you have none. But despite everything, that's what you're doing—or trying to at least.

As lost as you feel, in your current state of mind, you love yourself enough to know that this is something that you have to do. You had to get away from that darkness and unfair circumstances that once consumed your life.

They were eating away at you the way a hawk picks at scraps, and you won't let that part of your life damage you any longer.

Something better lies ahead compared to the weight of your past. It has to. Anything is better than where you came from.

This is where it starts.

Different town. Different college. Different you.

As you wander outside, you take in the view of the big campus, trying your best not to get lost.

In the quad, there is a large grass field known as Titan Turf. It is outlined vastly of succulents and different flowers colored blue and orange, the school colors of TSU.

As you pass through the field, you take in the view. Despite the coming rain, students are still spread all about. Some are talking, others are sleeping, and some are nose deep in their textbooks.

Titan Turf is bustling, but your eyes fall onto one person in particular.

He has ash brown hair with a clean undercut and is sitting on a blue flannel blanket near the flower bed. His face is creased with focus as he sketches on a pad he has placed in his lap.

The pen strokes are harsh and fast as if anger is burning through his fingertips transferring to the paper.

He must have felt you staring because, in an instant, he stops sketching, and his head whips over to you. His eyes lock with yours, but you don't look away. You can't. Your eyes feel stuck with glue.

He is exceptionally handsome, with a sharp jawline lined with scruff, a messy mullet, and light brown eyes. He stares, hardly blinking, but his face stays stagnant, not faltering in any sort of emotion.

Time feels at a halt.

You snap out of your trance and smile at him, but as soon as it forms on your lips, he tears his eyes from you. He goes back to drawing on the sketch that he has set in front of him, not looking back up again.

Shaking your head in embarrassment, the smile from your face drops. Biting the tip of your tongue, you leave the sketching boy behind and continue your walk across campus.

When you reach the library, you find an empty table in the corner tucked away. Private and secluded, you work best that way. You settle down, quietly pulling out your laptop and three notebooks, one for each class.

Today marks the first day of classes of the fall semester. However, with your courses only falling on Tuesdays and Thursdays, your schedule is free for the day.

You decided to use your free time to your advantage and take a trip to the Library to try and get organized before your classes tomorrow since you will be jam-packed.

History at 9 am. Anatomy at noon. Statistics at 2 pm.

Logging onto your campus portal, you pull up the syllabi for each class and begin to jot down the assignments and projects, organizing them by the due date. The library is eerily silent.

Your pen is pressed deeply into the paper, eyes flickering from your computer screen back down to your planner when a voice calls out, cutting through the still air, "Y/N? is that you?"

Your stomach knots around itself at the sound of your name.

How the hell does someone, all the way in Trost, know my name? You think to yourself. No one here is supposed to know me. That was the deal.

Your head snaps upward to see a figure standing before you. Their small hands are rested on the wood of the table, body leaned forward. Your eyes trek up, and you finally meet their face.

"It is you," the voice says again, but this time their tone is coated in disbelief, "I can't believe it."

| ♬ play ... where'd all the time go - dr. dog ♬ |

Your heart drops so far into your stomach you aren't even sure it's in your body anymore. Part of you feels sick, part of you wants to cry, and part of you is fully convinced this is a dream.

There's no way. It can't be.

"Sasha," you say, so softly it sounds more like a breath than a word spoken.

Before you can process anything, before you can even convince yourself that what you're seeing is real, she jumps over the table and wraps her arms around you so tightly you can barely breathe.

She smells of strawberries just the way you remember.

Without thinking, like second nature, your arms wrap around in return, squeezing her as tightly as she is you.

Sasha Braus. Your childhood best friend. Your light that was once lost.

You never believed in soulmates, but Sasha, she was yours, platonically.

In elementary and middle school, you and Sasha were an inseparable duo. Everywhere you went, she went too. Your family was hers and vise visa. The two of you would spend days together both in and out of school. She knew everything about you. Any inconvenience or bump in the road you faced, Sasha was there with open arms and a kind heart.

That was until your Father's stupid, selfish decisions ripped you away from each other without so much as a goodbye.

"I never thought I would see you again," she says; her face is buried in your hair, causing her voice to sound muffled.

You open your mouth to speak, but the words fail to come. They keep getting caught at the back of your throat. Pure shock is rushing your veins, making your heart pound heavy against your chest.

Your light once lost has now been found.

She pulls out of your embrace. Turning the empty chair next to you to face you, she plops herself down.

Sasha is wearing an oversized pink sweater tucked into her Levi jeans with a black belt and a pair of black docs.

Closing the distance between the two of you again, she places both hands on your cheeks and squishes them together, causing your eyes to squint and mouth to pucker, "are you actually real? Or am I just really fucking high?"

Finally, you can speak, "I was wondering the same thing." Your voice comes out a little bit shaky.

"I could have sworn my mind was playing tricks on me." She cracks a smile and drops her back down next to her, "what are you doing here?"

"I just moved here. I literally got here yesterday," you inform her, closing your laptop, "I needed a new start. What about you? What are you doing here?"

She digs into her bag and pulls out a bag of potato chips, cracking them open. "TSU has one of the best communication programs, plus their cafeteria food is rated one of the best in the nation." She digs her hand into the small bag and plops a chip in her mouth, "how could I pass something like that up?"

You chuckle softly and shake your head. It seems her obsession with food hasn't let up over the past eight years. Your stomach fills with warmth at the familiarity of talking with Sasha, "My mind is blown right now. What are the odds we would end up in the same place?"

"Well, whatever those odds are, we sure beat them, didn't we?" she swallows down her mouth full of food before digging in the bag to pull out more. "Do you have any idea how much I missed you? I mean, seriously, Y/N, the way you left so abruptly in sixth grade just about killed me. It took months for my dad to convince me that you weren't dead. I tried looking you up for years on every single social media platform, but nothing ever came up. You just vanished into thin air."

You sigh, you can't help but feel guilty, "I'm so sorry. I don't really do the whole social media thing," you leave the reason why out for the time being and continue, "If I knew you were looking for me, I would have made an account on every possible site."

"My eleven-year-old self is so glad you're not dead right now." She sets the now empty chip bag on the table and crosses her arms, eyes narrow like she is running an interrogation, "Why did you leave? You know, I'm still mad at you for not saying goodbye."

Thick saliva fills your mouth, and you swallow hard, "It was my father. He owed debts and decided to run." You shrug, "you know, after my mom died, he just went off the deep end. The guy you knew growing up, he's gone. I have a hard time believing that he even ever existed. I begged him to let me see you before we left, but he dragged Lucas and me out of bed in the middle of the night, grabbed a handful of our things, and just drove until he couldn't anymore."

She nods. Her face has gone soft towards you, "I saw a change in him back then, but I was too young to recognize what it was. What about Lucas? How is he? Is he here with you too?"

Your movements halt, and your eyes widen. You should have known she was going to ask about your brother. Grief rushes over you, causing your head to spin, "I-" you're starting a sentence that you know you can't finish. You try again, "he..."

Sasha tilts her head to the side, and her eyebrows pull together in confusion, "Y/N. What's wrong? What is it?"

She reads you well; always has. At least there are some things that time hasn't fucked with.

"It's Lucas, Sash," You pause, almost choking as the words form in your mouth, "he's dead."

"What?" She hiccups in shock, blood leaving her face, "when?"

"Almost a year ago now," you tell her, fists clenched tightly on top of your thighs. It tastes bitter, talking about the day Lucas lost his life.

You don't speak of it much. Sure, you write about it, the loss, your grief, the burning anger you feel towards him for leaving you that boils inside every inch of your body. But verbally? Never. 

The last time the words Lucas and dead came out of your mouth in the same sentence was when you got the call. And you had to go identify his almost unrecognizable body through blubbery sobs and a shattering heart.

But for Sasha, you speak. You force the words out. Because at one point, Lucas was like her big brother too.

She stares at you as if she's still trying to make sense of what you just told her. By the way the light of the room is hitting her face; you can see tears collecting within her bottom lash line. It makes her brown eyes look a bit lighter than usual.

You fully prepare yourself for her to ask you the how but she doesn't, and you can only guess it's because the look on your face is begging her to stop the questions that are about to come.

Sasha quickly blinks the building tears away, "I'm sorry," she says, her voice coated with empathy. She places her hand on top of your own. Your white-knuckled clenched fists soften at her touch, and she interlocks with your fingers with yours, "I am so sorry."

You squeeze her hand tightly, pressing her skin deeply into your own, "Me too."

"Are you okay?" Sasha runs her thumb over the skin of your hand.

Your focus falls down to the ground; the weight of this conversation is heavy on your shoulders, causing you to hunch forward.

"I'm dealing. That's why I'm here. I had to get away." You straighten your back, and your eyes meet with Sasha's again. "Lucas and I were supposed to come here together. That was the plan we made—the promise. But even with him gone, I knew that I had to keep this promise to him. It's what he would have wanted. So I packed and left."

Squeezing your hand, Sasha smiles kindly at you,  "I'm so glad you're here. I mean it."

You smile at her in return, it's small, but it's there. "Me too. For once, the universe seems to want to work in my favor."

"You know, I thought about you all the time." Sasha releases your hand, digs into the pocket of her jeans, and pulls out her phone. Flipping it around, she reveals its backside and holds it up to you, "see? Don't think for a second I ever forgot about you."

Your eyes flicker down to her hands, and you feel your stomach flutter with appreciation.

Tucked into the back of her clear phone case is a small Polaroid photo of you and her standing in front of a brightly lit Christmas tree.

The two of you are in matching red long John pajamas with Santa hats on your heads. Sasha is hoisted up on your back, one hand on your shoulder, the other flashing a peace sign in the air. Your smile is so vast caught mid laughter probably from something Sasha said.

You can't remember the last time you smiled like that.

Your throat tightens at the sight of the picture, remembering that day well.

It was the first Christmas after your mother died. You woke up on Christmas morning filled with the kind of excitement that's only achievable when you are young and naive.

You were feeding off of anticipation of spending it with your father and Lucas. Opening presents and watching Christmas movies and driving around the small streets of your hometown, looking at the way your neighbors decorated their homes, with leftover gingerbread cookies and hot cocoa in hand.

The way you traditionally did when your mother was still alive.

But that Christmas, there were no presents, no movies, no Christmas lights, and no sight of your father.

There was only Lucas apologizing for both a failing Christmas and a failing father as you sat next to him in front of the tree that was decorated poorly without a single gift resting underneath. The branches of it almost dead because your father was never home enough to water it.

You remember the emptiness you felt, but it wasn't because of the lack of presents or the lack of tradition; it was because of the lack of family.

You called Sasha that morning crying, telling her that your father wasn't home and it felt cold in your house and that you hated Christmas. She hung up on you, and no more than ten minutes later, she was standing at your doorstep with her father, offering to spend Christmas with their family.

That dark day ended up being the best Christmas that you ever had.

Your eyes flicker back up to her, "I never forgot about you either, Sash."

Grabbing your black backpack, you unzip it and find your wallet. Opening it, you pull out the photo that you have secured in the very front pocket.

It's a polaroid from the same day, but in this one, Lucas stands in the middle in Naruto pajamas, you and Sasha on either side of him, huddled close together, "you've always been with me."

"Look at us. Where did all the time go?" Her eyes light up, and a smile crack through her teeth, "Not a chance in hell am I letting my best friend get away from me again. You're stuck with me. I hope you know that."

"Best friend?" You put the photo back into your wallet and zip your backpack back up, "How can I still be your best friend? We haven't seen each other and spoken in years. Aren't you worried that we've changed too much? That the friendship we once shared won't be achievable again?"

"I don't care where you've been or what you've done. Whoever you are now, you are still my soul sister. Now, quit babbling, Let's go." Sasha says, springing from her seat with urgency.

You look up towards her, "Let's go? Where?'

She grabs your notebooks that are strewn out across the table and stuffs them into your bag. You stand, and she hands you your backpack, "To Dok's. It's the local diner across the street from campus. There are some people I want you to meet. You don't have class, right?"

"No."

"Then let's go."

You never doubted Sasha. Being her friend was always a ride full of unruly behavior and memories that carve themselves in your heart, lasting a lifetime. It's a ride that you've missed drastically. One that you can't wait to be on board once again.

"Okay, you better not get me into any shit," you throw on your backpack and follow behind.

"Sorry," She flashes you a sly smirk, "I make no such promises."

___

Dok's Diner is a small, locally-owned hole-in-the-wall place. It's your typical diner, the kind you see in movies like Grease and American Graffiti.

The outside of it is lit up brightly with teal and red neon lights. There is a big sign in front that reads, "Dok's Diner - Best Shakes in all of Trost."

"That's a big claim," you tell Sasha reading the sign as the two of you head for the entrance.

"It's not a claim if it's true," she says with a nod and laughs, "trust me. They are even better when you're high."

You nudge her in the shoulder, "Well, then it's definitely true if it's coming straight out of your mouth. Trust me. I remember how much of a food critic you used to be. It seems that part of you hasn't changed.. potato girl."

"Potato girl," She repeats, and she wraps her arm around your shoulder, "it's been a long time since I heard that. As for my opinion on food, What can I say? I've always had good taste."

You giggle, shaking your head. Sasha's humor is something that you have missed the most, "And what? You're a pothead now?"

"More or less," she releases you and pulls the door open for you to enter into the diner, "You?"

"Less," you say, stepping forward. "I'm not against it. I just haven't had the time for any of that kinda stuff."

She follows you inside and the door swings shut behind you, the bells tied around the handle ring at the movement. The inside is covered with black and white checkered tile, black and white booths and tables, a big jukebox in the corner, and red walls.

Sasha whips her head towards you and raises an eyebrow, "You won't have to worry about that here. You'll be well taken care of, I promise."

You cross your arms in front of you, "Care to elaborate?"

She throws her head back and laughs tauntingly, "not a chance. But don't worry, you'll find out soon enough." She shoots you a wink, and you roll your eyes.

You open your mouth to respond to her comment, but she grabs your hand and pulls you across the diner, and marches straight for an occupied table, "there you are, you idiot," she calls out. "You were supposed to wait for me in the library."

Your eyes scan the person you're heading towards. He has a grey buzzcut, a yellow hoodie pulled over his head with a pair of light-washed ripped jeans and old-school black vans. He throws his hands up in defense, "what do you want me to say? I was hungry! Alright?"

Sasha halts in front of the table. She scowls down at him and leans in. She takes a deep breath and pulls away from him quickly, "You smoked, didn't you? Jesus, you fucking reek of weed."

You breathe in the air out of curiosity, and the smell of potent marijuana coats the inside of your nose. Sasha's right, the smell coming from him is excessive.

What did he do? Take a damn bath in it?

He shrugs. Holding up his hand, he pinches his pointer finger and thumb together, making it look like he's holding a blunt. He dramatically holds the fingers up to his mouth sucks in the air and blows out, "Hence why I'm hungry."

Sasha shakes her head, "Smoke all you want but learn how to cover it up. If you keep this up, Nile Dok isn't going to let us use his diner as our usual hang out."

"Nile Dok makes all of his money from all the damn food we eat here. He knows better than to kick out his most loyal customers." He glances over and you and gives a slight nod towards you, "and whose this with you? I didn't know you had any good-looking friends besides me."

"Oh Yeah?" She smacks the top of his head, "in what world?"

He doesn't even flinch at the impact. He just quickly rubs where Sasha's hit landed; it seems like this is a relatively common occurrence, "What do you mean? In what world am I attractive, or in what world am I your friend?"

Sasha's eyes narrow, "Both."

"The real fucking one," Connie smirks. His eyes flicker back over to you, "Nice to meet ya. I'm Connie."

You shake his warm hand, "Hi, Connie. I'm Y/N."

His hand drops back to his side, and his eyes widen as he puts the pieces together in his mind, "Wait, hold on a minute. Y/N as in your old best friend?" He asks, eyes glancing over to Sasha.

"That's right. She just transferred to TSU. I ran into her in the library. Isn't that crazy?" Sasha takes a seat on the empty side of the booth, and you scoot in next to her. You shoot your head over to her, "You told him about me?"

"Of course I did," she says, "How could I not? Some of my best stories were spent next to you. These guys know everything about me."

"Wait. You mean there's more than just him that know about me?" you point your thumb over to Connie.

"Ah, come on," he leans in, resting his forearms on the white tabletop, "Am I not enough for you? Does Con Man not suffice?"

Sasha scoffs, "talk in the third person like ever that again, and I swear to God I'll puke." She brings her focus away from Connie and back to you, "there's a whole group of us that hang out with each other. They've all heard your name before."

"I guess you could say we're pretty close," Connie adds in.

The waitress comes over to take your order. Connie orders a chocolate shake and three large orders of baskets of fries. Sasha orders herself an Oreo shake, and you order a strawberry shake.

Connie drills you with questions about things like your major and things you enjoy. You give him your answers like trivia.

In no time, the food is brought to the table, and silence transpires as the three of you indulge in the fresh food.

The bells of the entrance door ring, causing the three of you to turn your heads.

"Oh, look who it is," Sasha leans in and whispers in your ear, "don't worry, this one is so much better than Connie."

"Hey!" Connie yells out, tearing your attention away from the door and back to him, "I heard that!"

He picks up a fry from the basket and throws it at Sasha. She catches in one quick movement and tosses it into her mouth, "how nice of you to feed me."

Connie rolls his eyes and lifts his hand, flipping her off, and she returns the gesture.

Chuckling to yourself at their chaotic friendship, you bring your eyes back over to the diner entrance.

You watch as a blonde guy walks in. He is wearing navy converse, a light blue sweater vest with a white collared shirt underneath, and a brown messenger cross bodied around him. He walks towards the table with his hand tucked deep into his khakis.

As he gets closer to you, you quickly notice how brightly blue his eyes are; as they hide under breath his blonde hair. The bright lights of the diner hitting them perfectly, making them glisten.

He's very handsome, but you can tell that he doesn't seem to know it by the way he carries himself.

"Armin fucking Arlert," Connie says, waving his hand in the air.

He smiles shyly, eyes so blue you want to swim in them, "Hey guys."

"Look at you! Arlert In the flesh!" Sasha singsongs, mouth full of fries that were once indulged in ketchup, "what an honor."

Connie slides out of the booth and stands. He dramatically bows his head to Armin as a gesture, "my good sir."

Someone even crazier than Sasha. Who the hell would have thought?

"Christ Connie, "Armin says, removing his messenger bag. He slides into the booth swiftly, "you reek."

Sasha giggles, "I tried telling him that. Pretty sure he rolled in the weed himself rather than rolling it into a fucking blunt like he's supposed to. He can't pack for shit."

"Back off." Connie takes a sip out of his chocolate shake, "The only ones who can pack are Eren and Jean, and they aren't here right now, so I did the best I could."

Armin shakes his head, brushing out his blue sweater vest that slightly crinkled when he took a seat, "You guys are so ridiculous."

"You love us, though," Sasha says, tilting a french fry towards Armin before tossing it in her mouth.

Connie punches Armin's shoulder, "Me more than her, though, right?"

"How about equal?" Armin picks up a fry and bites off the tip. Chewing slowly, his eyes stroll over to you. You are mid-drink of your strawberry shake when he shoots you a smile.

You attempt to shoot him one in return, biting down on the straw. He chuckles softly at your effort, "I'm sorry. I don't want you to think I was ignoring you. These two are just so distracting. I'm Armin."

"Oh no, I didn't think that," you say, shaking your head, "I'm Y/N."

"As in.." Armin begins, but Connie cuts him off, "as in Sasha's old best friend. She just transferred here."

Sasha tilts her head over to you, "She's gonna be sticking around with us now from here on out. No if's and's or but's."

"Oh hell yeah." Connie smirks. "Of course we'll take her under our wing. We'll keep you ultra safe." 

The sides of Armin's lips curve up into a small smile, and you feel your stomach warm. There's something about him that just seems genuinely kind. "It's really nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too, Armin."

"So, Y/N, how do you like Trost so far?" Armin asks.

You swallow the thick liquid of your shake and push the glass over to the side, "I've only just got here, but it's already better than where I moved from. It's different, though. It's an adjustment for sure, but I'm doing my best to settle with ease so I can focus on my studies."

"You're from Mitras, right?" Armin asks, "That's where you and Sash are from?"

Sasha nods. Taking the cherry off of the whipped cream of her shake, she pops it into her mouth. "But Y/N left in sixth grade," she says as she chews, "that reminds me, you never did tell me where your dad dragged you off to?"

"Stohess," you say with a sigh. Even saying the name of it makes your stomach curl. A place you never want to go back to, let alone speak of.

Darkness lives in the cracks of that shit hole.

"I haven't heard of it," Connie says, pulling the hood off his head revealing his short grey hair, "is it close?"

You shake your head, and you begin to twiddle your thumbs, "Not many people have. It's pretty far, about three hours or so depending on traffic and whatnot."

"I know of Stohess," Armin says, resting his elbows on the table.

Your eyebrows raise, shocked that he knows of a rundown town so small, "You do?" You ask, leaning forward in interest.

"Yeah," runs his fingers gently over his blonde hair, "that's where Annie is from. I would ask if you know her, but she moved out of there a long time ago with her father, so the timing of you two crossing paths wouldn't align."

"Speaking of Annie," Sasha says, "How are things going with you and her?"

Armin's cheeks blush a light pink color, and a small smile forms on his lips.

"Is Annie your girlfriend?" You ask. You can't help but smile at the nervousness that is written all over his face; it's so innocent.

Armin hums, "We've only been on a couple of dates. We are trying to see where it goes."

Sasha nudges you in your shoulder, "they are perfect for each other."

Armin covers the lower half of his face with his hand, trying to hide the blush that is already potent on his skin, "enough, Sash."

"Hey," Sasha interjects, "Is anyone else coming to eat with us, or is it just us today?"

"Eren's at basketball practice and Mikasa's at the gym," Armin says, removing his hand from his face since the coloring has gone down.

"What about Jean?" Sasha drums her fingers on the table, "Do you know where he's at, Connie?" 

Connie scoffs, "I don't know. He's probably fucking some bitch."

Sipping on your strawberry shake, you almost choke at Connie's remark.

"Connie!" Sasha snaps in the offense.

He shrugs nonchalantly, "What? You know it's true. You've heard the rumors going around, especially lately. Every time I come home or we try to hang out with him, he's out somewhere and doesn't come home until super late. His stupid ass never communicates with me so I'm only left to assume."

With a worried look crossing his face, Armin nods slowly in response and adds, "All of it concerns me."

"You guys know you can't say anything," Sasha tightens her high ponytail, "he's been going through it with what happened this past year as it is and even more so now after what happened a few months ago with Eren."

"I know but that doesn't change my concern," Armin admits. "I wish he would talk to us, like how he used to. I feel like we're learning more about him from the talk of the school than from him."

Connie takes a bite out of his fry and shrugs. "Fuck. I know, man. The guy's my best friend and my fucking roommate and I still feel like even though he came back after going home to his parents, he never actually came back. It makes me sad as hell but I also don't wanna say or do anything that's gonna push him. You know how mad he's gotten in the past. Bro hates that pushing shit."

"All of it sucks so bad but wouldn't you rather it be these kinds of stupid rumors about him than the other ones that were being spread about him before this?" Sasha's head hangs slightly like this conversation is heavyweight on her. "I'm just trying to find a brighter side to all of this." 

Connie's body tightens. "I'm so fucking serious. if I ever find out who started that shit I am dead ass going to kill them," he confesses, forehead creasing with tension. "I'm so sick of all of this. I seriously wish people would stop fucking talking about him all together. It's just making it worse for him and he's already been through enough."

"I know, Connie. Me too." Armin blinks slowly. "You guys know that we've done all that can to try and put an end to what has been said but people always talk, especially at TSU. Unfortunately, it's just how it goes. We're powerless when it comes to stopping it from happening especially since he was well known before all of this even happened."

The amount of confusion that is swarming inside your entire being right now is so profuse that it's causing your head to spin. But you respect the privacy of their friend, the same way Sasha respected yours with Lucas. 

Sasha's tense shoulders roll back. "I just wish we could get through to him. Help him understand that there are other ways to deal with all the bad cards he's been dealt lately."

"We've done our best." Connie leans forward slowly and reaches for another fry, "Jean will come around... he has to and it's like hell that we're giving up."

Armin sighs. "Connie's right. We can't force him to do anything. All we can do is be there for him, continue to ask him to hang out with us, and let him know we are there for him, even in this screwed up state of mind."

The three of them exchange looks with one another and nod, but they don't say anything else. 

You can't help but wonder what they are talking about. Who is Jean? What happened to him? But you know better than to intrude on something that has nothing to do with you, so you just stay quiet.

The one thing you do know though is how much they love him, that much is obvious.

"Anyways, enough about him," Sasha breaks the silence and turns her body to face you, "On a brighter note, I almost forgot, our friend Eren is having a party tomorrow night to kick off the semester, and I want you to come."

"Oh hell yeah!" Connie pumps a fist into the air, "that would be sick if you came, Y/N."

"A party?" You can't help but sound a little nervous. You can't recall the last time you went out. With your life constantly unsettled and dealing with your Father's drinking problems, you never had the time for anything like that.

"Yeah!" Connie expresses, "He usually throws one to kick off the start of the semester."

"Frat?" You ask, taking a gander at the kind of party you'll be dealing with.

"Hell no," Connie scoffs, stretching out his back,  "all our homies hate frats."

Sasha belts out a laugh, "No, Eren isn't the frat type. He just," she shrugs, "knows the right people, I guess you could say." Connie snickers.

You turn to Armin, "are you going?"

He nods and smiles, "I never miss a party of Eren's. None of us do."

You are a bit surprised. You only just met him, but you wouldn't have thought him to be the party type. He looks pretty timid, one who plays by the rules, but you can only tell much from someone only after you've exchanged a few words.

"Did you talk to him today? Is Jean going to be there?" Sasha asks Connie and Armin.

"He said he was this morning when I saw him on campus," Armin utters with a yawn.

"I don't doubt it," Connie says, "you know if there's pot or alcohol, he's there, and if he says he's not going, I'll drag his tall horse ass there I don't care."

"Man." Armin lets out a small sigh, "he's just been so fucked since... you know," his voice trails off.

Sasha tilts her head. "Do you blame him?" And the boys shake their heads.

What the hell happened that was so bad?

"So what do you say," Sasha interlocks her arm with yours, "you coming?"

In your head, you debate for a second if this is something you want to do, but who are you kidding? You want to go.

Escape, forget, and have some fun for the first time in a long time. Plus, you can't help but be drawn to the energy that these three offer. It's refreshing to be around after feeling down for so long.

Sitting here in this tiny diner eating greasy food and drinking thick milkshakes is the first time you haven't felt like you were drowning in grief. Breathing comes easily around these people. You no longer feel heavy.

"Alright," you finally say, "I'm in."

"Hell yeah! That's what we like to hear," Connie says. He lifts up his hand in the air towards Sasha.

She immediately follows his lead and gives him a hard high five, "Yes! I don't know why I asked, though, because I would have dragged your ass there anyway. It's tomorrow, at 9, so Mikasa and I will stop by your place to pick you up around 8:30."

"Mikasa?"'you ask curiously. It's hard to keep up with all the names being thrown at you.

"Yeah," Armin nods, "she's my best friend and Sasha's roommate."

"Oh."

You think of your current living situation and instantly remind yourself that it's a place that you don't want anybody to see. "Actually, just give me your address, Sash, and I'll meet you at your place, so you don't have to take the trip. Is there something special I need to wear?" You pull out your phone and hand it to her.

"Okay!" Sasha squeals and types in her information, "Actually, scratch that! Come over around 7. You can borrow something of mine, and we can all get ready together!"

You shake your head, "you don't have to do that."

"I want to!" Sasha says, handing your phone back to you, "it will be fun! Please?"

"Okay, okay," you finally agree, feeling excitement building inside of you.

"I can't wait!" Sasha singsongs, clapping her hands together with enthusiasm, "we get to make up for lost time."

Connie's eyes meet yours, "Be ready, Y/N. These parties will change your life."

You cock your head to the side in wonderment, "In a good way or bad?"

Connie smirks, and you can tell there are a million different secrets that hide behind it, "that, my friend, is up to you."

Chapter Text

Your alarm clock blares, jolting you awake from a deep sleep. As soon as your eyes shoot open, you can already feel your body trying to pull you back into your slumber.

It's way too early for this.

Groaning in irritation and exhaustion, you stare at the rundown ceiling contemplating your entire existence. There are light brown water spots scattered about, signifying leakage from previous Paradis storms.

9am's will be the death of me, you think to yourself.

Eyes unblinking, connecting with nothing, your vision begins to swirl with incoming and outgoing black spots as you fade out and back into your reality.

Reaching over to the side table, you pull your phone off of the charger and turn off the annoying sound of your alarm.

Eyes narrowing from the blue light coming from your phone screen, you turn your brightness down and begin to scroll through your notifications to pull your mind out of its tired haze.

Two New Text Messages

You tap on the first one and open it:

Sash <3 - Morning angel! I hope you have a good first day of classes. Try not to get too lost ;) I can't wait to see you later! Mikasa said she's looking forward to meeting you too. Text me if you need anything!

You smile to yourself and quickly shoot her back a quick text.

Y/N - Morning Potato Girl <3 I'm sure I'll find my way fine! See you soon, bb!

You hit send and click on the other notification you have.

Con Man 🍆 - Hey Y/N! It was nice meeting you last night! You're a cool girl fs, and I am looking forward to seeing you at the party tonight! Try not to come looking too fine, alright?

You chuckle to yourself and roll your eyes at the contact name Connie put into your phone when you guys exchanged information last night at Dok's. You should have never let him be in charge of putting his own contact into your phone.

You type out your response:

Y/N - It was nice to meet you too, Connie, but I have to ask, what's up with the eggplant emoji? Out of all of them, that's the one you pick? I'm looking forward to the party you speak so highly of.

You hit send, and almost immediately, three dots show up underneath your message, signifying that Connie is typing a response.

Con Man 🍆 - You can find out what's up with it if you want ;)

Your eyes widen at his response, and the bubble underneath it quickly appears again—a double text.

Con Man 🍆 - Wait, shit! I'm sorry. Don't tell Sasha I said that, or she'll kill me :(

Y/N - LMAO! You're ridiculous you know that?

Con Man 🍆 - Aren't you glad you met me?

Y/N - Very. See you soon, Con Man.

Con Man 🍆 - Looking forward to it, Y/N.

Shaking your head, a small laugh escapes from your lips. You place your phone back on the rundown side table next to your small uncomfortable twin-sized bed, and you stretch out your aching body before lifting yourself up.

As you stand, your eyes trace over every inch of your room, and you let out a sigh in defeat.

Right now, you are currently living in a small rundown rent a room by the rate place. You were unable to find an apartment that would approve you in enough time.

Moving here, you told yourself that this situation was only temporary, that you would find a place of your own soon, but you have spent a grand total of two nights in this place, and you already feel it chipping away at your state of mind.

Transferring to TSU was always the plan. Not having a place to call home, however, was never something you anticipated.

The original scheme was to move here with Lucas. He got an apartment approved ahead of time that was affordable for two people with his good credit. But when he passed away, the complex took away that approval.

They broke the news to you before your brother was even laid to rest, and then they refused to work with you no matter how much you begged, leaving you with no current or backup plan.

You were desperate, but they could care less.

Even in death, all people care about is money. Greed is indebted so deeply into the human race that it carves away their sense of decency.

Not wanting to break your promise to Lucas, you still chose to come to Trost State even though there was no sense of security waiting for you in this town.

Now, it's just you alone trying to figure out this sad thing called life.

To say you are grateful that you ran into Sasha is a severe understatement. At least you can feel secure in that friendship. Everything else is unfamiliar and scary, but still, you are trying your best for yourself and for your memory of your brother, who should be here with you right now.

You are also grateful for the money you had stored away that you were able to pull out of your savings that made this move possible.

When your mother Laurie died, you were left behind with a significant amount of money. It was a sum that was too good to be true that she worked very hard for.

She was a well-known family lawyer who was very successful in her career, which allowed your family to live extremely comfortably. Her hard work and good income allowed her to sign money over to you and your brother when she wrote her will.

But for years, even though the two of you had this money waiting, neither of you ever touched it. Instead, you made a promise to each other to leave it in the bank unless it came down to desperation. It was your sad effort to try to hang onto a piece of her that no longer existed.

But now you are alone, and you are desperate, and the only thing you have left to turn to is this money.

You can't lie; you feel guilty having to spend it on a shitty place like this. But it's not like you were left with any other choice. Your brother is dead, your father is a deadbeat drunk, and all you have now is yourself.

Dragging your feet across the room, the blue carpeted floor creeks underneath you as you make your way over to the closet.

Carefully, you scan the small number of items of clothing you have stuffed inside, internally contemplating what it is that you're going to wear on your first day of classes. Most of them thrifted, most of them unappealing in your eyes right now.

After minutes of endlessly grabbing shirts, dresses, and pants, only to hang them back up, you finally find something worth settling on  

Dressed, you make your way to the bathroom to freshen up. You brush your teeth and put on light makeup: concealer, mascara, and lip gloss and lazily make your hair look what you consider to be decent.

Ready for the day, you walk out of your room while rubbing your tired, heavy eyes and lock the door behind you.

You put on your headphones and open up the  Spotify app. Clicking on Beach House, you hit shuffle and begin to start your fifteen-minute walk to campus.

Once you arrive, you find your first class without any issue. History 101 with Professor Erwin. He is a tall well built, handsome man with well-kept blonde hair and thick eyebrows. His presence and his voice are stern and intimidating.

His class passes with ease. Since it's the first day, it's light. He takes attendance, goes over the syllabus, and speaks about what he expects within his classroom.

You sit in silence in the back of the lecture hall as Professor Erwin continues to ramble on. All of your classmates take notes, and no one speaks unless they are spoken to, nobody wants to. It seems everyone likes to hear him talk.

Towards the end of class, he opens up the floor with comments, concerns, and questions.

One of the students in front of you asks why Professor Erwin goes by his first name instead of his last, and he says that it's because he wants it to be a personal space where his students feel like they know him well enough to feel comfortable to speak up and ask questions. He then says that it's his way of letting them know he's here for them.

It's reassuring hearing something like that at a University so big.

This is the first time you've had a Professor treat their students that way. Back home at your community college where you transferred from, you never had a Professor make themselves seem relatable to those they were lecturing.

The first half of your college career was spent fighting tooth and nail to be able to get grades that stood out enough to be accepted into the colleges you applied to.

Many study groups, a sorry amount of mental breakdowns, and continuous trips to office hours later, here you are. It seems you made the right decision choosing this place as your University.

Professor Erwin dismisses the class. A couple of students stay behind with questions, and the rest leave to head to the rest of the courses they have set on their schedules.

Heading out of the lecture hall, you head straight for the science building. Once inside, you begin to look around for the correct classroom number, but everything here is so unorganized you are failing to find it.

You feel yourself begin to stress out from being crunched for time, so you quickly pull out your phone and look for the campus map for assistance.

Muttering to yourself, focused down on your phone screen, you run into something hard and study, catching you off guard.

A small gasp escapes from your lips, and your phone falls onto the ground, "crap." You mumble.

"Shit! My bad, I'm sorry." A deep voice says with a slight grunt embedded into it.

Your eyes flicker down at your phone, lying on the ground back up to see a person standing in front of you.

He is tall and very well built. He is wearing a black turtleneck with dark jeans, white Adidas, and a black leather jacket layered on top.

Feeling drawn in his presence, your eyes search his face. He has blue-green eyes, and his brown hair is pulled back into a messy man-bun with a small fringe hanging down in front.

His lips curve up into a small smile causing his teeth to lightly bite down on the blue lollipop he has tucked away into his mouth.

| ♬ now playing ... myth - beach house ♬ |

You feel your heartbeat rise, but you can't tell if it's because you're embarrassed that you rammed into a complete stranger or if it's because you find this man to be extremely handsome.

You smile back and blink, snapping yourself out of your trance. "I'm sorry. I didn't see you." Your voice comes out softer than normal.

"You're good." He bends over swiftly and picks up your phone, "here, you dropped this." Your eyes fall from his face down to his hand that is wrapped tightly around your phone.

His grip is held tightly, his fingers elongated, rings on his middle finger and thumb, and veins prominent underneath his skin.

"Right," you say. Grabbing your phone back from him, your skin lightly grazes across his making it tingle. Quickly, you tear your hand away and bring your focus back up to him, "thank you."

He shakes his head and takes the lollipop slowly out his mouth, and speaks, "don't worry about it. You lost or something?"

You tuck your phone into your back pocket, "that obvious, huh?"

He chuckles so softly you would have missed it if you weren't so focused on him, "Nah. I've just never seen you around campus before."

You tuck your hair behind your ear and shrug, "well, TSU is a pretty big campus."

"True, but I definitely would have noticed you." He pushes the lollipop back into his mouth and looks down at you, eyebrows slightly raised.

He hovers over you quite a bit, making you feel small and nervous.

You open your mouth to respond, but he continues before you get the chance, "you need help finding your way?" He asks, tucking both his hands into the back pockets of his jeans as he leans against the hallway wall.

"That you be great, thank you so much." You smile up at him quickly and then turn your head away before the red that you know is on the flesh of your cheeks is recognized by him. 

The lollipop grazes across his teeth as he pushes to the side of his cheek, "here," he sticks out his hand toward you, "let me see your schedule, yeah?"

You nod and pull out your phone from your back pocket and unlock it. Turning your brightness up, you go into your camera roll and find the screenshot of it and hand your phone to him.

He zooms into the picture and studies it, "Professor Erwin for History, nice." He scrolls further down on your schedule, "He's one of the best Professors here."

You sigh in relief, and you feel your tense shoulders slightly soften, "Good to hear. He seemed to be pretty cool this morning, but it's nice to know my intuition was right."

He scrolls further down on your schedule, and he clicks his tongue, "what are the fucking odds."

You look back up to him, your head slightly tilted to the side, "What is it?"

He hands you back your phone and runs his hand over the top of his head, smoothing it out, "we have anatomy together."

"Right now?"

He chuckles, "When else?" Taking his finished sucker out of his mouth, he throws it overhand to the nearest trash can and makes it in. He pushes himself away from the wall and takes a step towards you, "Wanna walk together?"

You nod, "sure."

"Comes on then. Follow me." He turns away from you and begins to walk into the crowded hallway full of students. You abide by his command and catch your footing up with his, so you are walking side by side.

He looks at you from the corner of his eye, "I'm Eren, by the way." He holds out his hand.

You wrap your hand tightly against his and shake it twice. His skin is so warm it travels all the way up to your shoulder, "Hi Eren. I'm Y/N."

You release from his hold. Your hand falls back down to your side while he brings his up to his chest.

He adjusts the gold key necklace resting against the black fabric of his shirt, "Y/N." He repeats it like he likes the sound,  "I'll remember that."

He flashes a smile towards you, and you smile back, "Eren." You repeat his name the same way he did, "You don't happen to be Sasha's friend, right? The one is throwing the party tonight?"

It's a long shot that this Eren is the same one that knows Sasha, but you thought you would ask anyways. Curiosity has always gotten the best of you.

He tightens his man-bun as his eyes flicker from the crowd of students back to you as the two of you weave through them, "That's me. Why? You know her too?"

Your eyes widen, and you hum, "Yeah. I grew up with her. I just moved here a couple of days ago and ran into her in the library. It was pretty crazy. I haven't seen her since we were like eleven."

"That's crazy. I knew your name sounded familiar, but now it makes sense since Sasha talked about you so damn much. The world really is a small fucking place, huh?" He points over to the lecture hall in the corner, "it's over here."

You follow him. As he holds the door open for you, he says, "I would invite you to my party but knowing Sasha, she most likely already did that."

"Thanks," you murmur as you step into the classroom. "You must know her well because she did already invite me. Is that okay?" Your eyes trace over the classroom. It's pretty big, with about twenty rows of black hightop lab tables and lifted black stools.

"It's cool with me," he says, letting go of the door and stepping towards you. Your bodies are lined up with one another, and he is so close that you can smell him. The smell of him is clean, like detergent mixed with a hint of peppermint, "My question is, are you gonna come or not?"

"Yeah," you nod, swallowing hard. "I'll be there."

The side of his mouth curves up into a slight smirk; he takes a step forward, closing the distance a bit before backing away, "Good. Now I really got something to look forward to." You feel your body freeze at his words.

Is he flirting?

No.

You're reading too much into it.

He turns his back to you and heads down the aisle way towards the end of the classroom to find a seat. You stay in place as you try to get your head on straight, the scent of him still coating the inside of your nose.

"Y/N." You hear Eren call out. You snap back into reality and turn your head towards him. "You comin' or what?" He nods his head, signifying for you to come over, and without another ounce of hesitation, you follow him.

The two of you find two open spots and sit next to one another. As more students begin to follow in the classroom, Eren makes small talk with you. He asks about Sasha and what it was like to be her friend at such a young age. He asks why you moved and your plans for the future. He seems invested in trying to get to know you.

Conversing with Eren comes easy. You don't feel shy or out of place; you feel okay. If you were to be completely honest, you feel better than okay. You feel good, and you kind of like it.

Eren rests his elbows on the black table and slowly leans in towards you, "You know, Y/N, I was wondering something."

"Oh yeah?" You try to cover your nervousness with a snarky tone of voice, "And what's that?"

He opens his mouth to spit out a response, but before he can, a loud voice comes bursting through the classroom door, causing the talking students to fall quiet.

"Good morning, my beautiful anatomy geniuses!! I am so sorry I'm late! I lost track of time! But fear not, I'm here now!" They walk to the podium set in front of the classroom, and they slam down their massive stack of papers, "I'm Hange Zoe, and I'll be your Anatomy Professor for this semester!"

The students greet them, and Professor Hange continues on, "Now, before getting started, I need each one of you to grab a lab partner! Don't take this choice lightly, understand? Because you will be stuck with them all throughout the fall semester. There are no trades and no takebacks. You and this person will be in what I like to call a committed anatomy relationship!" They clap their hands together loudly, "Ready? and Go!"

In unison, you and Eren turn to one another, and the two of you laugh at the similarity of your minds.

"Be my partner," Eren says, voice low. His blue-green eyes are searching every inch of your face making your skin feel hot.

"You sure you wanna be in a committed anatomy relationship with me?" You tease.

He brushes the fringe of his hair out of his face, "There isn't anybody else I would want to be in one with." Your cheeks turn bright red. 

Professor Hange beings to speak again. Your eyes tear away from Eren's and focus back on the front of the classroom while Eren's eyes remain right where they are, on you.

You can feel them burning your skin, but you don't even glance back towards him. Instead, you act like you don't notice, but the feeling of his eyes are eating away at you.

Time passes, and finally, Professor Hange dismisses the class. You and Eren head out of the lecture building together. "What class do you have next?" He asks, pulling his backpack on his back.

"Stats with Professor Ackerman."

Eren cringes, "Oof. Good luck with that one." You bite the inside of your cheek, "what he's bad?"

"He just doesn't play around," he responds. "I never had him, but Connie did, and he was always getting in trouble."

You laugh as you step outside, dark clouds rolling in the sky, "well, that is Connie your talking about, you know."

He watches you laugh, and a small smile forms on his lips, "I guess you're right." Eren lightly grabs the fabric of your sleeve and pulls you off to the side so you aren't standing in the way of people, "Hey. I was wondering if I could get your number." His hand stays gripping onto your shirt for a few seconds before it drops back down to his side.

"Of course," you say without hesitation. You pull out your phone and hand it to him, and he gives you his in return. The two of you type away, making contacts in each other's phones.

"Thanks," Eren says before handing you back your phone. "I'll see you tonight?"

You hand his phone back and nod, "tonight."

"Good. I'm counting on it." He flashes you a charming smile before he heads to his next class, and you head to your stats lecture with Professor Ackerman.
___

Your day of classes has finally ended. Eren was right. Professor Ackerman doesn't mess around. He might be small, but he knows exactly what he wants and how he wants it done. He's blunt and never smiles, but his class seems to be somewhat doable. You hope, at least.

Back in your small room, you stare at your reflection in the mirror in the bathroom that isn't even big enough to hold two people; you begin to prepare for the party before heading to Sasha's.

You are in the middle of brushing your teeth when you hear a knock on your door. The sound of the pounding against the wood is eradicated like whoever is behind the door is desperate for you to answer.

Your eyes narrow together in confusion. No one knows about your current living situation, so why would you have a visitor? Maybe it's maintenance or something.

You spit into the sink, rinse, wipe the extra toothpaste off of your mouth, and head to answer it.

Turning the handle, the door creaks open, and you say, "I didn't call for mainten-" Your voice gets caught before you can finish.

You fully expect to see the maintenance man standing in front of you but instead, it's Sasha.

Your stomach drops down to your feet in embarrassment, "What are you doing here?" Your voice comes out severely harsh towards her. You don't mean for it to, but the last thing that you wanted was for a single person to find out about where you're living. 

It's sad, but you don't want pity. What you wanted more than anything was to be able to figure this out for yourself while keeping it a secret.

But now, that's shot.

She pushes herself into your room, "I followed you here." Her head begins to turn in all directions scanning the small, sad square footage that feels more like a jail cell than an actual bedroom.

Slamming the door shut, you turn to face her, "Followed me? Sash, why would you do that?" Your tone still remains sharp as your throat tightens around itself.

Tearing her eyes from the rundown walls, they flicker over to you, "I saw you walking home from campus, and I wanted to surprise you. Is this why you didn't want me and Mikasa to come over? Why you suggested coming to our place instead?"

You walk over to your bed and sit on the edge; it creaks under you. Rubbing your thumbs together, you don't respond. You only stare at her as she stares back. Her eyes squint together as she tries to get a read on you.

She lets out a small sigh and takes a seat next to you on the bed, making it creak once again, "You know you can talk to me. If you're embarrassed, which I know you are, don't be. You know me, Y/N. You know I'll never judge you."

"I don't want pity."

"I'm not going to pity you. When have I ever pitied you?"

Your eyes flicker down to your nervous-ridden hands and back over to her, "My living plans fell through when Lucas died. We had a place set, but since it was in his name, they took that approval away, which left me with no brother, no place to live, and a college that I already committed to. What else was I supposed to do? I was stuck."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sasha's tone of voice sounds a bit hurt. You can tell that she is sad that you kept something like this from her.

"You said it yourself," you shake your head, "I was embarrassed. I didn't want anybody to know about this dump I'm sleeping in."

She stretches her legs out in front of her, "But I'm not just anybody. I know we've been apart for a while but still. You should know you can turn to me, no matter what."

You bite the inside of your cheek, your thumbs still rubbing together anxiously, "Time has changed a lot of things, Sash."

"But time hasn't changed that. Time won't ever change that." She places her hand on yours, and the movement of your hands comes to a halt. "Look, Y/N. I know parts of our lives are different, and of course, we aren't the same as we were back when we were eleven, but my love for you and our friendship will always remain the same."

Her words make you feel warm inside. You've missed her love, her friendship, her faultless loyalty in every situation.

Of course, Sasha has changed in some ways. She has grown stronger, her voice more mature, she is taller than she once was, but this, her knowledge of how to be a friend, has not faltered in the slightest bit of ways.

"It's not that I wanted to hide parts of my life from you," you admit to her, "I know you wouldn't judge me, but I didn't want to be a burden."

"A burden?" Her tone of voice raises, and her eyes widen, "You're crazy! You know what? That's it!" She jumps up on her two feet and crosses her arms looking down at you.

Your eyes raise up to her, and you watch a sly smirk spread across her face, "Oh no," you sigh. "Do I even want to ask what's going in that mind of yours right now?"

"Yeah," she chuckles, "I think you do."

"Alright, fine, I give," you say, resting back on your hands pushing deep into the hard mattress, "tell me."

She snaps her fingers and points to you, "You are coming to live with Mikasa and me."

You gasp, "What? No. I can't do that. No way."

"Yes, way!"

"That's too much," you say, shaking your head. "You're being too generous. I'll figure it out, I promise."

She grabs your wrist and yanks you up on your feet, "Ha! You're funny if you think that you get to say no in this circumstance."

You pull your hand away from her grasp and cross your arms in front of you, "What about Mikasa? Shouldn't you take this up with her?"

"No," Sasha declines. "She'll be fine with it. We have an extra room anyways. We were supposed to live with our other friend Historia, but she backed out last minute to live with Ymir. We were going to look for another roommate anyways, so it works out for both of us." She nudges your shoulder, "Come on, Y/N. Don't you wanna be roommates with me?"

A small chuckle escapes from within you, "Of course I do. I just know if I agree to this, you're going to get us into some shit. You're always up to something."

She shrugs and walks over to the door, "And so what? I'll teach you how to really live, baby. Come on! What do you say?"

You pause for a second and think about it. This really is a win-win situation. You'll have a secure roof over your head, and you get to have Sasha as a roommate. You've already missed out on so much of your life having to deal with your dad and his stupid drunk decisions.

For years you lived your life safely. Playing by every rule in the book. Working hard in school to try and get away from your father while dealing with his outbursts, and at the same time trying to keep an eye on Lucas because you could see his mental health deteriorating right in front of you.

But now, Lucas is gone, and your father is in rehab.
There is no one else left to take care of. You have always had this constant urge to want to help people. Fix people. It's who you are. But it's about damn time to take care of yourself and live your own life, how you want.

What else do you have to lose?

Finally, pulling yourself out of your internal debate, you respond, "Alright, fine. You sold me. I'm in."

She screams in excitement and runs over to you, wrapping her arms tightly around you, "That's my girl! Oh my god, this is going to be so fun. We'll move you out of this shit hole tomorrow. I'll bribe the boys to come and help out."

"Sash. I really don't want anyone else to know about my living situation. I mean, look at this dump," your eyes flicker around the room before meeting Sasha's again. "This isn't something I'm proud of."

"I get that. But trust me when I say that our group doesn't care about any of that. No matter what any of us have faced, we have always stuck by each other. That's not going to change when it comes to you. Let us help you, Y/N. Okay?"

This is precisely the kind of reassurance that you need to hear, knowing that there are people you can count on and put hope into. The sides of your mouth curve up into a small smile, "Okay."

Sasha drops her arms, grabs your hand, and pulls you towards the door, "Now come on, roomie, let's go. We have a party to get to!"

The two of you skip outside and hop into her red Honda Civic. On the drive over to your soon-to-be new apartment, you can only think about two things: how excited you are for your first college party and how Sasha Braus truly is your guardian angel.

___

| ♬ now playing ... the less i know, the better ; tame impala ♬ |

Mikasa and Sasha are in the bathroom getting ready for the party as The Less I Know The Better by Tame Impala plays on the speaker that is set on the counter.

The apartment is spacious, with one bathroom, three bedrooms, a small kitchen, and a good-sized living room. Sasha and Mikasa have it decorated nicely with plants, forest green accent colors, and abstract wall art that is unlike anything you have ever seen before.

Whoever painted all of this is talented as fuck.

You can't lie; you were nervous about meeting Mikasa. Scared that you might not leave a good first impression and worried that she was going to be upset that you were going to move in, but that couldn't be further from the truth.

Just like everyone you've met so far in this group, she knew your name; she had heard it a thousand times before. You introduced yourself, and she told you it was nice to finally have a face to the name she had always heard so much about.

Mikasa is a very beautiful girl. Dark black hair, stunning grey eyes, and a scar that rests right above her cheekbone. She's an earnest girl, she doesn't smile much, but still, she is kind.

You are inside Sasha's bedroom, dressing yourself in an outfit that the three of you picked out. A low V tank top made out of lace with black ripped jeans, a cream fur jacket, a black belt, and black doc martens.

You can hear Sasha's and Mikasa's muffled voices mixed with the song playing on the speakers as you finish getting situated.

Feeling somewhat confident, you glance one last time in the closet mirror and head out to meet them in the bathroom.

The two of them are standing in the mirror. Sasha is fixing her ponytail while Mikasa is fixing her makeup. Sasha notices your presence at first and quickly spins around, "there's my girl!"

Sasha looks extremely good. Her brown hair is up high the way it usually is. She is wearing a peach-colored sweater, black tights, and a black and grey tight plaid pencil skirt with black boots.

Her eyes scan every inch of your body before they find their way up to your face "holy shit, you're hot. Kiss me. Right now."

"Don't have to ask twice." You purse your lips, "come here." The two of you laugh.

"You look really good, Y/N," Mikasa says. She is wearing a tight long-sleeved black dress with a black choker and black heels.

Looking at both of them, you are stunned. You're practically jealous of how good they look. "Thank you," you say with a smile. "You both look amazing. Are you guys almost ready?"

Mikasa nods, and Sasha says, "Almost. Let me just finish my makeup really quick."

You lean your body up against the wall and watch from a slight distance as the two of them complete their look until your attention is brought away when your phone dings.

You pull your phone out of your purse and unlock it.

One New Text Message

Eren - Looking forward to tonight. Also, tell Sasha I said what's up ;)

A small smile escapes from your lips, but as soon as you notice it form, you wipe it away, forcing your face to go stagnant.

You shouldn't be smiling like that about some 6-foot guy with a man bun that you don't even know. Letting out a small sigh, you decide not to respond and stuff your phone back into your purse.

"Soooo." You say, pushing yourself off of the wall and walking over to Mikasa and Sasha.

"Yesss?" Sasha says, and she finishes putting on her lipgloss.

"I met Eren."

The two of them stop their tasks at hand and shoot their head back towards you.

"You met Eren?" Mikasa repeats what you said as a question like she is looking for confirmation that she heard you correctly.

"What the hell! When?" Sasha asks, "and why are you just now telling me?"

"This morning at Anatomy," you say, adjusting the straps of your tank top. "I ran into him in the hallway, and it turns out we had the same class. We are lab partners now."

Mikasa only hums before turning her focus back to the mirror and starts fixing her makeup again.

Sasha raises an eyebrow, "The real question is, what did you think?"

A thousand things rush over your head at once, but you keep your answer short and to the point, "he's cool."

Sasha glares at you and taps her foot against the hardwood floor. You can tell by her face that she's waiting for you to elaborate, but you just stare back without saying anything.

"And?" Now she's really trying to pull more details out of you.

"And," you shrug, "he's really fucking cute."

Sasha lets out a laugh, "I knew it! I knew you were going to think that!"

Mikasa puts the cap back in her lipstick and turns around, "are you guys ready?" She asks, cutting off the conversation between you and Sasha. "If we wait any longer, we are going to be late."

She sounds almost irritated, but her face remains so neutral that you can't tell what she's feeling. You only just met her, but she is impossible to read. Whatever emotions she has, she hides them well, and honestly, you wish you had that capability.

She brushes past you and Sasha without another word and walks out of the bathroom into the living room.

Sasha twists the mascara cap back on the tube and throws it on the counter, "Mikasa's right. Let's go. We can talk more about it later." You follow behind Sasha, turn off the lights to the apartment, and head to the party.
___

Sitting in the backseat of Sasha's car, nerves begin to crawl inside of you as Sasha turns down a neighborhood street. She pulls into an empty parking space.

The street is lit dimly, with only a couple of scattered street lights here and there. There are lines of cars parked against the side of the road, and the sidewalk is full of a significant amount of college students.

Looking out of the window, your eyes fall onto a two-story brick white house that is brightly lit with home and lawn lights. It's paved with a brick culdesac, with a white Mercedes parked in front. You can hear loud music coming from inside.

"We're here!" Sasha says, putting the car into park. "This is Eren's house."

"It's Zeke's house," Mikasa corrects her, unbuckling her seatbelt.

"Zeke?" You ask, picking your purse up off of the floor of the car and placing it in your lap.

Sasha nods, turning around to face you, "Zeke is Eren's older brother. Remember how I told you that he knows the right people?" You nod. "Well. He's the right people." She says with a mischievous smile.

You have so many questions.

The three of you get out of the car and head towards the party. With so many people heading both in and out of the house, the front door remains in an open position.

Stuffing your hands deep into the pockets of your fur jacket, you follow a few steps behind Sasha and Mikasa.

When you enter inside, your eyes wander as you spin around, taking in the house. It's not too big, not too small. But it's enough to know that Eren's brother, whatever he does, allows him to live a pretty good life. It seems like he never has to worry about balancing enough money to pay the bills.

Not rich. Not poor. But pretty damn comfortable.

The voices and music are all mushed together, making your senses feel heightened. Your mind is swimming with anticipation as you try to get a feel for the place. You haven't been to a party since high school, so this isn't anything like you're used to.

"Y/N. Earth to Y/N." Sasha says, tapping you on your shoulder, pulling your attention away from the house and over to her. "What? Sorry." You say.

If she said something before, you didn't hear a word of it.

"I said that everyone should be in the kitchen," she grabs the sleeve of your jacket and pulls you. "Don't just stand there. Let's go. You can look around later."

"Oh, okay," you say, trying to keep up with her footsteps. "Where's Mikasa?"

"She's in the kitchen. She went to grab us drinks."

"Oh," your eyes begin to wander again, "Eren knows this many people?"

She giggles, "yeah. I mean, that's what happens when you're the basketball star at TSU."

You hum in response biting your cheek, not really processing anything that she's saying.

Sasha takes notice of your slight nervousness, "you okay?" She asks as the two of you weave in and out of the crowds of people.

You clear your throat, and you pull your arms into your chest, trying your best not to run into anyone, "I'm fine. Just not a scene I'm used to. There's just a lot going on."

"Well, you gotta get used to it, babe," she taunts as she continues to guide you, "You'll be doing this a lot from now on."

The two of you reach the kitchen, and the first thing you see is a big group of people scattered around talking and laughing with one another with drinks in hand and smoke coming from a blunt that is being passed around.

Sasha leans in and whispers in your ear, "I'm gonna introduce you."

Your heart races and you shake your head, "No, no, it's okay, I can do it."

She shoots you a taunting smile, and you know that means that there's no point in trying to argue because you're not talking her out of this one.

"Too late," she singsongs, and she pulls you over to the group.

Sasha raises his voice catching the attention of the talkative crowd, "Everyone! This is Y/N. I know a few of you guys have already had the chance to meet her but for the rest of you, treat her good. She's one of us now."

"One of us?" someone scoffs. You look over to see a girl with brown hair and freckles sprinkled across her face, "No one asked for this shitty group to get any bigger."

"Ymir!" The petite blonde girl next to her says like she is sending a warning. She shakes her head and walks over to you. "I'm sorry about her. Manners aren't really her thing. I'm Historia, and that's Ymir." She glances over to Ymir and then brings her eyes back to you, "it's really nice to meet you."

You smile, "It's fine. It's nice to meet you too."

Historia smiles at you in return and walks back over to Ymir, where they begin to whisper to each other. You watch as their eyes flicker over in your direction every so often, making you assume that whatever they're talking about has to do with you.

Two tall guys walk over to you next. "Y/N. What a name eh Berty?" The tall blonde guy nudges his friend in the shoulder, but he remains quiet. "I'm Reiner, and this here is Bertholdt," Reiner says, roughly patting his friend on his shoulder.

"You can call me Bert if you want to. I'm... I'm glad you're here," Bertholdt says before taking a step away and disappearing back into the crowd. By the tone of his voice and how he carries himself, hands in his pockets and shoulders slightly hunched forward, you can tell that he's shy.

Reiner takes a step in front of you, and you look upwards at him, "If you need some entertainment or a tour of Yeager's big ass place, I'll be in the other room, alright? Don't be shy."

Is this his way of flirting? Does he really think it's good?

You start to laugh, but you swiftly cover it up by clearing your throat. "Right. I'll try to remember that. Thanks, Reiner."

He shoots you a wink, "no sweat." Grabbing his red solo cup off of the white granite counter, he heads in the same direction as Bertholdt.

"Hey, Y/N. It's nice to see you again." You look to see Armin standing in front of you with a kind smile. Next to him is a tiny blonde girl, hair pulled back tightly into a unique bun. "Hi Armin," You say to him before turning to the girl, "I'm Y/N."

Her blue eyes narrow, "I know. Sasha already said that." You try not to cringe at the harshness of her words. Two sentences are exchanged, and you can already tell that Armin and this girl are night and day.

"Right," you breathe, "And you are?"

"Annie." She snaps bitterly and walks away without another word.

This vibe of hers, you are not a fan.

Armin lets out a small sigh, "Don't worry about her. She's always like that," he says with attempted reassurance.

"And here I thought Ymir was rude." You force out a laugh. It was partly a joke but partly not.

"Right," Armin chuckles softly while adjusting the collar of his blue shirt, "Well, what can I say? Our group is very unique."

"That's one way to put it." You respond. Mikasa walks over to you and Armin, and she hands you a red solo cup filled to the brim with liquid, "Thanks, Mikasa." You mutter.

"Of course." Mikasa nods. She takes a sip of her drink and disappears. 

"I'm gonna go find Annie," Armin says, "I'll catch up with you later." You nod as he leaves.

Your eyes scan the room looking for Sasha, but she is nowhere to be found.

"There you are, Y/N." You turn around at the sound of your name to see Eren standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. "I thought you might have stood me up."

You walk over towards him, "And what kind of lab partner would I be if I did that?"

"I mean you did leave me on read." He taunts making his eyes go soft like a puppy dog.

Your stomach knots in guilt, "I'm sorry I was busy getting ready with Sasha and Mikasa and just sort of forgot. It won't happen again."

"I hope not." Looking down at you, he licks his lips wet before he lifts the lit blunt he is holding between his two fingers up to his mouth, "you look good, Y/N. Really good."

Your heart begins to speed up as you take a sip of your drink, "You don't look too bad yourself, Jeager."

Eren sucks in a long drag, "Yeah? You think so?"

You nod slowly, "I know so." Eren turns his head at an angle away from you and blows out the smoke, not wanting to get any in your face.

You want to ask for a hit, but before you can, a deep voice calls out from behind Eren, "Out of the fucking way, Jeager."

The person behind him pushes Eren roughly, causing him to stumble forward, knocking into you. Eren catches himself by grabbing onto your shoulders tightly, his whole body pressed up against yours.

"Shit, Y/N. I'm sorry." Eren apologies. He pushes his warm body away from you, making your body go cold. He spins around, "You're fucking dead, Jean."

Behind Eren, you see the same guy standing there that you saw back at Titan Turf yesterday.

He's exactly as you remember, but the only difference now is that he looks a bit angrier than before, and that's something you didn't even think possible.

He's exactly as you remember, but the only difference now is that he looks a bit angrier than before, and that's something you didn't even think possible. 

This is Jean? 

This the guy that they were talking about yesterday? The one who has some kind of emotional baggage? The one with all the unknown rumors and whatever the hell else? 

You feel your stomach twist. Your eyes look to meet his face but not once does he look at you; he stays focused on Eren. It's almost like you are invisible to his eye. 

Eren shoves Jean roughly, causing Jean to take a few steps backward but instead of fighting back, he pushes his way past Eren into the kitchen.

"Off me, freedom boy." Jean snaps, running his hands over his hair, smoothing out his mullet. He walks past you without even noticing your presence, and Eren follows behind him. 

The two of them continue to argue when you feel arms wrap around your waist, turning you around. Sasha is standing in front of you with a smile on her face, "Did you meet Jean?" 

You shake your head and take a sip of your drink. The coldness of the beer drips down your throat as you swallow, "not officially." 

"Oh, okay," she leans in close, "I'm going to introduce you. Just be careful, alright?" 

"Careful? Why?" You ask in a whisper. 

She places her hand on your shoulder. "He's just not at a good spot right now. There are somethings that he's trying to figure out." 

You don't even bat an eye. You heard them talk about Jean a little bit, and the small amount you know is enough to set you off of him for a lifetime. 

You pull away and line your face up with hers, "don't worry about that. Jean is the last person I would ever have any sort of interest in. Trust me."

"Okay, good," she sighs with relief, "Most girls drool over him. I love Jean to death, but with how he’s been acting lately, I don’t want him messing with you. Don’t tell me you forgot how protective I have always been of you. That will always be my job as your best friend."  

Sasha heads over to Jean, who is now sitting on the counter, and you walk a few paces behind her.

As you step in front of him, you can see his eyes checking out some girls who are dancing to the music a few yards away, like he's trying to decide which one he wants to take home.

You roll your eyes. Typical fuckboy behavior.

"Good to know you finally decided to show up, Jean," Sasha says, punching him in his thigh.

Jean tears his eyes away from the girls and brings them over to Sasha, "I've been here. I just didn't feel like dealing with you guys yet, so I was elsewhere."

Sasha fake gags, "I don't even want to know what the fuck that entails." She shakes her head, "Back to the real reason I came over here, I wanted to introduce you to my old childhood best friend. Since you were out doing whatever the fuck it was, I don't want to know, you missed the official greeting."

Jean's eyes move over to you. Finally, he acknowledges you as a person.

The two of you catch the gaze of one another. You thought he was good-looking before, but now that you're this close, he's even more so, and you hate him for it.

You swear you can see his light brown eyes go soft towards you. How he's looking at you right now is entirely different than how he was looking at the girls on that were dancing minutes prior.

You can't help but wonder if maybe he remembers you from Titan Turf the way you do him.

He continues to stare at you but says nothing, so you decide to take the first step and break the ice. Sticking out your hand, you hold it out towards him, "I'm Y/N. It's nice to meet you, Jean."

His mouth opens slightly like he is going to say something, but he quickly closes right back up. He gives you a sharp nod before tearing his eyes away from you.

Not a single word falls from his mouth like he could be careless about your name or who you are.

In annoyance, you ball up your fist, drop it back down to your side, and without another word, you turn away and distance yourself from him.

Of course, he doesn't remember you on campus yesterday. Who would? Your father always did tell you what a forgettable person you are.

From a distance, you silently watch Jean's and Sasha's interactions with each other as you take small swigs from your cup.

She looks like she's yelling at him, and Jean is just sitting there taking it without any sort of argument as if he knows whatever she is saying to him is what he deserves.

Sasha ends the conversation with Jean abruptly and starts to make her way over to you.

Without making it obvious that you were watching their discussion, you quickly pull out your phone from your purse and pretend like you were using it.

"Hey," Sasha says, stepping in front of you, "I'm sorry about Jean."

You lower your phone. Looking at her, you shrug. "it's fine. It's not like you didn't give me a warning. He's exactly as I expected."

She hums, "Well, I'm going to go find Connie. I haven't seen him this entire time and want to make sure he's alright and not taking some random ass drugs from random ass people. You wanna come?"

You shake your head declining, "I'm gonna chill here for a bit." Sasha nods, "okay, I'll be back soon." She kisses your forehead before disappearing into the crowd.

Your vision is brought back into the kitchen when you see Jean and Eren talking to each other again. Pushing yourself deeper into the white cabinet you are standing against, you pull out your phone again, mainly to pretend to be distracted so you can be nosey.

"I need a fucking drink." You hear Jean say as he jumps down from the counter.

Eren follows Jean over to the fridge, "you better not have taken any girls into my room upstairs. If anything, fuck them in Zeke's room."

Jean bursts out laughing while opening the fridge door, "what's it to you? You don't live here anymore. Don't be mad that I can pull more bitches than you." He leans down and pulls out two beers, and cracks them open.

Eren grabs the one Jean is offering him, "Shut up. I can get bitches too."

Jean slams the fridge shut, causing the bottles in the door to rattle, "yeah? What? Basic ones? Like her?" You watch as Jean points over to you with the same hand he's holding his beer in. He turns his focus over to you.

As soon as he makes eye contact with you, his hand drops back down to his side, and his jaw tightens, causing the temples in his head to pulsate. It looks like he is trying to swallow back down the words he just said. Like he regrets saying them.

Eren looks over to you and quickly brings his attention back to Jean. His grip tightens around his beer, "Don't say shit like that about her."

Jean lets out a sigh, "you're right. That's my bad." He seems to be sarcastic in he words, but you can't say for sure. 

"My homies!" You hear Connie call out from the crowd. You set your phone on the counter next to you.

He makes his way into the kitchen, "let's play spin the bottle!"

"Where is everyone?" Eren asks.

"Downstairs. I already told them about it. It's just you guys left." Connie rests his forearm onto the countertop and leans his body into it, "So, you guys in or what?"

"Are you gonna play, Eren?" You ask him. He walks over to you and sets his drink onto the counter, "only if you do."

You shoot him a smile, "Then let's go."

As you head out of the kitchen, you look back to see Jean still sitting on the counter drinking.

"Jean's not coming?" You ask Eren and Connie.

"No. He never plays." Connie responds.

"Don't worry about him," Eren says, looking back towards Jean and then back to you, "He'll be fine."

You nod, "Right."

You Connie and Eren walk downstairs to the room. Connie walks in first, and Eren holds the door open for you to walk in next. You pause for a second, searching your purse and pockets. "Shit. My phone."

The counter.

"You lose it?" Eren asks, voice and face coated with concern. You shake your head, "no. I know exactly where it is. I'll be right back." Turning back down the hallway, you head back upstairs.

"Want me to come with you?" Eren calls out.

"No, it's okay," you respond, voice raised, "I got it."

Quickly, you hurry back to the kitchen. Relief rushes over you when you see your phone still lying in the same place you left it. You snatch it off of the counter.

Turning to head back downstairs, your eyes fall onto Jean, who is still sitting in the same position everyone left him in, but the number of beer bottles set next to him seems to have doubled.

How much does this guy drink?

Part of you wants to try to talk to him again, remembering how your friends were talking about his messed up state of mind at Dok's Diner last night. The other part of you wants to ignore him entirely, now until forever.

Before you know it, without overthinking, your feet are carrying themselves over to fuck boy Jean Kirstein, and you can't stop them.

Your eyes fall onto his black long-sleeved shirt. It's one of those low-key anime shirts where you will only recognize it if you've seen it.

This one that Jean is wearing, you would know blind.

banana fish.

On the front of it is a white outline of Eiji's and Ash's hands reaching out to each other. Underneath it is written, my soul is always with you.

"You like Banana Fish?" You ask.

His eyes narrow thin like you're bothering him, "what?" He snaps gruffly.

You point at his shirt, "your shirt. Banana Fish."

Jean's eyes move down at his shirt and then blink back up to you, "Oh. Yeah. It's my favorite anime. You know it?"

"Yeah. It's my favorite anime too."

He looks like he is going to smile, but before he allows it to spread across his face, he wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt and nods before looking away.

Jean's lack of response causes silence to transpire between the two of you. Biting the tip of your tongue, you let out a small sigh. There's this sort of tension that you feel coming into play as his eyes look everywhere around the room but at you.

He's refusing himself the opportunity to look at you, and you can't understand why. Standing in front of him, you feel like nothing more than some sort of pest that he wants to be rid of.

Leave. You tell yourself. Go. He doesn't want you here.

You want to go. You want nothing more than to turn your back and leave him behind the way that Eren told you to, but you can't. You can't leave.

You are stuck.

Both your mind and your body are refusing to let you move because as you stand here in front of Jean with his grave face, messy mullet, and Banana Fish T-Shirt, you can sense this bleak sadness that is coming from him, and it's a sadness that you know all too well.

So, instead of leaving, you decide to speak.

"How many is that?" You ask, pointing at the beer bottles. He shrugs, setting yet another empty bottle onto the counter, "I don't know, and I don't really care. It's college. This is the shit you're supposed to do."

You tilt your head to the side, "Is that your excuse for everything?"

Jean yawns as he rests the palms of his hands on the cold countertop resting his weight into them, "I guess. Why? does it bother you?"

"No," you shake your head, "but you do."

The corner of his mouth switches. You can tell that he is trying his best to fight back a laugh, "noted."

"Are you gonna play spin the bottle?" You ask, stuffing your phone in your back pocket.

He scoffs, "No. Fuck that. Do you realize how none of them asked me if I was coming? That's for a reason."

"Yeah? And what's that?"

He runs his palms over his black jeans, "because they're always playing that shit, and I never join. So if you're here to ask me, I'd stop running that pretty little mouth of yours because you're wasting your breath."

"Oh, come on." You argue back, "it'll be better than sitting here and drinking yourself dry, right?"

He rolls his eyes, "you don't know me."

"Oh, trust me," you say, "I have no plan on getting to know you anymore than I have to, but that doesn't mean that you can't have a good time."

He glares at you, finally allowing his eyes to fall into yours. You shrug, "Come on. You know I'm right."

His eyes narrow, and he studies you for a while.

Finally, he breaks the silence. "Fine." Jean says, jumping off the counter, "you're on." 

Chapter Text

Stepping into the basement of Zeke Yeager's home, you are greeted with voices coming from your newfound friends as they converse amongst one another. The air is thick with smoke from marijuana. You breathe in the scent of it as the music from upstairs fills your ears.

You have torn yourself away from the central area of the party, but as your eyes flicker around the room, it seems as if you're going to enter into the realm of a more tremendous abyss.

This life, your life, feels like it's actually starting.

You missed out on your first couple of years of college, taking care of your drunk father, and keeping tabs on Lucas's unpredictability, all while fighting to get grades good enough to be able to leave Stohess where your worst memories live.

To experience all the time you lost due to constantly putting yourself last is something you want to make sure you get here in this new town.

The late nights, the friends, the boys, the parties, the freedom, you want all of it. Free to make choices, free to make mistakes, free to live.

Free.

"There's my girl!" Connie yells out as he spots you entering into the room; he shoots you a big grin, "Missed ya."

"Missed me?" You chuckle, shaking your head, "It's only been ten minutes."

"Seems like ten days when you're away from me," he gives you a quick wink before taking a sip out of his beer.

Sasha turns her head quickly toward Connie and then over to the door where you are standing. She is sitting on the couch next to an unfamiliar face with blonde curly hair.

"Hey!" Sasha yells at Connie; her voice sounds much like a warning, "don't flirt with her. She's mine."

"Come on, Y/N. Say it ain't so. Don't break my heart like that," Connie grabs onto his chest and pulls at his shirt like he is feeling some sort of heartache and lets out a dramatic sigh, "aren't you up for grabs?"

Warmth begins to overtake your backside as Jean steps into the room behind you, "who said she wants to be grabbed by you?"

Connie's eyes widen when he sees Jean's tall figure hover over your backside, causing a shadow to overtake your presence. "Woah, what the fuck are you doing here, Jean? I never thought you would step foot into the basement unless I pulled you by that ugly thing you call a mullet."

Jean scoffs, "you never shut up, huh? Don't diss my hair like that when you're clearly just jealous because you have none." He leans in and lowers himself closer to your level, "I should have never listened to you, you know that? I regret coming down here already." His warm breath hits the crook of your neck, causing your shoulders to rise into a slight shiver.

You whip your head around to look at him, but he already has stepped out from behind you and is making his way over to the couch.

The basement is spaciously laid out with a cream-colored carpet. A plasma screen hung on the wall surrounded by various posters, like One Piece and Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood adjacent to those lie Studio Ghibli art and band posters. A coffee table is set in front of the couch with a bong placed in the middle of it, half-empty red solo cups, and beer cans scattered around it.

This must be the normal hang-out spot for this group.

Before you can take a single step forward, Sasha pushes herself to her feet off of the brown couch. She runs over to you, "You're playing?"

You nod, "of course."

"Good!" She places her hands on your shoulder and leans into your ear, "maybe you'll get to kiss Eren. He can't seem to keep his eyes off you. Even when you went back upstairs to grab your phone, he was basically staring at the door waiting for you to come back."

"You're crazy." You let out a laugh, "he was not."

Sasha pulls away and drops her hands, "was too! You can even ask Connie." She points over to Connie, who is sprawled out on the couch with two pretzel sticks shoved in between his gums like a walrus.

Connie catches the two of you looking at him, and he pulls the pretzels out of his mouth, "what?" He tosses the salted sticks into his mouth and points to himself, "you want some of this?"

The two of you snicker at him."In your dreams," Sasha says, rolling her eyes.

"Alright, but all I can say is that you're missing out." Connie spits back with a smug look on his face. He looks over to you, "what about you, Y/N? I'm all yours if you want."

The side of your mouth lifts, "how about we let the bottle be the decision-maker?"

He leans forward, sticking his hand into the bowl full of pretzels; he grabs a handful, "bet."

Your eyes look around the room, and you notice there are a couple of people missing, "where are the others?"

"Historia didn't feel like playing, and whenever Historia goes, Ymir goes," Sasha tells you. "As for the Reiner and Bertholdt, Bertholdt had a stomach ache, so Reiner went back with him to their apartment. Honestly, I think he just drank too much. Bert is sort of a lightweight."

You nod, and your eyes find their way back to the unfamiliar face sitting on the couch, "And, who is that?" You ask, tilting your head over in his direction.

Sasha begins to giggle and brings her pointer finger up to her lips; she hushes you, "I don't want to make it obvious we're talking about him."

Her secret words give you a slight hint of deja vu, which makes you feel like you are back in sixth grade, sitting next to her in Language Arts class; whispers and laughter exchanged as you gossiped.

Conversations like this one were ordinary between you and Sasha. The two of you were wide-eyed, young, and deeply invested in the details of each other lives. Back then, there was never anything to hide.

Sasha's crushes constantly fluctuated depending on the day; even what she ate that day seemed to affect who she was interested in. When she talked about it, you listened. Just like you are now.

What you would give to be young and clueless again. To go back before life really became life.

"Okay, okay." Holding your hands up in defense, you lower your voice to a whisper, "now answer my question. Who is he? You can't leave me hanging like that when there is a hot ass guy next to you."

She looks back at him to make sure that he's distracted before turning her head back towards you, "his name is Niccolo."

"Niccolo?" Your eyes widen with interest. "Wait, is that why I couldn't find you in the kitchen earlier? Is that where you ran off to?"

She runs her tongue across her lower lip, and her cheeks become flushed a bright pink color. She looks nervous. "He got here when everyone was talking to you."

You frown, "Why didn't you tell me there was a guy you were interested in?"

"I only met him a few days ago. One night the two of us got to talking, and we sort of just hit it off." There is a sense of happiness in her voice as she speaks, "I invited him to Eren's party, for the hell of it, but he wasn't sure if he was going to be able to make it, so when he texted me that he was outside, I was pretty surprised."

Your eyes flicker over to Niccolo, and you watch briefly as he is immersed in a conversation with Eren, Armin, and Connie. Jean, on the other hand, is nose deep in his phone, not showing the slightest interest in the ongoing conversation or his friends.

Niccolo seems to be able to socialize fairly well, already making himself familiar with those who are essential in Sasha's life, and by the way that the boys are laughing, you can tell they have already accepted him.

You blink and return your focus to Sasha, "as long as he's nice."

"He is," she sighs, almost with relief, a smile painted across her face, "and guess what?"

You cock your head to the side, "what?"

Her smile widens, "He's the new cook at Dok's, and his food is amazing."

You chuckle, "all right then. That settles it. When's the wedding?"

"You'll be the first to know," she says with a giggle and interlocks her arm with yours, "come on! I want you to meet him."

She drags you over to the couch where Niccolo is sitting. When you approach him, he puts a halt in his conversation with the boys and smiles at you.

"Niccolo, this is Y/N. Y/N, Niccolo. She was my best friend growing up." Sasha introduces you as she drops your arm out of her embrace.

Niccolo holds out his hand to yours, "It's good to meet you, Y/N."

"Likewise, Niccolo." You shake his hand briefly before dropping it back down by your side.

Sasha plops herself down heavily onto the couch next to Niccolo, with a slight grunt, "Ugh. I'm hungry!"

Niccolo looks over at her, "you should have told me. I would have brought you something to eat."

She smiles as she rests her head softly on his shoulder, "That would have been too much to ask Nic."

"No, Sash. Don't say that." He places his hand on her thigh, "I would have been more than happy to cook for you."

Head still resting on his shoulder, Sasha looks at you, sending you a secret message with her eyes, "oh. my. god." She mouths inaudibly to you.

Before you start laughing at her silent comment about Niccolo, you turn your back on them.

As soon as your turn around, you are greeted with Eren, who is leaned up against the wall with his arms crossed in front of him. His eyes are already on you like he has been standing there, waiting, watching.

He smiles at you, defining his cheekbones. You can't help but smile back. Uncrossing his arms, he slightly nods his head, "come here."

You swallow hard with anticipation and make your way over to him, "yes?" You ask as you take a step in front of him.

"You having a good time?"

If only he knew that this is the most content you have felt in who knows how long.

Looking up at him, you nod.  "I am."

"Good." He gently grabs the end of your hair and twists it with his fingers, "I'm glad."

Connie breaks off your conversation, his loud voice filling the air, "are you fuckers ready to play or what?" Everyone voices yes, in response.

You turn your back on Eren to walk back over to the couch to grab a seat when he grabs you by the wrist and swiftly pulls you back around to face him again.

He looks at you longingly, eyes tracing over every inch of your face, "Can you do me a favor?"

You blink, uncertain where this is going.

His hand stays wrapped around your wrist the way that it did earlier today after class, but this time his touch lasts even longer. You try your best to act like you don't feel the warmth of him seeping through the fabric of your jacket. You hold your arm relatively still, not wanting his touch to leave you, "depends on what it is." 

He licks his lips wet, "Sit across from me during the game."

"Why does it matter where I sit?" You ask, confused, "isn't this game based on luck?"

"I know that." Eren shrugs and drags his thumb slowly across the skin of your wrist, "but I want to have something nice to look at."

Stubbornly, you fight off the smile you feel coming to meet your lips. Heat rushes to your face painting your cheeks and nose a plum color. Trying to cover it up, you pull your eyes away from his face and force them down to the ground.

Letting his hold go from your wrist, his hand finds its way to your face. Under your chin, he guides your face back up to his, "Hey, come on, don't do that."

"Do what?" Your voice comes out softer than you intended it to, but with his hands on you, your self-control is beginning to wear thin.

His lips curve up into a slight smirk, eyes looking into yours ever so softly, "don't hide from me." He brushes his fingertips over the bright color that is resting on your cheeks.

Before you can respond, he pulls his hand away from your skin and makes his way over to the circle without another word.

You were hesitant before, but there's no denying it anymore. Eren Yeager is flirting with you, and even more so, you like it.

Your stomach begins to flutter at what just happened, the things he said, the way he touched you so gently like he was worried he was going to scare you away.

"Y/N," you hear Armin call out behind you, "are you coming?"

Taking a deep breath, you gather your jumbled thoughts of Eren, "yeah, my bad." Quickly, you spin around and find an empty seat on the couch between Sasha and Jean, right across from Eren, just like he asked.

"Before we start, does anyone want to hit the Pope?" Eren asks, resting his arm on his bent knee.

You blink, "the Pope?"

Eren chuckles softly and leans forward, grabbing the bong off of the center of the coffee table. "This right here is the Pope," he says, lifting it into the air.

Connie and Sasha raise both of their hands and lower them dramatically, bowing down to the piece of glass. "All hail the Pope," they say in unison as if it's a place of worship. 

"You guys named your bong the Pope?" Your eyes trace up the shape of it as it's being held in the air, "why?"

"Because you visit God when you hit that shit," Jean says as he brings his body forward and snatches the bong out of Eren's hands. "Wanna see for yourself?" He asks, holding it out to you.

You swallow hard. You've smoked before a few times, but that was back in your high school days. A couple of joints here and there but never out of a piece of glass as big as this.

Sasha can sense your hesitancy, so she decides to send encouragement your way, "Come on, Y/N! There's enough to go around. It will be fun, I promise."

"Yeah!" Connie says in agreeance. "I'm sure everything has been bat shit crazy with you moving out here and starting school. You deserve to chill out."

"I say do it," Mikasa speaks up.

You look at Eren, and he shoots you a smile, "What do you say? I promise you it's the good stuff."

"You're safe with us," Armin says with a comforting tone in his voice, "but if you don't want to, you don't have to. Don't feel pressured."

You pause for a second, mouth slightly agape. Your eyes travel from Jean to the bong to Jean once again, "I've never really hit a bong before," you confess to the group.

Jean clicks his tongue, "Man, you are an innocent girl, aren't you?"

You roll your eyes. "Give it to me," you say, grabbing the bong out of his hand. You hold your free hand out to him, "do you have a lighter that I can borrow?"

"Yeah." Digging in his pant pocket, Jean pulls out a dark blue lighter, "You can have whatever you want..." he dangles it in front of you. When you reach out to grab it, he pulls it away out of your reach "... if you ask nicely."

You let out a sarcastic laugh, "You already called me a basic bitch to Eren, didn't you?" You reach for the lighter again. Jean tries to pull it away, but his movement is too slow. Gripping onto the lighter, you yank it away roughly out his grasp, "what makes you think I'm going to ask you nicely for anything."

"Woah!" Stunned, Connie raises his voice and straightens out his back, "you want now?"

Armin lets out a sigh, "seriously, Jean?"

Sasha gasps, "you called her a what?"

"Does it matter?" Jean scoffs, "Eren already bit my head off about it. Came to her defense real fucking quick. He's only known her for a day, and he's already pussy whipped."

You look over to Eren to see his reaction and watch as his fits tighten against the fabric of his pants, "you better watch your fucking mouth," Eren warns, "your free pass of being a complete dickwad. Is about to expire."

"Yeah?" Jean runs his tongue across his teeth and lifts his chest, "When it does expire, are you gonna beat my ass, or are you just going to keep running your annoying ass mouth?"

Eren pushes himself up on his feet, "how about I just fucking show you?"

Jean rubs the back of his neck as if this conversation is nothing but a drag to him, "Look at you, Jeager, all this worked up over Y/N? Huh? Or are you just trying to impress her? Attempt to slide in before the rest of us can get a taste of her?"

Your eyes shoot open wide at Jean's words. Sasha warned you about him and his twisted ways, but this isn't something you could be ready for.

"Jean!" Sasha exclaims, clearly shocked at his comment.

"Yo, watch it," Connie warns.

"Too far," Armin says, clearly disappointed in Jean's choice of words.

Mikasa's teeth clench, and you see the jaw sharpen from the pressure. She glares at Jean so intently that you swear she looks straight into his soul, but he could care less.

How? You have no idea. Mikasa's looks are enough to kill a man. But then again, Jean's emotions seem to be lost in some other galaxy far away from here.

"Man, what the hell is wrong with you!" Eren tries to take a step forward, but before he can move, Mikasa grabs him by the wrist and yanks him back down, "that's enough, Eren."

Eren tries to argue back, "no Mikasa, that's so fucked up I -"

Mikasa cuts him off by leaning in. She whispers something in his ear that you can't make out.

You are trying to make sense of it, but you can only see her lips move. Eren's stern face slowly softens as if he was given a reminder that zapped away his aggression towards Jean.

Eren lets out a frustrated sigh. This time, he talks loud enough that you can hear, "fine. But only because it still hasn't been that long."

Mikasa nods as she adjusts the fabric of her skirt, pulling it down on her legs, "fine."

You can't help but wonder what she said to him. Whatever it was was enough to calm Eren down and get him off of the idea of having it out with Jean.

Being new to this group, you hardly know anything about anyone, but you do know there is a hell of a lot of uncovered territories that they are trying their best to cover up.

To them, you are nothing but a stranger who suddenly entered into their lives, but that doesn't make you any less curious about the lives they lived before you arrived. But despite your unuttered questions, you respect their privacy because you too are hiding pieces of yourself, even from Sasha.

"Jesus fuck, what the hell?" Connie throws his head back and looks at the ceiling, "can't we just get high and play spin the bottle? I didn't know I came down here to watch a god damn WWE fight."

You turn your head towards Sasha, you signal for her to move in towards you, she abides. "Is this normal?" You whisper to her. You can feel her hair move against your skin as she nods, "they do it all the time. But it seems like you are the instigator this time."

"Why me?" You whisper.

She shrugs, "I don't know. Probably because you're hot."

Jean taps you on the shoulder, pulling your attention away from Sasha, "you talking about me?"

You scoff, "I wouldn't waste my breath."

He can feel your anger towards him. He sighs, "Sorry about what I said; sometimes I speak before I think."

"Don't." You warn him, nettled with his audacity to give you a half-ass apology after starting a fight with Eren using you as bait.

"It was out of line, I know." Distancing himself from you, he holds out the bong and lighter out to you as an offer, "Truce?"

Wrapping your hands around both items, you slowly lean in towards him, lining your lips up with his ear, "you want truce?" you whisper.

He shrugs, "Yeah."

"Fine, I'll give you your stupid truce, but you should know, you will never get a taste of me." You snatch away from him the bong and lighter from him and turn away before he gets the chance to respond.

"Now that the boys have had their little fight," Sasha says, "Y/N, since you are in procession of the Pope himself, you start and pass it around."

You nod, "okay, but I'm gonna be honest, I don't really know to hit it."

[ ⅠⅠ ▹ play: take a slice - glass animals ]

"Here," Jean says, "let me show you." He lifts out his hands. 

Your shoot him a threatening look. Trying to tell him to back off.

Recognizing your irritation, his eyes toward you go somewhat soft, "Come on. I thought we had a truce? Don't be a killjoy."

You let out a long sigh, letting go of your annoyance towards Jean and his uncalled-for comments with the want to enjoy your time at Eren's party.

"Whatever," you say as you shove the piece of glass and lighter back into his hands.

Placing the bong in his left hand and the lighter in his right, he looks at you out of the corner of his eye, "Eyes on me, alright?"

You nod. Studying him, you watch as he lowers his head to the mouthpiece. Lips slightly open, he takes his right hand and flicks on the lighter, and holds the flame up to the bowl.

"When you hear that sound," Eren says across from you, "wait a few seconds before you pull the bowl out."

"Don't worry too much about it," Armin says, leaning  forward a little bit, "it's a lot easier than it looks."

Smoke begins to form within the tube, making its way upward to Jean's mouth. He brings his hand to the bowl and pulls it out of its place. Quickly, he sucks in the smoke that is building up, filling his lungs. Pulling his mouth out of the mouthpiece, he lifts his head and blows out the remainder of the smoke filling the air thick with it.

Jean brings his head back level and looks over at you, "you think you got it?" He asks, handing you the bong.

"Uh, Sorta."

He chuckles, "just hold the Pope the way I showed you, and I'll do the rest, alright?"

"Can I trust you?" you hesitate before placing your lips into the mouthpiece.

"Don't worry," he says, "I'll take good care of you."

Bringing your focus down, you watch Jean's hand as he lifts the unlit lighter to the bowl. You spot a couple of scars that rest on the back of his hand. Trying not to focus on them, you bring your eyes back to the green drug packed away tightly into the bowl.

"You ready?" Jean asks.

Unable to speak, you nod in response.

He flicks on the lighter and lights the drug red with the flame. The familiar bubbling sound fills your ears, "Stay just like that," he tells you.

You hold that position at his request and watch as the smoke builds; the bubble dance beneath it.

"Good," Jean continues; he places his pointer finger and thumb around the bowl and quickly pulls it out, "now breathe in."

Again, you do as your told. Taking a deep breath in, you feel the smoke travel down your throat, making your lungs full—an unfamiliar taste of it coating the base of your tongue.

"Good girl," Jean says low; it's so quiet that with the small talk coming from your friends and the music in the background, you are the only one who heard his comment.

Your stomach flips. Trying to ignore the feeling, you pull your mouth away from the mouthpiece and blow out.

"That was a pretty big hit you gave her, Jean," Armin voices.

"It was," Sasha says, leaning over, "are you trying to kill her or something?"

"Wouldn't dream of it." Jean shrugs while flicking the lighter in his hand on and off repeatedly, "just trying to show her a good time."

Your head begins to rush, and your throat starts to burn a little bit. Trying to clear your throat as you hand over the bong to Sasha, you begin to cough.

The group looks over at you, and laughter is behind to transpire amongst them. "Got her," Connie snickers as he nods his head towards you. "You know what they say; the more you cough, the higher you get."

"You good?" Eren asks, resting his forearms on the table, face concerned.

"Yeah." The cough begins to lessen, and you feel your body slowly start to grow lighter, "I'm good." You reply, voice strained with the burn of leftover smoke.

"Do you need anything?" Sasha asks, placing her hand on your shoulder, "I can make Niccolo run upstairs for you if want."

Niccolo nods, "whatever you need, I got you."

You clear your throat, fighting off another cough that you can feel coming, "it's okay. I swear I'm good."

"Here," Annie slides her water across the table, "you're being dramatic."

"Annie," Armin warns, shaking his head.

"What?" She says the tone of her voice annoyed, "she is."

You grab the water off of the table and take off the cap, "thanks," you say before taking a sip. Annie ignores your gratitude. Wrapping her arms around her bent knees, she looks away.

Sasha begins to light the bong and takes a hit when Jean leans into you, "I'm impressed. I didn't think you were going to be able to take it."

You pull away and look directly at him. "Don't underestimate me," you say, setting the water back on the table.

The bong makes its way around the circle, from Sasha to Niccolo, to Connie, to Eren, to Mikasa, to Armin, to Annie, to Jean, and back to you.

As you watch each of them take hits out of the Pope, you feel your body begin to tingle, and everything starts to feel as if it's moving in slow motion. They are conversing with each other, but you aren't paying attention.

When the bong lands back in your hands, Jean looks over at you, "how are you feeling?" he asks, "good?"

A sensation of relaxation has taken over, and you feel on cloud nine. The room seems more vivid, and the sounds filling your ears are louder and clearer than before.

You nod your head, but your movements feel slower than what they are. You start to giggle; you don't know why. You just feel happy, "Good. Really fucking good."

He can't help but laugh at the sound of your laughter. He tries to fight it off, but he fails. Your laugh is too contagious. A low chuckle escapes from his lips, "See? I told you I would take good care of you."

He looks good when he doesn't look so down.

Something took his happiness away, but what?

"Alright! Now that the smoke circle is complete and Y/N has had a taste of the Pope's true powers," Sasha claps her hands together, "Let's play!"

"Eren," Connie says, "wanna tell Y/N and Niccolo the rules, so they know what to expect?"

You and Niccolo glance over at each other, a confused look on both of your faces. "Rules?" Niccolo asks.

"Isn't it just like any other game of spin the bottle?" You ask, looking around the table, "whoever it lands on, you have to kiss, right?"

"You're so cute!" Sasha taps your thigh, "there's so much for you to learn."

"Alright, listen up," Eren says, scooting himself closer to the table. Taking an empty glass beer bottle, he places it on the side in the center of the table. "This game is also known as kiss or bitch."

"We have one person who spins the bottle for everyone." Eren points over to Niccolo, "say that person is Niccolo. He will spin the bottle twice, pairing a couple up. When that couple is paired up, they can either choose to kiss, or they can bitch, which means that they have to drink."

"How much?" You ask.

Eren shoots you a grin, "All of it. After the third couple goes, the bottle is spun twice more, pairing up the fourth couple."

"But!" Connie interrupts Eren throwing his hands up in the air, "there's a twist. The fourth couple gets a real sweet fucking treat."

Eren shoots his head over to Connie, "are you gonna let me finish, or are you just going to keep talking?"

Connie sinks back into the cushions of the couch, "my bad, freedom boy."

Eren rolls his eyes before they begin to flicker across the circle again, "as I was saying, before cue ball cut me off, instead of kissing in front of everyone, the fourth couple has to go into the closet for seven minutes. No more, no less. Why?"

"House rules," everyone around the table answers his question in unison except for you and Niccolo.

"How did you guys even come up with this?" Niccolo asks, looking at Sasha.

She shrugs in response, "I don't know we were drunk and bored."

"And horny!" Connie calls out, shooting up finger guns.

You and the rest of the formed circle let out a laugh. Connie's humor is something you greatly enjoy. Everything he says is so out of pocket, making it that much funnier, especially when high.

"You guys got it?" Eren asks you and Niccolo, and both of you nod in response.

"Alright, cool," he says, tightening his man-bun, "who's gonna be the spinner?"

Connie slaps his chest, "I will. After all, the ladies do tell me I have magic in my hands." Bringing himself to the edge of the couch, he places his hand onto the glass bottle, "may the best man get some."

Winding up his hand, Connie spins the bottle. You watch as it goes around deciding who its first victim is going to be. Leisurely, it begins to slow until it comes to a complete halt.

"First victim, Niccolo," Connie says, and Niccolo's body tenses with anticipation.

Connie spins again; you focus hard on the bottle until it lands, "second victim, Sasha."

Luck is in their favor, to say the least.

The two of them look at each other, eyes wide, shocked they got paired with one another. By the looks of their reaction, it doesn't look like they have yet to share a kiss before now.

Connie begins to drum his finger on the wood of the table, "what will it be, folks? Kiss or bitch?"

"What do you want to do?" Sasha asks. There is a little bit of a nervous tone that lies within her voice.

A small smile forms Niccolo's lips; he looks almost shy. He grabs her on both sides of her face and pulls her into a kiss. Sasha is caught off guard at first but soon begins to return the action. It's a sweet kiss laced with evident yearning.

After some time, the two slowly pull away from each other. Clearing her throat Sasha turns her head toward you. Her cheeks are blushed brighter than you have ever seen them. She opens her mouth to speak, but words don't come.

You chuckle at her stunned face, knowing that she's trying to process what just happened.

"Boooooring!" Connie lets out with a forced yawn, "not even any tongue? I expected better from you, Niccolo."

Niccolo laughs, "sorry to disappoint."

Connie rubs his hands together like he is making them warm and places them back on the bottle, "let's see who's up next, shall we?"

The bottle begins to spin around and around. As you feel yourself slowly start to get higher as the minutes pass, you feel as if you are in a trance watching it. Finally, the glass goes still. 

"Looks like the bottle has made its choice once again," Connie says, "and that person is Eren."

You and Eren both look at each other, and he gives you a half-smile. 

You find yourself hoping that the next spin will land on you. There's something about him. You can't tell really what it is if it's his brightly colored eyes, or messy man-bun, or how he sounds when he talks.

Maybe it's all of it.

The bottle begins to spin again, and you watch it in silent wait, but soon you are taken over with a rush of disappointment when the bottle land across from you at a kiddy corner angle.

"Mikasa!" Connie calls out.

"This will be interesting," you hear Jean remark under his breath.

You look over to him, "what do you mean?"

He stays focused on Eren and Mikasa, not even flickering his eyes over you once, "nothing."

This man has always got something to say.

"Balls in your court, my friends," Connie gives another drum roll against the wood, "make your choice now. Kiss or bitch?"

Mikasa straightens her back and adjusts her black dress. She looks almost as if she's waiting for something that will never come.

Eren glances over to her once before grabbing the cup in front of him. "Bitch," he says quickly. Bringing it up to his mouth, he starts to chug.

You watch Mikasa as her shoulders soften out. She chews at the inside of her cheek and slowly grabs the cup in front of her. She hesitates for a second before she brings it up to her lips, "Bitch," she says. Following Eren's lead, she begins to drink.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Jean begins to clap slowly, "our first bitch of the evening... Eren Yeager. Though I know, nobody is surprised. He always has been a little pussy."

Eren finishes his drink and slams the empty cup back on the table, "Fuck you."

"I’d fuck me too," Jean taunts, leaning back into the couch.

You stick out your tongue dramatically to show your disgust, "gross."

Jean nudges you in the arm, "you'd be so lucky."

"Sorry," you say sarcastically, "I've done enough charity work in my lifetime."

"You've got a mouth on you," he spits in irritation, "it's annoying." He clearly doesn't like your denial of him.

Jean is so hot and cold with you. It's a bit hard to keep up. It's like he wants to be nice, but then he covers it up with rude comments that make him seem like a complete asshole.

Who is he really behind the mouth he seems to like to run?

"Really?" Sasha turns quickly towards the two of you, "because I like it."

"You like it?" You shoot her an enticing smile, "kiss me then."

She smiles back and pokes you gently in the shoulder, "don't tempt me."

Jean rolls his eyes, "you won't."

Your eyes get big, and you point to yourself, "Oh, no? I won't?"

"Nah," He says. It's so evident in the way he talks that he doubts the hell out of you, "not a fucking chance."

There's something about Jean challenging you that pisses you off. He acts like he knows everything, and because of that, you want to prove him wrong.

You furrow your eyebrows together, and you turn towards Sasha; you point to her and then to your lips.

"You're serious?" Sasha asks with a hopeful smile.

You nod, "if you are."

She chuckles. Grabbing your face, she brings her mouth to yours and kisses you, soft and sweet.

The two of you pull away; the rest of the table has gone still and quiet. Each one of them tries to process the quick turn of events.

Connie breaks the shock-filled silence with his contagious laugher, "holy fucking shitballs!" He remarks, slapping his hand over his open mouth.

You turn your head to Jean, who looks utterly surprised that you went through with it. Silent, he stares at you, mouth agape, eyes wide.

"Don't look so shocked, Jean." You let out a small laugh, "didn't I tell you not to underestimate me?"

Connie continues to laugh. Bringing his focus to Eren, he wraps his arm around his shoulder, "me and you next, Jeager, how bout it?" He leans into Eren's cheek. Pursing his lips out, Connie hovers close over Eren's skin.

Eren roughly pushes Connie off of him, "I'll slap the shit outta you, I swear to God."

"Sheesh," Connie fixes his shirt that is now slightly wrinkled from Eren's hands, "my slap kink is going crazy right now."

The table starts to laugh and Connie's ridiculous comment.

"I'm so sick of this," Armin says with a small laugh shaking his head.

"You're done," Eren says, punching Connie's shoulder hard, "you're done."

Connie's laughter finally settles as he rubs out his shoulder to lessen the sting, "Before Eren beats my ass, let's get back to it." He spins the bottle once again. It makes its way around the table and finally sticks its landing.

Your stomach turns when you realize that the bottle has landed on you.

"Y/N!" Connie announces as he gives the bottle another spin, "and who's the lucky one?"

It slows down by the second before it lands to the right of you. There is a slight pause in the air as your eyes travel from the glass to the person it's chosen as your partner.

"Armin! You lucky ass mother fucker." Connie says with a laugh.

You watch as Armin looks at Annie, trying to see if there is any kind of reaction coming from her.

"Don't look at me, Armin," Annie says, her face scowling towards you, "I'm not your partner."

Armin's blue eyes flicker over to you. Your hand is resting on your drink, preparing for Armin to say bitch. With the newfound knowledge that he is somewhat involved with Annie, there's no way he will go through with this.

Connie's standard drum roll fills your ears, "has the choice been made? Kiss or bitch?"

Armin's eyes look over to Annie one last time, then directly back at you. He pushes himself from his sitting position onto his knees.

Ain't no way.

He leans his body over towards you with his palms pressed into the table, "I'm doing this, so you don't have to drink. I don't want to risk you getting crossfaded." He whispers to you, and his lips find yours.

Your breath hitches and your eyes flutter shut as you feel Armin's soft, warm lips against your own. It's a faint short kiss.

He pulls away. When your eyes open back up, he gives you a smile before distancing himself away from you. He sits back down.

"Even Armin has more balls than you, Eren," Jean taunts, taking a slip out of his drink, "I didn't realize you were still waiting for yours to drop."

Eren spits something harsh back in return, but your mind is too focused on what happened with Armin to really be able to pay attention.

As the two of them begin to argue with each other again, you look over to Annie. The girl always seems pissed the hell off, but right now, she's seething. Her focus remains forward. Her eyes aren't even anchored to anything, but she is staring ahead, eyes unblinking. Armin keeps trying to talk to her, but she acts as if he doesn't even exist.

The rapidly growing tension between them is so prominent that you can almost taste it. Armin deciding to kiss you wasn't something you expected him to go through with. But then again, Annie did choose to play spin the bottle. She went into this knowing anybody could end up with anybody. It was Armin's choice to make, and he chose you.

"The next victim is Annie!" Connie calls out, bringing you back to reality. You were so lost in thought that you missed him spinning the bottle the first time until it landed, "do I smell a redemption arc or what?"

"I'd watch your back if I were you," Jean says quietly to you, "Annie's known to get a little crazy sometimes." You ignore him.

Connie spins again, and the bottle makes its way around until it lands on himself.

"Annie can call it if she wants, but I won't," Connie says, running his hands over his buzzcut hair, "I ain't no bitch."

"Shut up," Annie barks back.

Before you can even blink, Annie reaches across the table. It looks almost as if she's going to slap Connie, but instead, she grabs him tightly by the shirt, balling her fist around the fabric, and she pulls him in. Aggressively, she forces his lips to hers.

"What the fuuuuck," Eren says, eyes wide as if this is the last thing in the world he was expecting.

"Damn, that's the most action Connie has seen in a while," Jean snickers as he flicks on the lighter and takes another hit from the bong. When he finishes, he holds it out to you. Grabbing it, you light it yourself and take another hit.

Sasha lets out a small giggle; she gives you a nudge, "I never thought I'd see that shit."

The small crowd of your friends watches in shock as Annie and Connie's kiss quickly turns into a heated make-out session. You aren't even sure if, at this point, either of them can breathe.

She must be trying to make Armin jealous.

Passing the bong back to Jean, you glance over to Armin, who sits in silence, shell shocked. You sort of feel bad, but then again, it's just a game. Who cares what happens within these basement walls?

Finally, Annie pulls away for air. Connie's eyes open; one look at him, and you can tell he is thunderstruck that Annie didn't take the bitch route. His eyes are wide, his breaths are heavy, his shirt is wrinkled from Annie's tight grasp, and there are smears of red lipstick on his lips that she left behind.

"I fucking love this game," Connie says as he wipes his lips, rubbing away the lipstick stains.

"As if we couldn't fucking tell," Jean scoffs.

"Hurry up, Con. Spin the bottle. I want to see who gets seven minutes in heaven." Sasha leans into your ear, "I'm rooting for you and Eren."

You giggle and look across to Eren, who is leaning back a bit, hands pushed into the soft white carpet. He catches you looking, and your laugh causes a smile to spread across his face, "what?" He mouths to you, inaudibly.

You shake your head, "nothing," you mouth quietly in return.

"Fourth round, fuckers! And remember, there's no bitching out. Whoever it lands on, you have to go into the closet for seven minutes."

"House rules," Eren says as a reminder.

This time, Connie adds more power into his spin, causing it to spin faster than before. When the bottle finally stops, and you realize where the bottle has landed, your eyes widen, and you gasp.

It's pointing at you.

"Damn," Eren remarks, "the bottle likes you tonight, Y/N."

Connie spins again, and the circle goes silent. The only sound is the music from upstairs and the glass scraping against the wood.

The spin tauntingly gets slower as you wait in anticipation, waiting to see who you will spend seven minutes in heaven with.

Eren. You find yourself hoping. Eren. Eren. Eren. 

"Jean," Connie announces, breaking the silence.

Fuck. Not him. Anybody but him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You and Eren both slouch over in disappointment.

Without a single word, Jean stands up from the couch and makes his way over to the walk-in closet that rests in the corner of the room.

You stare at the bottle, internally cursing it for its poor choices in men.

Jean turns around to see you sitting in the same position, not having moved an inch. "You coming? Or are you just going to sit there?"

Swallowing your thoughts, knowing you can't back out of this even if you tried, you push yourself to your feet. Before you can take a step, Sasha grabs you by the arm and pulls you down towards her, "Remember what I told you. Be safe."

She sets you free from her hold, and you scurry over to the closet that Jean is standing in front of. He opens the door, exposing the dark inside. You take a few steps forward and enter into a realm of uncertainty.

"Get yours!" Connie calls out as Jean slams the door shut behind you securing your two bodies in the small space.

Jean turns on a dim light that is hanging from the ceiling, turning the closet from pitch black to a warm yellow color. The light is still lacking immensely, but at least now you can see more than just the outline of Jean.

You walk over and sit down on the floor on the furthermost side of the room. He must be able to sense your disappointment of having to come in here with him because he decides to sit on the opposite side of the small space away from you.

At first, neither of you say anything to each other. You sit in silence and listen to sounds seeping through the white walls; you can hear the distant music and the laughter of your friends.

As the stillness between you and Jean continues to grow with the passing time, you begin to feel anxiousness rise within you, so you decide to break it.

You ask the first question that comes to mind, "How many times have you been here?"

"Zeke's house?" Jean asks, bringing his attention from the floor over to you, "I come here all the time. We're tight."

"No," you shake your head, "I'm asking how many times you've been in the closet."

He pushes up the sleeves of his black shirt, exposing his forearms; you can see the veins that are prominent under his skin. Scattered on his skin are the scars on both his hands that you noticed earlier, as well as one big scar on his right arm that starts at his wrist and goes midway up his forearm, almost to his elbow.

Wonderment about the story of how they came to begin to form in your mind, but you immediately push them out, knowing that something like that is far too personal to ask.

"I already told you I hardly ever play this game."

You tear your eyes away from his arms and return focus to his face, "so you have never fucked a girl in here?"

"Of course I have," he says, scratching the scruff that lies on his chin, "but I don't need a game to help me get some. Why are you asking me about this shit?"

"I heard through the grapevine that you think with your dick." You bring your knees up to your chest. Draping your arms over, you rest your chin on top of them, "so I only just assumed that this is a room you're pretty familiar with."

Jean shrugs, "I guess." He pauses for a second before speaking again, "What else have you heard about me?"

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head to the side, "you sure you wanna know?"

"No," he sighs, "I don't give a fuck what people say. How about instead of listening to them, you go ahead and form your own opinion on me?"

"I already have," you respond, rolling your eyes.

"Oh yeah?" He runs his fingers through his hair, smoothing out his mullet, "what do you got so far?"

"Conceded asshole," you say, lifting your upper body and stretching your legs out in front of you, "whose only good trait is liking Banana Fish."

"Ah," he breathes, "you hate me, huh?"

"If I say yes?"

"Honestly, I wouldn't care." He says. You can tell by the tone of his voice that he genuinely could care less what anyone thinks about him. Let alone you, some random girl he doesn't even know.

"Do you care about anything?" You ask. With curiosity still on your mind, your eyes fall back onto his scars.

"No," he says without even having to think about it. When he notices that your eyes are looking at his marked skin, he quickly pulls his sleeves back down, covering them up.

Reminder to self: don't ask about the scars.

"Why not?" You try to casually ask with an effort to slyly pry into his life that is so evidently twisted without making it obvious. You slowly bring your eyes back to his face trying your best to make it seem that your eyes weren't focused elsewhere.

He rests his elbows on the top of his thighs, "I've learned life is a lot less shitty when you don't."

You let out a breath. Jean isn't a person you know well enough to understand, and even though his fuck-all attitude annoys you, there is part of you that can see where he's coming from with his mindset.

Caring makes you vulnerable, and vulnerability makes you susceptible to the darkest parts of the world. And that same darkness eats you up, runs you dry, and leaves you scattered to the point where you can't even recognize yourself.

It is a cruel demon that disguises itself in promises that end up broken and love that ends up taking a piece of you with it when it drastically fails, ripping out portions of your heart that you didn't even know existed, causing pain that is great enough to almost kill you.

With how emotionless Jean's face is with every word exchanged, whatever is going on with him, he is completely checked out. One look at him, and you can tell that this is the last conversation he wants to be having.

Pushing yourself up on your feet, you make an effort to change the subject, "how much longer do we have to be in here?"

Jean pulls out his phone from his pant pocket hits the lock button on the side of it, turning on the screen to check the time, "it's only been two minutes."

"For fucks sake." You let out a sigh; minutes feel endless in this small room.

"If only you would have been in here with Eren, huh?" He taunts, setting a timer for the remaining five minutes on his phone.

"What do you mean?" You force your voice to sound confused, but you know exactly what he's trying to get at.

He scoffs while rolling his eyes, "It's so obvious, the way you both were looking at each other. Eye fucking."

Is it that noticeable that you have a crush on Eren, or is he just giving you a hard time? He seems to enjoy doing that.

Your eyes widen, and the tip of your nose flushes pink, which generally happens when you're embarrassed or nervous. This time, you are rolling in the embarrassment of being caught.

"You look like a fucking deer caught in headlights," he says with a taunting chuckle. "Are you embarrassed that I found you out so easily? Don't worry, I won't tell anybody. Your dirty little secret of wanting to fuck Eren is kept safe with me."

Your teeth grit together, "you don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"Okay, Bambi," he says with laughter still laced in his voice, "Keep telling yourself that."

"Don't fucking call me that."

"Don't be so fucking uptight."

Irritated with his comments, you push yourself to your feet and stand. Distancing yourself from him even more, you stand over by the bare wall.

Silence transpires between the two of you again. You pull out your phone and decide to shoot Sasha a text.

Y/N - SOS. Is there a secret passageway so I can get out of here? Jean is the worst.

You stare at the screen for a few seconds, but when your message stays on delivered, you assume she's distracted and probably won't text back before your time in the closet is up. With a sigh, you lock your screen and put your phone back into your pocket.

You look over to Jean to see him already looking at you.

How long have his eyes been on you without you knowing?

"It's rude to stare," you say, crossing your arms in front of you.

He clicks his tongue, "It's rude to be on your phone when you're talking to someone."

"Don't talk to me about being rude," you say, rolling your eyes, "you're the one who didn't even acknowledge me when I tried to introduce myself to you."

"Oh, so you're the type who holds grudges." He pushes himself to his feet and walks over to you, arm's length apart.

You can smell him. The scent of him filling your nose. He smells like vanilla mixed with some expensive cologne. It's inviting, and you find yourself breathing in more of it than you should.

"Let's start over then." He says, sticking out his hand, "I'm Jean, a conceded asshole whose only good quality is liking Banana Fish, and you are?"

"You're ridiculous." You begin to laugh at his outrageous remark; you smack his hand away.

With how close he is, you can't help but feel a bit nervous. Looking at him in the dim light, you can see every feature of his face that you didn't care too much to focus on before.

You notice his eyes laced like confetti of different shades of brown, his well-kept mullet, his soft pink lips, and his jawline sharp enough to cut glass.

He watches you as you laugh; a smile cracks between his teeth. You hardly know Jean at all, but with the lines buried deep into the skin of his face, you can tell that seeing him smile is a rare occasion.

Nerves continue to grow as you come to realize how good-looking Jean is. You start to pick at the fur of your jacket. His eyes flicker down to your moving hands and then blink back up to you.

"Tell me something," he says, voice low and slow, taking a small step closer to you, "Am I too close?"

"No," you respond. You force your voice to stay balanced even though it is fighting to tremble with anxiousness.

"Really? Because to me, you seem a bit nervous." He takes two steps closer to you, "How about now?"

Your back presses deep into the wall of the closet. "No," you repeat; this time, your voice has more of a breathy tone to it.

In your head, you hear Sasha's voice telling you to be careful. You hear Connie's voice talking about all the girls he brings home every chance he gets.

Jean is an ass to his friends, to you, and to everyone that surrounds him; there is no denying that.

But standing here in front of him, at this moment, you can't fight your attraction towards him. It's there in wait—building with every passing second.

He slowly steps toward you again until his body is finally pressed up against yours. You feel your stomach twist in knots as his chest presses into your own. Whatever high you had left is now gone.

Your body has gone still. Even the blood rushing through your veins seems to have stopped its circulation.

Jean can sense your apprehension. He looks down at you, "do you want me to move? Because I will. You just have to say the word."

You bring your head upward. The top of your head resting against the cool hard wall, your eyes immediately sink into his light brown ones.

He's a notorious bad boy with a horrible reputation. He has a loudmouth full of crude remarks and a disgustingly cocky attitude. He's the last thing you need, but that doesn't change the fact that you are standing here wondering what his hands would feel like all over you.

You know in your mind that you should tell him to back away, but you don't care about doing the right thing right now.

"No." You say truthfully, "I don't."

He brings his hand gently up to your face. Slowly, he tucks your hair behind your ear, "do you want me to stop, yes or no?"

What you want is something that you shouldn't have any business desiring. But yet, here you are.

Your mind is a jumbled mess having him this close to you. Frantically, you are looking for the words, but they aren't coming to meet your lips as quickly as you want them to.

"Come on now, Bambi." He speaks again due to your lack of response, sarcasm twisted in the last word, knowing it will get a reaction out of you, "I don't know what's going on in that mind of yours. Talk to me."

You clench your jaw, trying your best to get a grip on everything that's happening at this moment, "I told you to stop calling me that." 

"And I told you to tell me what you're thinking. Use your words," he says, "I'm waiting."

You swallow hard as you feel your heart pound heavily against your chest, "I want whatever you want."

"No. Don't do that to me," he says with a frustrated sigh, "That's not a good answer."

"Why not?"

"Because the things I want to do to you," he pauses, "they're twisted."

Your eyes widen slightly, "You actually want me?"

"Why does that surprise you?" He sounds shocked that you're so caught off guard as if his desire for you should be an already known fact.

"I don't know," you shake your head slowly, afraid that if you move anymore, he will back away, and as much as you hate to admit it to yourself, you don't want him to, "probably because you've been an ass to me."

"Don't take it personally," he says. "You told me earlier that I wasn't paying attention to you when we met in the kitchen, didn't you?"

"What about it?" You ask curiously.

He shakes his head, "that's not true. I was paying attention to you even before then."

Your eyes squint as you study him, trying to get a read on his face. Is it possible that he does remember your small exchange of glances back in the grass field yesterday?

"Titan Turf," you both say at the same time.

Your face softens with relief. Maybe your father wasn't right; perhaps you aren't forgettable.

"You remember seeing me there?" You ask.

"You're not a face people easily forget, Y/N. I can promise you that." He pauses for a second, his eyes flicker down to your lips, and his mouth slightly falls open.

When you realize where his focus is, you lick them wet intentionally, egging him on. When he watches your tongue swipe across the soft flesh, you feel his body stiffen against your already tense one.

"Shit," he whispers, "you better stop." His voice is so quiet that you are convinced that it accidentally slipped out of him. It was a thought that was definitely supposed to stay hidden in his mind.

"Why?" You ask, matching the softness of the voice.

"I'm going to do something I shouldn't," he tells you, "and I don't want to ruin a girl like you."

"Jean," you push your body into his a bit more. You can feel his hard chest against your own. You pray he can't feel your heartbeat right now because it is beating so rapidly you can hear it echoing in your head.

"Y/N. I'm warning you." Jean's fists clench by his side like he's trying to get a grip on the restraint that he can feel slipping away from him.

"Warning me? I'm not doing anything wrong." You say, flashing him a sly smile.

"You are," he says. "You come here, looking like that, with that fucking mouth on you. Making me lose every ounce of fucking self-control I have."

"Isn't that the point of coming in here?" You bite the skin of your cheek, "to let go?"

He pauses for a second, his eyes turning soft as they travel across your entire face, "What are you saying?" He rubs the back of his neck, "Is that what you want? To let go?"

"Yes." The word slips out with urgency.

He clears his throat, right hand gently grazing across yours, "You want me to touch you?"

"Yes," you answer immediately again like the word was sitting in the back of your throat, trying to pry its way out of your mouth.

Jean's jaw tightens at your sweet confession. You could tell that your admittance caught him off guard, "You told me that you've heard things about me."

"I've heard a lot of things," You admit.

"Then you know that I'm bad for you," he responds, "don't you?"

"Yes."

You know he's terrible. You know his reputation. You've been warned, but you've always lived safe. Experiencing Jean would be a one-time thing—a route you've never taken.

A small smirk forms on his lips. Placing both hands against the wall on either side of you, he locks you in, "You know that this means nothing, right?"

Of course, this means nothing. It's a game—nothing more, nothing less. To go into something with no underlying emotions or feelings could be the remedy to the pain you are trying to set yourself free from that is lying around the base of your heart.

You blink, "Yes. I want-" you shake your head, trying to adjust your words, "I need this to mean nothing."

He pauses for a second, almost as if he's fighting the words that are coming, but whatever willpower he has left is quickly dissolving into a burning desire.

[ ⅠⅠ ▹ play: swim - chase atlantic ]

Jean caves. Pulling away, he rests his forehead against yours, hands still pressed into the wall, "Then tell me to touch you." His voice is stern, dripping with authority.

The roughness in his voice breaks you down, "Touch me."

He gulps, eating your words, tasting every ounce of their sweet temptation, "Jesus fuck, you sound as pretty as you look."

Your eyes go soft at his flattery. Moments prior, you couldn't wait for the seven minutes to be over; now, you find yourself hoping that they never end.

Funny how things can change so quickly.

He sucks in a breath, "Close your eyes for me."

Without question, you do as your told. You close your eyes shut, and your hands clench together as you wait in expectation.

Slowly, you feel his lips fall onto your forehead. He kisses you lightly before moving his lips downward. They find the tip of your nose, and he kisses you gently there too.

You anticipate his lips to crash on yours next, but instead, he leans into your ear; his warm breaths travel down your neck and back, causing you chills to surface on your skin, "so pretty when you listen." He whispers.

You can't see anything; you can only smell him and feel his movements against your body, only being able to guess what his next move will be.

Grabbing your face with both of your hands, he guides your head upwards, "so pretty, just like this."

Without an inch of warning, he pulls your face forward and crashes his lips onto yours, causing you to gasp.

The kiss is rough, you want to say there's a passion, but it's clearly only lust. It's desperate and sloppy and everything that a mistakable seven minutes in heaven kiss should be.

You feel your head spin as he licks your bottom lip asking for permission to enter. You grant him access without hesitation, and his tongue finds yours.

The flavor of spearmint coats your tongue, and he pushes into you even more than before. His hands begin to get lost in your hair, and you wrap your arms around his neck—the warmth of him filling your body. 

Jean grabs a fist full of your hair, and he tugs at it harshly, causing a small moan to escape from your lips. You let go of your embrace from around his neck. Taking your right hand, you bring it to his stomach. You drag your fingers upward, and your body tenses up when you feel his defined abs hidden underneath his shirt against your hand.

He bites your bottom lip and lets out a low grunt that causes the bottom of your stomach to knot together.

You have never been kissed like this before. You have never felt like this before.

This feeling. Him. It's all unknown territory.

Jean pulls away for a second, "what are you doing to me?" His voice sounds so soft as if he is telling you a secret that no one is supposed to know.

Giving you no chance to respond, he grabs you by the shoulders and forcefully spins you around. You catch yourself by pressing your hands into the wall; your right cheek rested against the cold surface.

With you back to him, you can feel his hardness hiding in his pants press up against your ass, making your breath hitch. He exposes your neck, making it bare, and kisses and bites your sensitive flesh causing you to gasp. Jean runs his fingers up the sides of both of your thighs while his warm mouth stays on the crook of your neck.

"Jean," his name escapes from your lips. His actions are turning you into putty. Mind and vision hazy with a hunger for him.

"Say it again," He grabs the inside of your thighs and squeezes your skin. Your eyes flutter shut with pleasure. He slowly takes his touch upward toward your entrance, "say my name again."

"Jean," you breathe.

He grunts, "Just like that." His hands travel back downward, distancing himself from his entrance.

He's teasing you.

It's working.

The anticipation is making you feel like you're on fire. You want more. You want all of it. You want him. "P-Please," your quiet word catches as you breathe out.

"Look at you," Jean mutters, kissing your neck in between every word, "I thought you said you would never ask me nicely for anything."

Your mouth falls open; usually, you have a sharp tongue, quick to bite back, but right now, you are nothing except whatever Jean wants you to be.

His hands trail upward again, and he is now inches away from when entrance, fingernails pressing into your sensitive flesh. Your body twitches at his touch.

It's killing you.

He's killing you.

His fingers press on top of your throbbing entrance making your mouth fall open. He lets out a chuckle as he feels you go soft due to his touch, "I bet you're not thinking about Eren anymore, are you?"

You gasp as he pushes his fingers deeper into the fabric of your pants. He slowly starts to move his hand in small circles 

Suddenly, the sound of an alarm cuts through the heat of the moment, causing your eyes to shoot open.

He drops his hands from you while your heart drops in disappointment.

"Times up? That's too bad," he whispers into your ear. "I would have fucked you numb and made you forget all about your sorry little crush on Jeager."

He backs away from you, and you spin around to face him. Pulling out his phone, he turns off his alarm.

"I don't-" you begin to say, voice a little bit shaky as you try to catch your breath.

He cuts you off, "good luck with that, by the way. Let me know how that goes. It should be fun to watch."

Before you can respond, the door to the closet flies open.

"Seven minutes has ended! If you're fucking wrap it up!" Connie shouts; he looks around, and his face tightens like he can sense the tension in this small space, "what happened in here?"

Jean makes his way over to the door, "nothing. She's boring." And he walks out without even giving you a second glance.

Your stomach drops at his comment, but you are grateful that he lied. What happened in here is not something that you want to admit to.

"Damn, really?" Connie says, leaning against the door, crossing his arms, "nothing?"

You push yourself off of the wall and make your way across the room. "nothing," you tell Connie as you crush past him, "like Jean said, I'm boring."

Outside the closet and back in the main room, everything is exactly as it was seven minutes ago, except Armin and Annie have gone and disappeared, and Jean is nowhere to be seen.

As soon as Sasha sees you, she runs over to you. "Tell me everything!" she says, curiosity eating away at her.

You stare at her, unsure of what to say. This is one person you can't lie to. She would be able to see right through you but even if that wasn't the case, lying to her isn't something you feel okay doing.

She gasps, "you guys kissed, didn't you?"

"Yes," you admit with a sigh, "but nothing more. Don't tell anyone else."

"What the hell happened?" she sounds shocked. "I thought he was someone you wouldn't be able to find yourself interested in."

"I don't," you shake your head. "I'm not. I don't know what happened. It's not like I went in there thinking anything was going to happen."

She shrugs, "Jean does have a way of getting what he wants."

You shake your head in denial, "It wasn't like that."

"Y/N," she says, "It's always like that."

Her words are harsh, but you know that they are true.

"I tried texting you," you tell her, trying to change the subject.

She pulls out her phone to check it, "oh shit. I'm sorry I was talking to Niccolo."

You crack a small smile, "it's okay. I figured."

"Look, Y/N. I don't care that you kissed Jean. If he weren't the way he is right now, I would probably be celebrating, but I don't want you getting hurt," she says, putting her phone away.

You appreciate her concern, knowing that she has your best interest at heart, "I'm not going to get hurt. It was just in the heat of the moment thing. It meant nothing."

"It meant nothing?" she repeats your statement as a question as her eyebrows pull together.

Your mind takes you back to the closet, remembering the hint of spearmint Jean left on your tongue and the way his scarred hands felt on your face before they got lost in your hair.

The small grunt you pulled out of him as he breathed into you. And the way that there were unspoken words of asking each other to help the other forget the things you are both hiding from.

Swallowing hard, you push out your vivid memories of Jean, "Of course it meant nothing. You pause for a second and shrug, "that was the point."

"Alright then," she raises one of her eyebrows, "there is a question that still stands, though."

"Oh yeah?" you tilt your head to the side. "What's that?"

She smiles, "Who was the better kisser, me, Armin, or Jean?"

You laugh at her question, not surprised by it at all, "you, of course."

She pokes the very tip of your nose, "that's the right answer."

Connie walks over to the two of you, "Niccolo and I wanna go to Dok's. Are you guys down? He said he'll be our DD."

"Yes!" Sasha responds almost before Connie could even finish his sentence, "I'm starving."

"I'm down," you say with a smile as you feel your stomach grumble.

"Sick," Connie says. He glances down at his phone, "I texted Armin to see if he and Annie wanted to come, but he hasn't responded."

"What happened to them?" You ask, looking around the room.

"We don't know," Sasha responds. "After you and Jean went into the closet, Annie left in a rush, and Armin followed after her. They haven't been back. I wouldn't worry too much about it, though. Annie gets in moods sometimes."

You nod. "Is Mikasa coming?" You ask as you watch her converse with Eren a few feet away. The two of them are laughing amongst one another.

Eren glance over at you, but immediately he returns his focus to Mikasa as if he didn't even see you.

You sigh. God knows what he thinks happened between you and Jean.

What would have happened if there was more time?

"Eren's gotta stay since it's his party, so Mikasa said she wants to stay with him and chill," Connie says, checking his phone once more before putting it back into his pocket.

"What about Jean?" Sasha asks.

Connie shrugs, "I don't know. He disappeared before I could ask him."

"I'll go find him," you say casually, "see if he wants to come."

"Okay." Sasha says with a nod, "meet us in front, and we'll head out."

"Okay." Turning your back towards them, you make your way back upstairs.

Weaving in and out of the people scattered about, your eyes travel every face looking for Jean. You walk through the kitchen, the living room, the dining room, you even check outside, but there is still no sign of him.

Trying your best not to bump into the intoxicated people surrounding you, you decide to check upstairs for him.

There is a long hardwood hallway with a total of three doors. Knocking on the first one, you open it, and you are greeted with an empty master bedroom. You close it and move on to the next repeating the same action.

The bathroom comes up empty. You move on to the last door that's tucked away in the right corner. Knocking on it, you listen for a response, but there is none.

When you open the door, your jaw falls open, and your stomach knots together so tightly it almost feels painful.

"What the fuck!" Jean yells, pulling away from a girl he has pushed against the wall.

"I-" you try to talk, but your throat hurts. The familiar position he has her in makes you feel sick.

"You dumb bitch," the girl says, looking around Jean's tall body, "Can't you see there's someone in here?"

"Knock first," Jean hisses.

"I... I did," you say, trying to process the fact that you walked in on Jean almost fucking some girl minutes after his tongue was in your mouth.

When you see her face, you recognize her as the same girl from earlier that was dancing that Jean stared at intently when you tried to introduce yourself to him in the kitchen.

"What do you want, Y/N," Jean snaps harshly, obviously annoyed at your interruption.

"Nothing." You spin around quickly, exit the room, and slam the door shut behind you.

With your hand still on the door handle, you look down at your feet and take a deep breath.

The image of Jean, with another girl, is branded deep into your mind, and you feel nauseous. You want to tear off the skin he touched, claw your eyes out, and wash your mouth out with soap.

Trying to gather yourself, you make your way back downstairs to go find your friends.

Mind still racing with thoughts that you don't want, you open the front door and step outside to see Connie, Niccolo, and Sasha waiting for you on the front step.

"So, is he coming?" Sasha asks.

"I looked," you shrug, "I couldn't find him."

Oh, how you wish that were true.

"Ah. Alright then. I'll shoot him a text," Connie says, "let's go."

You follow behind your friends, in silence, trying your best not to think of Jean, but your mind is refusing to forget him.

Jean's words repeat with each step you take: "You know this means nothing, right?"

Nothing.

This is supposed to mean nothing.

So then, why do you feel something?

Chapter Text

You are focused on Professor Hange as they speak about the anatomy of birds. They are writing profusely, defining the arteries and veins of the animal, a black expo marker pressed deep into the whiteboard, with a colorful PowerPoint overhead.

Hange Zoë is the type of Professor that is passionate about what they do, making it that much easier to take in the content of the class. Their lectures pass relatively quickly, but one thing you aren't sure of is if it's due to Hange's engaging teaching strategy or because you get to be in the company of Eren Yeager.

What can you say? The man is a fucking sight to look at.

You are jotting down notes in your notebook when you feel a light tap on your shoulder, faltering your focus. Putting a pause on your writing, you look over to see Eren. He is looking at you through the fringe that has fallen in front of his eyes—chewing on the end of his pencil, a slight smirk forms on his face.

You smile back. Quickly, you are learning how contagious his smile is, "What?" You whisper to him quietly, not wanting to disrupt Professor Hange's lively teaching.

He takes the pencil out of his mouth, and without a word, he rips a page out of his notebook and begins to write. You try to catch a glimpse of the words, but he is blocking your view with his other hand.

Once done, Eren folds up the ripped piece of paper into four squares and slides it over to you. You tilt your head to the side, confused as to what he's doing.

"Don't look at me like that." His voice is quiet, "come on, Y/N. Take it."

At his request, you grab the paper. Slowly, you unfold it to get to the message inside. It reads:

Are you busy after Professor Uptight Ackermans Class?

His handwriting is a bit sloppy; every letter is written in the form of capitalization.

You quickly write out your response, curious to get to the bottom of why he's asking you this:

No. Not until later tonight. Why?

You fold the paper back up and return it. He reads it and writes beneath your response before sending it back your way again.

A secret cycle.

Unfolding the creased paper again, you read his response:

Well, you are now. Meet me at the campus coffee cart called Aloha Java by the art building at 3:30. I'm sure you'll need caffeine before we move you into Sasha's and Mikasa's.
Deal?

You chew the inside of your lip, trying to bite away from the forming smile you feel coming, but it still slips through. There is a rush of excitement and nerves that rush through you.

You jot down your response before returning it:

Deal.

He unfolds it, reads it, and that contagious smile appears on his lips again. Eren slowly leans in towards you, "deal, hm?" You can feel his low hum rush through you. "Are you in it for me or the coffee?"

Giving him a hard time, you whisper, "what if I said I'm in it for the coffee?"

He runs his tongue over his front teeth and shrugs, "I'd respect it."

You chuckle, louder than intended causing Professor Hange to halt their lecturing words. Their voice cuts through your shared whispers.

"Man bun!" Professor Hange yells, tearing Eren away from you. He straightens his back out and places both hands on the lab table, acting as if he's been paying attention this entire time.

"Professor Hange," He says, playing clueless.

Behind their glasses, Hange's eyes narrow, "remind me of your name again."

Eren clears his throat, "It's Eren. Eren Yeager."

"Very well, Eren Yeager. Is there something you would like to share with the class?" Hange asks, arms crossed in front of them, "it's not fair of you to leave me out of such a joyous conversation."

"I apologize. I was just telling my friend what a great Professor you are." Eren speaks without hesitance. He's quick on his feet, working at an angle.

"Speaking the truth, I see." Hange says, pushing their glasses up the bridge of their nose, "but must I remind you, this is a lecture hall, not a dining hall. If you want to wine and dine that fine young lady, do it on your own time."

"It won't happen again, Professor," Eren says with a nod of reassurance.

Hange's eyes narrow towards Eren again before they flicker over to you. Your body stiffens, hoping they won't call you out in the same way, but thankfully they don't.

"Eyes front, Eren," Hange commands. Spinning back around towards the whiteboard, they begin to continue with their lecture.

Eren's back softens out once Hange's eyes are no longer on him. "Look at you getting me into trouble," he whispers again, turning his focus back to you.

You shoot him a smile, "eyes front, Eren."

He shoots you one back, "Anything for you, Y/N."

After anatomy ends, you and Eren part ways, and you head to Professor Ackerman's stats lecture.

Unlike Professor Hange's class, this one seems to drag, but that's only because all you can think about are your plans afterward.

Every ten minutes, you find yourself looking at the clock, wondering how much longer you have to sit in Levi's lecture that is full of analytics and numbers that you don't understand.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, Levi assigns homework and dismisses his class, and you head over to the coffee cart.

You have arrived at Aloha Java, a cute little coffee cart smack dab in the middle of campus near Titan Turn, but there is no site for Eren. You check the time on your phone, and it reads 3:35.

Your phone vibrates, and a text from Eren pops up on the screen:

Eren - Hey. I'm sorry I'm running late. I had to meet with my professor after class. Give me 10. Order your coffee. I'll be there soon. Deal?

Y/N - Deal

You understand Eren's tardiness entirely; professors and college are not always predictable.

You choose to listen to his suggestion and decide to grab your coffee so you can have something to sip on while you wait for him to arrive.

Walking up to the cart, you order an iced americano with a splash of oat milk and make your way to the other side to stand by the pickup window.

Waiting for your drink to be called out, you are scrolling through your phone when a familiar voice gets your attention, "Y/N?"

Turning around, you see Jean standing there. Backpack on, holding a sketchpad in his right hand, left hand tucking into his front pocket, messy mullet pulling the entirety of him together perfectly.

It's unfair that someone with such a fucked personality gets to look this good.

Your stomach tightens, and your face drops at the sight of him. Without control, your eyes flicker down to his hands; you study them, remembering the power they hold before quickly tearing them away.

Don't think of that now. Remember who he is.

Since the moment you walked in on him with that girl, there has been this dread within you of having to see him again.

Sure, he doesn't owe you an explanation, but jumping from you to another girl with hardly any time in between would make anybody feel like shit. But more than anything, you're embarrassed.

His lips were on someone else's before you could even fully comprehend what it felt like to have his on yours.

Jean smirks, his lips curved up in the most insulting way, "I thought that was you. I almost didn't recognize you without your face and hands pressed up against the wall of a closet."

That. Right there. You have never wanted to slap someone's arrogance off of their face more than you do now.

He wants a little game? Fine. Two can play.

Not giving him the reaction you know that he is itching for, you don't even blink at his response, "I'm sorry. What was your name again?"

Jean's brazen smirk instantly leaves his face, and you watch as Adam's apple bobs underneath the skin of his throat like he is about to choke on your audacity.

When he doesn't spit out a response, you decide to go a little further. Why back down now?

You tilt your head to the side, "John, was it? Or James?"

He grits his teeth, "Jean."

"Right. Jean." You nod once before turning your back on him, "I'll try to remember that."

You hear the barista call out your drink and your name from behind the coffee cart, giving you a reason to leave him behind.

You pick up your drink and begin to search for a free table that you can sit at. 

"Fuck you for that," Jean scoffs under his breath as you pass by him.

His comment makes you stop dead in your tracks.

This fucking guy.

With your back to him, you turn only your head to look his way, and return him that same cocky smirk he loves to give you, "yeah, I know, I'd fuck me too."

His temples tighten as he pushes his lips together tightly, creating a small, tense line. He reaches out and lightly grabs your shoulder, making an effort to turn you around to face him completely, "Hey, look..."

"No, whatever you have to say, save it," you spit back, jerking your shoulder out of his grasp, "I really don't care."

You turn your head back around and leave, not giving him the chance to say anything in response.

Finding a free table, you take a seat and begin to sip on your drink. Glancing to your left, you see Jean still standing there. With his jaw slacked, he looks as if he's still processing your bold words.

Now he's the one who looks like a deer caught in headlights.

Jean begins to make his way over to you. You let out a long sigh, not wanting to deal with him again.

As if time is in your favor for once in your life, Eren walks up to the table you're sitting at.

"I'm sorry, I'm late," Eren says, placing his bag down in the empty chair across from you, "I feel like shit for making you wait."

When Jean notices that Eren is the one you are meeting, he halts his movement, and the grip he is holding around his sketch pad tightens.

"No worries," you say, "I didn't wait that long."

"Good," Eren says, with a slight smile, "I'll be right back. I'm going to get a drink."

He leaves you behind. Walking up to the cart, he orders his drink. When Eren catches sight of Jean, he walks over to him and sparks up a conversation.

Drinking your americano, you watch the two of them from afar. Jean's face is still tense from your interaction with him. His eyes dart over to you throughout his conversation with Eren.

He knows you're watching; you don't care.

He says something to Eren that makes him turn around to look at you. Eren laughs and shakes his head before turning back to Jean.

Now, you know for sure that your name is being dropped in their conversation.

Eren says something that causes Jean to roll his eyes, and abruptly he walks away from Eren and heads toward the art building. Before entering through the automatic doors, Jean looks back and watches as Eren makes his way back over to you.

He looks like he could be jealous, but you push that thought out of your mind knowing that Jean most likely doesn't feel anything at all.

Once he is in the building and out of sight, you return your focus to Eren.

"You dead ass forgot Jean's name?" Eren laughs, setting his coffee down on the table and moving his backpack out of the seat, making it accessible.

You take a sip out of your coffee, "Honestly? No. I remember it," you admit to him. "He was just being an ass."

"Of fucking course he was." Eren takes a seat, "what'd he do now?"

You take another sip before setting the plastic cup back on the table, "he said some stupid comment referring to the game last night. It's not that big of a deal. I just don't want him thinking he can talk to me like that."

"Understandable," Eren says, hand wrapped around the width of his black coffee. "I was just laughing because that's honestly a bold move."

"A bold move?" you ask, tapping a finger on your cup.

Eren takes a quick swig of his drink and swallows, "let's just say that Jean isn't the kind of guy that is used to girls defending themselves against him. He's pissed as hell about it."

"Oh well," you shrug. "To be honest, I didn't think someone could be such a dick."

Eren looks like he is debating if you should tell you something, but instead, he keeps it short and  says, "Don't take it personally."

You chuckle slightly at the familiar words, "I've heard that before."

He sniffs, "Are you cool if I ask you something?"

"Shoot," you say, folding your hands together and resting them on top of the table.

"What happened with you two in the closet?" Eren asks, giving you a once over, "I'll be straight up, I asked Jean, but he wouldn't tell me anything."

You feel your chest tighten as you recall the way Jean's warm hands felt against your burning skin, your cheek pressed against the cool wall. The words. The hot exchanged kisses—the heavy breaths. All of it is burned so crisply in your mind that there are moments where you swear you can still feel him.

You want to forget it, you've tried not to think about it, but the memory of him seems to want to make a lasting mark.

As much as you hate to admit it, there has never been a feeling like the one that Jean gave you, and that's what pisses you off the most.

Why him?

You try to think of what the right thing to say is, not wanting to tell the truth but also not wanting to lie. But, before you can think of something, Eren speaks again, "Let me make it easier for you. Did you guys kiss?"

You decide to tease him, trying your best to avoid giving a direct answer, "Why? Are you jealous?"

"What if I am?" He says, raising an eyebrow.

"Come on, Eren," you say, wrinkling your nose, "you can't be jealous. We barely know each other."

"So what?" His shoulders lift up, "that doesn't mean I don't know what I want."

Your heart skips at his words, and your cheeks begin to grow hot. You swallow hard, trying your best to keep your cool, "well, what if you get to know me, and you end up hating me?"

"Doubtful," he says. "But if that's your fear, let's test it, yeah? Tell me about yourself."

You run circles with your finger over the brim of your cup, "What do you want to know?"

The corner of his mouth lifts up faintly, "I'll take anything you want to give me."

"Okay," you say, sinking deeper into the mental chair. "Well, you already know I came from Stohess and, before that, Mitras. My favorite color is green, and my favorite food is Italian. I like to read and write. Scary movies are my favorite. Um, I'm really... not that interesting."

"That's where you're wrong," Eren blinks. "You're studying Poli Sci, right? What do you want to become?"

You swirl your coffee against the surface of the table, feeling a bit anxious, "I want to be a lawyer."

"Any sort of inspiration behind that?" Eren runs his fingers across his head, smoothing out his pulled-back hair.

Your voice goes soft, and the movement of your hand stops, "My mom."

"Your mom? Is she a lawyer?"

You pause for a second and take a deep breath, "She was one of the best."

"Was?" He looks at you, but like he can see your grief, he shakes his head with regret, "shit, Y/N. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," you assure him, running your hand over the front of your neck, "it happened when I was young, so it's been a while."

"That... That doesn't make it any easier," he says. By the sound of his voice and the look on his face, it seems as if he knows this pain as well.

"You lost your mom too?" You ask him, hesitantly not wanting to overstep a boundary with him.

He nods slowly, hand tightening around his cup, "yeah. About ten years ago."

| ♬ now playing ... become the warm jets ; current joys ♬ |

"I'm sorry," you say, the corners of your mouth draw downward, "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," Eren says, hand still gripped around his drink. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened?"

You swallow hard. Talking about your mom never gets easier, "she never woke up. My dad found her in the morning. I woke up to the sound of him screaming and loud sirens coming from the cops and ambulance. They said she had bleeding to the brain. It was extremely hard because it was so sudden. No warning, no sign. One second she was there, the next... she wasn't."

You leave out mentioning that your brother was there. You don't want to answer any questions about him.

He draws in his lower lip between his teeth, and his face softens, "How old were you?"

"About 12," you tell him. "Losing my mom is the reason I was forced to move out of Mitras and how I fell out of contact with Sasha. It was this sort of shitty domino effect."

"Shit." Eren shakes his head, "That must have been hard losing Sasha too on top of everything."

"It was," you admit, recalling that never-ending pain that made you feel like the world was weighing down on you. "It felt like I was grieving for two people at once. And on top of that, my dad pretty much lost his mind, so he wasn't any help. If anything, he was the one who made everything so much worse."

"Dead moms and shit dads," Eren mutters, "seems like we have a lot in common. It sucks it has to be about something like this."

You pull your black cardigan across your body as a slight breeze travels through the air, "What about you? How did you lose your mom?"

He pulls the hood to his sweatshirt over his head. "Do you want the real answer, or do you want the one that I tell people so I won't get that annoying ass look where they pretend to be sorry, but you know deep down that they are just judging the fuck out of you?"

"The real one," you say, "if you're okay with that."

He nods, "sure."

Eren pulls out his phone from his front pocket. You sip on your coffee as he searches for something. After some time, he hands his phone over to you, "here. It's easier if you just read it."

On the screen is a news article, it reads:

Man kills wife in murder-suicide

Grisha Yeager, age 38, kills wife, Carla Yeager, age 36, found in home late Friday night. Leaving behind two sons, Zeke Yeager, age 15, and Eren Yeager, age 9.

"Eren," there is a crack in your voice, and you swear you can feel your heartbreak. Your eyes refuse to travel further down the article. The title of it alone is making you feel sick. Slowly, you exit the article's website and clear it from his open tabs, so he doesn't have to see it again.

All this talk of death makes your hands sweat, and your throat feels like it might close on itself.

It's too familiar. Too real. Too painful. Too much.

Salt is an extremely fresh wound that hasn't even begun to heal.

But your own experience is nothing that ready to open up about. And you are certain you never will be. Not to Eren. Not to anyone.

So, with willpower, you push down your feelings, your grief, your pain, everything that you're running from, and force your focus back on Eren. He deserves your undivided attention the way he gave you his.

He takes back his phone and stuffs it back
into his pant pocket, "I was at Armin's house, so thankfully, I didn't have to see anything. Zeke, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky."

Your eyes widen, "Wait. Zeke found them?"

"Yeah." His head falls a little bit, "Right near the entryway. He came home from school and walked into it. The first thing he saw was blood all over the family picture hanging on the wall. The cops said it seemed like she was trying to get out of the house right before. Zeke never talks about it, though. He likes to act like it never even happened."

Not talking about it is something that you resonate with completely. You never talk about the things you saw the one night.

"Jesus Christ." Resting your elbow on the table, your head falls into the palm of your hand. There is a wave of overwhelming sadness that hits you at once.

You know what it's like to lose one parent. But to lose both, in a tragedy like that, you don't even want to begin to imagine that torment.

An intolerable pain.

His jaw tightens, "I had no idea my dad was capable of ever doing something like that. Sometimes I wonder how I ever slept in the same house as him."

You want to ask him if he's okay, but you know that's one of the worst questions to ask.

There will forever be a part of him that never will be.

"My mom..." Eren lets out a sigh that you can tell is full of pain, "she didn't fucking deserve that shit. I mean, I've made alright with what happened to my family. I've had to. But what I'll never understand is why. You know? If my dad wanted to be a god damn bastard, why did he have to take her down with him."

There is a sharp pinch in your heart, hearing him talk about this, "I don't understand how the world can be so fucking evil."

"I ask myself that every day," he says, adjusting himself in his seat. "I do owe Zeke my life, though."

"I take it that you guys are close?"

"Yeah. If it weren't for him, I probably wouldn't be here," he confesses to you. "When everything first happened, I couldn't handle it. I felt numb and so angry, and a lot of things that were happening to me didn't make sense because I was so young. My brother was the one who helped me. Saved me. It might sound cliche, but it's true."

You think of Lucas, who became your backbone when you lost your mother. The very reason you kept fighting to breathe when the world like it was suffocating you.

You fucking miss him. So much. The type of miss that makes every nerve in your body ache. But you can't think of him. Not now.

Please, Lucas. Disappear, just for a small while.

"No, Eren," you shake your head, "that's not cliche at all. I understand that numb feeling. It's scary when you lose yourself, but you don't have the capacity to care anymore. But it's good that you have Zeke to lean on. I think support from other people is the only thing that can help you out of pain like that."

"I agree. That's why I try to..." he pauses for a second and shakes his head, "actually, I probably shouldn't say anything. It's not my place."

"Okay." You nod in understanding, never wanting to force something out of someone they don't want to say, "Thank you for feeling like you could tell me about something like that."

He hums, "You told me about yours. It's only fair that you about mine. I'm sorry that this got so fucking morbid. It definitely wasn't my intention when I asked you to meet me for coffee. It's my bad for asking about your mom. I hate when people ask about mine, so I should have known better."

You run the back of your hand over your cheek, "don't apologize. I'm honestly glad we had this conversation. It's nice to know that I'm not alone when it comes to something like this."

"You're not alone." Eren assures you, "like Sash said, you have us now. And we always have each other's backs."

Relief rushes over you. The dark conversation you and Eren had has become lighter, "you have no idea how happy I am that I met you guys."

"I have to say something, though," He takes a sip of the remainder of his coffee, finishing it off. "You were wrong about something."

Your eyes rows raise, "What's that?"

"I know more about you, and I don't hate you."

"No?" You question. His words make you feel at ease, "your opinion has remained the same?"

He chuckles, "if anything, it's better."

"I could say the same about you," you say with a smile.

"Good to know." He sets down his now empty coffee and pulls out his phone. "Shit."

Your forehead creases, "what's wrong?"

He stuffs his phone back in his pocket, "The time. I wanna chill with you more, but I have class."

"Oh no worries," you say, beginning to stand up, "I should get going anyway. I have to finish packing before I move tonight."

"I can skip class and help you if you want," he offers; following your lead, he stands as well.

You throw on your backpack, "no. It's the beginning of the semester. You're TSU's basketball star, aren't you? You can't slack off now."

"Eh, I guess you're right." Pushing in his chair, he walks over to your side of the table, "are you sure you're good walking back to your place by yourself?"

"Don't worry about me," you gently punch him in the shoulder in a teasing way, "go get to class."

Softly, he grabs your wrist before you get the chance to step away from him, "wait."

Your breath hitches at his familiar touch that brings you warmth, "yeah?"

He looks down at you, "thanks for this."

You smile, looking upward, "thanks for inviting me."

Using the grip he has on your wrist, Eren gently pulls you into his embrace. Your face falls directly into his chest, and you breathe in the scent of him. His arms tighten around you as yours find your way around him.

Eren rests his chin on the top of your head, "I'll see you tonight."

"Tonight," you say.

The two of you pull away. He grabs both empty cups off of the table, "bye, Y/N."

"Bye, Eren."

And the two of you head your separate ways.

You head off of campus and make your way to your place; a smile is etched what feels permanently onto your face. Your mind can't seem to focus on anything but the conversation you had with Eren. A talk like that was something that you didn't know you needed.

There isn't a single person you've been able to relate to the way you do with him. It's been a long time since you've felt heard or seen by others. Let alone understood. 

Over the years, you've been made to feel like damage good with baggage no one would be able to handle by both your father and the manipulative shit show of an ex you loved when you shouldn't have.

There is reassurance in knowing that you're no longer alone, the way you were made to feel. The way you spent so long believing yourself to be.

There's comfort in this Paradis, in your friends, and you know how hard it is to find something like that in a world so cruel and unkind. Maybe running from your past is exactly what you needed to do.

As long as it doesn't catch up with you.

But there's no way it can. No one from your past knows where you are, and they never will. You picked up and left in silence, knowing that if you even uttered a word to anyone, it would come back to haunt you. And you've faced enough demons to last you a lifetime.

Lost in your thoughts despite the cold air ruffling through your clothes and hair, the walk back to your place feels relatively quick. You reach the front door of your place, enter inside and begin to finish packing up your things.

___

A couple of hours have now passed by, and you finally have all your things sorted out.

Today is the day that you get to move out of a place that was your last resort and into a place that you actually get called home.

You haven't felt like there was a place where you belonged since everything happened with your brother.

When Lucas died, he took many things with him. A fraction of your heart, a piece of your soul, and himself, who was the only thing that made those four walls and a roof back in Stohess a home.

In silence, alone, you stare at the two empty boxes you have placed next to the wooden door that is so rundown if you were to run your fingers across the surface of it, the skin of your hand would be embedded with fragmented splinters. Next to it, a relatively small amount of clothes and personal items.

Twenty years old, and somehow, your entire life has the capability of fitting into a couple of cardboard shapes.

But in truth, you would rather it be this way because anything outside of this pile isn't anything you want to remember, which is why you left it behind when you came here.

Your phone that you are holding tightly in your hand vibrates, causing your focus to move from the half-packed boxes.

Sash <3 - We will be on our way in about 20 minutes. I'm sorry it's taking so long. Connie decided last minute as we were heading out the door that he needed to shit, and he still isn't out yet. Mf is blowing that shit up. We may have to move out depending on the damage done /:

Y/N -  thanks so much. I really wanted that image in my head
Also, you guys really don't have to come. You saw the place. It's not like I have much to move

Sash <3 - 10 things or 100 we are still coming. Plus, don't even try to act like you don't want to see Eren

Before you can respond, she texts again...

Sash <3 - or is it Jean you wanna see?
Speaking of which, I don't think he's coming tonight. I sent him your address and told him to meet us there since we have no idea where he is, but he just left me on read. Asshole.

Your stomach curls at the site of his name. But you feel grateful that you won't have to deal with him.

Y/N - that's fine. fuck Jean.. disrespectfully. I would fuck Eren, though... respectfully. ;)

Sash <3 - GIRL I -

Y/N - I'm kidding!

Sash <3 - you're really going to pick Eren over me? After all that we've been through?! My heart can't take it. I feel as though I might die

Y/N - are you sure it's me that's killing you and not the fact that Connie is in the bathroom rn shitting bricks?

Sash <3 - Jail. Now.

Y/N - LMAO. I do have news, though...

Sash <3 - I'm waiting...

Y/N - Eren asked me to coffee after Ackerman's class today

Sash <3 - Bitch stfu! What!! Did you go? I'm literally with him rn, and he didn't think to tell me?

Y/N - I did. It was really nice :)

Sash <3 - I swear to God I'm shipping this so hard. I'm going to need details the instant I see you

Y/N - Don't worry ... I'll tell you everything

Sash <3 - I fucking love you <3 I'll text you when we get there.

Y/N - I love you! Please be safe <3

You place your phone on the bedside table and begin to finish packing up the small remainder of your things.

Once everything is stored away, you begin to tape up the boxes when you hear a loud knock at your door.

You put a pause on your task and make your way over to answer it, "you guys are here already? That was a quick, Sash."

You open the door with a smile that is brought by excitement, but who is standing there isn't anyone you thought it would be.

"Forgot my name again?" The voice says with that smirk that fuels you with so much anger.

Your smile immediately leaves your face, "Jean."

Chapter Text

"Jean."

It's evident in both the sound of your voice and the way the muscles in your face have tensed that you are shocked by Jean's presence, being that you were dead set on not having him come here to help you with this move. Sasha told you she didn't think he would show himself, and knowing your previous encounters with Jean, you believed her.

From what you've been able to gather in such a short time, he doesn't care about anything unless it happens to include alcohol, marijuana, or getting laid; no order in particular.

This whole moving you into Mikasa and Sasha's shindig doesn't seem like anything Jean would waste his precious time with. Yet, here he stands, before you.

"Ah," Jean cranes his neck backward as he lets out a heavy breath, briefly looking at the ceiling before bringing his eyes back to you, "so your pretty little mouth does remember my name." The very tip of his nose is flushed bright pink from the cool weather outdoors.

"Only because you had to remind me." You say to him, keeping your face as serious as possible despite the fact you're lying through your teeth. "I thought you weren't coming?"

"Who said that?" There are small water spots on the fabric of his sweatshirt caused by the drizzling rain outside, making the light grey material look a little darker in some areas. He pulls the hood he is wearing off his head and smooths out his tousled light brown hair.

There are many things that you don't like about Jean, but his mullet sure as hell isn't one of them. You've always been a fucking sucker for them.

"Sasha," you inform him. You squint your eyes slightly, honing in on his face, trying not to focus on the way his fingers drag through his hair, "She said you didn't answer her."

"I was busy," he says bluntly. Taking a step forward, he closes some of the distance between the two of you. He points at the small gap between the door hinge and the door itself that you are standing in between, "so are you gonna let me in or not?"

The grip you are holding around the rusty gold doorknob tightens. Jean makes you nervous, especially after what happened in the closet, though you'll die on the hill convincing yourself that he doesn't.

You step to the side. Pulling the door back, you open space big enough for him to get through, "Right. Busy doing what? Or do I even want to ask?"

"Honestly? Probably not, but it's not any of your business anyways." He gives a brief shrug before walking through the door.

Once inside, Jean begins to look around the small room, head-turning in every direction, taking in the raggedy old blue carpet and the peeling thick yellow paint plastered on the walls. "Nice place you got here," he says, voice sardonic, "must be a real dick magnet, huh?"

It's hard to keep up with his constant harsh comments, but you can't ever let him feel like he has the upper hand. Biting back is the only way to put up with a guy like Jean.

You've seen your fair share of emotionally unavailable fuck boys. The kind of guys that always take advantage of those too kind or too timid to stick up for themselves, which only helps boost their egotistical ways. You've been on the receiving end of that stick, and you ended up with emotional damage, insecurities handcrafted by a broken heart, and one year down the drain. Never again.

You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth, "Oh yeah, you didn't see the line of them wrapped around the building? The guys fucking love me." You shut the door and turn to face him.

Jean huffs out a short laugh turning himself to face your direction, "Yeah, well, Eren clearly does. That reminds me, how did your little date with him go?"

Why the hell does he insist on giving you such a hard time when it comes to Eren?

Your eyes widen slightly before you roll them. Resting your back against the chipping wooden door, you say, "It wasn't a date. We were just hanging out."

You didn't think of it like that, as a date. It was two new friends, getting coffee between classes, talking about things that you happen to relate to each other about. There wasn't any underlying meaning behind it.

But then again, when was the last time you've actually been taken out somewhere? Do you remember what going on a date even looks like? God, that's fucking embarrassing.

"No?" Jean slowly cocks his head to the side and licks his lips briefly before the right corner of his mouth turns upwards, "you haven't heard the rumor going around?"

You bite a piece of skin off of your lip and cross your arms in front of your chest, "what rumor?"

"That Eren wants you." He pauses for a second, pulling a blunt out of his pocket. "Well, it's not so much a rumor as he told me himself."

Your body stiffens, and you suck in the soft flesh of your cheeks between your teeth. Seeing your reaction, Jean chuckles and continues, "Don't worry. I haven't told him about the little crush you have on him... yet."

You give him an icy stare, "Are you done?"

No one bothers you the way that Jean does. Everything he does. Everything he doesn't do. All of who he is irks you so excessively that it almost makes you feel like you could fly off the rails when you're around him.

He digs into the same pocket again and draws out that familiar blue lighter, "What? I'm not doing anything." He says in a matter-of-fact tone and places the blunt between his slightly damp lips.

You scoff and make your way over to him; before he can flick on the lighter, you grab the blunt from his mouth and lighter out of his hand.

"What the fuck?" Jean rasps; his face and voice signify annoyance at your sudden action.

He reaches out towards you in an attempt to snatch the stolen items back, but you quickly pull them away and stuff them inside of your back pocket, taking a few steps backward, "there's a strict no smoking policy here." You point behind you with your thumb to the brown no-smoking sign plastered on the back of the door.

He lets out an obnoxious laugh as his hands fall back down to his side, "Oh, so we are back to the good girl act, are we? Following every rule in the book?"

"If you get caught, I have to pay a huge ass fee, and I'm not trying to get fined, especially if it's because of you." Your voice is sharp and growing impatient.

God. Why did he even come here?

Jean takes a few steps and sits himself down on the edge of your bed. Resting his forearms on top of his man spread thighs, he leans forward, eyes disappearing under his furrowed brows, "What are you so irritated for, Y/N?"

You turn away from him and walk over to the boxes lined up against the wall, near the side table, "I'm irritated because you're here."

Stretching his legs out in front of him, you hear the springs of the bed move beneath the weight of his body, "I thought you liked spending time with me."

You scoff. Although he can't see your face, you roll your eyes at him once again, "Don't flatter yourself."

"I'm not flattering myself," Jean says coolly, scratching the scruff that lies on his chin. "Don't tell me that I need to remind you what happened between us during kiss or bitch. You seemed to be enjoying yourself then."

Fuck. You could curse Connie straight to hell right now for putting a delay on their arrival due to his fucking bowel movements.

Jeeringly, you laugh at him and shake your head, "And don't tell me that I need to remind you what I walked into after kiss or bitch."

Turning your head towards Jean, you watch as his jaw clenches together tightly, palms pressing into the mattress that is still dressed with your light pink sheets. Shit. You forgot to pack them.

His eyes lock with yours, and he shoots you a devilish smile that fits his tone of voice, "you should have joined in."

Jean is so fucking arrogant it almost hurts.

You pause for a second as your face twists with grimace. He really does say whatever the hell he wants. No filter, no worry, no care. Not a single fuck given. You swallow hard and squat down, leveling yourself out with the cardboard boxes, "I should joined in on some vanilla ass sex? Hard pass."

Jean's teeth bare, "Vanilla?" He sounds offended, "There's nothing-"

You cut him off with a stern voice, not wanting to hear any more about his stupid sex life. "Help or leave."

Jean stands and makes his way over to you. "Alright, alright, fine," he says, holding his hands up in a defensive manner, "but give me back my weed and lighter. I paid Zeke good money for that shit."

"Zeke? He deals?" You ask, intrigued.

It would make sense. Zeke letting Eren throw parties at his nice place when he's gone on business. Sasha when she said that they know the right people. Eren telling you that he has the good stuff.

"Yeah," Jean says. "It's the only reason I'm friends with Jeager's bitch ass."

You sniff, "that was rude."

"Chill. I'm just kidding." He reaches out towards you, his palm facing upward, and curls his fingers inward in a repeated motion, "give it to me."

You reach up and lightly smack his hand away, "Later. If I give it to you now, I already know you're gonna smoke it anyways."

Jean steps closer to you and begins to lean down towards you; he looks as if he's going to reach and touch you. You move away before he can, "and don't even think about trying to grab it out of my pocket because if you do, I'll slap the shit out of you for grabbing my ass without my consent."

He blinks as a scoff escapes from him, "What? Are you going to smoke it without me?"

Picking up the role of packaging tape you left on top of one of the boxes, you shrug, "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not."

"Tell you what." He leans against the poorly painted wall and stuffs his hands in the front pockets of his light-washed jeans, his eyes peering down at you, "how about we make a deal."

With the tape in your hand, you pull at it as your eyes flicker up to him from your lowered position, "what kind of deal? If it's one of your sex ones, I'm not interested."

He sucks in the air between his teeth and lets out a sigh, "It's not like that."

"Then what?"

"If I help you finish packing," Jean points to himself and then to you, "you let me smoke you out later."

Your forehead creases with confusion, "What? Like just me and you?" He nods yes, and you immediately shake your head, "Not a chance."

"Why not?" He asks. "You might not like me,
Y/N, but I took care of you last time, didn't I?"

You can tell by the look on his face that he's asking an honest question. He sounds legitimate. Real. Not any of that condescending shit.

Your eyes narrow thinly as you debate your final answer. Getting high at Eren's party was the first time you felt good in a while. There wasn't an overpowering weight of grief sitting on your shoulders or that unceasing boiling anger you have for your father that seems to be permanently seared into your heart.

You were content, happy, safe, the way Armin said you would be. It was nice. More than anything, you want to feel like that again.

"When?" you finally speak.

"Not sure," Jean says with a slight shrug, "I'll let you know. You can hold onto the weed until then. Just give me my lighter back later."

Voice soft, you swallow your pride and agree. "Alright."

"Alright," his mouth twitches in an almost missable smile as he mimics your words. You simply nod and continue your task at hand.

Why does it feel like you just made a deal with the fucking devil?

"What do you want me to do to help?" Jean asks, speaking up again.

You turn your head looking around the room for any items you may have missed. Seeing the fabric still spread across the mattress, you point over to the bed, "I forgot to take off my sheets and pack them. Can you grab them for me?"

He hums in response and pushes himself off of the wall. Silence begins to fill the room. Jean starts to strip the sheets off of your bed, working his way from the bottom of the bed to the top of the headboard that looks like it's on its last leg.

There are no words exchanged as the two of you work. It's only the quiet sounds of low breathing and swift movements.

You've never been one for silence because it allows room for your mind to consume you with the thoughts that you hate so much.

To be alone with yourself means to be alone with your greatest enemy of all. Quietness makes you feel anxious and a little unsettled, but for some reason, at this moment, with Jean only a few feet away from you, the silence isn't eating you alive the way it usually does.

Jean folds the sheets into a neat pile, places your pillow sheets on top, and walks over to you. "Here," he says, handing you the organized stack of fabric.

Reaching up, you take them and give him a small smile of gratitude, "thanks." You set the sheets in the box on top of the items you have stuffed inside and begin to tape it shut.

Hovering above you, Jean watches in silence as you work. You can feel his eyes burning through your jacket all the way down to the skin of your back. It's making it hard to focus. You turn your focus upward toward him, "are you going to keep staring at me?"

He blinks a few times, clearing his vision, looking as if he was snapped out of some sort of trance he was accidentally hypnotized into. "I uh," he stammers. "I wasn't. I just was waiting for you to tell me what else you need me to do."

With a hum, you point to the box placed on the ground a couple of feet away from you, "If you could tape that up for me, that'd be great." With your other hand, you hold out the role of tape toward him.

He nods and grabs the tape out of your hold, and walks away from you. In a swift moment, you stand, picking up the box, and you carry it towards the door.

"You read?" Jean asks, but his tone is barely audible. It's very low, almost quiet.

You set down the box on the floor and straighten out your back, "What?" When you turn around to face Jean, you see him sitting on the ground in front of the box, holding up one of the books you have packed away inside.

Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen.

"You read." He repeats. His words are far more clearer now. This time, they are said as a statement rather than a question.

You let out a brief sigh of relief that's only loud enough for you to hear, thankful that he didn't dig deeper into your deep-sea collection of books and find the ones that are filled with little to no plot and shameless explicit smut—the true literature.

Reading is something you've enjoyed doing from a young age. With traumatic things that aspired in your life, your way of coping became reading about people's lives who didn't have the heavyweight of being you.

Even now, getting lost in a world of words, where you get to be somebody other than yourself, just for a small while, brings you a sort of comfort you have yet to find anywhere else.

To you, books are everything you lost, everything you're not, and everything you want to be.

You nod once, "Yeah, I do. Why? Are you gonna run your mouth about that too?"

Jean laughs. Opening the book, he quickly runs through the pages with his thumb; the sound of thin paper being rustled through fills your ears, "Nah."

You gasp sarcastically, placing your hands over your chest, "Shocker. Thought you'd have something to say."

"Unfortunately, I can't," he pauses and brushes his fingers over the cover of the softcover book that has a dull-colored oil portrait of a young girl in a beautiful white dress from the 1800s on the surface. "I read too."

Your nose wrinkles, "You?" There is a noticeable shock in your voice. "You're kidding, right?"

He scoffs, tilting the book towards you as his head falls slightly to the side, "What? You don't believe me?"

Shaking your head, you say, "Not at all."

"Why's that?"

"You just don't seem like the type."

"I'm not illiterate, Y/N." He says with a focused gaze. "Just because you think that I am whatever fucking picture you've painted of me in that head of yours doesn't mean that I'm an idiot."

"I guess you're right. But I'd like to test your knowledge anyway." You say, doubtful. Your trust in anything men say is almost nonexistent, stuck in a twisted messy cobweb of horrible past experiences. "What's your favorite book?

He flips through the book of Jane Austen's famous work once again. He isn't looking at you. "1984."

Your eyes widen at his choice of book. It's a good one. A great one. Honestly, you were expecting his answer to be something cringe-worthy or something that proved that he picked up a book once in middle school and deemed himself as a man who is an enjoyer of literature.

"A dystopian book about futuristic purgatory?" You laugh softly, trying not to make it evident that you're impressed. "Dark."

A classic book like that somehow fits him. You can't quite put your finger on what it is, but it just makes sense in a ... good way.

Fuck. Wait. Back up. Uno reverse card, please. There isn't supposed to be anything good about Jean.

"Good authors can write twisted shit." He says,
closing the book back up, placing it in his lap.

He's right. They do. You've always believed that.

How is it that you're agreeing yet again with something coming out of the mouth of Jean Kirstein?

He continues on, finally bringing his focus to you, "What about you? What's your favorite book? If you say Twilight or some shit like that, I'm walking out of here and throwing myself in front of oncoming traffic."

"You really think that lowly of me, Jean?" Deciding to mess around with him, you pause and lock eyes with him, "it's actually... Fifty Shades of Grey."

Jean cringes, making his entire body shiver, "that's it. I'm out."

"That's all it takes for you to go?" You say with a laugh. Walking across the room, you push yourself up on the dresser and take a seat, "I should have introduced myself with that fact then."

He tries to hold back, but a small chuckle breaks out from within him. He matches your taunting tone, "You should have. It would have saved me the burden of knowing you."

"I'm kidding," you say, leaning backward. "It's actually Catcher in the Rye." A lie.

Your mind immediately thought of your most recent read and you gave that in your answer. Catcher in the Rye isn’t your favorite book and feel extremely guilty about telling him something that isn’t true.

But you can’t risk him digging in the box and looking for it. What lies inside is a piece of someone’s heart scribbled on paper, and that’s something you’ll fight to keep for yourself if you can help it.

Jean hums, "J.D Salinger, huh?" He takes Sense and Sensibility out of his lap and places it back into the box. "Isn't the main character one the most unlikeable Protagonists out there?" He starts to rummage through the overly stuffed box some more.

"Holden? Well yeah." You nod, looking at Jean. "It's what makes the book so controversial. He's a big fucking asshole and a condescending hypocrite, but he was written as a morally ambiguous character on purpose. So, you either love him or hate him."

"What's your take?" He questions with interest.

You feel a little surprised that Jean even cares enough to ask. But at the same time, you can't help but feel happy too because this is the first time anybody has ever asked you about the books you've read.

You place your hands under your thighs, "My feelings on him are... complicated. Part me wants him to grow the fuck up. The other part of me feels like I want to apologize to him for the darkness I know he's enduring." You shrug, "Holden makes awful decisions, but a lot of people seem to forget that there's a reason why he acts the way he does. But yeah, he's a fucking dick."

He nods, "So, long story short, you like him?"

You squint, "I won't defend the kid, but I mean, I don't hate him. But I will also admit that I tend to be drawn to people who need fixing, so maybe that's why. I don't know. What about you? What's your take on him?"

Jean breathes out a huff, "I'll be honest, I haven't read it."

You tilt your head to the side, "How are you going to call yourself a reader but haven't read Catcher in the Rye? It's a classic."

"Don't know." He is still rummaging through your books, looking at the different titles and covers, "I haven't read in a while."

"Why not?" you ask.

"Shit happens... things change." His tone is blunt, almost threatening you not to ask questions to elaborate on the meaning behind his words. Although you're curious, you hate overstepping boundaries that were never yours to take in the first place. So, you veer off of your own wonderment.

"Well, you should read it," you say, slightly swinging your feet back and forth in the air.

"I'll consider it." He finds Catcher in the Rye and pulls it out. His eyes widen at the wear and tear of the book. He turns his head to you and holds the book up, "Christ, Y/N. Did you drag this book to hell with you or what?"

"Pretty much."

He tears his gaze away from you and flips to the back of the book to read the synopsis.

The book is entirely worn. You hate broken spines, despise them even, they make your skin crawl, but due to the number of times you've read Catcher in the Rye, the break had, at some point in time, become inevitable.

Jean runs his fingers down the spine that is charted with crevices and flicks through the brightly colored tabs that you have sticking out of almost every page, every color resembling a map of your tactical thoughts.

Sadness. Happiness. Love. Hate. Relatability.

"What's up with all your annotations?" Jean questions, his fingers flicking over the heaping amount of tabs, "you aren't an English major, right?"

You shake your head, "No. Political science. Pre-law."

He flips open the book to a random page and begins to skim through it, "you do realize that you aren't going to be asked to write an analysis on this shit, right? I doubt you'll be talking about Catcher in the Rye in a courtroom."

You run your fingers through your hair, "Well, the man who killed John Lennon was spotted reading it right after he murdered him, so you never know."

Your stupid joke pulls a small laugh out of him. You continue and answer his question, "but no, seriously. I know. It's just something that I enjoy doing."

He closes the book, "fucking nerd."

You roll your eyes, "fuck you."

Jean's mouth curves upward insultingly. His mouth slightly falls open as he tries to choke his arrogant response, but quickly you cut him off, only guessing what his restoration will be. "Don't you dare say what I think you're going to." You glare at him.

He holds up his hands in defense, still holding the book in his right. "I wasn't."

Your eyes narrow even more, making your vision somewhat blurry from the closeness of your eyelashes, "alright."

He places the book back and closes up the box, "Alright."

You can hear the sound of tape ripping as he secures the box, "Hey." Jean says as he tears it off of the roll.

"Hey," you respond.

He stands, "I meant to tell you this earlier, but," he pauses and lifts the now shut box and carries it over towards the door, "be careful of Eren."

Your eyes widen. Did you hear him right? Eren? You heard that you should be careful of Jean, not Eren. What the hell is he talking about?

You frown, "Eren? Why?"

Is he telling you this out of actual concern towards you, a girl who barely entered his life? Or is he just trying to start something?

"Yeah." Jean says, setting the box on top of the other one, "Eren he-"

A loud noise comes from the outside of the door, cutting Jean off mid-sentence.

You turn your head to see Connie burst through the door, making his way into your room, a pep in his step. "Y/N! Come on, girl!" Connie throws his hands up in the air, "you gotta lock your door. I could have been a serial killer or something."

The conversation between you and Jean is now gone as quickly as it came, but your mind can't seem to shut off. What about Eren?

You hop off of the dresser and offer Connie a smile, "Well, good thing you aren't."

"Eh, that's semi-true," Connie winks at you. "The only thing I tend to murder is pussy. AYO!" He holds his hand out, trying to give Jean a high five, like the joke he made was earth-shatteringly good.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Jean mutters irritably, backing away from Connie, denying him any sort of encouragement for his comment.

"No, but I kiss yours," Connie smirks, dragging his pointer finger and thumb down his chin.

Before you can blink, Jean smacks him on the back of his head, hard. "Talk about my mom again. I fucking dare you." Jean lists his hand to smack him again.

Rubbing the back of his head out with his palm Connie back away, "Chill. Chill. Chill. I give. I give."

"That's what I thought," Jean says, walking away.

You sigh at their bickering, "Anyways, Connie, how are you feeling? I heard there was a little delay back at the apartment."

Connie throws his head backward with a slight wince, "fuck, I'm gonna kill Sasha."

"Oh yeah?" Sasha taunts, walking into the room. Her voice causes Connie to spin around on his heels and face her. "Try it, babe," she says, flashing him a smile, her chin thrust outward, offering him a challenge.

Eren comes in after her, with Mikasa following right after him. "He won't," Eren says, hands tucked into the large pocket of his oversized black sweatshirt, his gold key necklace hanging in front, "he doesn't want to take the L."

Connie punches Eren in the chest, "fight me yourself, Jeager. Give me that easy dub."

Eren lets out a low chuckle wrapping his arm around Connie's neck; he puts him in a tight chokehold, "Grow some hair, then talk to me, magic eight ball head looking ass," Eren mocks. He pulls off Connie's red beanie and digs his fist into his buzzcut grey hair.

"Save it until later, will you?" Mikasa says, pushing herself past the two wrestling boys making her way over to you, "We have to help Y/N pack."

"Well... honestly, Jean already helped me." You turn your body around to see Jean sitting on top of the now bare worn-down mattress.

Connie pushes himself out of Eren's hold and roughly yanks his beanie back from him. He brushes his right hand over his chest, straightening out his black hoodie that reads virginity rocks in bold red letters. Is he serious?

"I was waiting for you back at the apartment, dumb ass," Connie throws Jean a threatening look, putting his beanie back on his head, adjusting it to its perfect position.

"My bad," Jean says monotonously with a slow blink, clearly not phased.

"Yeah, you're bad." Connie rolls his eyes, "I was starting to feel like one of your sorry ass hookups, so I just dipped. I figured you were out with some girl or something."

Eren gives Jean a head nod, "surprised you decided to show up."

Jean looks at you for a fleeting second before looking away, "I had nothing better to do." He shrugs, "Where's Armin?"

"He's at work. He was pretty bummed he couldn't come." Eren looks at you with a smile, and you feel your cheeks blush.

"Jean. You really need to get better at answering your texts. We are your friends, you know?" Sasha walks over to Jean and flicks him in the forehead. He grunts in response, seeming to be slightly bothered.

Connie and Eren make their way over towards the bed where Jean is and begin to talk to him.

Mikasa steps in front of you and touches your shoulder, "You're all set?" She looks back at the two boxes stacked up on top of each other. Her eyes return to you, and by the look on her face, you can tell that she is concerned about the lack of your belongings.

You purse your lips together, "Yeah. I mean, there wasn't much to pack up anyway. I had most of it done, and Jean helped me out with the rest. I tried telling Sasha that you guys didn't have to make the trip."

"We wanted to," Mikasa says in a soft tone. "Sasha and I were talking on our drive over here, and we decided that we want to redecorate our apartment with you, so we thought we could go shopping soon. Make a girls' day out of it or whatever you call it."

Sasha appears behind Mikasa, joining in on the conversation, "What are we talking about, and why am I left out?"

"Oh, stop. You're not being left out." Mikasa turns her head to look at Sasha, "I was just telling Y/N about our idea of redecorating."

Sasha gasps and wraps her arms around both you and Mikasa, "Oh yes! Target and Dok's! Since it's your place now, too, we want to make sure that it's a place that shows a piece of all of us. What do you think?"

You smile softly, beyond grateful for their offer of kindness, but you quickly remind yourself that the money of your mothers you have had to use as a cushion of support to fall back on is nothing you want to keep spending.

So you choose to decline, "That sounds great, you guys, but I don't really have the extra money right now. Not until I find a job, at least, and you know how hard it can be to find one. Especially at the beginning of the semester in a college town since everyone is looking at the same time."

Mikasa shakes her head, "don't worry about it."

Sasha pulls you closer into her and leans her head against yours, a bright smile spread across her face. "Yeah, seriously. Don't worry about it, okay? We want to take you out. Celebrate being roomies."

It's odd—this feeling. You've always been used to taking care of others. But people taking care of you? Hardly ever. Lucas? Here and there, when he's lost mind, allowed him the capacity to do so. Your father? Not a chance in hell. Your miserable shit show of a guy that you oh-so-dreadfully have to call your ex-boyfriend? Only on his good days, and out of 365 days a year, you could count on a single hand the number of times you considered your days spent with him to be good.

To be offered to be looked after even in the slightest of ways is utterly foreign to you. And it fills you with such contentment you feel as though you could explode with gratitude.

You pull away slightly from Sasha's embrace to look at her, "No way am I letting you guys pay for me. I feel like you are already doing too much."

"Nope! I don't care! We are going!" Sasha exclaims with a big smile, letting go of the hold she has on you and Mikasa, "We're in college! It's all about having fun!"

You let out a small sigh of defeat, "I don't have a choice, do I?

"Smart girl," Sasha praises, eyes flickering to you and then to Mikasa. "So, next week?"

You and Mikasa both look at each other and nod in agreement.

"Yay!" Sasha singsongs, "now let's get you the hell out of here."

Breaking away from Sasha and Mikasa, you walk over by the door. Slowly you bend down and pick up one of the boxes. When you turn around, you see Eren standing there, holding his arms out, "let me see it."

You shake your head, trying to go around him, "it's okay. I'm capable."

He steps in the same direction as you, not letting you pass by, "I know you are, but you already did all the packing. The least you could do is let me help move the boxes."

You hesitate for a few seconds before agreeing. You hand him the box, "thank you." Taking it, Eren nods and heads out of the room.

You turn around to grab the other box, but you quickly notice that Jean has already picked it up and is following right behind Eren.

"Man," Connie stops his foot dramatically against the rusted floor like a toddler. It creeks beneath the weight of the impact, "What the fuck am I supposed to carry." He lifts his arms and flexes, "These guns, and no work for me to do."

Sasha walks over and slaps her palm into the center of his back two times, "Carry me."

"Bet." Connie leans forward in a squat position, "let's see if we can beat those fuckers downstairs."

Sasha hops on Connie's back and wraps her arms around his neck, securing a steady hold around him, "I believe in you, Con Man. But I swear to God I'll fucking kill you if you eat shit because if you go down, I'm going with you, and I have a date with Niccolo tomorrow. I have to look good."

"Don't worry," Connie assures her tightening his grip around her legs. "I'll make sure you're in one piece." Before Sasha can respond, Connie takes off out of the room at sprinting speed.

You can hear Connie's feet against the old floor run down the hall as he gets further away; Sasha giggles from a distance.

You can't help but smile at their interactions. Although you were apart from Sasha for so long, it fills you with happiness knowing that she made good friends throughout the years you spent away from her. Since the day that you were forced to leave her, you worried about her. Constantly you wondered if she was doing well and if life was fair to her the way it wasn't to you.

But now, meeting Sasha's friends and spending even this short time with them it has assured you that although you weren't there to take care of her, the universe placed people in her life to help her in ways that you weren't able to.

You were lonely without her. Lost. A forgetter of what happiness once felt like inside of your own skin. It was hard. But that's okay. Knowing what you know now, you don't mind. You would do it all over again if you knew that losing Sasha meant that she would meet these people that she is so beyond worthy of having.

She may be the platonic light in your life but to be only just a small simmering light in hers is more than enough for you.

"Y/N," Mikasa calls out, snapping you out of your head. "Do you have everything?"

You spin around and do a quick 360, triple-checking every inch of the room you are leaving behind. The room is now bare, with an empty bed and cleaned-out closet and drawers that were once filled with your clothes and books now hollowed out. All that's left are the raggedy white curtains as thin as cheap toilet paper spread across the small windows and the ugly water spots that have stained the popcorn ceiling a hideous brown color.

You bring your body back around to face Mikasa, "I have everything."

The very corner of Mikasa's lip curves upward slightly. It's so tiny, barely even recognizable, but you deem it to be a smile, "Good." She pulls her long black coat across her body, "We should catch up with them."

You nod in response. Mikasa heads out first, and you follow, closing the old door behind you. Taking the gold key out of your pocket, you stick it into the lock, twist it, and pull on the door, making sure it's secured shut.

As you make your way downstairs, you and Mikasa exchange small talk with one another. She is nothing but kind to you, and for that, you are grateful.

You drop the copy of your key at the front desk and make your way outside, where you see your group of friends all huddled together on the sidewalk talking. The rain has stopped, but the smell of still wet earth coats the inside of your nose. You breathe it in deep, enjoying the scent.

Sasha is the first to realize your presence, "speaking of the devil!" A big smile spreads across her face, "We are going to take your stuff to our apartment, and then I think we are going to go out for dinner or ice cream or something."

You and Mikasa reach the huddled group, "sounds fun." You say with a smile.

"Connie's paying, though!" Sasha turns away from the group and runs towards her civic, "the guys in one car, the girls in the other!" Mikasa follows behind her at a much slower speak

"Hey!" Connie calls out to her, matching Sasha's loud tone, "what the hell am I paying for?"

Reaching the car, Sasha leans up against it, crossing her arms, "Because you suck, that's why! You were the reason we were late. It's only fair you make it up to Y/N by paying up."

Connie lets out a low grunt and rolls his eyes, "Okay, fine. But only because Y/N is cool as fuck. All you other losers can suck my dick." He makes a thrusting movement with his hips before turning to follow Eren to his car.

You begin to head towards Sasha's car, but something gently yanks you back, spinning you around. It's Jean. Your eyes widen with shock.

"Hey," his eyes are searching your face. There is something in his light brown eyes you haven't seen before, "Drive safe. Alright?"

"Uh, yeah. Alright." You stammer, caught off guard, "you too." Clearing his throat, he drops your hand and makes his way over to Eren's car.

"Come on!" Sasha yells out, opening the car door and getting into the driver's side.

"Coming," spinning around, you shake your head, trying to get rid of the sensations Jean's touch left behind as you walk.

You get into the front seat of Sasha's red Honda Civic while Mikasa slides into the back. "Would you like to do the honors?" Sasha asks, handing you the USB cord.

You take it hesitantly, "Sure." Plugging it into your phone, you open Spotify. Trusting the algorithm, you hit shuffle on one of your playlists, and the music begins to play through the speakers of Sasha's car.

| ♬ now playing ... kids ; current joys |

"Soooo," Sasha turns on the lights and puts the car into drive. "How was it alone with Jean? Did he say some stupid shit again?" She cranes her neck to the left, checking for oncoming traffic and pulling out of the parking space and onto the street. "Sometimes, I swear I'm looking after a child with him."

You let out a small laugh, "he was.. fine, actually."

"Really?" Mikasa asks, sounding a bit surprised. She leans forward in her seat a little making it easier to talk to each other over the loud music, "you know, he's not the easiest to get along with."

"I mean yeah," you nod. Locking your phone, you set it in your lap, "he was kind of irritating me at first, but then he started asking me questions, and we got to talking."

"Wait, you're serious?" Sasha asks; she slowly stops the car at a stoplight and turns to you, "like dead ass."

"Dead ass. Why?" Your eyebrows furrow together, "what's the big deal?"

The red light turns green, and Sasha starts to accelerate the car, "he never does that."

"Does what?" You ask, turning your head towards Mikasa in the back seat.

You feel confused. The tone of their voice is astonished as if what you're saying to them is a trait of Jean that had either never existed or has gone completely extinct.

"Jean hates getting to know people," Mikasa admits to you, "unless he already knows you, he doesn't really bother."

Sasha looks through the rearview mirror at Mikasa and then glances over to you, "We think that's partially why he goes through girls so fast too."

"What do you mean?" You ask, both confused and intrigued. 

Sasha reaches out and turns down the music a couple of notches, making it a little bit easier to hear the conversation at hand, "He's a big ass player, which I'm sure you've noticed."

"Of course." You shrug, "it would take a blind person not to be able to see that."

Sasha nods as she turns left down, a dim-lit busy street. "Well, he does God know what with the girls, but we've noticed that as soon as they start talking about themselves or they start trying to get to know him more, he dips faster than Usain Bolt himself."

"Why?" You feel like a broken record asking all of these questions, but you really are trying to get a better understanding. "Isn't getting to know people a part of life?"

Mikasa shakes her head and sighs, "it's different with Jean. His social skills are shot to hell."

"That's also why we are so surprised he showed up tonight," Sasha adds, eyes focused on the road ahead of her. "It usually takes a lot of convincing to do anything with any of us anymore."

"Oh," you say. "I didn't realize. I thought since you guys were so close, it meant you did everything together."

"We do," Mikasa says, leaning herself back in the backseat, making her sound more distant, "well, we did."

"I mean, we invite him everywhere," Sasha says, turning on the blinker before turning down the street, "but we never know if he'll show up or not."

Mikasa clears her throat, and she fixes the piece of black hair that hangs between her eyes, "He always shows up to parties, but he either isolates himself and drinks until Eren and Connie have to drag his ass out, or he wins the girls over with his good looks, and then we don't see him for the rest of the night."

You hum, adjusting yourself in the black cloth seat, "When I was talking to him in the kitchen, he sort of said something about not really liking to be around."

"He's not lying." She slows the car clicking the button of the remote to the gate of the apartment complex, which causes it to open, "Connie may have sounded like he was joking, but we were all shocked as fuck that he came down to the basement."

"Sash. Do you think that he's changing?" Mikasa asks, her voice sounding somewhat optimistic.

Pulling into an open parking space, Sasha shrugs and puts the car into park. "It's hard to tell. I want to say yes, but I've gotten my hopes up way too many times. I really don't want to do that shit again."

You open your mouth to ask if they can elaborate on what they are talking about, but Sasha's loud voice cuts you off, "we're here!" Dropping her hands off the steering wheel, she grabs onto your shoulder and shakes you slightly, "We have a surprise for you."

Your eyes widen as you take off your seatbelt, "You guys. I told you that you've already done enough for me."

"It wasn't us." Mikasa tells you, as she opens the back door, "it was actually Historia."

Your eyebrows raise, causing your forehead to crease slightly. The three of you get out of the car and slam the car doors shut, "Historia did? I only met her a couple of days ago."

"Well, she's that kind of person," Mikasa responds.

You smile, looking at Sasha, "That's really kind of her."

Locking the car with her key fob, Sasha looks at you in return and sends you a smile, "she's a good person."

The three of you make your way into the four-story complex. You walk up two flights of stairs and turn down the hallway that is lit up brightly by fluorescent lights. Finally, you reach the white door of your apartment; it reads C10 in bold gold letters.

"Here," Sasha digs into her small black purse, and she pulls out a key. The body of it is green with small white flowers scattered about. "We made you your own copy. I hope green is still your favorite color."

A smile spreads across your face, exposing your teeth, knowing that she remembers something you told years ago back in grade school. It's a small gesture, but the meaning of it feels like an abundance of care. "Thank you," you say with gratitude.

Taking the newly printed key from her, you stick it into the black keyhole. Twisting the key slowly, you unlock the door and push it open. Instantly, you are greeted with the cinnamon-scented warm air of your new home.

Once inside, Sasha grabs your hand and pulls you through the entryway and down the hallways, flicking on the light switch as she passes by, "come on! You gotta see your surprise!"

"Okay, okay," You say, meeting Sasha's speed. She moves quickly, guiding you to the door furthest down the hallway on the left.

Sasha lets go of your hand and swiftly pushes the door open to your new room, "Ta-Da," she exclaims, "welcome home! It's all yours."

Your jaw falls open, "W-what? what do you mean, mine?"

What you were expecting to see was a bare room, unfurnished, not anything that made your new space livable yet. You were entirely ready to crash on the couch or the floor until you found a job and made enough money for furniture. But the room you are looking at is full of furniture, and it's decorated perfectly from floor to ceiling. 

There's a bed, a vanity, a bookshelf, and a dresser, all painted white, making the room look bright and inviting. There are different kinds of plants scattered about and fairy lights that line the room's border. A beige tapestry is hanging over your bed. It looks like a Tarot card with nature, butterflies, flowers, and a sun with a feminine face printed on it with black ink. Beneath it reads:

☼ THE SUN ☼

It's nicer than anything you could have ever imagined. Nicer than the room you spent years living in back in Stohess. Do people this kind and selfless actually exist?

"All of this was done by the queen Historia herself," Sasha says, making her way into your new room.

At a slow pace, you follow in behind her and begin to look around from floor to ceiling, "She didn't have to do all this."

"This used to be her room," Mikasa says, appearing in the doorway, "She lived with us last semester but decided last minute to move in with Ymir. When we told her that you were going to room with us, she decided to leave her things behind for you to have. Making the moving process a little easier for you."

Standing in the middle of the room, you spin around to look at Mikasa and Sasha, "she doesn't need these things?"

"No," Mikasa says, resting her head against the doorway, arms crossed in front of her, "she arranged everything and decorated it. It was all her idea."

"Historia is sort of rich. I guess you could say. Her father is the head lawyer and owner of Reiss Injury Law Firm," Sasha says as she passes by you and sits on the edge of your bed that's made up with an oversized white comforter, dark green pillows, and a throw to match. "So if she ever needs anything, money isn't an issue."

Mikasa chimes in, "but she probably won't, since you know, she's living with Ymir." She sounds like she was trying to hint at something without actually saying it.

You begin to put missing pieces of the puzzle together, "Oh!" You exclaim with realization, "are Ymir and Historia..." you train off.

Jean's tall figure shows up behind Mikasa, "You're just now figuring that out?" He says, holding one of your boxes against his chest.

"Who? Historia and Ymir?" Eren shows up next with another one of your boxes in his hands. Both of them make their way into your room, "you should have Connie show you the cake he made for them for Pride month." Eren says with a slight chuckle.

"Oh hell yeah!" Connie appears, erupting with proudness as he walks through the door of your room. "That shit was fucking delicious!"

"Go on," Jean says, turning his head back to look at Connie, "show her."

A grin spreads across Connie's face. Pulling out his phone, he finds the picture and turns the phone to you, "tell me I don't look cool as fuck."

In the picture, Connie is smiling cheek to cheek; it's so big you swear his face could rip in two. He is wearing a rainbow party hat and a tie-tied rainbow shirt with Be Who You Are!! written in the center of it in cursive with black ink. In his hands, there is a cake that reads, "Happy Pride! Shout out to the gays!" decorated with puffy pink frosting beneath a brightly colored rainbow.

You start to laugh, "Connie, are you serious?"

"What?" He says with a shrug, "I decorated the cake myself. Honestly, I should be in Cake boss or some shit. Call me Buddy fucking Valastro."

"You dumbass. Nobody is gonna call you that stupid shit," Jean says, shaking his head.

"Suit yourself, ponyboy." Connie gives you a nod and stuffs his phone back into his pocket, "I had to let my girls know I support them. Allies, you know?"

"Jesus Connie," you giggle, "what more could they ask for?"

Connie brushes his hands together in a repeated motion, "not a damn thing. I carried that shit." The group begins to laugh.

"What took you guys so long?" Sasha asks, changing the subject, "Weren't you right behind us?"

Jean looks at Sasha, "Eren brought some weed, so we packed a bowl and decided to smoke before coming in."

"Thanks for the invite," you say to him.

Jean smirks, "yeah. you're welcome." You roll your eyes.

"I'll give you guys a couple of ounces later. We have a lot left over," Eren says. "Where do you want the boxes?" He lifts the box he is holding slightly up to you.

"Oh," you point over to the foot of the bed where Sasha is, "you can set it there. I'll put it away later tonight." Both Jean and Eren nod and set down the boxes at your request.

"Wait, guys! I have an idea," Sasha falls back onto the mattress, looking up at the ceiling, "what if we throw like a little house warming party in a couple of weeks!"

A smile spreads across your face as you walk over to your vanity. "That would be so much fun. I'm down." You open one of the draws and place the blunt you stole from Jean inside and push it back shut, keeping his blue lighter in your pocket so you don't forget to give it back to him later.

Mikasa nods, rubbing the back of her hand across her cheek, "Let's do it."

"Are gonna come, Jean, or you gonna bail like always?" Eren asks, crossing his arms.

"Not sure. I'll let you know," Jean says with a shrug. His words are to Eren, but he's looking at you, "I wouldn't count on it, though."

"You better not make me drag you there," Connie threatens.

"You better not touch me," Jean says with a slacked jaw.

Sasha rolls his eyes at the bickers boys, "We'll plan it and let you know."

Mikasa fluffs out her hair, "Are you guys wanting to go eat?"

Connie speaks up, "instead of going to Dok's do you guys want to go to Pied Piper? Marlo said he's closing tonight. I wanna see him."

Your eyes travel across the room, "Pied Piper?"

"It's an ice cream shop, walking distance from here," Eren says. "We are cool with a couple of people who work there, so they give us good ass discounts. If you guys want to go, I'll shoot Armin texting telling him to meet us there. He should be off soon."

Everyone agrees, and you head out to the ice cream shop.

Connie and Sasha are power walking in front of the group, trying to see who will reach the destination first. You walk and talk alongside Eren and Mikasa while Jean follows far behind in silence. You look back to check on him every so often, but every time you do, his focus is on his phone, only looking up to make sure that he isn't going to run into anything.

Finally, you arrive at the small ice cream shop. The outside is decorated with window paint of leaves, acorns, and pumpkins since the first day of fall stands less than a week away. This town is the kind that celebrates even the changes of seasons. It is way more spirited than anything that you're used to.

Connie and Sasha have already made their way inside, and the four of you follow in after.

Inside Piped Piper, you have greeted with the smell of melting chocolate and fresh cooking waffle cones. It's a cute small parlor with white walls and a long counter with an old-fashioned register, and a large glass case full of various flavors of ice cream. The store lit up with icicle lights strung on the ceiling, and beneath your feet lies polished oak wood floors.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite people on the planet!"A girl with short blonde hair says from behind the counter, a big smile on her face. "You better be here for me and not the ice cream."

"Hitch mother fucking Dryese!" Eren greets her, stepping up to the counter.

"Of course, we're here for you, Hitch!" Sasha exclaims, throwing her arms into the air as she makes her way up to the glass filled with ice cream. "You're our girl."

"Quit. You're making me blush," Hitch says as she sets her forearms down on top of the glass and rests her chin on top of them. She begins to tap her fingers against the case as she counts quietly under her breath, her eyes traveling one by one down the line from the start of Sasha down to Jean, "Do my eyes deceive me, or have you added another person to your crazy ass group."

Connie quickly grabs your wrist, pulling you next to him, "this is Y/N. She just moved here," he says as she puts his arm around your shoulder. "Probably the coolest girl I've ever met."

Hitch looks at you out of the corner of her eye and raises an eyebrow, "cooler than me?"

"She's up there," Eren says, running his fingers through his pulled-back hair.

Jean scoffs, his eyes squint toward you, "don't go getting a big head now."

"Don't worry," you tilt your head towards him, "I'm not you." He scoffs.

Hitch laughs, "I like you already. I'm Hitch!" Her energy is high, which matches her sweet-sounding voice. "Tell me how you ended up befriending these guys. I'm sure they've already given you a run for your damn money."

You return a smile to her, "I grew up with Sasha, but we fell out years ago. Somehow we ended up in the same place at the same time."

Hitches eyes light up as she lifts her head, "no way! That's crazy. How are they treating you? Well, I hope."

"The best," you say, looking down the line at all of your friends. "To be honest, I was worried that moving here was going to be hard, but they've made it pretty easy." Your eyes meet Eren, and you smile at him; in return, he smiles back and scrunches his nose. God. He's cute.

Sasha interjects, "she actually just moved in with Mikasa and me today!"

"Aw, that's exciting. What about Historia?" Hitch asks, taking her arms off of the top of the glass. She turns to go wash her hands.

"Ymir," Mikasa responds.

"Ah, that's right." Hitch finishes washing her hands and puts on a pair of gloves. "I was wondering when that was gonna happen. Good for them."

"Right?" Sasha smiles.

"Hitch! Where the hell is my man Marlo at?" Connie asks his tone of voice raised. "His ass told me he was going to be working tonight. He better not have been lying."

A tall man with a dark bowl cut comes out of the backroom of the store, through a door that reads employees only, "you called, Connie?"

"Hell yeah! See, Sasha! I told you that I have  summoning powers!" Connie makes his way over to the furthest part of the counter to greet Marlo. Eren and Jean follow behind him.

"Hmm." Sasha laughs, "so they must just not work with the ladies then."

Connie spins around quickly, flipping her off, "fuck you. I got lots of girls, alright?" She rolls her eyes and returns the gesture.

"Oh yeah? On Bumble? Are those matching piling up for you or what? Breaking the app with the selfies of you flexing in the mirror with your big ass head?" Jean taunts.

"Up yours, Horse face," Connie spits back, elbowing Jean in his arm. "I have ten hotties in my match queue right now."

"And how many of them have actually messaged you?" Marlo asks, obviously giving Connie a hard time.

"Let's see, shall we?" Connie pulls out his phone and opens the bumble app. He pulls up his matches, "look at these record-breaking numbers." Eren rolls his eyes and snatches the phone away from him, and Jean, Marlo, and Eren all look through it, muttering things to one another, arguing if Connie should swipe right or not.

"God," Mikasa sighs, "you guys are ridiculous."

The four boys talk to each other while Mikasa and Sasha start their own conversation with Hitch. They are giving her crap for not showing up to Eren's party. And she argues back that she had a shift but couldn't find coverage, blaming it on Marlo.

You hear the door of the ice cream parlor open behind you, and you turn to see Armin and Annie are making their way inside. The group greets them in an overly loud uproar making Armin's face beat red.

"You guys are so damn loud," Armin says with a small smile shaking his head as he and Annie make their way over to the counter.

"What else would you expect from them?" Jean mutters lowly, making his way over to where you're standing. "What's up, man."

"Glad you showed, Jean," Armin gives Jean a pat on his back as he passes him. He walks over to you. "Hey, Y/N. How'd the move go?"

You greet him with a wave, "Hi, Armin. It was good. I'm just happy to be out of my old place. How was your shift?"

He sighs, "It was good. I'm glad to be off, though. It's been a long day."

Your eyes travel over to Annie, "Hey." You greet her, making an effort of civility.

She pauses for a second and looks at you up and down, showing every ounce of her judgment towards you. Armin lightly nudges her shoulder like he is silently telling her not to be rude. She lets out a huff, "Hey." She finally says through her tense jaw, and she pulls Armin away from you without another word.

She's said to be like this with everyone, but it seems to be especially true when it comes to you. You have had very few interactions with her, but each of them is just as tense as the previous one. Sure, kissing Armin probably only added to the friction, but it was a game at a stupid college party. It isn't something she should hold against you. It's not like your interest lies anywhere in Armin. Sure, he's kind and cute, but you couldn't ever see him as anything more than just a friend.

Jean leans over and whispers in your ear, "she sure doesn't like you."

Your shoulders lift in a shiver as his warm breath travels down the crook of your neck, "Thank you for stating the obvious."

He chuckles, "I don't blame her. She probably thinks you're trying to steal her man."

You grit your teeth. "I'm not," you say with a defensive tone.

He leans in even closer to you. You swear you can almost feel his lips touch your ear; he lowers his voice more, "I know that. But the question is, does she?"

"Are you guys ready to order?" Marlo asks, interrupting your conversation. Jean steps away from you, making you instantly go cold.

"Hell yeah, we are!" Connie says with great enthusiasm.

One by one, your order, and Marlo and Hitch scoop the ice cream into cups and cones. Everyone requests various flavors of ice cream, keeping it relatively simple. Sasha and Connie, on the other hand, request a mix of different flavors. They then try to see who can pile on the most toppings, creating a dessert that looks more like Mount Everest rather than a couple of scoops of ice cream.

Sasha has been announced the winner. And Connie is pretty upset about it.

Hitch and Marlo take three ice cream orders off of your bill, and Connie pays the amount, as requested by Sasha. The group finds an open table to sit at. Connie, Sasha, Armin, and Annie are on one side of the booth. Leaving you, Eren, and Jean to occupy the other side.

Eren slides in first, you next, and Jean follows you in after. It's a tight booth leaving you smack dab in the middle of their two broad bodies. Feeling squished and a little suffocated, you place your elbows on top of the table, allowing a little more room to breathe.

Armin starts talking about his shift at the local bookstore called The Garrison, taking bites of his vanilla ice cream in between his storytelling. You try to focus on his words, but Annie's eyes keep glaring at you, making you feel unnerved.

"Armin," Sasha says, her mouth full of cold dessert. "Is there a chance that The Garrison is hiring?"

"We are," Armin says, putting his arm around Annie. "We lost a few workers when they graduated last semester, so we are short right now. I don't know what it is, but nobody really wants to work at bookstores in today's day and age. Why do you ask?"

Sasha glances over to you and then back to Armin, "Y/N is looking for a job."

"You are?" Armin turns his focus to you; his blue eyes have a new bright light to them, "If you want, I can put in a word for you. We are desperate for new hires."

With your mouth full of cookie dough ice cream, you swallow, "Wait, really?"

"Absolutely!" Armin says, his cheeks flushed.

You shake your head, placing the white plastic spoon back into your ice cream, "I don't want you to have to go out of your way for me."

"Y/N," Eren says, his voice causing you to turn and look at him. Slowly underneath the table, without making it obvious, he slides his hand over to your leg and places it on top of your thigh, causing your breath to go ragged. He swipes his tongue across his lips, "let Armin help you out."

You bite at the tip of your tongue and turn your head back to Armin, "Could you really do that?"

"Absolutely!" Armin says with great enthusiasm, the smile never fraining from his lips. "I have another shift tomorrow. I'll talk to them then. Do you like to read?"

You nod, "It's one of my favorite things."

His smile grows even wider than before, "Then you're in no problem."

"You better talk her up, man," Connie says, tilting his head towards you.

"I will. I will. Don't worry." Armin assures you, adjusting his arm around Annie pulling her in slightly more.

Eren's hand remains on your thigh, and he gives it a slight squeeze, "The Garrison is pretty tight. I'm sure working there will be sick."

"I'll keep you updated," Armin says, and you thank him in return.

"I need to go to the bathroom," Annie pulls herself out from underneath Armin's arm. Quickly, she stands from the booth and takes her to leave.

Jean slightly nudges your leg with his own, getting your attention. You look at him to see him giving you one of those. 'See? I told you so' looks. You let out a small sigh of frustration.

The conversation begins to take place at the table once again. This time, Sasha talks about how Niccolo plans to take her on a date to this fancy restaurant. "I swear," she says, "sometimes I swear I've dreamed this guy up. Like there's no way he's real."

"You lucked out," you tell her, taking a bite of your ice cream, "good guys are rare." Eren's hand has still not left your thigh. He begins to move his thumb back and forth across your jeans. You bite at the inside of your lip at the feeling.

The sound of a ringtone cuts into the conversation. Jean slightly lifts his hips up and pulls his phone out of his back pocket. You look out of the side of your eye to see his bright screen; it reads, Reiss Injury Law Firm.

Reiss. As is Historia Reiss's dad? What the hell?

Jean answers it, "Hello? Yeah. No. No. I don't know. Jesus fucking Christ! I said I don't fucking know!" His tone is growing more and more irritated with every exchange.

You can feel his leg begin to move against yours under the table in that fast sort of bounce that happens when you get overwhelmed with anxiety. As he listens to the voice on the other side of the line, his fist clenches together on top of the table. "Fuck." Abruptly, he gets out of his booth and walks outside.

You have so many questions. But many aren't ones you have a place to query. So instead, you ask, "Is he okay?"

"He's fine," Eren says, speaking for everyone in the group. But with the look on all of their faces, the way that they all read the same, you're not sure not a single one of them actually believes that. But again, it's not your place to ask.

The small talk begins again, but you can't seem to get invested. Even with Eren running his thumb back and forth slowly over your thigh, all you seem to be able to do is be concerned about Jean. Every second, you find yourself turning your head to look outside, seeing if he is still standing in view.

To your ears, your friends' voices have gone silent as your own thoughts and worry for Jean only continue to grow. You glance down at the table next to you where Jean was sitting to see the ice cream that he left behind begin to drip little by little.

You can't take it anymore; you want to check on him.

But before you can speak up, Armin does, "should one of you go check on Jean?"

"I'll go," you answer without an ounce of hesitance.

"You're sure?" Eren asks. "One of us can."

"Maybe it will be better if she goes," Mikasa says, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "You know he doesn't listen to us."

"True," Connie says, leaning back into the booth. "If any of us go, it probably won't go over well."

"Okay." You nod softly, "I'll try."

Eren pats your thigh twice before letting his grip go. You grab your ice cream alongside Jean's and slide yourself out of the booth, and make your way towards the exit.

You walk outside to see Jean sitting on one of the benches underneath a tall street light. His head is tilted to the clouded sky, the light of the moon slightly seeping through the textured white haze, making his skin glow.

Standing in front of the parlor, you stand still, hesitant. Unsure if whether he will welcome your company or not. Whether you even want to offer it to him at all.

What the hell are you doing? You don't like him.

With the grip you are holding around the white cups, your skin begins to freeze from the temperature of the ice cream seeping through. "Ah, Fuck it," you mutter under your breath, and you make your way over to Jean.

"Hey," you stand to the left of him, looking down at his seated position.

Jean brings his tiled head down a level so he can look at you; his lips are pressed into a stagnant line. He seems annoyed, but you can tell it's because of the phone call he took or because of the presence you are so pathetically offering him.

You sit down next to him on the bench and hold the cup of his dessert out to him, "You forgot your ice cream. It was starting to melt."

His eyes flicker to the ice cream and then back to your face. He shakes his head, "I don't want it."

"Then why'd you order it?" You ask, still holding his ice cream out to him. He shrugs in response. You sigh, "can you at least take it? My hands cold."

He rolls his eyes. Harshly, he grabs the ice cream from you and sets it on the wooden arm of the bench, "There. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," you say, feeding his sarcasm back to him. "Why haven't you come back in? Is everything good?"

"It's none of your business," he says, plainly looking out at the empty street, the black concrete still damp from the earlier rain.

"That's the second time you've told me that today." You begin to pick at your half-eaten soft ice cream with your white plastic spoon.

His eyes flicker over to you, "Because what I do or don't do doesn't concern you. I don't need you to check up on me."

You turn your head downward, "I know. I just thought-"

He interrupts with a frown, "I don't care what you thought. Just because you're friends with Sasha and the rest of the guys have taken this weird fucking liking to you doesn't mean that I like you."

Your stomach knots around itself at his words.

You don't like Jean. You don't consider him your friend the way you view the rest of them to be. But hearing him say it with such a harsh tone makes it almost burn. Jean has given you reasons not to like him. But you haven't done anything that should make him feel that same way about you.

You clear your throat and rest your ice cream cup on your thighs. "You're an ass; you know that?"

He taps the heel of his shoe against the concrete, "And you're annoying, you know that?

Your push your spoon deep into the center of your ice cream, "I'll go." Pushing yourself into your feet, you make your way back over to the front door of Piped Piper. You are about to open it when Jean's voice raises from behind your back, putting an abrupt halt in your movement.

"Y/N." Jean calls out, "Come on."

You turn your head to see him standing from the bench, looking at you, his ice cream in his hand.

"What?"

"You've gone deaf now or what?" Jean pulls on his hood and begins to walk away from you in the other direction. "I said, come on."

You drop your hand from the metal bar of the door. You look inside the window, and you see your friends inside laughing with one another, and when you look back over to see Jean, quiet and alone.

Your mind flickers through your options at hand. Do you go with Jean? Or do you go back with your friends?

When Jean notices that you're not following, he stops walking and turns around, "God, Y/N. You're so indecisive. Make up your damn mind, would you? I'm not going to drag your ass somewhere you don't wanna go."

But the thing is, for whatever god-forsaken reason, you do want to go. And so you do.

You leave the entrance of Piped Piper behind and catch up to Jean. When you reach him, he lowly hums. "Was it that hard to decide? I thought you were having a god damn midlife crisis or some shit." He begins to walk.

You follow, keeping up with his footing. "Shut up and eat your damn ice cream. There are people in the world who are staving, Jean." He rolls his eyes in annoyance, but after a few more steps, he begins to eat.

The two of you walk to the unknown destination and finish your ice cream in silence. Jean leads you around the corner of the building and down a small alleyway that leads to a tiny park that is hidden behind the small local businesses.

Passing by a trash can, he holds out his hand, "you finished?" You nod, giving him the cup, he throws them away.

Continuing your journey, you follow behind him as he crosses a small grass area over to where a pair of swings rest in the furthest corner of the park, near a flowerbed loaded with marigolds.

He takes a seat on one of the swings, and you sit next to him on his right, "why are we here?" You ask.

"I wanted to smoke."

"Didn't you smoke a bowl before you came into the apartment?"

"I already came down," he says, pulling out a shiny pink-colored pack of strawberry Swisher Sweets. He digs inside the package and pulls out a pre-roll. "Eren gave me this, but I couldn't light it up in front of all those businesses."

"Makes sense." Digging your feet into the surface of soft woodchips, you begin to sway back and forth on the swing slowly.

"I like it because no one ever comes here." Jean places the joint between his pointer finger and thumb. "A lot of people don't know about it since it's hidden, and since no one is ever over here, the cops are never around."

He sticks his hands in every one of his pockets, searching for something. "Shit." He hisses.

You pull out the blue light and twist it between your fingers, "looking for this?"

He reaches towards you with a sigh of relief; he takes it from you, "I forgot you stole this shit from me."

He flicks on the lighter and holds the burning flame to it. You watch as Jean takes a big hit. The end of the blunt tucked between his lips. "The others won't wonder where you are?" You ask him.

"I tend to go off alone a lot." He lets the smoke slightly float out of his mouth before he sucks it back in between his teeth. "It's nothing they're not used to."

You wrap both of your hands around the rusty chains of the swing, "Do you like being alone?"

Bringing his face upward to the sky, he draws a blank stare, slowly blinking. He pauses for a few seconds before he shrugs, bringing his focus back level. "I don't really like anything."

There is almost a sadness to his voice, but his face remains in a slack expression. You find yourself constantly trying to get a read on him with every interaction the two of you share, but you've never met someone who is so unreadable before in your life. It's frustrating.

He holds the fresh burning blunt out to you, "Wanna hit?"

[ ♬ now playing ... show me how ; men i trust ]

You stop the movement of the swing and reach out your hand, taking it from him, "sure. Thanks." Holding it between your two fingers, you bring it up to your lips and breathe in deep, letting the smoke coat the inside of your throat and lungs, filling you with a slight sense of warmth.

You pull the joint away from your lips and hold it back out to him as you slowly blow the smoke out into the chill night air.

"So." Jean takes it. His fingers slightly grazing across yours, "Why'd you move here?" He asks before hitting the blunt.

Great. One of the questions you hate the most.

Even when Eren asked that same question back on the first day of class, you lied and said that Trost State had been your number one choice University since high school. The truth is, you didn't know that TSU even existed until Lucas told you that it had an outstanding Political Science Program. In addition, it was far enough to escape your father, which became the major selling point for you.

If there is one thing you hate, it's lying to others, but you hate the reality of your truth even more.

So again, just like with Eren, you lie, "I don't know. I just did."

He turns to you, and his eyes search your face, his eyebrows furrow together as if he can tell that you're lying; you're a lot easier to read than he is. "What are you running from?" He asks, offering the blunt in another exchange, smoke falling out of his mouth with every word.

You shake your head, taking it back from him again. "I'm not," you stammer over your own bullshit. "I'm not running from anything."

Again. A lie. Truth be told, you're running from fucking everything.

But you've gone too much into your past today. First talking to Eren, now this? At least with Eren, there were areas of relation, a similar playing ground making it easier to open up to him. 

Jean? He's the last person you would want to confide in or confess your troubled past too. The corners of your mouth begin to twitch as you chew at the soft flesh inside.

"Come on, Y/N." Jean rests his head against the chain of the swing, "everyone is running from something."

Placing your pointer finger on top of the blunt, you flick the ash that is burning off of the tip of it. You watch as the grey ash weightlessly floats to the ground of wood chips as you try to figure out how to answer him best.

"Yeah?" Once the ash has become one with the ground and you can no longer see it, you bring your eyes over to Jean and pass him the blunt. "If that's true if everyone is running from something, then what are you running from, Jean?"

There is no response to your question from him. He only blinks, the temples in his forehead pulsing against his skin as he bites his teeth together with harsh pressure.

You stay quiet for a few moments. Offering up opportunities for him to respond, but he doesn't take any of them. The harsh smell of burning marijuana fills your nose, only adding to this specific type of hostility that only seems to be around when the two of you interact with one another.

Coming to terms with the fact that Jean isn't going to give you anything but silence, you speak up again. "Exactly," you say, sounding more disdainful than you aimed to, "don't ask other people questions that you can't give your own answer to. It's hypocritical."

Jean huffs out a laugh, knowing that you're right. "Fair enough." There is a moment of silence before he changes the subject, "did you really come out in the cold just to bring me my ice cream?"

"Partially. But it was also because of that phone call," you pause for a second, debating if you should even continue with where you're going with the sentence.

Why do you want to know pieces of Jean so severely when he has made it clear that you are nothing more to him than someone he has to associate with because of your relationship with Sasha and your slowly forming relationship with the others.

He kicks a small section of the woodchips with his foot, "What about it?"

"You seemed irritated." Your words are hesitant. And your eyes can't seem to meet his face. "Is everything okay?"

He lifts up the burning blunt to you, gesturing to it, "What do you think?"

You nod, knowing that smoking is probably his way to distress from whatever happened during that call. "I know this is a long fucking shot but do you..." You trail off, afraid he's going to flip on you again.

Keeping up with Jean is fucking monopoly, and you've always fucking sucked at that game.

"Do I what?' He begins, slowing moving his raised hand down to rest on top of his thigh, "Want to talk about it?"

You let out a small breath, happy you didn't have to ask him that question yourself, "Yeah."

"There's nothing to say." He throws the small remainder of the blunt onto the ground and squishes it underneath his foot, "it was just some bullshit that I needed to take care of."

"Did you?" you bite down between your words, tensing your jaw, "take care of it?"

"I'm handling it," he huffs air out of his nose. "I always handle it."

Your eyes blink quickly, "Okay. But you should know you don't always have to handle it on your own."

The corners of his mouth draw downward as he digs his shoes deep into the dirt. "I don't need life advice from you, and I sure as hell don't need you to play therapist."

His words remind you of Lucas and of yourself as well, and you aren't sure which fact you hate more.

Tilting your head up to stare at the sky, you rub your nose; a pained look has spread across your face. You have no idea what to say in return to that comment, so you remain quiet. Your eyes travel back and forth as the clouds roll by, trying not to think about how are words sometimes make you feel.

Jean can see the look on your face. Knowing he's the reason for it, he grits his teeth, frustrated at himself. "I bet you were wishing you decided to go back into Piped Piper instead of coming to this shit park with me right now, huh?"

You straighten out your neck and look at him. He's right. You do. This time you tell the honest truth. "Yeah. You have no idea."

"Look," he sighs, "I told you at Eren's party that I don't think-"

You interject, "yeah, I know.  You don't think before you speak." You stand from the swings, "we should go. I'm getting cold."

Another lie. The temperate is bearable, but the tension is not.

You begin to walk, and he follows behind.

Walking back towards Piped Piper, the high begins to hit you, causing you to relax. Feeling a little less heavy, in both your heart and your mind, you decide to break the silence, "Random question but did that count as you smoking me out?"

"That depends," he says, matching your step. "Do you still have the blunt I gave you earlier?"

"I do." You admit, almost near the entrance of the ice cream parlor, "I put it in the drawer of my room."

Reaching the door, Jean opens it, and he shakes his head. "Then no. That doesn't count. As long as you keep it, I'll owe you, but if you smoke it without me, I'll have to kill you for breaking our deal."

"I'd love to see you try." You smile up at Jean as you pass by him, as he holds the door for you, "But you should know, Jean, I never go back on my word."

"Good to know, Y/N." He follows you into Piped Piper. "Neither do I."

Chapter Text

It's been two weeks since you moved into your new apartment, and the days spent have been nothing but good.

You are slowly learning new habits while leaving old ones behind, adapting to how to live in the close company of two other girls, and getting to know the friend group you have, for the most part, been accepted into a little more every day.

What you have accumulated thus far, you love.

Living with Sasha and Mikasa has been a breath of fresh air that your lungs were so desperately aching for, especially with how much life had run you dry before you decided to leave your past behind and start new.

It's nice here. Everything about it is more than anything you could have asked for. Your wildest dreams couldn't even come close to the life you're living in Trost.

Monday and Wednesday nights, in particular, have quickly become your favorite part of your new living situation, which consists of late-night snacks and a bottle of cheap red wine split for three that Sasha so proudly buys with a fake ID that Connie so poorly made.

However, you're pretty sure the liquor store cashier has a pathetic crush on Sasha, so he continues to allow her to buy alcohol despite the fact he knows her ID is a fake.

Let's say Connie should not pursue the fake ID designing business for the sake of everyone's safety.

On these nights, after homework is out of the way, personal to-do lists are checked off, and junk food and illegally purchased wine are gathered, the three of you eat and drink in the living room on the cream-colored velvet couch while sharing conversations that are sworn to secrecy within the bright white walls of apartment C10. 

These talks remain under the reoccurring realm of best to worst kisses, cringe-worthy past dates, and plans for the future that you find yourself only being able to gander at because who the hell knows exactly what they want to be in life at the age of nineteen.

You barely know your current self; how the hell are you to know the person you will be in the future? It's such an outrageous concept.

As time passes on, you're starting to notice changes in yourself. For the past twelve nights, you've been able to fall asleep without hesitance and wake in the morning without dread, which in your life, as you've gotten older, has become quite rare.

Typically, sleep for you is restless due to the images your mind seems to like to paint so vividly during your time of slumber.

Up until recently, if you weren't dreaming of Lucas' lifeless body, it was of your father and his harsh words that had burned your self-worth down to the very bone. And if it wasn't of your father, it was of other people from your past that you wish you could wipe yourself clean of.

You can't estimate under an accurate time frame how long it's been since you have felt rested because stress, worry, and mourning have blended months, weeks, and days into one great pile of mush. Only the universe knows how long you spent waking, feeling heavy, unsure, or distressed.

But last night, for the twelfth night in a row, you slept deeply, mind lost in dreamless nothingness, not giving you a reason to wake in cold sweats and fear.

So this morning, after another sleep full night, you are starting the day off feeling well-rested and happy.

"How do you want your toast? Buttered or dry?" Sasha asks you as she flips three battered pancakes on a sizzling pan underneath the blue ignited flame. "Ah-ha! Check this out, Mikasa. The batter didn't stick this time!" She dances around in a circle to whatever internal music she has playing in that little head of hers.

Mikasa lets out a breathy laugh, "Niccolo would be so proud of you." She sits at the sit-in counter, sipping hot coffee with a splash of almond milk out of her bright green Grinch mug.

It's nowhere near Christmas, but you've realized that it's the same mug she uses every morning. Mikasa told you that it was a gift from Eren when he received her name in Secret Santa back in high school. In her eyes, it's a year-round mug, despite its obvious festiveness.

"Wait! You're so right! I need to send him a picture of it," Sasha chirps. Picking her phone off of the counter, she snaps a photo of the food, types out a message of some sort, and quickly sends it to Niccolo.

"No toast," you say, stuffing your class materials into your school bag that you have rested on the white and grey marble dining table. You double-check that your anatomy book is packed inside since you woke up with a text from Eren this morning asking if he could share it with you during the lecture today.

He has yet to order his own. How responsible of him.

"That's wasn't my question," Sasha glances behind her shoulder at you. "I asked you how you want your toast, not if you want toast."

You open your mouth to deny the bread offer once again, but Mikasa makes eye contact with you and shakes her head, making your words halt. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," Mikasa advises, placing her grinch mug softly onto the dark brown wooden counter. "If you try to say no again, you'll never hear the end of it. Trust me. I've lived with the girl for two years now."

"She's right." Sasha spins towards you, her high ponytail zipping around with her and landing perfectly over her shoulder, "so what will it be, Y/N? The clock is ticking, take your pick, or I'll hold you hostage until you give me an answer. Haven't you learned by now? Starving doesn't fly in our household."

"You act like being having to miss class because being I'm being held hostage by you is a threat or something, but since I can't be ditching lectures quite yet, I guess I'll take my toast dry." Your eyes soften, "Please."

"Oh, okay." Sasha musters up a smile, "So you like your toast the way that resembles your love life? That should be easy to remember." She winks at you before turning back to the stove and continues to cook the sizzling pancakes.

"Harsh, Sash." Mikasa laughs softly, taking a bite out of her blueberry oatmeal. "Just because you're getting some doesn't mean you have to rub our faces in it."

"What can I say?" Sasha tilts her chin upward, making herself stand tall with confidence. "That's what good dick will do to you. You should try it, Mikasa. Maybe getting laid will help you smile more."

Mikasa scoffs as her lips pull down into a tense frown. "I'm done talking to you."

"I'm kidding. You're hot just the way you are, even with your resting bitch face. At least you're not the only one who isn't getting laid," Sasha looks over at you with a creased forehead. "How long has it been for you, Y/N? Almost a year, right? How the hell have you survived?"

You saw that one coming from a mile away. You roll your eyes. "I really should have kept my mouth shut about my involuntary celibacy, huh?" You say, shaking your head. "I hate you for reminding me that my love life resembles the Sahara fucking Desert." You tease back as you walk over to the fridge. Opening it, you grab one of your blueberry red bulls from the top shelf stored near the orange juice.

Sasha turns away, laughing. Using the black greasy spatula she has in her hand, she scoops the freshly cooked fluffy pancakes off of the pan one by one and stacks them on top of each other on a plate next to her on the counter. "And I love you, which is why I'm forcing you to actually eat food, rather than drinking that red bull of yours on your way to lecture and calling it a meal."

"Hey." You close the fridge and lean up against it, cracking the blue tab of the can open, "It does the job."

She opens the loaf of soft potato bread and pops a piece into the white toaster, "Of increasing your chance of a fucking heart attack, maybe."

You take a sip of the cold energy drink, the acidity of it coating your taste buds. You swallow, "I mean, at least I'll feel something."

Sasha twists the knob of the stove, turning off the burner, and turns around to face you again, flashing you a sweet smile, "I can make you feel something, baby. All you have to do is ask nicely."

With your drink in hand, you walk back over to the dining table, "and how would Niccolo feel about me stealing his girl?" You pick up your backpack off of the table and throw it over your right shoulder.

She lets out a groan as she throws the used spatula into the metallic sink from a short distance. The sound of something hard-hitting metal fills your ears. "You're right," Sasha says. "I guess our love story will have to wait. But seriously. On a real note, have you thought about putting yourself back out there since... you know, everything that happened with he who shall not be named."

You freeze at her question.

Last night, feeling a little tipsy, you told the girls about pieces of your past that you had bottled up tightly; it didn't even seem like air could seep through.

Alcohol is liquid truth.

You told them stories about your ex-boyfriend and how you pathetically made excuses after sorry excuses for his constant shitty behavior and how you haven't been with anyone since.

You left his name out of it, though; it was of no importance.

He was a severe gas lighter, making you feel guilty for anything you did. Manipulation had been his forte, and before you knew it, you fell victim to his twisted ways.

He was the first person you ever fell in love with, and because of that, you gave him all a person could humanly give to another but never was it good enough.

You thought maybe you could change him if you continued to love him if you proved to him that you were worthy. But no matter how many times you tried, you never felt worthy, and you never felt loved.

Instead, you always ended up feeling a little more belittled than the time before, as if you were nothing but matter taking up space.

You stayed with him as long as you did because it was all that you knew; the roller coaster of toxic love. The pathetic soul disintegrating game you played trying to get a read on him to see which part of him you were going to get that day, the walking on eggshells with the constant fear of making one wrong move, all of the things a relationship should not ever be.

He soon became a bad habit that you couldn't seem to shake. There were so many times you laid on his bare chest after the nights when you tried to prove your love to him.

As his warm damp skin radiated into your flushed cheek, you told yourself that it was the last time, that you were going to leave, but you had this obsessive fear of loneliness, so you could never bring yourself to do it.

It became a vicious cycle of broken promises that you couldn't keep to yourself. Many parts of you wanted better, but the thing is, you didn't think you deserved better.

That was until the night of the biggest fight you've ever had when he said the most unforgivable things. Never did you think someone could be so cruel.

You remember it well. The details of it are branded permanently into every crevice of your brain.

It fell on the one day a year that it rained in Stohess. It began to pour right before dinner; you were setting the table.

He had been in a bad mood all day, and of course, as always, you were to blame. Not wanting to start anything, you tried your best to ignore it, but he kept going on and on about how your attitude and sulking were annoying him.

What set him off was something small and stupid: a pile of dirty dishes in the sink you had yet to clean.

You don't leave dishes unclean anymore. 

He made you feel guilty, suffocating you with derogatory words, so you apologized the way you always did. You didn't always know what you were saying sorry for; often, there was never a reason, but you said it anyway because you just needed it all to stop.

You were desperate for peace. Desperate to find the means to an end.

You tried to explain to him that taking care of Lucas and his mental health was taking a heavy toll on you. That you could feel yourself starting to dissociate from reality, and you could feel your depression returning.

| now playing ... harbor ; clairo |

"I'm sorry. I'm trying my best," you said. You kept your voice as small as a mouse, "I'm just sad, all of the time, and I don't know why. I think there might be something wrong with me."

This was the most honest you've ever been with him. You usually kept your personal problems to yourself; you never wanted to bother him. You always hated being a burden.

He stared at you for a few seconds and then began to laugh. "Are you crazy or some shit? Your life isn't that fucking bad. Quit whining. What do you want? For me feel sorry for you?"

Your heart broke into pieces like shards of glass.

You're supposed to be here for me, you thought to yourself, why can't you be here for me the way I'm here for you?

Your eyes were begging for him to stop, but he didn't.

He continued to laugh as he fed you hateful words as if they were something you deserved. "Jesus. I thought you were done playing the fucking victim, Y/N. Don't you see how annoying it is, how fucking depressed you are, all the fucking time? Think about the effect it has on me. How shitty do you think it makes me feel having to watch you mope around all the god damn time."

You can still recall that indescribable feeling running through every inch of your body, like the blood that was pumping through your veins had been replaced with sheer agony. The person who was supposed to love you was the one who was saying the most insulting things without even blinking an eye.

He knew he was hurting you, and it was nothing to him. If anything, it made him feel all the more powerful.

You never asked for much. All you wanted was for him to say that it was going to be okay. That you were going to be okay. But his temper was spinning out of control, and he was doing everything in his power to make sure he took you down with him.

"Don't you love me?" You whispered, forcing back the sobs you could feel coming. He didn't deserve any more of your tears. You felt so pathetic.

His laughter stopped in an instant, and a hardness shadowed his face, "Love you? I never even liked you. Do you seriously expect anybody to be able to love someone like you?"

You hiccuped.

His words pierced your heart in a way that made you feel like you could have dropped dead right then and there. You stared at him, unblinking, as your entire world shifted slowly and then all at once.

You could physically feel the love you had for him begin to shrivel up until it was nothing. Standing in front of him started to become repulsing.

As if blinders were pulled off from your eyes, you could see that to him; you were nothing but someone he kept around because you were convenient.

No one should ever have to beg to be loved.

You turned your back to him and walked out of his house without another word, leaving anything that you might have been yours behind.

Of course, as always, he followed you out, continuously cursing your name, but the difference was, this time, you didn't allow yourself to turn back.

He had taken enough of you, of your time, of your love, of your worth, of your soul. It was time to put yourself first.

There was fear in his voice now because he could see you slipping out of the hold he had on you. "Good luck finding someone who is going to want a girl like you. You are nothing without me. You are nothing. You will always be nothing. Open your god damn eyes. Can't you see it? You are fucking impossible to love, Y/N. You have no friends left. Your father can't even bring himself to love you. What does that say?"

His words stung like venom.

You continued to walk until you couldn't hear his footsteps against the wet concrete any longer. "I swear to God, Y/N," he screamed out to you from a long distance, "If you leave, we are fucking done. For good."

He meant it as a threat, but to you, it was the light at the end of what you spent so long believing was a never-ending tunnel of darkness.

"Finally. Thank God." You yelled back, not even turning your head back towards him. "Fuck you."

He shot fire back at you one last time, "I knew that I should have cheated on you when I had the chance. You were always such a boring fuck."

You didn't even flinch. You just kept going and going and going, one foot in front of the other. All you cared about was getting the hell away from him.

You turned the corner and fell to your knees, granting the tears permission to come. The earth's rain and your salty tears began to mix as one.

You cried, the kind of cry that comes from the depths of your soul. But the tears you cried weren't for him; they were for yourself. You wrapped your arms around yourself tightly, trying to hug the pieces of yourself that you betrayed for so long.

"I'm sorry," you murmured to yourself both current and past, "I'm so sorry for thinking darkness was all I deserved."

That was the day you let go of your fears. Grabbing onto the small string of hope you still had left, you started to live again.

It's a funny thing how the mark that toxic people leave on you can last long after they are gone. Emotional scars, although they aren't visible, are the ones that seem to cut the deepest.

When Jean asked you what you were running from, you lied and said nothing. In cruel reality, your ex is just one of the many things that you are running from.

Even after the breakup, he continued to try to get back with you, showering you with pathetic texts, phone calls, letters, random gifts at your doorstep.

Meaningless I'm sorry's in every possible form.

He tried everything to get you to run back to him the way you had before, but all it did was make you sick. The more you were away from him; the more your hate and bitterness toward him continued to grow. It was laughable how his pathetic attempts got more progressive when he realized you were never coming back.

The final step of getting away from him was moving to Trost. For him not to know where you are or what you're doing has been the most relieving feeling of all.

You drag your teeth harshly across your bottom lip, "You guys think I should put myself back out there?"

Sasha nods rapidly, "hell fucking yeah."

You flick the tab of your red bull against the metal and shrug, "I don't know. Maybe."

"I think you should." Mikasa fixes her jet-black hair, "You deserve to experience something more than what he gave to you."

"I want to," you nod, still running your finger over the tab of the can in a stressful manner. "I really do. I'm just scared, I guess, but I don't want to be."

The toast pops out of the toaster. Sasha quickly takes it out and places it on a paper towel, shaking her hand out from the heat of it, "it's normal to be scared. Anyone would be after coming out of a relationship like the one you had, but don't give him that power. Don't let his incapability of loving keep you from experiencing the ones who can."

Mikasa nods in agreement and swirls her mug in a small circle gently on the smooth surface. "Sasha's right. You lived in fear long enough. Yes. The world is cruel, but it is also beautiful, and there is so much more to life than what he limited you to. You already took the first big step. You left. That's the hardest part."

You blink slowly as you let out a small sigh, "But it took me so long to get up the nerve to do it. You have no idea how much I hate myself for that."

Mikasa lowers her head slightly and shakes it, "it didn't matter when you did it. What matters is that you did it. You saw your worth, and you should be proud of that. Proud of yourself."

Your chest tightens. She has a point.

Sasha makes her way over to you. "Is there anyone that you're interested in? Eren, maybe?" She hands you the dry toast she wrapped tightly in a paper towel and shoots you a wink.

Mikasa's grip tightens around her mug, and her jaw tenses, but neither you nor Sasha notices.

"Thank you." You take the toast from her. "I don't know, but that reminds me Jean said something to me about him. He gave me this sort of warning, I guess."

Mikasa's back straightens out, "He said something about Eren?" A defensive tone immediately meets her voice.

You place your red bull on the table to free your hand and unwrap the toast, "Yeah. He said some weird shit. That I should be careful of him or something like that." You take a bit out of the crispy bread.

Mikasa's eyes narrow, "Jean likes to start shit. Especially with Eren. They have this love-hate relationship with each other. You'll get used to it."

"Yeah." Sasha makes her way back over to the stove where she left the pancakes, "Don't listen to him. If there were something you actually needed to watch out for with Eren, we would tell you."

You swallow your food as you drape the paper towel over the toast again and pick your red bull back up, "Okay. I'll happily take your word over Jean's." You glance over to the microwave and read the time lit up in a bright green color 8:45. "I should head out, or I'll be late for class."

Sasha picks up the plate loaded with her breakfast. She walks over to the sit-in counter and takes a seat next to Mikasa on the bar stool. "Are we still doing Target and Dok's tonight?" Sasha asks. "Since we couldn't find time last week?"

You and Mikasa nod confirming your plans. Sasha smiles wildly, clapping her hands together, "Yay!"

You smile at her excitement and head for the front door. "I'll see you guys later." You say, twisting the door nob and opening it.

"See you later, Y/N," Mikasa says.

"You better eat that damn toast I handcrafted for you," Sasha calls out, voice muffled since her mouth is full of pancakes.

"I will! Don't worry," you call in return. Shutting the door behind you, you head to campus, sipping on your Red Bull and eating your dry toast as promised.

You feel your phone buzz with a text; balancing your drink and food in one hand, you take it out of your pocket. It's from Armin.

Armin 🌊: Good news, friend, you're in! My manager wants to know if you can come into The Garrison for an interview either tomorrow or Thursday.

A smile spreads across your face as you text him back.

Y/N: Ah!! What! You are the best! Tomorrow works for me!

Armin 🌊 : Awesome! I'll let them know. Don't stress too much about it. They basically told me that you already have the job. They just need to interview you to cover the bases. :-)

Y/N: I owe you my life, Armin. Seriously, I can't thank you enough <3

Armin 🌊 :  You don't owe me anything. Your friendship is enough. I'm excited to work with you!

Y/N: I'm excited too! Thank you again  :)

You lock your phone, stuff it into your pocket and continue your journey across campus to Professor Erwin's class with a bright smile. Everything is working out for you for the first time in your life.

Maybe the world you cursed a thousand times over before doesn't hate you that much after all.

___

Professor Erwin's class passes with ease the way it always seems to. Soon after his class is dismissed, you make your way to Professor Hange's class and find your habitual place next to Eren, who is already sitting in his seat, eyebrows knit close together as he scrolls through his phone.

"You really should get on top of ordering your books," You say to Eren, shaking your head in dramatic disappointment. Placing your bag on the lab table, you take your seat on the cold hard lab stool. "Sorry to break it to you, but college doesn't wait for anybody. Not even for Trost's most popular basketball star."

The moment Eren hears your voice, he lifts his head towards you and smiles, "Well, hello to you too." He locks his phone and stuffs it deep into the pocket of his ripped black jeans.

You unzip your backpack and take out your hardcover thick anatomy book, and slide it over to him, "As requested, per Eren Jeager."

He tilts his head back in relief, "Thank you. You're a fucking lifesaver. Connie was originally going to find the textbook for me online, but I don't think I trust him."

You squint your eyes, "Why's that?"

"Last semester, he accidentally went onto some website on my laptop, and then when he gave it back to me, I got this shit virus, and it got completely destroyed." Eren shakes his head as he flips through the pages of the textbook. "Bill Gates himself wouldn't have been able to fix that shit. I had to get a new one."

You chuckle softly, "Doesn't Connie have his own laptop?"

He adjusts himself on the seat, "Yeah, but he was at my place and wanted to watch this movie called Sausage Party or some shit but couldn't find it on any streaming site, so he went on an illegal site to find it, and ended up clicking on a pop-up, because he said it looked and I quote, 'sick as fuck' and well... the rest is fucking history."

"And that's the same man you were going to let find the textbook online "'illegally,'" using both hands you throw up air quotes, "rather than just renting a physical copy from Amazon or something? Do you want to lose another electronic device under the hand of Connie Springer?"

Eren sighs, closing the textbook. "It sounded like a good idea, but I think I should add that I was high when I agreed, and you know everything sounds like a good idea when you're blasted, so give me the benefit of the doubt, alright?"

"And now that you're sober, how does it sound?" You ask, arching a brow.

He places his arms on top of the table and lowers his forehead on top, "Fuckin' terrible."

You gently tap him with the end of your pen on his arm, "Exactly."

Eren turns his head towards you, still lowered down on his arms; he smiles up you, "What would I do without you?"

A smirk meets your lips, "Crash and burn."

"Oh yeah?" You watch as his eyes flicked down to your lips for an instant before they travel back up to your eyes, "Then you better not be going anywhere anytime soon."

Hange bursts loudly through the doors. You and Eren turn your attention towards them.

"I have arrived, my fellow anatomy Sawney and Beans!" They exclaim, throwing their arm up into the air, large stacks of papers in both hands.

On the second day of class, Hange said they sometimes like to call her students Sawney and Beans rather than the old school ladies and gentlemen because it's more gender-inclusive.

They went on a long rant about how they hate the term ladies and gentlemen with a burning passion and how people, no matter their gender, should always feel included no matter where they are.

You respect them for doing something like that, and you give them loads of credit for the uniqueness of the names.

Hange continues with a still booming voice, "I come bearing the grades of the pop quiz I gave last week, and may I say..." they add a pause for dramatic effect "...the results are not the best."

The class lets out loud groans in unison.

Hange continues, "I know. I know. But do not fear. That's why I'm here. I gave this quiz to see where my fellow students are at when it comes to the subject of Anatomy so that I, your amazing Professor Hange Zoë, can do all that is in my power to help you."

Professor Hange begins to weave in and out of the rows of tables as they hand back the quizzes one by one face down, "I will admit that there is one person in this class who received a perfect score. Although this grade is not going into the grade book, I am still quite impressed with their knowledge. This has never happened before in my multiple years of teaching."

The class begins to look around, guessing who the person earned the perfect score, heads turning in every direction. Everyone is trying to keep their scores secret as they read them quietly off of their papers.

Hange makes their way to your table and slides you and Eren your quizzes back. They smile down at you. You return a half-smile, out of respect, before they stroll over to the neighboring table.

You lift the top of the paper off the surface to see your grade. 'A+!' the top of the paper reads bright red ink. You scan the poorly written note below it, 'Keep it up! Maybe even I could learn something from you! You may be my favorite Sawney / Bean yet!'

You feel proudness rise to your cheeks. You touch each cheek with the back of your cold hand, trying to tone down any red color that might have met your skin.

"How'd you do?" Eren asks; looking over to you, he reaches out his arm, "let me see."

You quickly pull the paper away from him, "No way! Top secret stuff." You put it into your backpack and look at him. "I did decent," you answer monotonously, not wanting to brag. "You?"

He laughs and begins to fold his paper into itself corner by corner. The veins of his hands become more noticeable the more he moves, "I did better than I thought." He's wearing rings on multiple fingers today.

"That's always a good feeling," You say, zipping up your bag and pushing it off to the side.

Hange makes their way to the front of their class. Clapping their hands together loudly, the chattering class gradually falls quiet, and they begin their lecture for the day.

For the next hour and a half, you and Eren sit close to each other, exchanging a few glances every so often as you share your textbook in silence.

Time ticks on until Hange dismisses their class. You and Eren gather your things and walk out of the lecture hall together, "Ackerman's class next?" He asks. You nod in response.

"Alright," Eren tilts his head, signaling towards the automatic glass doors. "Come on. I'll walk you."

You grip onto the straps of your backpack as you walk next to him. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. How's his class going, by the way?"

"He's a good Professor. He's just pretty uptight. Hopefully, he isn't in too shitty of a mood today. Someone tried eating in his class the other day, and he almost lost his shit. He literally paused the class to spray down and clean the whole area. I never knew someone so small could be so fucking scary."

Eren laughs, "Connie was literally terrified of the man last semester. That was hilarious to watch. I didn't think one person could get kicked out of a college class so many times."

"Connie in Levi Ackerman's class?" You match his laughter while making sure you check his step, "I could imagine that being a shit show."

"It was," he says as he weaves out of passing students, "He even made Connie cry once. Make sure that stays between us, though. He'd be so mad if he knew I told you about that."

"I won't say anything," you say, making a cross over your heart with your finger. "Promise."

Eren smiles down at you, "Good girl. I knew I could trust you."

His phone vibrates. He pulls it out of his pocket. Using Face ID, he unlocks it, reads his new text message. "Damn, Jean just doesn't give up" he runs his free hand over the top of his pulled-back hair.

"Jean?" You blink, interest piqued. "What do you mean?"

"He.. uh," Eren shoots a quick text back before responding. "Jean flunked Hange's anatomy class last semester, so he has to take it again, but now he's stuck with Professor Pyxis, who is tough as fuck." He locks his phone and stuffs it back into his pocket, bringing his attention back over to you. "Supposedly, the guy shows up to most of his lectures drunk or some shit. I don't know. All I know is that his rating in Rate my Professor is dog shit."

You turn your head towards him; as the two of you make your way outside, the cool air greets you. "Damn. That sucks. Retakes are the worst."

"Yeah. He's in a pretty shitty position, and honestly, Y/N, I feel bad," Eren confesses to you; there's concern twisted within his blue-green eyes. "If he flunks one more class, he's out of TSU for good, and his art career is down the fucking toilet. He keeps asking me to tutor him, but with my upcoming basketball schedule, there's no way I would be able to help him out."

There is a feeling of sympathy that you feel rising inside of you, causing your heartbeat to increase slightly. Jean is stuck in every college student's worst nightmare. You can't help but feel bad.

You bite at the very tip of your tongue, "That's horrible. I sure as hell wouldn't want to be him right now. Hopefully, he can find someone who can help him out."

"Tell you what. Since I like you, I'll be honest," Eren starts, lightly nudging you in the arm as you make your way towards the building where your statistics lecture is held. "I may or may not have looked at the grade you got on the pop quiz Hange gave back to us."

Your eyes widen, you feel your cheeks start to warm, "You weren't supposed to see that."

"Sorry, Y/N." He places his hand on your shoulder and gently squeezes it, a sly smirk meeting his pink lips, "but it was right there in front of me, and I was curious."

You cross your arm, and your eyes turn into a glare, "if you knew what I got, then why'd you ask to see my paper?"

He shrugs, "Just felt like teasing you a little bit."

You continue to stare at him as you slowly tilt your head to the side, "Why?"

"Because you're cute when you're flustered." Eren scrunches his nose.

Your tense face begins to soften out as you try your best to fight off a smile. You don't have to look in the mirror to know that his words have made your face turn bright red.

He smiles wide, "See? Cute as fuck."

You look away. "Enough, okay?"

He chuckles, "Alright, fine, but for real. You got a perfect fucking score, and they said there was only one student who received that grade in the entire class. You must be pretty damn smart."

"Well." You shrug, feeling slightly embarrassed. You aren't used to all of these compliments.  Especially from someone who looks like Eren fucking Jeager. "I don't think smart is the right word. I have just always enjoyed anatomy and science in general. It was my favorite subject in high school other than English."

Eren pauses for a second; he looks like he is thinking something over. Finally, after a few restless seconds of silence, he speaks, "How would you feel about being the one who tutors Jean?"

Your mouth twitches.

You can feel the part of you who needs to help people flutter inside the walls of your chest, making your initial answer to Eren's question be yes, but you quickly remind yourself that your feelings on Jean are complicated.

It was only a little over a week ago that you sat on the rusty swing set next to Jean on that cloudy, chill night. You tried to show him that you were there for him if need be, but he harshly declined and told you that he didn't need help and that he didn't consider you to be his friend.

Why should you go out of your way and give your time to someone who made it crystal clear he didn't want you, your help, your friendship, or anything else that you might offer him?

Tutoring Jean would be really fucking draining.

"Y/N?" Eren's voice again, due to your lack of response. "Did you hear me?"

"Yeah, sorry." Knowing that you need to answer, you come up with an excuse, something that sounds believable. "I um. I can't. Armin texted me this morning and said I got an interview at The Garrison. If it works out, I don't want to put too much on my plate right now. I'm sorry."

It isn't a full lie, but it isn't the full truth either. It's a happy medium.

Eren nods, "Don't sweat it. I thought it would be worth the short." Reaching the lecture hall entrance, the two of you stop walking about you face one another. He continues, "but I get it. He's just going to have to figure it out."

You adjust your hair, "Jean pretty much hates me anyway, so even if I told him I that could tutor him, he would probably laugh in my face or something."

"Y/N." Eren shakes his head, "Jean doesn't hate you."

Your eyes narrow, "Oh really? And how do you know?"

"Trust me," Eren says, "A dude isn't going to bring a girl up all the time if he hates her."

You feel your body tense. Jean talks about you? What the hell does he say?

You hum. Not really knowing what to say or how to react, you bring the conversation to an end. "I should head into class. Thank you... for walking me."

Eren takes a step towards you, "Anything for you." He opens his arms offering you his embrace; you take it. "Thanks for letting me borrow your textbook today."

You breathe him in as your nose meets the fabric of his dark grey HUF crew neck, "Of course. I'll see you later." You pull away and look up at him, "Bye, Eren."

He looks down and smiles. Placing his right hand gently on top of your head, he ruffles your hair softly. "Bye, Y/N." and the two of you go your separate ways.

____

You, Sasha and Mikasa, are sitting at Dok's Diner. The three of you just placed your order of fries and milkshakes.

The Target trip was successful. You purchased a new rug and some fairy lights for the living room, a new lamp, an end table, an entrance mat, a wreath to hang on the front door, and some wall art to go along with the ones already hanging on the walls back at the apartment.

Mikasa and Sasha both stocked the cart up with a few packs of blueberry red bull, knowing how much you love them, which made your appreciation for them only grow. Sometimes the smallest of gestures go a long way.

The shopping trip was full of laughs and light-hearted moments, small memories in the making. Now you are ready to feed the hunger shopping as left you with.

The food is brought to your table by a young waitress named Petra, but the food you receive is more than what you ordered. On top of the fries and shakes, there are three burgers, a tower of onion rings, and mozzarella sticks.

"I'm sorry, but we didn't order all of this," Mikasa informs the waitress, pointing to extra food.

"Hush, Mikasa! Don't tell her that!" Sasha's eyes have grown so wide they look like they will fall out of her head, saliva almost pouring out of her mouth. "I'll eat it!"

Petra points over her shoulder, "He said that it's on the house."

The three of you turn your heads to see Niccolo standing in the kitchen in a white apron waving. The three of you wave back. Sasha squeals with excitement.

"All of it?" Sasha asks, eyes still peeled wide.

Petra nods, "Yep. All of it."

"Aw. Tell him we said thanks." You say with a smile.

"And," Sasha interjects, "tell him he's going to get lucky next time I see him." Your eyes widen.

"Sasha!" Mikasa warns, nudging her in her shoulder.

Petra lets out a small laugh, "I'll tell him you said thank you, but I think you better tell him the other thing yourself," she says and heads to the table across the way to take another order.

Sasha takes a big bite of her burger, "I'm gonna marry that man, I swear to God."

You unwrap the paper of the straw and stick it in your thick shake, "You and Niccolo are end game. I'm speaking that shit into existence now."

Mikasa nods, taking a small bite out of the fresh fry, "I agree."

You begin to discuss the housewarming party you are planning on throwing while you eat, appreciating the amazing flavors of Niccolo's cooking.

"Do we have a headcount?" Mikasa asks.

Sasha huffs out a breath as she shrugs, "Working on it. Out of our group, the only one I still don't know about is Jean. He won't give me an answer." 

"I wish he would just be straight up about it," Mikasa says flatly. "But maybe he's just stressed about school. You heard about that, right?"

Sasha sets the burger back down into the red basket. She moves over to the tower of onion rings and stuffs the entire one in her mouth, "Yeah. I knew his situation was fucked when he texted Connie and me asking us if we could help him out with his anatomy class. Like, come on, us? Really? There's a fucking reason we chose communications as our major." She says in between her chews, making you and Mikasa laugh.

Swallowing a bite of your burger, you chime in, "I was talking to Eren after class today, and he asked me if I would tutor Jean."

Mikasa and Sasha both halt their movement putting whatever food they just picked up back down, "and what did you say?" Sasha asks.

"I said that I couldn't since I'm going to start working at the bookstore and everything." You pick up a fry and take a bite.

"Is that really the reason, or is it because he's been an ass to you?" Sasha asks with a raised eyebrow. She knows you too well.

"Mainly because he's been an ass to me," you confess. "I'm getting used to his attitude, but I told you some of the things he said to me when I went to check on him the night we got ice cream. I don't know if I could be around it for hours with just me and him if that makes sense."

"Can't say that I blame you," Sasha responds.

Mikasa shakes her head, "If he doesn't get his act together now, he's going to suffer consequences he won't be able to get himself out of."

Sasha bites the skin off of her thumb, "I keep telling him, but he won't listen. Just like everything else. Sometimes I don't even know who he is anymore."

[ ♬ now playing ... wait ; m83 ♬ |

You pause, building up the urge to ask the question that's been bothering you since you first stepped foot into Dok's diner for the very first time. "What happened to Jean?"

The moment you ask the question, the table falls pin-drop silent. Mikasa and Sasha look at each other as if they are telepathically communicating. Mikasa gives Sasha a slight nod in what seems to be approval, and they return their focus to you. Both of their faces have turned pained.

Sasha swallows so hard you can see her neck physically tense. "Last fall semester," she begins letting out a shaky sigh, "a friend of ours passed away."

Your blood runs ice cold. "Wait. W-what?" The words fly out of your mouth in pieces, coated with grievous empathy. You are caught entirely off guard.

"It was bad." Sashas voice has turned extremely frail, "really really bad. I can't even—" she can't find the strength to finish her words, she simply lets them dissolve around her.

"It's affected all of us," Mikasa says, tapping her fingernails against the surface of the smooth white table in anxiousness, "but it's nothing like the way it's affected, Jean."

There is a long restless pause.

"His name was Marco," Sasha's gaze meets yours, and you can see the way her eyes are swimming in a sea of sadness. "He was Jean's best friend from when they were kids. I think about ten or somewhere around there. Marco transferred to Trost State because of Jean which is how we met him. He was one of a kind. I don't think I ever met someone who was so easy to get along with before. Everyone loved him. Really loved him."

Your fists clench together. You can feel your mind growing heavier and heavier with each passing second causing your shoulders to hunch over slightly, "Oh my god."

Mikasa pushes her unfinished food away from her. The color of her face has gone white. "We only knew him for a few months before he passed, but with Jean, he grew up with him. They were basically inseparable."

Taking a deep breath, Mikasa's grey eyes close shut briefly, gathering her thoughts. She slowly opens them back up and continues, "They shared an apartment and everything, which is why he lives with Connie now. We basically had to force him out of his old place. He even physically fought Eren over it. He didn't want to leave, but we knew there was no way he could begin to heal with Marco's room right next to his full of the things he left behind."

You cover your mouth with your hand, "I had no idea. I thought maybe he went through a breakup or something. I didn't think..." You trail off.

Sasha sniffs, tears meeting her lash line, "We don't talk about it because we want to try our best to be strong for Jean. We want him to know that we're here for him even if he doesn't want it. But the truth is, we miss Marco all the fucking time. He was like this sort of bright light to our group. Now, it's just gone."

You drop your hand from your mouth, and it falls into your lap heavily, "how did it happen?" The question leaves your lips before you can stop it.

Mikasa looks at Sasha and then back at you, "It was a car accident. A hit and run. Jean was with him. He saw everything. And to make everything worse, they still haven't even caught the guy who caused it."

Your mind flashes back to Jean's scarred skin, and without even having to ask, you know. The thought alone makes your stomach turn.

A tear escapes from Sasha; it slowly runs down her soft cheek. She wipes it away with the sleeve of her black butterfly jacket, "After it happened, Jean flipped this switch, and ever since then, he's been different. He went numb. He hasn't allowed himself to grieve at all. It scares us, but he won't let any of us help. He's constantly distant and making choices that aren't anything him."

You wince, your mouth turning bitter. He hasn't even grieved?

No matter how big or how small your grief might be, you have to allow yourself to feel the pain.

You need to force yourself to experience your heart as it shatters piece by piece until it is no longer recognizable. It is the only way to work through the loss of someone you love.

When Lucas died, you couldn't get out of bed for the entire month. You were stuck in the overwhelming feeling of the love you had for him that dwindled into sorrow, anger, and resentment until it slowly formed its way back into love.

It was painful then, and it is painful now, but you know, if you pushed the pain of his loss away, the way that you wanted to, if you shut down completely, the unprocessed grief would consume you whole in the way it seems to have done to Jean.

Everyone deals with trials and losses in their way. Some bounce back quickly, while others may grieve forever. But to not grieve at all is dangerous territory.

Grieving is human nature. To grieve is to love.

Mikasa rests her head on Sasha's shoulder, offering he supports, "Everything that was once important to him isn't anymore. His family, his friends, and even art. He doesn't want anything to do with anything."

"He's existing because he has to," you mutter quietly, the thought accidentally escaping from the privacy of your brain.

Sasha clears his throat, "Exactly. We think it's survivors' guilt."

"Fuck. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." You lean back into the booth. You can feel the heaviness of the conversation begin to lay its weight on your heart. You feel guilty. "I didn't mean to bring up something like this. I shouldn't have asked."

"Don't apologize. It's okay," Mikasa says assuringly, "you were going to find out eventually. We knew it would most likely have to be from us since Jean never talks about Marco at all anymore."

You nod, "Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me."

"Of course, we trust you. Just... make sure you don't ask him about it and don't let this affect how you act around Jean, okay? If there's anything he hates the most, it's being felt sorry for. Treat him the way you normally do." Sasha tells you as she tilts her head and rests it on Mikasa's.

"Okay, I won't." There's a brief pause before you ask, "Has he made any progress at all?"

"It's complicated." Sasha lifts her head back up and levels it out, "When everything first happened, we didn't see him for weeks. He literally disappeared off the face of the earth, shut himself in his and Marco's apartment. We would go there everyday but he wouldn't answer the door. Hell, he would hardly answer our calls or texts either. After weeks of trying, he finally let us in and that's when we told him we thought it would be best if he moved, that maybe it would be best for him. We were so desperate to help him but we didn't know how."

"Eren and Jean fought about the move so many times, but at some point he just gave in. He barely got settled in when he decided to go back home to his partners for a little," Mikasa adds. "He didn't talk to any of us during the time he was there even though we tried to reach out continuously. We even drove there to check up on him multiple times but just like at his old papartment, he refused to see us. he refused to see us. That was until, Eren went by himself and got through to him."

"To be honest, as much as Eren and Jean pretend that they hate each other, Eren is pretty much the reason Jean is still here at to TSU, and why he didn't drop completely." Sasha begins to swirl the straw around her almost empty shake. "After winter break is when he finally came back but he wasn't really any much better. I think maybe seeing Marco's parents made it worse for him or something. He stopped showing up to our usual hangouts like the diner and the basement at Zeke's, stopped going to class, stopped caring."

"When we did finally start seeing him around again, it was mainly at parties, and he was never sober,." Sasha continues, looking at you, dropping her hand from the straw. "There was this huge shift. He was different. He was well known around campus before all this so of course, people started talking. Running their mouths about things that they had no fucking right to be talking about. They just wouldn't shut up." Sasha's body tenses. You can see and hear the hurt and anger crawling around inside of her.

"They're still talking about him?" You ask, hesitantly.

"Yeah, but it's less about what happened with him and Marco and more about all about his asshole attitude and all of the girls he's been hooking up with recently," Sasha tells you with honesty.

"It's all a huge mess." Mikasa straightens herself out in the booth, "I know he can be an ass to you, Y/N, and it's not excusable but maybe this will give you a better perspective on him. He's been through a lot. We're just trying to help him as best as we can."

Mikasa and Sasha both glance at each other. They look like they want to say more, offering you a greater understanding, but they keep it at that.

"It does." You nod slowly. "You guys are really good friends. Being there for him the way that you are. I'm sure it takes a lot out of you. I can't imagine."

"We love him," Sasha says softly. "We just want to make sure he knows that."

"He knows," you tell her. "I'm sure that he knows." Sasha's face is washed over with relief like that was something she has needed to hear for a while.

"We're just worried now," Mikasa admits.  "If he fails this semester, he really won't have anything left."

"I'll do it." You sit up tall, "I'll tutor him."

Sasha's eyes widen, "you don't have to do that."

"I know, but I want to. No promises he'll agree to it, though, but I'll try." You pull out your phone, "I just need his number. Can you give it to me?"

Sasha pulls the phone out of her purse. "Of course." She finds Jean's contact and slides it across the table over to you.

The contact reads, Horse Face 🐎 you chuckle as you type out his number onto the dial pad on your phone, "does Jean know this is his contact name?"

Sasha inhales one giant breath and slowly lets it out, "No, and don't tell him, or all hell will break loose."

"Your secrets are safe with me." You press the last digit of his phone number on your phone screen, save his number as Jean K. and slide Sasha's device back over to her.

She grabs it and puts it back into her purse, "we should head out. I have a shit tone of homework to do."

The three of you stand from the booth. Sasha says a quick distant goodbye to Niccolo, who is still in the kitchen. She waves to him and blows him a kiss. He smiles and acts as if he caught it midair and stuffs it into the pocket of his apron. Even from this far, you can see the redness burned on his cheeks. 

This man really does think Sasha walks on water. Like she's his shot of espresso or something cliché like that.

It's a short trip back to the apartment. After you unload all the items you bought from Sasha's car, the three of you get ready for bed, say goodnight to one another, and head into your rooms to start on your schoolwork.

You are sitting on your turned-down bed staring at your open statistics textbook. Surf Curse is playing lowly on your Bluetooth speaker, but you can't seem to focus. Your mind keeps returning back to Jean, his situation, and all that he has gone through. The rumors, the pain, the loss.

Jean's behavior isn't completely excusable, but it is more understandable than before.

You pick up your phone off of your bed. You find Jean's number in your contacts and hit the call button as you twist your pen between your fingers in your free hand.

Calling Jean K. reads on your bright phone screen.

You bring the phone up to your ear. You listen to it ring, one, two, three times. He picks up on the fourth.

"Who's this?" Jean's raspy voice says from the other line. Your stomach twists.

Knowing what you know now, even hearing his voice makes you sad, but Sasha told you not to let it make you change the way you are around him, so you keep that in the forefront of your mind.

"Wow. Not even a hello?" You bite onto the tip of your pen. "It's Y/N."

"Oh, great." You hear him scoff, " Now lose the number."

His harshness towards you is to be expected, "How about instead, you lose the attitude." You respond back.

"What do you want?" You can hear his irritation growing by the second.

You place your pen down on your open textbook, "Little birdie told me you need a tutor."

Jean lets out a laugh of disbelief, "Let me guess... Eren?"

"Okay, mind reader." You push yourself off of your bed and stand, "How'd you know?"

You can hear rustling from him moving around on the other end, "Because Eren is someone who doesn't know how to shut the fuck up."

You roll your eyes as you begin to pace around your room, "Do you need help or not?" 

"No," Jean denies with a sharp tone. "Not from you, at least."

"Suit yourself." You were expecting this reaction. "I just thought I should offer since it seems like it would be a hell of a lot better than flunking out of college. But okay, good luck. Bye, Jean."

You take your phone off of your ear. You are about to end the call, thumb hovering over the bright red button on your phone screen, when you hear his voice, call out to you. "Y/N, Wait."

You bring the phone back up to your ear, "Yes?"

He lets out a sigh as if he is briefly letting go of his arrogance. "I'm so fucked this semester. Will you actually help me?"

"Yeah," you say, pausing your step. "If that's what you want."

Jean goes quiet. You lift the phone away from your ear to make sure he's still on the line. "You there?" You ask.

The silence is broken, "Yeah. Yeah. I'm here."

"So. What's it going to be, Jean?" You ask, "Do you want me to tutor you, or do you want me to lose your number? The balls in your court."

Jean pauses again; seconds pass until he voices again, giving his final answer; he lets out a groan.  "Fuck. Alright. Friday Night. 7:00. My place. I'll pick you. Don't make me wait."

And the line disconnects.

- 9,734 words.

The photo that inspired this book.

art credit - coochannihilator (twitter)

Chapter Text

"Just be yourself," Sasha says to you while laying on her back in the middle of your bed, stuffing her face with freshly popped popcorn. You are standing in front of the mirror of the sliding door of your closet, trying on different outfits attempting to choose the most suitable option for your upcoming interview. You're failing drastically.

She swallows her mouth full of food and continues to ramble on with kind words of encouragement. "They will love you for who you are, and if they don't, then that's their loss. Seriously. Anybody would be lucky to have someone like you work for them." She pops her head and shoulders off the mattress to look at you and holds the big bowl full of popcorn up in the air. "Want some?"

"No thanks," You decline softly, shaking your head. "I'm not hungry. I'm too nervous. I feel like I could throw up."

"More for me, then." Sasha sounds almost happy that you said no to her offer. She drops her head back down onto the mattress and places the bowl on top of her stomach. "But if you want my opinion, I think you're worrying way too much. You're a super likable person, Y/N, and you're easy to get along with. This interview is gonna be a piece of cake for you."

You take a deep breath in and let out a long stressful sigh. The smell of buttered popcorn seeping through the air fills your nose faintly. You've come to get used to how much your apartment always smells like some sort of food since Sasha is eating all the time. It's even worse when Connie drops in to hang around.

When it comes to how they store away all of the food that they eat, you're stumped.

"I just really want this job, Sash." You confide in her as you pull on a cream-colored knit sweater through your arms and over your head. You begin to adjust the seams into a straight line. Hopefully, this outfit works out. It's literally the tenth one you've tried on in the last hour. "I know that technically I have the money my mom left me that I told you about, but you know I don't want to spend it unless I have no other choice. I want to have money of my own that I worked hard to get myself."

Sasha tosses a piece of popcorn into the air. She moves her body around slightly, trying to line her head up with the falling kernel. She catches it. "Bingo," she celebrates to herself for her small achievement. She turns her body on its side and rests her head up on her hand, placing the bowl down in front of her chest. "I get that. You know, if all else fails, there's always Only Fans. People pay good money for that stuff." She says as she chews, a joking tone meeting her voice.

You snap your head towards her, and your hands drop off of the knitted fabric and fall onto your hips, "Sasha!" You exclaim. As shocked as you want to be at her suggestion, you're not ... at all.

The side of her mouth curves up into a mischievous smirk. "What? I'm just saying it would be easy money. Snap a pic, upload it, and boom." She smacks her palm onto the mattress of the bed to ad emphasis to her argument. "Money right in the fucking bank."

"Right." Your eyes roll, "And what makes you think I would ever consider making on Only Fans account?" You pause briefly. "Props to the people that make their check like that, but it's not for me. I hate men way too much, and you know damn well that they're the ones that are spending their last dime on some pictures of feet, for fucks sake."

"After what you told me your douche bag ex did to you? I don't blame you for hating men one bit. They are dogs." Sasha pauses for a brief second and then shakes her head, "actually, no, because then that would be an insult to dogs. Men are just stupid pieces of shit who have no thoughts inside of their pea-sized brains and think with only their gross pea-sized dicks that they can't even use correctly." Her shoulders lift and fall quickly into a shiver of repulsiveness. "They are disgusting. A curse to humanity."

You chuckle breathily. Sasha always knows how to make you laugh with the ridiculous things she says. You turn back towards your closet. "You're lucky, you know, to have found Niccolo. Good guys are just about non-existent. You're probably more likely to find some kind of weird-ass extinct animal or something running around before you find a semi-decent guy." You begin to rummage through the hanging clothes in your closet, looking for a pair of pants that match well with your sweater.

"That's not true. You'll find someone too when you're ready," Sasha says with an assuring smile. "One that will make up for all the shit you've had to go through. You won't have to change anything about yourself. They won't care about where you've been. They'll just take you as you are."

Pulling out a pair of brown pants from your closet, you turn toward her. You force a slight smile on your face, "I hope so." But behind your manipulated smile lies doubt.

Sasha sounds confident in what she's saying; you want to believe her, but after being told you're an unloveable person, more times than you've ever been told you are loved, you have a pretty hard time believing that love is even meant for someone like you.

Would you even want it if it came around?

Maybe your ex broke you apart a little bit more than you would like to admit to yourself. And maybe, your father's constant absentness and bitter resentment towards you and the rest of the world did too.

There are a few beats of silence as you look at her, sprawled out on your bed, eating popcorn as if it's her last meal. Sasha is a gorgeous girl, and you can't help but wish you could carry yourself the way she does. Even in private, amidst a casual conversation, there is this sort of radiance that comes from her.

It's bright, warm, and inviting. She is confident, and she doesn't care what anybody thinks about her, and that is something that you aspire to be. Secure in your body, sure of yourself, proud to be who you are. You're working on it.

"Well, I know so," Sasha says with certainty. "But I hope you know that whoever you choose, I will need to approve of them first and foremost. If I don't, or if he does a single thing to hurt you, I'll make sure he runs away crying and shitting his pants."

"You? Really?" You eye Sasha as you pull the hanger off the waistband of the pants and toss it onto the bed next to her. "How do you plan on doing that?"

She smiles, tilting her chin upward with pride. "Never underestimate the power of a woman."

"Good point." Leaning over, you put on your pair of dark brown corduroy pants, your right leg first, then left. You pull them up. "I guess that I just don't really think of you as the threatening type." You secure your pants in place with the zipper and button and tuck the sweater inside the waistband, pulling it out a little bit.

Sasha makes a pouty face, pushing out her bottom lip. "Hey! I'm scary."

Lowering your upper body down again, you put on a pair of lowcut boots, which match your sweater. "Sasha, you literally have a piece of popcorn stuck on your nose right now, and you're eating out of a bright pink Hello Kitty bowl. Tell me. What's scary about that?"

She rolls her eyes and brushes away any crumbs she might have on her face. "I'm not saying I'm scary now! I'm saying that I can be!"

You stand up straight and throw up your hands in defeat, "Okay. I believe you." You spin toward the mirror and take in the outfit you have thrown together. Finally, one you like.

She smiles, pushing the popcorn bowl off to the side. She lists up her upper body. Scooting herself across your bed, she sits on the edge of it, her feet dangling off. "Wear that." She points at you. "It looks super cute on you. It's totally the vibe of The Garrison, and it makes you look smart and sophisticated."

You mimic the upward curve of her lips with yours and agree by saying, "Since your outfits are always so cute, I'll take your word for it." You pick off a couple of pieces of lint that are stuck on the thigh area of your pants.

"Good. Now that we have that all figured out, how are you feeling?" Sasha asks.

"Nervous." You admit, your expression falling into a frown. "Look, I'm all shaky." You turn to face her again and hold your right hand out toward her, and it begins to tremble.

She sighs sharply, "That's probably from all the fucking caffeine you had today, not from your nerves."

"Come on, Sash. Don't be ridiculous. I didn't even have that much caffeine today." You give her a faulty smile, knowing you are so full of shit.

You run on caffeine, sheer willpower, and not much else.

"No? Then how much did you have?" Her eyes narrow thin. "I always know when you're lying, so don't even attempt to try that either."

Your lips press together. "I had one Red Bull this morning." Partially true.

One quick glance at you, and she knows. "One Red Bull, my ass." Sasha scoffs with an eye roll to match, "Did you or did you not go to Aloha Java earlier?"

You cross your arms as you pace toward your bed. "What am I? Being interrogated now?"

"Yes," she says in a matter-of-fact tone. "Now, answer my question. You're not allowed to plead the fifth."

"Yes, officer. I did go to Aloha Java." You say sarcastically. Plopping down onto your bed next to her. "Is there a warrant out for my arrest?"

"Yes, for the excessive amount of caffeine you've consumed," she says, nudging her shoulder into you. "This morning at 9:30 am after you were reportedly seen at Aloha Java, exactly how many shots of espresso did the barista put in your standard iced americano with oat milk?"

"I would like for you to read my Miranda Rights," You say jokingly.

Sasha crosses her arms, "answer. How many shots of espresso?"

You think about it for a second. Bringing your hand up to your face, you scratch your head. "Umm... four?"

Sasha laughs. "Case and point. And here you are trying telling me that your shaky ass hands are coming from your nerves and not from your ridiculously high caffeine intake."

"It's not my fault." You argue back. Pulling your hand away from your face, you roll your head. "I didn't sleep that much last night."

"Why not?"

"I was up late doing homework. And when I tried to go to sleep, I couldn't get comfortable, so I ended up staying up until like almost 4 am binge-watching Breaking Bad. But it's come back to bite me in the ass because now I'm sleep deprived, overly caffeinated, and nervous I'm going to bomb my fucking interview." Your head falls into the palm of your right hand.

Sasha wraps her arms around your body and pulls you into her chest. "You shouldn't be nervous, Y/N. At all. I know that you are going to do amazing. Plus, Armin is literally everyone's favorite person at The Garrison by both customers and staff. The fact he's recommending you for a position says a lot. And if that's not enough, you've been reading for pretty much your whole life. It's the perfect fit, and they will see that the moment they start asking you questions."

"Thank you, Sash." You relax into her embrace by resting your head on her chest. "I still can't believe Armin went out of his way to do this for me. It was really nice of him."

Sasha's hands fall off you. Bringing them up to your head, she begins to play with your hair, which causes you to relax even more. "Armin is hands down one of the most genuinely kind people that you'll ever meet in your life. I wish there were more people like him because then the world would be a lot less shitty," she says.

"I could see that from the first time I met him at Dok's. That's why I was so surprised when I met Annie because they are..." instead of finishing the sentence you started, you bite the tip of your tongue, not wanting to sound rude.

But Sasha takes over, finishing it for you. "...Polar fucking opposites," she says, still running her fingers gently across your head. "I sometimes wonder how they got together."

"What do you think of Annie?" You ask, lifting yourself away from Sasha's embrace.

Her hands fall into her lap as she turns her head in your direction. "I like her, but I don't know her all that well. She's super standoffish, so I can't even really sit down with her and talk, which says a lot because you know better than anyone that I can have a conversation with a fucking brick wall." Her head tilts, "Why are you asking? Do you know something I don't?"

"No. I was just wondering because I honestly think that she might hate me," you confess, meeting her eyes.

Sasha's forehead creases mapping out her curiosity. "What? Why do you think that?"

You swallow hard. "Don't you remember what she acted like when we were at Pied Piper, especially after Armin said he would help me get this job? I think it has to do with the fact Armin chose to kiss me instead of bitching out."

"I doubt that's it," Sasha says honestly. "But if for some reason it's true, that's a stupid ass thing for her to hold over your head. No one made her play our dumb game, and Armin only played because she wanted to. He's not going to go out of his way and blatantly disrespect Annie like that. He's way too fucking nice and likes her way too much."

"I know." You shake your head, trying to push away your jumbled-up thoughts. "I don't know. I'm probably reading too much into it."

Sasha pats you on your thigh three times."Don't worry about her, Y/N. I highly doubt that she hates you. Annie is just one of those people..." She pauses briefly, adjusting her words. "She's someone who doesn't really fuck with anybody. She isn't the friendliest person, especially around people who she doesn't know."

You nod wordlessly.

Sasha moves her hand from your thigh and brushes a couple of pieces of fallen hair out of her face. "I guess you could say she's an acquired taste. Even with how often she's around us, the only person she wants anything to do with is Armin, Reiner, and Bert. Even Connie and I can't pry jack shit out of her. How you're feeling is how all of us have felt at some point, but after spending so much time around her, we have just learned not to be bothered by it."

You pause for a second. "Do you think that she's good for Armin?" You ask with genuine curiosity.

Sasha thinks about her answer hastily before answering. "If I'm being honest, I think Armin is more so good for her than she is for him. But he sees something in her, so we have all accepted her. But don't think that doesn't mean I won't kill her if she hurts him, though, because I will."

You laugh, "I think every single one of you guys would. The day anyone breaks Armin's heart is the day all hell will break loose."

"What can I say? We're the Armin Arlert defense squad. You mess with him; it's game over." She flashes you a smile. "And you should know we feel the same way about you too," she pokes the tip of your nose with her fingertip. "Now, Come on. Let's go fix your hair and makeup. That way, you can kill this interview and look hot while doing it."

You run your fingernails up your thighs feeling the fabric of your corduroy pants. "Okay. Will you also help me run through the potential interview questions again?"

"Again?" Sasha heaves out a long sigh as she pushes herself off your bed and stands. "We went over them at least twenty times already. You have it down solid, Y/N."

"Please?" You beg with innocence and softened out eyes. "It will help me get out of my head."

She concedes with a defeated smile. "Fine, but only because you asked nicely."

You let your head fall into a slight tilt as your cross your arms in front of your chest. "Not because you love me?" You say, giving her a hard time.

"Eh, maybe that has a little something to do with it. Now let's go." Grabbing your hand, she yanks to your feet and leads you quickly out of your room and down the hall to the big, brightly lit mirror in the bathroom. There, she helps you finish your preparations making sure you are at your finest for your interview, which is now about two hours away.

Sasha may think she's simply fixing you up for your interview, but little does she know that she is also helping fix you as a person a little more
every day.

This is true friendship—something you haven't had in a very long time. Something you hope you can keep forever.

___

You have arrived at The Garrison. Finally, after what felt like it would never come, you are sitting at one of the tables set near the bookstore entrance near a huge crystal clear window, waiting not so patiently for the manager to come out of the backroom so you can get your interview over with.

Jesus Christ. You think to yourself as your right leg begins to bounce up and down quickly underneath the wooden table. Hurry the fuck up.
The wait is making you extremely anxious. Your interview was scheduled from 2:30 p.m., and now it's about fifteen passed then. On top of that, the over-thinker in you decided to show up way earlier than you had to since you were so stressed about running late, so you've been waiting even longer.

Your restlessness aside, The Garrison is a nice hole-in-the-wall bookstore. It rests on a street corner of Rose Road and Marley Boulevard.   There is a big glass window in the very front with books on display and a pair of windows that rest on top since it is two stories. There is a sign the rests above the entrance. In big gold letters, against a black trim, it reads:

THE GARRISON BOOKSTORE

The building itself is made out of dark red brick, the outside of the store is lined in black, the pavement is made of cobblestone. There are two doors painted bright bed, and beneath it, there is a tiny concrete step. The inside of it is far more than what you were expecting it to be. It is filled entirely with never-ending wooden shelves of books, dark navy walls surrounding it, and wooden floors below. On the ceiling, there is a painting along with hanging lamps, which sets at a yellow tone, making it feel warm and inviting.

Various chairs and tables are scattered, creating resting spaces for customers to sit, read, and study if needed. Without a doubt, this is one of the nicest bookstores you have ever been to. If you weren't so on edge about your interview, you would be able to take it in more. But your nerves won't stop eating away at you.

You are about to check the time on your phone again for the millionth time since you got here, when it vibrates, letting you know that you got a text message.

Your eyes widen with surprise when you see who the text is from.

Jean K.

What the hell?

Jean is the last person you were expecting to see a notification from. You're surprised he even saved your number in the first place. Unlocking your screen, you click on the notification and open the message from him.

Jean K. - I heard that you have your interview today. Do yourself a solid and try not to fuck it up.

You chuckle to yourself as your fingers dance across the screen, typing out your response.

Y/N - Aw, is this you wishing me good luck? I didn't think you had it in you

Jean K. - Damn, you really think I'm the devil, don't you?

Y/N - Aren't you?

Jean K. - Nah. That's way too big of a compliment to give to that dude, Satan

Y/N - Yeah? Then what are you?

Jean K. - I'm whatever you want me to be.

Y/N - How about being nice to me? Can you be that?

Jean K. - That's asking a lot...
When I said I would be whatever you wanted me to be, I was expecting it to be something reasonable

Y/N - IDK how but somehow, I knew your answer was going to be some BS like that

Jean K. - Are you in my head or something?

Y/N - I hope not. That's not really a place I'd want to be

Jean K. - Sure.
How long until you sign your life away to minimum wage employment?

Y/N - I'm here now. Just waiting for the manager to come out

Jean K. - Alright, well, put your phone away, and don't bore them too much

"Y/N?" A deep voice catches your ear before you can text back. You close out of your phone and look up to see a tall blonde man with a mustache standing in front of you.

You rise from the wooden chair and brush out your sweater attempting to make it neat, "Yes?"

"Have a seat." He smiles and makes his way to the other side of the table. Pulling out the chair, he sets himself in. "Let's get this interview underway, shall we?"

Finally.

____

"Congratulations. You're hired." Miche says as he stands from the brown wooden chair he was sitting in across from you.

Miche Zacharius. The manager and owner of The Garrison. Longnose. Dirty blond hair. Scruff to match his mustache. A man's man.

You have finished up your interview with him, and it has gone well in your favor. Rehearsing your answers over and over again with Sasha paid off after all.

You rise from your seat. Miche reaches out his hand towards you. Meeting his large calloused hand halfway, you give it a firm shake. "Thank you so much. I'm grateful for this opportunity."

"If you're available, you can start now," Miche suggests, dropping his hand back down to his side. "It's only Armin working the floor today." He throws up a hand, signaling toward Armin, who is standing behind the counter; a beaming smile spread out across his face as he uses the cash register to check out a customer. "He'd probably enjoy the company. It's fairly slow, so it would allow him to show you the ins and outs of this place."

You made sure to get any homework out of the way earlier just as a precaution, making your schedule accessible in case all of this ended up working out the way you had hoped.

You nod. "I can stay, as long as you need."

Miche gives a faint smile before nodding his head in approval. "Great. Welcome to the team, Y/N."
He grabs the ring of keys he has hooked on his belt loop. He shifts through them, looking for a specific one. When he finds it, he pulls it off and hands it to you, "here's a copy of your own key to this place. Don't lose it."

You can feel your face soften, a sense of relief washing over you. "Thank you, Mr. Zacharius." You say, putting them safely in your purse.

He runs his hand down the scruff that outlines his firm jaw. "Drop the formality. There's no need. It makes me feel old as hell. Just call me Miche."

"Okay... Miche." your mouth twitches, trying to adjust to his name. "Thank you again."

You separate from him and quickly travel across the wood floor to Armin. He is still helping out a customer, so you stay back a few feet until he finishes up, not wanting to interrupt the ongoing transaction.

You stand in silence as you observe the small interaction from afar. From what you can overhear, Armin is telling the customer about different British Literature books that he recommends, giving them a short description with every title dropped along with names of various authors.

Damn. You don't even dare to try and enter the world of Brit Lit. It's full of huge words written by white, really old men. Not something you really crave.

No smut? No thanks.

But Armin sure is knowledgeable.

As the words of literature continue to spill with eagerness out of Armin's mouth as the endless rows of books, both hard and soft, surround him, you take notice that there is a light that is coming from him. As if a bookstore is a place where he is meant to be.

During the time you've spent around Armin, you've learned that he is the type of person who always seems to have this aura of goodness that surrounds him everywhere he goes, but it seems to be even more so within the navy blue walls of The Garrison.

The cash register drawer pops open. "And here's your receipt," Armin says politely to the customer, handing them a small piece of paper, "Happy reading." The customer takes it from his hold. They mutter a sweet thank you, letting him know that they will be back to shop here again and head for the exit with a small pile of books in their hand.

Making your way up to the front of the register, you place yourself where the customer had stood and rest your forearms on the wooden surface. "Hey, book expert." You greet Armin with a smile.

The register makes a slight ringing sound as Armin pushes the cash draw shut. He brings his focus from the now stored away money up to you. "Oh, Hey Y/N. How'd the interview go?" He is smiling again from cheek to cheek. Or maybe it's the same smile as before; it just never left. He does smile a lot.

"I got the job. Miche said I can start today." Your smile only continues to grow, causing your cheeks to hurt a little bit. It feels more real now that you've said it out loud. You really got a job and at a bookstore of all places.

Bookstores have always been a precious space of escape for you. When you were a little girl, your mother used to take you once a month to a locally owned bookstore in Mitras, where she would let you pick out one book of your choice. It was your traditional mother-daughter date. Your father and Lucas never came; they were never ones for reading.

But you didn't mind. In fact, you were secretly grateful they despised the thought of wasting their time with words printed on paper. You loved being able to have that time alone with your mom. It made it more special.

You would spend forever browsing, getting lost in diverse book titles and your own indecisiveness. And forever felt like no time at all.

Bookstores seem to have that sort of effect on people. The feeling of getting lost in a sea of tall brim-filled shelves, spines of books grasping onto you like the tide of a current pulling you into a different world. The smell of paper and ink— a sweet musky scent filling your lungs as you breathed it in, making you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

One thing you loved about your mother is how she never rushed you in deciding on your selection of books. She would allow you to take your time, following behind your curious traveling feet in sweet silence, only inserting her two cents in if you asked for it.

God, she was a good person. Never overbearing, but always there.

You miss many things about your mother, like how she always smelled cherries and how she would make you freshly squeezed lemonade whenever she could find the time away from her clients. But her selflessness and caring heart are both something that you miss the most about having her around.

Since your mother was so successful in the world of law, her everyday life was frequently chaotic. But, despite her obvious tiredness and ridiculous stacks of paperwork she always had lying on the desk in her office at home, she always made time to make sure her family was still a family and that they always felt loved, cared for, seen, heard, valued, and never alone.

It's sad how she sacrificed so much of herself and her time to make sure her family never experienced the feeling of loneliness. Yet, somehow along the way, your life ended up becoming everything she was fighting for it not to be. Ironic.

But now, you get to work at a place that you love so much. Somewhere where some of your fondest memories lay, and you're grateful.

Armin's eyes glisten in the lowlight of the hanging light fixtures overhead. The bright blue shade of his eyes reveals his excitement. "See? I knew you would. I told Miche a little bit about you, and he was instantly sold on making you a new hire."

You bring your hand up to your face and rest your chin into the palm of it. "What did you say?"

"I was only honest." Turning his back for a second, Armin grabs a stack of books resting on the store away counter behind him. "That you're kind, funny, easy to talk to." He spins back around to face you again.

It's always a weird feeling when you come to realize that there are people who see you entirely differently than how you see yourself.

Your face must have spoken for you because before you can cook up a response, Armin says, "Why do you look so shocked, Y/N? Connie did tell me to talk you up, remember? An idea of his that was actually a good one for once."

Straightening up your back, your hand falls back down onto the cool hardwood. "Well thank you, for listening to Connie."

Armin comes out from behind the counter, holding the stack of books up against his chest. "That was the first and only time," he says, now standing next to you. "Also, you should know that Bertholdt got a job here too, so you will be seeing him around a lot more."

"He did?" You smile as you push off the wood and stand straight and turn towards Armin. You've only talked to Bertholdt a handful of times since Eren's party, but even with the small interactions you have shared, you think he's cool. Rather soft-spoken. "That should be fun. It will be so much easier starting at a new job where I actually know the people that I'm working with."

"That's true, and you're right. Bert is a really good guy." Armin beings to walk away from the checkout counter. "I need to reshelve these books. Follow me, and I'll show you around the place while I'm at it."

"Sounds good,"' you say as you step behind him.

"Miche. I'm going to give Y/N a tour. Can you watch the front for me until we get back?" Armin calls out to your new manager.

You spin yourself around to see Miche, who sits at the same table you did your interview. He holds a book up to his face, his nose buried deep into the ink-filled pages. He looks as if he's inhaling it. Is that right, or are you seeing shit?

When he hears Armin's request, he drops the book instantly onto the table and clears his throat. "Already on it." Miche returns with a gruff voice in response, acting like he wasn't doing any of what you just saw.

You snap yourself back around towards Armin, "was he just... smelling the book?" You ask with an arched brow of uncertainty.

"Jeez." The tip of Armin's nose turns salmon pink in slight embarrassment. "I was hoping you wouldn't have to see that this early into your new job." He lets out a sigh and continues, "Miche does that a lot. I don't know what it is, but he has this weird obsession with smelling pages of books. It's weird but if and when you see it, just ignore it as best you can."

Your forehead is creased with so many questions you don't know how to ask. Instead, you simply say, "I'll try."

Armin chuckles. "That's all I ask." He begins to guide you around The Garrison as he describes to you the genre in which the books are divided; fiction, true crime, horror, romance, manga, classics.

Taking you through the maze of tall shelves, he puts the books he is holding back into their right place and tells you that to make it easier for the customers, the filing system is in alphabetical order by author's last name.

You take mental notes of all the information that Armin is telling you. You don't find yourself feeling confused or overwhelmed. He describes these things in great detail, making them easy for you to understand.

As he continues to express to you how the bookstore runs, you pass by various customers. Some are sitting on the floor silently reading with a stack of books resting next to them. Others are browsing with friends sharing small talk, and some are pulling books out of their secure place on the shelf and reading the different synopsis on the back, seeing which ones sound the most interesting to them.

You can tell which ones are frequent customers because as you walk by, they greet Armin as if he's some big celebrity. They tell him about their current reads, and you can tell that he is genuinely listening to all the words they are saying. Even if they talk to him about a book that he's read a million times, he listens to their descriptions with interest as if it's the first time he has ever heard of that specific book.

Armin introduces you to a few of the regulars, and they all greet you kindly and tell you that they look forward to seeing you around. It's your first day, and you already feel like you are welcomed here. That's rare these days.

Sasha was right when she said that Armin was everyone's favorite.

Armin brings you to a staircase of 12 steps that leads to the second story. It's tucked away behind the rows of bookshelves that seem like they could go on forever. "I saved my favorite place for last," he says with a smile.

There is writing on the front of each step; piecing all of it together makes a quote. In white bold cursive writing, it reads:

When
loneliness
meets you
and
darkness
seems
all-consuming
push onward,
for
there will be
light and love
once again.

Taking each step slowly, you and Armin make your way to the small second story of the Garrison. It's private and secluded, less active than the first story of the place. It's smaller, and the shelves are in closer quarters, making for a little less room to roam around.

Armin continues to lead the way, hands tucked into the back pockets of his black pants. Looking around as you move through the area, you ask, "Why is this your favorite place?"

He turns his head and glances behind at you, "Once you see it, you'll know exactly why."

Trusting his words, you continue to follow him through the History and Current Affairs section. You turn at the nonfiction, passing by an excessive amount of autobiographies.

You turn once more to the left, out of the small aisle. Armin stops walking, which causes you to halt your step. He steps out of the way for you to see. You take one quick look, and you instantly understand why Armin said this is his favorite place in the entire bookstore.

In front of you is a long window, and below it rests a small reading nook set up with pillows and cushions, calling for a comfortable private place for reading.

| ♬ currently playing ... mrs magic ; strawberry guy ♬ |

"Woah," you whisper. Eyes unable to move from what's in front of you, your jaw has fallen.

A soft chuckle falls from Armin's lips, "Told you."

You step past him and move over towards the window. You look outside to see the busy street in front of the Garrison. Hands resting against the glass window, you watch as people go in and out of the bookstore. Cars pass by, some fast, some slow, and you can see the slight gusts of wind as it blows through the different trees that surround this town. "This is amazing," you say as you push yourself away from the window and bring your focus back towards Armin.

He lets out a sigh, "Isn't it? I call it the Midnight Library."

You slowly lower yourself down onto the navy blue plaid cushions of the nook. "Why aren't there more people in this area?"

Taking a few steps, Armin sits down next to you, "We keep the genres of books people are less interested in up here, so it's not often that people even bother with the second level. I like it better that way, though. It makes it more isolated."

"Do you come here even when you're not on the schedule?" you ask curiously.

Armin's shoulders soften out, and he sinks into the cushions, "I used to. A lot. It was sort of part of my routine. Sometimes, I would use my key and come in the middle of the night and just read for hours. But not so much."

You turn towards him, "Why not?" 

He returns his gaze and says, "Life became messy."

You nod, not wanting to pry. "I get that."

He runs his clammy palms up against the fabric of his pants. "I actually used to come here a lot with Jean. But, he stopped showing up after..." he trails off.

You bite a piece of skin off of your lip. "Sasha and Mikasa told me a little about what happened." The corners of your mouth fall down drastically. "I'm really sorry, Armin."

"I was wondering when you were going to find out about that." Armin's head falls, and he shakes it slowly, "it's okay, Y/N. There's no need for you to apologize."

"I wish there was something more I could say." Your voice comes out soft as sympathy pulses within your blood. "I feel like I'm sorry always sounds so pathetic. A useless pair of words."

Armin goes tight-lipped. His eyes shift back and forth quickly with empathy. "It's not pathetic at all. I just feel bad for Jean. It's been almost a year now since the last time he came here."

You pull your eyes from him and bring your focus to a random bookshelf in the distance. You stare, but your eyes aren't really fixing on anything. "On the day he was helping me pack, he told me he doesn't read anymore. Does that have something to do with it?"

"Yeah, the accident really fucked him up," Armin admits to you. "I've tried my best to encourage him to do things that he used to like, but he just doesn't care. He hates everything now. Nothing makes him happy. I honestly think he's experienced so much loss that he either can't feel happiness or love anymore, or he simply doesn't want to."

Your stomach drops, there is a tightness that makes its way to the back of your throat.

Armin continues, and you listen intently. "But I can't say that I blame him for how he is." He sighs softly. "He grew up with Marco, the same way that I grew up with Mikasa and Eren. They're my family. If I lost either one of them, I don't know what I would do. I'd honestly probably want to die from that sort of heartbreak. I never want to see my life without them. And if I ever had to, I'd probably want to go numb too."

"Yeah." You breathe. "I'm sure it's hard, but at least he has a good support system to help him."

To know that Jean has people who are there for him fills you with a small level of contentment. That's something you wish you could have had for yourself.

You bring turn your head back towards Armin, but his focus is down at his feet. "Do you think he'll ever come back here?" You ask.

"I don't know. I hope so." He chews harshly at the inside of his cheek. "When he's ready."

"You're a good guy, Armin." You tell him. "I mean that."

"Thank you." Armin's head lifts up, and his blue eyes dive into your line of sight. "I wish we could sit here and talk more, but if I don't take you back downstairs and show you the rest of the ropes of this place, Miche will for sure kill me."

You both stand on your feet and head back downstairs to finish the rest of your training. "Hopefully, Miche isn't smelling a book this time." You joke. 

Armin glances over at you and begins to laugh, "Sadly, I wouldn't count on it. He's always sticking his nose in places it doesn't belong."

___

Several hours have passed, Miche has left, customers have gone home, and The Garrison is ready to close up for the rest of the night.

You are finishing wiping the check-out counter down with a cleaning solution and a paper towel when your phone vibrates. You pull it from your back pocket and see that it's a text message from Sasha.

Sash <3 - Soooo, how'd it go?!?

Y/N - I got the job!!! I'm with Armin right now! :)

Sash <3 - Ahhh!! Bestie, I'm soooo happy for you!! I told you they were gonna love you!!! I'm so proud of you 💛

Y/N - You're the best ever! Thank you for being there for me <3

Sash <3 - Always!! Also, just a heads up, Eren, Connie, Niccolo, and Jean will be here when you get off. Last-minute plans, hope you don't mind.
P.S. Ask Armin if he wants to come, I tried texting him, but he hasn't answered me yet. K. Bye. Love you.

Usually, you would be excited about a text like this, but tonight, you were really looking forward to going home and distressing from the long day you've had. You let out a small sigh and type out your response.

Y/N - I'll let him know. I'm pretty tired, though, so I think I might call it a night when I get home. See you soon. Love you.

Not waiting for a response, you lock your phone and put it away. You turn to Armin, "Did you get a text from Sasha?"

Grabbing the keys from his pocket, Armin shakes his head, "No, I haven't been on my phone. Why what's up?"

You wipe down one more spot on the counter and then throw away the paper towel. "She said that texted you. The boys are at our place. She said they planned something last minute. Do you want to come?" Armin makes his way toward the entrance of The Garrison, and you follow behind his step.

"I'd love to, but I can't. I already made plans to take Annie out for dinner." He spins around to double-check the store making sure everything is in its place, and all the closing tasks have been done correctly. "Thanks for the invite, though. I can drop you at home if you want?"

You smile, "That would be great." You say as you shoot Sasha a quick text letting her know that Armin won't be tagging along.

You and Armin head out of the Garrison and lock up. He drives you home, and the two of you share small talk; it's a short ride since the bookstore is only about a fifteen-minute walk from your place. Armin drops you at your apartment, and you make your way into the complex to your front door. Rummaging through your purse, you grab your flower-printed key, unlock the door and push it open.

The moment you step inside, you are greeted with the smell of potent weed and loud voices.

The group is gathered up in the living room. When Sasha hears you come in, her head snaps toward the door, and there is a bright smile on her face. "Hi, my little employed best friend!" She says sweetly.

"Hey, Sash," you say, closing the door shut behind you. You lock it.

Niccolo and Mikasa both greet you with a hello, and Eren waves. They all tell you congratulations.

Your eyes meet Jean, who is looking at you from the couch. Jean nods his head, slightly in greeting. "Guess you didn't fuck it up after all, huh?"

You smile softly and shrug, "Yeah. I made sure not to bore them."

Connie's head pops up from the couch, and he peers out from Jean's large body "Y/N! Where the hell have you been, loca?!"

"Immediately, no," Sasha says, shaking her head.

"Bro." At once, Jean tears his focus from you,  bringing it to Connie, and he punches him in the shoulder, "I don't ever want to hear you say that shit again, or I'll go home right now and pack my shit, and you can live without a roommate."

You laugh at Connie's ridiculousness, "Hey, Connie."

"Whatever, man. Maybe Y/N will come to live with me." Connie raises an eyebrow, his eyes scanning your face, "what do you say, Y/N? Wanna come to take Jean's place? Keep me company?"

"I'm so sorry, Con Man, but I think I'll have to pass on that one. I like where I'm living." You turn down and begin to make your way to your room. "Anyways, I'm exhausted. I'm going to head to bed. Goodnight, guys. Have fun."

"Excuse me! Where the hell do you think you're going?" Sasha asks loudly, lifting her head off of Niccolo's shoulder.

You point down the hall towards your room, "To bed."

"Oh my god, I thought you were kidding!" Sasha exclaims, "Your bed will be there waiting for you later. You're watching Demon Slayer with us." You stare at her, "but.."

"Come on," Eren says. "It's still early."

"It will be fun," Mikasa says, trying to enhance encouragement.

"Pleaseeeee," Sasha pleads, her eyes are as big and soft as a puppy dog. You couldn't say no to her even if you tried.

Niccolo leans forward to the coffee table and picks up a big platter full of food. He holds it out towards you. "I made jalapeno poppers and mac and cheese balls." His smile is so big that he looks like a proud dad holding up a trophy of some kind. "Come get them while they're still hot." Sasha claps profusely in encouragement, "they are sooooo good. If you don't hurry up, I'm literally going to eat them all." She's not over exaggerating either.

You eye the platter of finger food, and your stomach begins to rumble so loudly you can feel it travel throughout your entire body. You're fucking starving.

"Mac and cheese balls?" You sigh in defeat, "Alright, you win. I'll watch one episode with you guys. Then, I'm off to bed. Let me change first." Sasha and Connie begin to cheer loudly with enthusiasm.

You quickly make your way to your room and change into an oversized black shirt with a monarch butterfly in the middle of it and a pair of black sweatpants. Comfortable and decent.

Once situated, you make your way back into the living room. Mikasa turns to look at you, "cute shirt." You smile, "thank you."

You begin to scan around the room, looking for a space to sit. Sasha and Niccolo are sharing the love seat. Mikasa, Eren, Connie, and Jean are all sitting on the couch, leaving no room for you. So, you decide to take a seat on the ground, but before you can, Jean's voice slides into your ear, "Sit here." He stands up from the couch.

"You sure?" You ask. "I don't mind the floor."

Jean steps away from the couch, freeing the space completely, "Just sit down, Y/N." He demands, "Alright?"

"Alright." You oblige. Muttering a quick thank you, you take a seat. The cushions are still warm from the heat from his broad body. Jean takes a seat on the floor, right near your feet. He presses his back up against the front of the armrest of the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

"Hell yeah!" Connie chants, pumping a fist into the air. He brings it back down and puts his arm around you, pulling you in closer to him, "I get to sit next to my favorite fucking person."

"Hey!' Sasha calls out with a defensive look on her face. "What the hell does that make me?"

Connie smirks, "Runner up." Sasha sticks her tongue out at him, and he flips her off.

"I'm honored, Connie." You laugh as you lightly tap his arm that is wrapped around your shoulder. "Can you hand me a couple of mac and cheese balls, please?"

Connie moves his arm off you and leans forward toward the platter of food. "Of course, anything for malady."

Jean dry laughs, "She's not your lady, dude."

Connie puts a few mac and cheese balls onto a napkin for you. "What's that, Jean-Boy? Is someone jealous?" He leans back onto the couch and hands you the hot food. You smile and take a bite of the food; the flavors dance across your tongue. Niccolo is a fucking mastermind.

"Jealous? What are you, a fucking idiot?" Jean's jaw sets, "Fuck off, Connie."

Connie takes a bite out of a jalapeno popper, steam coming from the inside of it, "You first."

"Can we start the damn show?" Eren interjects. "If we don't, they will just keep fucking going."

"Good idea, Eren," Mikasa says, her eyes traveling across the room. "Who has the remote?"

"Me!" Sasha singsongs. She turns on the TV and pulls up Crunchyroll on the firestick. She begins to type in the word Demon, but miss spells it as Deemon. She lets out a defeated sigh, "damn it! why isn't it coming up?"

"Sasha!" Connie raises his voice, "You're so dumb! That's not how you spell Demon! It's spelled like D-E-A-M-O-N!"

"Jesus fuuucking Christ. Both of you guys are stupid as hell," Jean says gruffly. "Give me the damn remote."

Sasha throws Jean the remote; he catches it in a swift movement. He types in Demon Slayer the correct way and selects it, "And to think I'm the one who needs fucking tutoring." The group laughs. "Sub or Dub?" Jean asks. Everyone says sub at the same time. He selects it and slides the remote onto the coffee table. He stands up and turns down the lights in both the kitchen and the living room, the only light coming from the images of the television.

As you adjust yourself on the couch to get more comfortable, Jean makes his way back into the living room and takes a seat on the ground next to you again. This time, though, he's a lot closer. His shoulder is resting against that outside of your left leg.

Neither of you says anything about it; you both just sort of let it happen all while acting like it hasn't.

Demon slayer starts and the room goes quiet.

After about twenty minutes, the first episode ends, and you wipe the tears falling from your cheeks. Oh, so this is one of those anime's where they don't ease you into jack shit. Perfect.

You sniffle a couple of times, but the sound of it causes Jean to turn his head from the TV over to you, "don't tell me you're crying." He says irritably.

You look down at him and run your hand over your cheek with the back of your hand, "that was sad okay?"

Sounds of blubber sobs come into play next to you. Both you and Jean turn to see Connie next to you, crying like a baby. "Poor Tanjiro, man. Who the fuck made this shit." His cheeks are drenched from his tears, and his chest is heaving in and out, trying to catch his breath. You look back toward Jean, "see? I'm not the only one." His mouth twitches like he is fighting off a smile.

"Damn, bro, you good?" Eren lets out an exaggerated laugh, looking at Connie. Mikasa is nosily peaking out from around Eren's shoulder. "Can he even breathe ?" She asks Eren. He gives a shrug with a ‘I have no fucking clue’ look on his face. 

Connie runs both of his palms down the front of his face and sinks deep into the couch. "Let a man cry in fucking peace, alright? Can we just play the next episode? You fuckers are acting like me crying is the new source of your guys' entertainment." You pat Connie on the top of his head, "it's okay, I'll be your crying buddy." Connie's watery green eyes flicker over to you, "This is why I like you. You're a real one, Y/N." He says to you while Jean uses the remote and clicks on the next episode. It begins to play.

You promised yourself one episode, but you really want to know how Tanjiro is going to get his vengeance and what he is going to do about the unfortunate effects that have drastically affected his sister.

Soon, before you know it, you are 13 episodes deep and fully invested. Not once has Jean's shoulder parted from contact with you, and on top of that, at some point in time, he began to rest his head against your knee, which only made your body tense even more than before. Pieces of his brown mullet resting on the fabric of your black sweats.

Another episode flies by, and the outro begins to run on the screen. You yawn and stretch out your upper body, careful not to move the lower half. Turning your head, you begin to look around.

Connie is asleep with his mouth wide open, snoring so painfully loud like he has fucking sleep apnea. Sasha and Niccolo are in their own little world, kissing and whispering things to each other on the love seat. They are so cute it's almost sick. Mikasa is asleep on Eren's shoulder as he quietly watches Demon Slayer; you can tell by how Eren controls his breaths that he is scared to move even slightly. You, Jean, and Eren are the only ones who are actually invested in the show.

Jean places his hand on your thigh and shakes in gently, trying to get your attention. You pull your eyes from the television and bring them down to him, trying not to focus on the way it feels when he touches you. You're grateful that you're wearing a pair of sweats right now to hide the fact that you have chills covering every inch of your body. You lean down towards him.

He brings himself closer to you, lining his mouth up with to your ear, "I can't focus with Connie's loud ass snoring. Wanna go smoke?" His low voice causes the chills on your body to accumulate in rapid numbers.

You turn your head towards him. Nearing yourself to his ear, you whisper in return, "Where?"

He shrugs and mutters. "Outside. I have some in my car."

You pause for a second to gather your thoughts. Getting high sounds like a good way to finish off your long day. "Okay. Yeah. Sure."

"Hey, bro," Jean calls out quietly to Eren to get his attention. Eren looks at Jean and gives him a slight head nod, "What's up?" He whispers.

"Y/N and I are going to go smoke. You wanna come?" Jean asks, keeping his voice at the same level of quietness, not wanting to disturb anyone.

"Can't." Eren carefully throws up a hand, signaling toward Mikasa, who is still sleeping on his shoulder. "I'm fucking trapped. Take a hit for me."

Jean nods. He nudges you in your leg with his shoulder, "Let's go." He pushes himself to his feet, and you stand on yours.

Sasha's head pulls away from the crook of Niccolo's neck, and you fall into her line of sight, "where are you going?" She whispers, her hands playing with Niccolo's hair. With your right hand, you act like you are holding a blunt between your fingers and bring it up to your mouth.

Sasha nods, "Be careful," she whispers, and her eyes move over to the right, "Jean.." she looks are him. He rolls his eyes, already knowing where this is headed, "yeah, yeah, know. I'll keep an eye on her." She throws your thumbs but before her attention falls completely back on Niccolo.

The two of you quietly walk across the apartment. Not wanting to wake anyone up, you sneak out of the front door and close it without almost any noise.

You match Jean's step as he leads you to the outskirts of the apartment complex, over where a bunch of cars is street parked. He stops in front of a blacked-out Mercedes.

Oh. Okay. So he's rich.

"This is your car?" You ask, studying it, trying to hide the fact that you're super fucking impressed

"Yeah," Jean tells you. "Graduation gift from my mom."

Okay, then. Scratch that. Spoiled and rich.

You chuckle softly as you try to process that there are actually parents out there that go above and beyond for their kids. "That's a really nice graduation gift."

"Yeah." He pulls out his keys. "My mom's pretty alright." He keeps his tone cool, but when you look at him, there's a slight softness in his face and eyes. You can tell that to him; his mom is far more than pretty alright. "What kind of car do you have?" He asks casually.

"I don't." You stammer, "well, I did, but I had to sell it not too long ago. So, I had to take the train when I moved here."

"Why did you have to sell it?" He asks.

Lucas crosses your mind. You blink a few times quickly, trying to clear the image of him painting in your head. "Personal reasons," your words come out quickly. Feeling like you are about to fold in on yourself, your shoulders rise into a shiver because of both the nippy night air and the pinch you feel inside your chest.

Jean pauses and blinks, "you cold?"

You take the exit he's given you. "Yeah. I'm not used to how cold it gets here at night yet."

"Should have thought of that before you came out here, huh?" You tilt your head, studying for a second. His mouth moves slightly, but you still can't tell if he's kidding or not. You give up on your sorry attempt of reading him and shake your head, "I uh, I think I'm gonna go back and grab a sweatshirt."

"Don't. I'm just giving you a hard time. Take mine," Jean says. He lifts his arms to pull off his black Nike sweatshirt over his head, but when he does, the dark grey shirt he is wearing underneath lifts up with it, and your wandering eyes can't help but fall onto the lower half of his stomach. It's so fucking defined. You knew he was muscular when your hands grazed over his stomach when the two of you shared those moments in the closet, but to see it with your own two eyes? Even just briefly? Holy fucking shit.

Is it bad you want to touch it again?

Once his sweatshirt is removed, he lowers his arms, causing his shirt to fall back down, covering the things you had no business staring at in the first place. He holds his hand out to you, handing you the sweatshirt. The scars on his arm make your back tense, even more so now that you know where they came from, but you don't allow yourself to look any longer than a split second.

Trying to play it as cool as possible, you straighten out your back and grab it from him; you clear out your throat. "Thanks."

You start to put his sweatshirt on when your nose brushes over the fabric of it, and the familiar scent of vanilla and expensive cologne fills you up. You can't help but breathe in. You pull it over your head, and the material falls in place.

As you pull the hood onto your head, Jean unlocks his car and makes his way over to the driver's side. You sit down on the edge of the sidewalk and watch him as he opens the door and turns on the vehicle to access the stereo inside. He rolls down the windows on both the passenger of divers sides. He pushes himself back out of the car.

Shutting the door, he makes his way over to you. He now has his phone in his hand, along with his blue lights and a fresh blunt. He looks down at you in your lowered position. "Why are you sitting on the sidewalk? Just sit on top of my trunk. It's fine. I'm not one of those guys who's going throw a bitch fit over my car." He sets the blunt fingers and places it between his lips. Taking the lighter to it, he lights it and takes in one big inhale. "This shits strong. It's wrapped in some wax. You okay with that?"

You don't object. Once on your feet, you step past him and say, "Yeah. I can hang." Hopefully, because greening out would be really fucking embarrassing.

You push yourself up onto the trunk of his car, carefully, your feet hanging down in front of you. Jean stands next to you, back lined up with the trunk; he sinks into the car a little bit. "Any music requests?" He asks, handing you the now burning joint.

You shake your head; you pull his offer from his grasp. You can barely feel your hands. You take three hits; it tastes good, like mango. That's dangerous. "You gave me your sweatshirt, and you're letting me smoke your weed. I'll force myself to live with whatever music you play." You hand him back the blunt. “Plus I have a feeling whatever I would have requested you wouldn't have played anyway.” 

He huff's air out of his nose. “Yeah. You’re right.” You roll your eyes.  

He scrolls through his phone a little bit as he takes a few long hits. Finally, he selects a song; it begins to play from his car's speakers, traveling to the outside from his rolled-down windows. Only a couple of notes are played, and you can already recognize the song because of how many damn times you've listened to it.

| ♬ currently playing ... apocalypse ; cigarettes after sex ♬ |

Your eyes quickly flicker over to him, "Cigarettes After Sex? Damn. Are you okay?" You tease.

He looks at you; eyes widened like he's shocked you could identify the song playing. "You listen to them?" He takes a long hit before handing you the blunt.

"Of course, I do." You grab it from him slowly. You can barely feel your fingers. You take a few drags. The coldness of the night is making it a little hard to feel them.

"Then shouldn't you already know the answer to your own question?" Comes Jean's muffled reply.

"Alright. Touche. I'll give you that one." You blow out the smoke building in your mouth as you hand him the blunt once again.

You and Jean continue the traditional puff puff pass rotation, and silence builds upon itself drowned out by the music. The good silence that only comes when it's from him.

With each blunt exchange, your hands continue to grow colder and colder to the point where you can't even feel your fingers anymore. You tuck your hands away into the front pocket of his sweatshirt, trying to warm them up. Jean tries to pass to you again, but you keep your hands' tucked away. When you don't take it from him, he looks at you and says, "it's your turn to hit."

You shake your head, declining. "It's okay. I don't want to move my hands right now. They're literally as cold as ice."

Jean repositions himself, turning his entire body around towards you. He adjusts his hand, lifting it towards your face. With the blunt between his two fingers, he slowly lifts it up to your mouth. "Here. Open." He coaxes.

Your eyes widen, shocked at his request, "what?"

His jaw tightens up. "Open your mouth, Y/N."

Your stomach knots around itself, but you do as you are told. Your lips slowly part, and he sets the blunt between them. You close up and breathe in deeply, taking a long hit as he holds his hand still, allowing you to take all that you can. After a few seconds, you pull away from the blunt and blow the smoke out.

He brings the blunt back over to his own lips and hits it again while studying your face; the more he looks, the more his eyebrows knit closer together, causing his forehead to crease. After a few passing beats of quietness, his face relaxes, and he shakes his head. "You're a hard person to read. You know that?"

Your shoulders raise slightly before you relax them out. "That's a bit ironic coming from you, don't you think?"

He tilts his head up toward the cloudy night sky. "You think I'm hard to read?"

"You think you're not?"

"I don't know." He brings his head back level and lifts his right shoulder up into a shrug. "I don't really think that much about it." He brings the blunt over to your lips again to feed it to you. You lean forward slightly, taking two more hits.

You blow the smoke out. "There's not much for me to go off of when it comes to you."

All of what you know about Jean is what your friends have told you. You have learned nothing about him from his own mouth, and he makes sure to try and keep it that way.

Jean blinks. "It's not like you're giving me anything in return." He brings the blunt away from your face and moves it back over to his mouth.

You think for a second, then briefly sigh. "How about this. You tell me one random fact about you, and I'll tell you one random fact about me." You eye him in challenge.

"Fine. But nothing too personal." He says pointedly, tapping the forming ash off of the burning tip.

Jean is layered up so tightly you don't even know where you begin to attempt to try and peel him back.

You deflate, "I wasn't planning on it."

"Good." He says, running his free hand over the top of his mullet. "I hate that deep shit."

You huff out a laugh. "Yeah. I figured."

He drops his hand from his hair and signals toward you, with blunt in hand. "This was your idea, so you first."

You clench your jaw in thought. Many things cross your mind, but finally, you decide on a piece of you that won't reveal too much of yourself. "I've never seen the ocean."

Jean's jaw drops, and his head falls into a tilt. "You're serious?" His eyes pulsate back and forth.

"Yep," you nod, running your tongue across your teeth. "Never."

"Don't you know that there's one in Paradis? It's only about a thirty-minute drive from here." Jean informs you.

"I know. I just haven't been yet. It's not like I've been here for that long... I'll go at some point." Your eyes shut briefly as excessive thoughts begin to form in your foggy brain; you feel a little lightheaded.

You and Lucas always talked about seeing the ocean together. When you were younger, your family had planned a big summer vacation trip to spend two weeks in a rented-out beach house. It was always your mother's dream to see the vast blue never-ending waters. She died two months short of the trip. Her one true dream died along with her.

When you and Lucas found out that Paradis held an Ocean called Shiganshia, the two of you were excited to be able to live your mother's dream out for her. But after Lucas passed, the dream became null. It's not that you don't want to go, because you do. All you know about the ocean is from the pictures you've seen on the internet or from the things you've watched on a pixilated screen. You want nothing more than to be able to see it in person. But thinking about going without your brother makes you feel almost guilty.

Jean opens his mouth to say something else, but not wanting to be pressed for questions you're not ready to answer, you veer the conversation over to him, taking any tension you feel off of yourself. "I said my random fact. Now it's your turn."

"Alright, um," He looks around briefly, taking in his surrounding until his eyes find yours with a slight turn of the head. "You know the wall art all over the living room in your apartment?" He offers you the blunt again, but you shake your head declining, already feeling it working. Jean was right; this shit is strong.

"Yeah, what about them?" You ask with the interest of where he's going to go with this.

"Those are all my own works." He tells you, but his voice has turned quieter than before. Almost like he's embarrassed or maybe self-conscious.

Your eyes widen, and your lips slightly part, "You're serious? Every single one?"

He nods, taking a slow drag from the small piece that's left of the blunt. "They were pieces that I've collected over the past few semesters. Different final projects, midterms. I was going to throw them out, but Sasha made me give them to her instead."

You run your fingers against the soft cotton of the inside of the sweatshirt, "Why would you throw those away?" Your fingers are starting to gain feeling again.

| ♬ currently playing ... bitter fuck ; joji ♬ |

Another song begins to play through his car speakers as Jean takes one last hit. "I was moving in with Connie, and I didn't think that there was a point in keeping shit like that," he says, voice monotone, as he throws the last of the blunt on the ground, and steps on it, making sure it's out.

"You know," you start, "The first time I ever went over to the apartment, I dead ass thought that all of it was done by a professional artist or something." Alright. The weed is talking now.

"Complimenting me?" Jean's signature cocky smirk crosses his lips, "I never thought I would see the day, especially considering the fact you hate me."

"Well, would you rather me say it was the ugliest shit I'd ever seen in my entire life? Because then that would make me a liar, and I hate liars." You pause and look at him, "Also, I don't hate you."

"But you don't like me." He states what he believes to be the truth.

"I don't know you that well." You shrug, "As I said, you're hard to read. I mean, I honestly know more about how you kiss than I know about you as a person, and I think that's a little backward compared to the way those things are usually supposed to work, don't you think?"

Jean locks eyes with you. "Who gives a fuck if it's backward? Don't tell me you have an uptight playbook when it comes to this." He sounds annoyed.

You blink a few times. "I'm just saying. Usually, I know more than just someone's name before deciding if I want their tongue down my throat or not."

"It's just making out, Y/N," Jean says, leaning back into his car a bit more. "It's not that big of a fucking deal. You don't gotta give a shit about a person to do that. Making out is just making out the same way fucking is just that... fucking. There doesn't need to be meaning behind it for someone to get off. When people bring their feelings into it, that's when shit gets annoying."

You let out a disbelieving laugh as you fix your posture, forcing yourself to sit up taller. "You're telling me that you've never fucked someone to love?"

He scratches his chin casually with his fingertips. "I make sure that I don't love the girls that I fuck." He doesn't even blink, nor does his face faulted in any sort of way. Damn. He really means this shit.

Usually, you would feel nervous sharing this sort of conversation with him, but the weed is kicking in, making your body feel lighter, time feel slower, and your curious thought feels somewhat less threatening, "So you just fuck them and then blow them off?"

His right shoulder lifts in a slight shrug, "They know going into it that it's a quick fuck. A no-strings-attached deal. If they end up catching feelings, then that's on them. Not really my problem."

You feel your inner self cringe at his dead chivalry, "How many girls have you done this to? Just fucked and blown off?" The question slips out from your mind.

"This week or in general?" Jean answers bluntly.

Ugh. Gross.

"Jesus Christ." You roll your eyes.

"You asked," he says casually.

"You didn't have to be that honest." You say, "You could have lied."

He takes a deep breath and lets it out. "Why would I?" He asks. "Didn't you just say you hate liars?"

You blatantly ignore his question. "I just don't think that's the way to live," you say, voicing your opinion you already know he could give less than two shits about.

Jean lets out a sharp second-long laugh. "Oh yeah?" He takes a step directly in front of you, his body now standing between your slightly spread legs. He sets both of his hands down onto the hard surface of his black trunk; his broad arms are locking you in, not giving you any room to move. He peers down at you with a sultry gaze and set jaw. Slowly, he lowers his head down toward your face, "And you know what I think?" He breathes, inches away.

He's really fucking close, but this time, he is careful not to touch.

It's making the air that surrounds you feel unbreathable, which makes your lungs ache needily beneath your ribcage. What is it that you're aching for exactly? Air? Personal space? Him? You have no fucking clue.

But the one thing you are sure of is that your body and mind are both stuck in the same sorry-ass way that they were back in that closet. The building question is: Is it because you're unable to move, or is it because you're unwilling to?

Shit. You are way too high for this bullshit right now. You should have just stayed back inside your apartment and sat and watched Zinetsu cry while fighting Demons for another fucking hour.

Your eyes drop down to his right-hand set next to you, and you saunter up to his arm slowly until your gaze meets his face. You swallow hard so your voice won't catch the way that you feel like it's going to, "No." Your tone has fallen back into a whisper. "What do you think, Jean?"

He opens his mouth to speak, but before any words spill out, a loud voice cuts through the building tension, putting a barrier between the two of you. "You came out here to smoke, and you didn't think to fucking invite me? What the hell is wrong with you?" Of course, it's Connie fucking Springer.

"You were knocked the fuck out," Jean argues back, pushing himself off of the trunk away from you. He crosses his arms in front of him. "Thought you could use some beauty sleep."

"That's considerate of you, considering the fact I'm already better looking than you are." Connie bites back as he arrives where you and Jean are.

Laughter starts to rupture from within you, almost obnoxiously loud. You are finding this way funnier than you should, but you can't stop laughing. It's all the damn weed you smoked.

Jean glares at you, "don't encourage him." You continue to giggle. You keep biting your lip, trying to fight it off, but it keeps coming. " I'm sorry," you say between your laughter, "I think I'm really high."

Connie laughs, "No shit, look at her eyes." Connie steps right in front of you and holds his phone up, and turns on the light, shining it on your face. "Blood fucking shot. Damn Jean, what did you guys smoke? You got her good."

Jean hovers over Connie and looks at the color the weed has brought to your eyes under the bright light of Connie's phone, "The one I copped from Zeke." Connie turns off his phone light and lowers it, "the one rolled in wax?" He asks. Jean nods.

Connie is now wearing a proud smile across his face, "Damn, so our girl can really hang. Alright, I see you, Y/N."  Connie's palm meets the middle of your back, and he pats it a couple of times as he laughs. "I'm so fucking glad you moved here, holy shit."

"Me too," you say with elongated words and a big smile. You feel Jean looking at you, but when you turn to look at him, he looks away.

You hear Sasha's voice in the distance. "I was wondering where the hell you went, Connie." The three of you turn to see Niccolo and Sasha making their way out of the apartment complex. They arrive at Jean's car.

"I was gonna tell you that I was coming out here," Connie says in defense, "but I didn't want to interrupt your make-out session with Gordon Ramsey."

You start to laugh again, and Sasha looks at you and studies your face. She turns her head over to Jean, "is she.."

"Blasted?" Jean says, he nods, "As fuck. She's chilling, though."

Sasha looks at the sweatshirt you're wearing, then at you, then back at the sweatshirt, then back at you again. Her mouth slightly falls open. You know she's thinking, 'what the fuck?' You give a simple shrug as your silent answer.

"Where are Eren and Mikasa?" Connie asks, glancing back toward the apartment building.

"They're both dead asleep on the couch," Niccolo says, wrapping his arm around Sasha and pulling her in close, reminding everyone that he's proud to have her. "We tried waking them up, but they wouldn't budge."

"I'm hungry." You whine, grabbing your stomach.

Connie laughs and pokes you in the shoulder. "Someone has the fucking munchies, yeah?" Moving your hand off your stomach, you poke him back in his arm in the same place he poked you and ask, "Are there any more Mac and cheese balls leftover?"

"No," Niccolo says, shaking his head, his blonde curly hair moving with the movement. "Sasha over here ate the rest while you guys were out here. Basically licked the whole damn thing clean." He says, lightly shaking her body.

Sasha looks up and Niccolo and sticks her tongue out at him, "When I said I was going to eat the whole thing, I was being one hundred percent honest." She brings her head back level with the group. "I'm with Y/N. I'm hungry too. Do you guys wanna go get something to eat?" She asks.

"Down," Connie says.

"Where at?" Jean asks.

Sasha checks the time on her phone, "I think Sonic is still open. I could really go for one of their Oreo ice cream blasts." Your mouth begins to water, and you say, "oh my god, that sounds so good." You all agree with her suggestion. Sasha looks up at Niccolo, "Wanna come, Nic?

He kisses the top of her head, "I'd love to, but I gotta work the morning rush tomorrow at Dok's. I better head home so that I can get some rest. I'll hate myself in the morning if I don't."

Sasha's face grows long with dissatisfaction. It's obvious she doesn't want him to leave, but she nods her head in understanding with a small disappointed sigh, "Okay, fine. I'll walk you to your car." Niccolo bides goodbye to you, Connie, and Jean, and the two of them disappear into the distance.

While you wait for Sasha to return, you keep your seat on top of Jean's trunk and watch as Jean and Connie mess around with one another. They are spewing nonsense at one another, but you're far too high to comprehend any of what it means. After a few quick minutes, or long minutes in your defense, you see Sasha in the distance, "You guys ready? Any longer, and I'll die of starvation." She calls out.

Connie breaks away from the hold of Jean's has around him and spins to meet Sasha, who is still traveling towards you. "You're the one who took forever saying goodbye to Niccolo. Making out again?"

Sasha reaches the group. Halting her step, she crosses her arms in front of his in great defense, "We weren't."

Jean scoffs, "I smell bullshit."

You point to the forming red mark on her neck, "then what's that." She brings her hand up and wraps her hand around it trying to hide it, her face turning red, "Shit. I told him to be careful."

"Very classy," you tease, hoping off of the trunk of Jean's car. She sighs in defeat, letting down her hair from a ponytail; she lets it fall down around her face, her attempt of covering it up. "I saw a remedy on Pinterest that's supposed to work, a frozen spoon or something like that. I'll try it when we get back."

"Believe me," Connie interjects with a hang of his head, "that shit does not work."

You, Sasha, and Jean turn your heads toward Connie at once and stare at him for a few seconds. When Connie notices you guys staring, he throws up a defensive hand, "what? I'm just sayin'."

"You know what, I'm not even going to ask." Sasha sighs and throws up her pointer finger into the air. "Now, who's driving?"

"We can take my car. Are you good to drive, bro? I'm high as fuck." Jean asks Connie. He responds with a nod and says, "No problem, man." Jean pulls out his phone, "I'll shoot Eren and Mikasa a text and let them know where we're gonna be." Connie makes his way to the drivers' side and gets in.

"Shotgun!" Sasha yells loudly; running over to the passenger side of Jean's car, she opens the car door and jumps inside, slamming it shut.

"Damn," Jean mutters, "in my own car too." After he finishes texting Eren, he puts his phone away and brings his focus to you, his lips pressed together. He opens the car door and steps aside, making room for you to enter. You slide in the backseat, and he follows in after. Once the door is shut, Connie shifts the car into the drive. Sasha has taken over the aux.

Next to you, Jean scoots in more, and man spreads his legs, causing his thigh to brush against yours briefly. Again, you both act like your bodies haven't just touched, though you're burning inside.

Jean leans over toward you. "Look like you're stuck back here with me," he says, "You better buckle up."

And the car takes off.

Chapter Text

You gotta give credit when credit's due. Sure, Jean Kirstein isn't your favorite person you've met since you moved here, but you can't deny that his weed sure as hell does its job. And then some.

Sitting in his car, higher than you've ever been, everything seems and feels better: your surroundings, the sounds, the air filling your lungs, even your own happiness. It's like you've entered into this alternate world full of serotonin and complete euphoria.

Is there a way to never come down from this high?

As an overwhelming feeling of weightlessness beings to rush through your head all the way down to the tips of your toes, you slowly begin to slide down into the seat of Jean's car inch by inch, melting away. You feel as though you could sink to Earth's very core.

As if you didn't think Jean's expensive Mercedes was nice enough from the outside alone, the inside of it has changed the game completely. It looks almost too fake to touch.

It's sleek, all-black from the front to the back. Leather seats, a brightly lit touchscreen in the dashboard's center loaded with icons that do who knows what when you touch them. Even the doors are made of soft and smooth cushion material. Not a single piece of cheap plastic in sight.

Every square inch of the interior is high quality. The only inexpensive thing Jean has in his car is the Black Ice scented Little Trees air freshener he has hanging off of his rearview mirror, the scent of it coating the inside of your nose with every inhale you take.

You can't put your finger on exactly what it smells like; masculine is the best way to describe it, mixed in with a lingering hint of weed left behind from all the times he's smoked inside.

High-end things aren't anything that you're used to, but it's good to know with luxury, you get what you pay for. Or, in Jean's case, what you're gifted with.

| ♬ currently playing ... lovers rock ; tv girl |

Now slumped down in the comfortable leather seat, your thumbs brush against your sweatpants in a repeated motion, feeling the way the soft cotton dances against the skin of your fingertips. Your senses are at their peak, thanks to Mary Jane.

Sasha and Connie are joking back and forth with each other, the way that they always do. It's their nature.

You can't quite make out what they're saying because their voices are being drowned out by the blasting music from the Bose speakers. Your guess is that it's probably a bunch of nonsense that only makes sense to the two of them.

Sometimes, you swear, it's like they have their own secret language.

Of course, you consider Sasha to be your best friend. To you, she has been and always will be your platonic soulmate, but there's no denying that Connie is the missing piece that makes her whole.

Everyone has one, of some sort, romantic or not. That sort of rare strong connection that everyone is subconsciously searching for. Where you're better with one person than without, not knowing you were missing them until they have been found.

Over the last year, you have grown to learn how to feel comfortable with being alone; you've had to. But even still, despite the pain you've endured, there is a small piece of you that hopes you will find yours at some point in your life. But for now, it's nice to witness it from afar. At least you know that such a thing does exist.

Connie turns on the right blinker; after a brief stop, he turns onto the Main Street while Sasha sings along to the song playing, occupying the passenger seat. You are sitting directly behind Sasha and Jean behind Connie on the drivers' side.

"Because love can burn like a cigarette!" Sasha sings as she sways her shoulder back and forth to the beat of the music.

Connie meets her voice and sings the following line with the same movement in his shoulders, "And leave you alone with nothin'!"

They look at each other, and on queue, they sing, "and leave you alone with nothin'!"

They are giving TV Girl a run for their money.

You watch the two of them, serenading the song to one another at the top of their lungs. Their energy is so contagious that you find yourself beginning to hum along to the music as well.

You are tapping your fingers against your legs to the beat of the music when suddenly, you get this overwhelming feeling that a pair of eyes are on you, making your skin begin to grow hot. Your humming stops almost immediately.

Looking out of the corner of your eye, you see Jean. His head is pressed back against the headrest, but his focus? That's turned entirely on you.

Out of your peripheral vision, you can see him tracing over every inch of you. His chest is rising and falling with small breaths at a steady tempo.

Jean doesn't realize that you've noticed, so he continues to sculpt over you in the darkness with his light brown eyes. You fight to keep still, but the more time passes, the harder it is to do.

As his eyes travel across you, you feel your nerves begin to creep out from the shadows, making their way to you, which causes your palms to start to sweat.

What the hell is this feeling?

After a few more fleeting seconds of the restlessness he's causing you to feel, you cave. You can't take the way being under his gaze makes you feel anymore. It's too unfamiliar and too overwhelming to stir in for a moment longer.

Turning your head completely towards him, you tilt your head to the side, "What, Jean?"

Jean's lips twitch slightly, along with his body. You can tell that he's somewhat embarrassed, that he's been caught looking when he shouldn't have been. "Nothing." He tears his eyes away almost in the same instant that he sees your head turn his way. He lines his head straight and looks forward.

You don't turn away; you continue to look at him, the confusion you feel causes your eyebrows to raise. "Why were you looking at me?"

Jean doesn't even so much as blink your way. "I wasn't," he says bluntly.

"There's nothing else over here but me." You say with a tight throat. "What were you looking at then? Casper, the fucking friendly ghost?"

He swallows hard. You watch the way his adam's apple is forced down his throat before it finds its way back to the center. "I wasn't looking at anything, Y/N. I just spaced out. That kind of shit happens when you're high." His tone of voice is so convincing that if you didn't witness the way his eyes danced across your body, you would have believed him.

Before you can say anything in return, Sasha turns down the music a little bit so you can hear her voice. She snaps her head back towards the backseat. "Historia just texted me."

"What'd she say?" Jean asks, leaning forward in his seat with a little bit of eagerness. You can tell that he's grateful for the interruption.

"She's asking what we're doing right now. Should I see if she wants to meet us at Sonic?" Sasha asks, looking between you and Jean, then over to Connie.

Leaving his left hand on the steering wheel, Connie shoots a thumbs up with his right. "Hell yeah."

"What about Ymir?" You ask, tilting your body to the left to see Sasha better.

"You don't need to worry about that." Jean glances over your way, but it only lasts a split second. "Wherever Historia goes, so does her little bodyguard."

"They're a package deal," Sasha informs you, as she sends a text back to Historia before locking her phone. "We only ever have to ask one or the other to come. They never go anywhere without each other. Before Historia moved out, Ymir basically lived with us too."

Connie briefly looks at you through the rearview mirror before turning his eyes back to the busy road in front of him. "Yeah. They're like two nuts in a ballsack."

Jean lets out an exasperated sigh, leaning back in his seat again; he runs both hands down the length of his face. "For the love of God, Connie, never use analogies ever again in your life."

"Come on!" Connie protests as he checks his left blind spot before switching lanes. "That was a good one! I could be a fucking poet, like Dr. Sus."

"Dr. SUS?" Your eyes widen. "Who the hell is that?"

Connie lightly slaps his palm onto the steering wheel, impatient that you didn't recognize the name as soon as it fell from his mouth. "You know the old dead dude who wrote green eggs and ham or whatever the fuck."

"Dr. Seuss?!" You Sasha and Jean all say simultaneously with a raised voice, looking at him with a slight form of judgment.

"Tamato Tomato," Connie shrugs as he makes a left turn. "Same shit."

Jean leans forward in his seat and flicks Connie on the right side of his head. "Fuck, man. Did your mom drop you on your bald ass head or something?" He pushes himself back into his seat.

"I actually don't know." Connie scratches his head, where Jean's fingers had just made contact. "Probably. Sometimes I think my head is a little bit deformed," a worrisome expression crosses his face.

Sasha lightly pats Connie on the top of his head as a small gesture of encouragement. "I think you have a great head, baldie. Don't go getting all insecure on me now."

"Thanks," Connie sighs with a dramatic sniffle. "I really needed to hear that."

"What else are friends for?" She pats him on his head once more before dropping her arm on top of the center counsel. "Anyway, enough about Connie's potential childhood trauma. Since we asked Ymir and Historia, shouldn't we ask the others too?"

"Bertholdt and Reiner?" Connie suggests, repositioning his hands on the steering wheel.

Jean rests his head back, looking up at the ceiling. "If I knew this was gonna be a big ass thing, I would have just stayed back at the apartment," he mutters, clearly irritated.

"Come on, bro," Connie says enthusiastically. "It will be fun, like a little tailgate."

"Jean-Boy," Sasha says as she reaches back and gently pats him on his knee. "You really want us to waste our time driving you all the way back? I mean, by all means, it's your gas we're gonna be wasting. But if you care what I think, I think you'll regret if you make us turn around."

It's blatantly obvious that they both want Jean to be here. And if you're completely honest, so do you.

Jean looks over to you, almost as if he's waiting to hear what you think. You meet his line of gaze and give him a small smile, "you're already here. You might as well stay."

A deep groan comes out from the back of Jean's throat; he pulls out his phone and opens his messages. "Fine. I'll text them."

Connie and Sasha hoot and holler loudly in the accomplishment of convincing Jean to stick around.

"Oh, that reminds me!" You say, interrupting their small celebration. "Did you guys know that Bert got a job at The Garrison?"

"Ah, what!" Sasha squeals, looking back at you between the small space between the car door and the headrest. "I heard that he was gonna try, but I honestly didn't know if he would get it since he's not the best at talking to people, and Miche can be a little bit intimidating sometimes, but good for him!"

"A bookstore is a great place for his quiet ass," Connie says, accelerating the car at the green light.

"He's too quiet and too damn nice for his own good." Jean voices, running the back of his hand across his pants.

You look over to Jean, "there's nothing wrong with being nice or quiet."

"Agree to disagree." Jean yawns with indifference. "All I'm saying is that one of these days, it's gonna come back and bite, I can guarantee it. People like that always end up getting taken advantage of."

"Well," Sasha starts. "I think Bert getting a job will be good for him, especially since he's so shy. Maybe this will help him get out of his shell."

"One can hope," Connie says, making a right turn. "I love Bert, but he'll never be able to pull a girl if Reiner's speaking for him all the time."

Jean's phone buzzes and lights up the darkness in the backseat. He opens the message he received. "Alright, Bertholdt and Reiner said they're down and that they'll swing by later, in about an hour. They're gonna pick up Ymir and Historia on the way."

"What about Armin and Annie?" Connie asks as he comes to a halt and a red stoplight.

"Yeah, them too," Sasha says. "Y/N. Do you know what they had planned? Maybe they stop by when they're done."

"Armin said he was taking Annie out to dinner or something, I think. He didn't go into that much detail," you tell her. "They might be free now since it's later in the night, but I don't know."

"Worth a shot," Sasha shrugs. "I'll text him."

"I swear to God, Eren and Mikasa better wake up," Connie says sternly as he makes a right turn into a small shopping center.

"They did spend like three hours at the gym together earlier, so it's no wonder they're dead asleep. They're always pushing themselves too hard," Sasha replies as she types a message to Armin and sends it. "But if they actually show up, then this is the first time everyone's been together since Eren's party. It hardly happens anymore since everyone's schedules are so different from each other."

Connie turns into a busy parking lot, "Should be pretty sick." He pulls into a parking space in front of a Target. "Alright, time for our little pitstop."

"I thought we were going to Sonic?" You remark. "Why are we at Target?"

"The Sonic is right down the street, so we like to stop here before," Sasha tells you. "Our tradition is that we grab a box of the Little Debbies Cosmic Brownies, and we tear them into pieces and put them in with our ice cream."

"It's so good, Y/N. You have to try it." Connie protests as he shifts the car into park. He turns his head back toward you. "Shit is a literal game-changer."

"I'll take your word for it." You say with a smile. "Anything food-related, I don't doubt any of your crazy ass creations."

"Damn straight," Connie says, sending you a wink, "Are you guys gonna come in with us?"

"I think I'm gonna stay in the car," you shift around in your seat. "If I go in there this high and this hungry, I already know that I'll be sorry later."

Connie twists his body more to look at Jean, "bro?" Jean shakes his head, taking off his seatbelt and spreading out his legs. "I'm comfortable where I am. Don't really feel like moving."

"Okay!" Sasha says, unplugging her phone from the aux. "Text me if you need anything."

"Don't buy the whole damn store, alright?" Jean warns, raising an eyebrow toward Sasha.

"Yeah yeah, don't buy a whole bag of raw potatoes again, I know." Sasha opens the door and steps out of the car. "Have fun, and try to get along, okay?"

"We'll be back in a minute," Connie says, hopping out of the car. He gives a wave before the door swings shut.

Looking out of the car window, you watch as Sasha and Connie skip their way across the parking lot to the front of Target. Once they're close enough, they take turns jumping over the big red concrete balls that are set at the entrance.

Sasha goes first and makes it over successfully. Connie goes next, but for him, he lacks in triumph. He estimates his jump too short and ends up falling hard onto the concrete; Sasha immediately throws her head back, giggling.

You slap your hand over your mouth and burst into laughter as you watch Sasha grab hold of Connie and struggle to pick him up off of the floor.

After a few vigorous arm pulls, Connie bounces back on his feet. He dusts off his jeans, and the two of them begin to race into the store as if what just happened was a very figment of your imagination.

You hear Jean scoff next to you. He rests his head against the glass window. "Fuck, they're idiots."

Your laughter begins to lessen, and you scratch the tip of your nose. "I don't think they're idiots."

"No? Then what do you call the shit that we just witnessed." He gestures with his chin toward them at the Target entrance, where a moment ago, Connie not so gracefully fell.

"I think they're two people who bring out the best in each other." You say as you pull the sleeves of Jean's oversized Nike sweatshirt over your hands.

"Do you actually believe in that kind of shit?" Jean snarls. He lifts away from the glass meets your face with a turn of his head. "People being meant for other people?"

"Soulmates?" You bite at the inside of your cheek. "No, not really. But I do think that some people help make you a better person."

Jean presses his lips tightly together and lets out a low hum."Whatever. Call it whatever you want. It doesn't change the fact they're still idiots."

"Come on, lighten up, Jean. Connie falling was funny," you offer him a small smile.

He deflates, "Not when you live with him, and it's a part of your everyday routine. Plus, you're super high. Everything is funny when you're high."

"And what about you?" You ask, raising an eyebrow. "How high are you on a scale of one to 10?"

"I was at a 10. But now that you keep talking to me about all this deep cheesy shit? Probably a 7." He tells you as he stretches out his arms in front of him.

"Oh?" Sarcasm meets your voice as you sit up to tall in your seat. "Because considering how much you've smoked with me the past couple of weeks, I'd think I made your highs better." You bicker.

He rolls his tense shoulder back. "That pretty little mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one of these days. You know that, don't you?"

"And? What about it, Jean?" You shrug, but your eye contact with him doesn't falter for even a second.

Jean blinks first. "You should consider fixing it."

You turn doe-eyed. "Fix what? My mouth?"

He nods, "Yeah, your mouth. You always have something to say."

"Why should I?" You give a dry laugh. "I think my pretty little mouth is fine, just the way it is, but I do appreciate your concern for me. It's really sweet."

Jean's jaw clenches tightly, and he rests his sharp chin in the palm of his hand as his elbow rests on the armrest of the door. "Look at you. All full of yourself."

You match his attitude with a sharp remark of your own, but you keep the tone of your voice playful. "Maybe you're starting to run off on me, Jean."

He lifts his head back up and cranes his neck. His arm falls into his lap. "I sure fucking hope not."

You merely chuckle as you run your tongue across your bottom lip. "Seriously, though. You really don't believe in anything like that at all? That there are people who change you for the better?"

Jean racks a nervous hand through his messy mullet. He pauses, the temples in his forehead pulse, then says with a harsh voice, "No. Not anymore."

Anymore? So he must have believed in it once upon a time.

Your thoughts go disarray for a few seconds until you are hit with a harsh wave of cruel clarity.

Marco.

Jean is only half existing because Marco was what made him whole.

You lean your shoulder against the door of the car as you turn your upper body more towards him, your face turns soft with empathy, "Why not?"

He blinks ever so slowly as he runs his tongue across his lips. "It got me nowhere. And it's not something that I want to waste my time on again."

You scan his face with wonderment—your pathetic attempt to try and read the most unreadable person you've ever met.

The truth is, you have a difficult time understanding Jean. The way his mind works is relatively different from your own, but you still find yourself curious. If only he didn't have so many walls built around himself. If only his own experience of heartbreak didn't cause him to hide away who he really is.

"Don't you get lonely?" You question softly. You don't want to pry, but the question rolls off of your tongue before you can find the will to stop it. "Living in a mindset like that?"

Jean clears out his throat and then lifts his shoulders into a shrug. "Better lonely than to risk a loss you can't recover from."

Your heart drops into the pit of your stomach at once, knowing what he's experienced.

You swallow the sadness that you feel for him that is building at the back of your throat and answer in a way that doesn't overstep the boundaries set between the two of you. "I get that. Heartbreak really sucks."

His eyes trail over your face as his head makes its way into a slight tilt. "Yeah? Dude break your heart or what?"'

You grit your teeth. This is the last thing you want to talk about right now. Just thinking about your ex is enough to kill off the high you find yourself so desperate to keep. "I gave you my truth of the day already, about never seeing the ocean, and you want another? I didn't know that was our agreement. That is unless you're willing to tell me another truth about yourself too?"

You chew harshly at the inside of your cheek, hoping that he doesn't take the bate. You don't want to be honest right now, but you also don't want to lie. After all, you hate liars.

"I'll pass," Jean says, rather quickly sinking himself into the seat.

You nod once and breathe out a small sigh of relief. "I figured."

"So what?" Jean drums his fingers against the leather seat next to him. "Is that gonna be our thing? Telling each other one truth of the day?"

Your eyes widen a little bit before you thin them out. "Our thing? Sure. If that's what you want."

There are a few quick beats of silence as he contemplates. Then he says, "I mean, since we're gonna be forced to spend time together for this whole tutoring thing, why not make it interesting?"

"That's true." You stretch your legs out slightly in front of you. "Okay. One truth of the day it is then."

"Eh. That honestly sounds kind of lame," Jean grumbles. "Let's call it something different. You're a bookworm, right? What's a fancy-ass word for truth?"

You exhale. "I read actual books for fun, Jean. Not dictionaries. I'm not made up of words."

Jean's brown eyes narrow thin as his forehead creases ever so slightly at the very center. "Come on, smart girl. Don't give me that. What's another word for truth?"

"Um," your words halt for a second as your mind sorts through various words. You scrunch up your nose, "verity."

"Alright then." He lifts his right hand to you. "One verity of the day. Deal?"

You look down on it and then bring your eyes back up to him before they fall back onto his hands, and you look at the veins in his hands as they make a path to his elongated fingers.

Jean huffs out a short breath through his nose. "Are you gonna sit there and stare at my hand, or are you gonna shake it?" He extends his hand toward you even more.

You rip your wandering eyes away from his veins and look back up at him. You lift your arm slowly, and your hand meets his in the middle; the shake is firm but somehow still gentle. "Okay. Deal." You say, and Jean hums in response.

He retracts his calloused hand away from you. You bring yours back into your body and tuck it into the front pocket of his sweatshirt, though his touch still lingers, prickling your skin. "You keep making a deal with me." You breathe. "Why is that?"

"Don't know." Jean mumbles. "I guess I find you kind of interesting."

"Interesting?" You tilt your head a little. "In what kind of way?"

"Don't know." He repeats, this time in a curt tone. "I'll tell you when I figure you out."

Your lungs tighten up, which makes your breathing hitch. You weren't expecting something like that to come from his sharp tongue.

He finds you interesting?

And here you thought you were nothing but an unmemorable girl who is easy to forget and painlessly simple to leave behind.

At least, that's what your father told you, and if you're told something often enough times, you start to believe them, even after you promised yourself you wouldn't.

You close your eyes briefly with an effort to clear your thoughts; they slightly burn. Opening them back up again, you sniff. Not knowing what to say, you opt to change the subject. "I was wondering if you could do me a favor?"

Jean blinks, dropping his head down just slightly. "Depends on what it is. I'm not big on doing people favors."

"Can you look at my eyes?" You ask, opening your eyes a little bit wider with the raise of your eyebrows."I was wondering if they are still as red as Connie said?"

He squints as a slight hum escapes from his tightly pressed lips. "Let me see." He grabs his phone and tilts his chin up, quickly gesturing you over to him. "Come closer to me. I can't see that far."

You slide over to him and lift your head, eyes falling into his line of focus, his features becoming defined.

Why does he have to be so damn attractive?

You silently curse the second that thought crosses your mind. You can't be thinking that, not about him at least. Quickly, you remind yourself that you swore off bad boys for a reason and push the unwelcome reality of your attraction toward Jean to the very back of your mind, hiding it away.

You'll deal with it later or maybe just try to forget about it altogether.

He turns on his phone light and brings it up in front of your face. Your eyes immediately narrow thin from the brightness.

Jean sucks in a quick whiff of air between his teeth. "Jesus, Y/N. If you want me to check for you, you gotta at least keep your eyes open."

You laugh softly, "Sorry." You blink a couple of times, lessening the slight burn the white light is causing; once adjusted to the sudden brightness change, you open your eyes wide.

Jean brings the light a little closer to you, along with his face. He scans both eyes for a few moments, and then he shuts the flashlight off. It becomes dark again, and he pulls away from you. "Yup. Still bloodshot."

"Damn," you mutter, moving back into your seat as you rub both of your eyes.

"I noticed your eyes had gotten a little red before when you got smoked out, but not like this." He says, matter-of-fact. "You want some eye drops? It should help lessen the redness of them."

"If you have some," you reply, feeling appreciative of his offer. "But if not, don't worry about it. It's not that big of a deal."

Jean shrugs, but he doesn't say anything else. Instead, he takes off his seat belt and pushes his body forward. Opening the center console, he begins to rummage through it. After moments of searching, he pulls out a small teal bottle of eye drops. "Found some."

A faint clicking sound fills your ears as he closes the console back up and swiftly moves back into his seat. "Can you handle it yourself, or are you one of those people that can't stand shit going in their eye."

"I mean, I can try."

"I don't want you wasting half the bottle trying to do it. I'll do it for you. Come over here," Jean demands.

You let out a brief sigh before you decide to concede. "Okay." You slide from your seat back over to him. Immediately, you can feel the warmth of his body, and the smell of his car is replaced with the scent of him.

Jean unscrews the cap off of the eye drops. "Look up," he says sharply. You do as your told and shift your eyes up to the black roof of the car.

"No. That's not enough." Taking his hand, he places his palm of it under your chin and sinks his fingers and thumb into the flesh of your cheeks, guiding your entire head upward. "Now, do me a favor and actually keep your eyes open this time."

You press your lips together. The way Jean's slender fingers are digging into your face makes it impossible to spit out a response. You expect him to drop the hand he has tucked under your chin, but the firm hold he has on you stays.

Using his other hand, he brings the small bottle up to your eyes, "you ready?" You nod. He squeezes the bottle slightly, and the liquid drops into your red-eye. You blink a couple of times to clear your vision out as he moves over to the other.

"Again." He tells you as a warning. You nod once again, and he repeats everything over. Once the clear liquid hits your eye, you shut your eyes for a few seconds, trying to stop them from watering.

Jean brings the bottle of eye drops away from your face. Using the hand tucked underneath your jaw, he guides your face back down to be level with his. He releases his hold from the skin of your cheeks. "Look at me, Y/N."

You slowly flutter your eyes open, and you can feel the wetness from your watery eyes begin to trickle down both of your cheeks.

"There you go. That's a good girl." Jean brings both of his hands up to your face and places them on each side of your head, his fingers lost in your hair.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Why do you go through every single emotion at the hands of this man?

Your stomach twists around itself. His words immediately take you back to Eren's party in the basement when he showed you how to hit from the Pope.

He said it then. He's saying it now. And it's giving you the same damn annoying feeling in your chest. You can feel your cheeks as they paint hot.

Jean continues. "There. Now, everyone and their mom won't know you're a little pothead." He drags both of his thumbs gently across your cheeks, wiping them dry. The way he moves is so tauntingly slow it almost hurts.

You are caught entirely off guard, so much so that you can hardly blink, your heart in on the brink, about to give.

What you need is to get a fucking grip. 

Thick saliva builds up in your mouth, and you swallow hard, forcing it down, "thank you." Your voice comes out almost mute. There's no denying that at this moment, you're the most flustered you've ever been in your life. You fight to keep level-headed. "I'm not a pothead. You literally had to teach me how to smoke out of the Pope."

"Hang out with me for long enough, and you will be." Jean swipes his thumbs once more down your cheeks before dropping his hands away from your face. In an instant, you go cold from the outside in.

You suck in a breath trying to slow your erratic heartbeat as it slams against your chest. "So. all these deals and favors. Does this make us friends now? Or are you gonna tell me again how much  you don't like me."  You say as you move away from him, back into your seat, desperate to try and get away from this staggering feeling.

Jean shrugs as he puts the cap back on the bottle of eye drops and tosses them back into the council where he found them. "Ask me again later." He picks up his phone and begins to scroll on it.

Okay. He's done with this conversation.

Your phone is placed on your lap when you feel it buzz twice, and the bright screen adds light to the darkness of the backseat. It's a text from Sasha. You open it as a distraction.

Sash <3 - Are you doing okay?

Y/N - Good. Still pretty high

Sash <3 - You lucky duck 🐥

Y/N - I know 🐣

Sash <3 - I wanted to make sure that Jean treated you alright while you two smoked?

Y/N - That depends... What's considered alright in the world of Jean?

Sash <3 - Um... arrogant remarks and a cocky attitude?

Y/N - Then yeah, alright seems to be the right word

Sash <3 - I'm sorry :(

Y/N - I actually didn't mind being with Jean tbh I'm getting used to him
I think we're finding common ground
? Maybe idk

Sash <3 - Really?! Yay! Bc I would have come out earlier, but I was a little busy ... you know

Y/N -   Making out with your own personal chef? Yeah... everyone saw it lol

Sash <3 - I can't help it! Nic feeds me both in the kitchen & the bedroom
That man can ruin my life & I would thank him

Y/N - Um... TMI?!?!

Sash <3 - Sorry, babe, but there's no such thing as TMI in this friendship. You understand that, don't you?

Y/N - Okay fiiine

Sash <3 - SO that means once you fuck Eren, I will be expecting all the dirty details!! I mean, full-on ruler style measurements sort of dirty details!!

Y/N - Why Eren? Who said that I didn't want Connie?? That's my question

Sash <3 - 👁👄👁

As soon as you read Sasha's response, a small laugh escapes from within you, but as soon as it does, Jean's voice grabs hold of all of your attention; it's low and husky. "What are you smiling over there for?"

You tuck your bottom lip under your teeth and quickly release it. "Nothing," your voice falters in the serious tone you are fighting to keep, so you clear your throat and try again. "It's Nothing."

Putting his phone down, Jean looks at you with a stoic expression. "It doesn't look like nothing to me. Let me guess, your boy Jeager? Did he finally wake up?" His once husky voice is now replaced with something else.

He sounds almost... Jealous?  Your hand twitches the second you come to that ideology.

Yup. You really are high. You could slap yourself so hard right now for even having a fleeting thought such as that.

Jean doesn't get jealous. Jean doesn't care about anybody but himself.

You scowl at him and decide to egg him on. "And if it is?" Your eyes flicker down to his thighs, and you watch as his right hand curls up tightly into a fist. Forcing your eyes away, you tilt your chin back up to meet his gaze.

He pops his jaw and lets his fist release almost as quickly as it tensed up. "If pretty boys with man buns are your thing, then go for it."

"Should I?" You flip your phone around in your hand before stuffing it away, "because aren't you the one who gave me a warning about him?"

Jean stares at you, taking his sweet time to answer. It's almost like he knows his still silence will cause you to stir; it's almost like he likes it.

And stirring is precisely what you do. "Didn't you tell me to be careful of him before Connie busted through my door like he was a part of some SWAT team?" You prompt, growing impatient.

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "I was just fucking around with you, Y/N. I didn't know you were going to take what I said so damn serious."

"Fucking around with me?" Your jaw hardens, and your insides turn around with vexation. "Why would you do that?"

Jean huffs, "To see if I could get a rise out of you. I wanted to see how you would react if I mentioned him."

You roll your eyes. "Seriously?" Your voice has turned stern. "Where do you get off, Jean?"

"Well," Jean smirks, his signature arrogance coming into play. "I can show you if you'd like."

You curve your lips in the same exact way, meeting his arrogance. “you would be so fucking lucky.”

Your conversation is interrupted when Connie and Sasha arrive back at the car.

"We're back!" Sasha chants as the two get inside and slam the doors shut. "Miss us?"

"Always." You turn away from Jean and adjust your body back forward, "did you recover from that fall, Connie?"

Connie puffs out his chest, "of course I did. I'm made of steel, baby."

Jean's eyes dart to Sasha, "smack him for me."

Sasha gives him an approving nod, "already on it." She lifts her hand and smacks him on the back of his head in a teasing way.

"Jeez!" Connie calls out, rubbing out his head dramatically. "Con Man has suffered enough. Leave my deformed head alone, for fucks sake."

"It took you guys long enough," Jean says, disregarding Connie and his melodrama. "You get lost in there or something?"

"No." Connie says, putting on a seatbelt, "Sash over here just tried to buy the whole damn store, and I had to force her to put everything back and remind her that we are literally on our way to Sonic to eat." He emphasizes the last word as he puts the car in reverse.

"Hey!" Sasha protests. "Stop being dramatic. It wasn't the whole store!" She pauses for a couple of seconds and then admits, "it was only some of it."

"Are you kidding me? You literally had a whole fucking 8-pound piece of uncooked steak in your hand!" Connie argues. Putting his right hand behind the passenger seat, he slightly turns his body to look out the back window and begins to pull out.

"What the hell were you going to do with raw meat?" Jean asks, looking over at Sasha.

Sasha throws her hands up into a big shrug. "I don't know! Save it for later or something!"

"Like I was going to let you walk out of there with that shit willingly." Connie turns out of the shopping center and onto Main Street. "You already know that you and meat do not mix well. Do we really need to bring up the time we had that barbecue at Zeke's house, and you bit Jean's hand so hard you made him bleed?"

Your jaw drops, "Sasha! You what! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I didn't know, alright!" Sasha says in defense, throwing her arms up. "I was drunk off of that good ass wine Zeke gave us. Jean was putting a piece of steak onto my plate, and I..."

"She fucking miscalculated and thought my hand was the meat," Jean cuts in accusingly. "Her dumbass made me drop the whole plate of freshly cooked steak on the ground, and our entire dinner was shot to hell."

"Oh, God. Both of you boys are being so overdramatic, and for what? It wasn't that big of a deal!" Sasha shoots back. "Jean's fine, isn't he? His hand is still functioning. The real problem from that day was the fact that we didn't have any more meat."

The corners of Jean's mouth curve downward. "More than the fact that you almost bit my entire fucking hand off? It's not like I need it for my future fucking career or anything."

"As I said, your hand is fine, Jean. You can still do your little arts and crafts whenever your little heart desires!" Sasha bickers, crossing her arms at her waist, "it's that beautifully crafted meat that's gone forever! A tragedy I have yet to recover from."

"Oh boo fucking hoo. You literally cuffed down a chef. I think you have that area covered." Connie turns to look at you, "This is why Sasha and meat are off-limits unless Niccolo is around to get a handle on her. As you can tell from Jean's horror story, she gets out of control." He tells you as he pulls into the Sonic.

It is bustling with both employees and customers. There are cars lined up, filling up most of the spaces where you order the food from your vehicle. The drive-through line is backed up, circling around the building, and people are eating on the small concrete patio at the storefront. The smell of greasy food seeps into the car—your stomach grumbles.

"Sasha and her food stories, I swear," you let out a small laugh. "When we are in middle school, she had this crazy hyper fixation on potatoes. Every single day without fail, she had a potato in some fort of form in her lunch. Everyone in our class used to call her potato girl."

"Is that why your handles on social media are all potato girl?" Connie asks. "I always wondered where you came up with that. I knew you weren't that creative on your own."

"Well yeah! I wanted to make sure I lived up to my namesake. Plus, it sounds cute." Sasha says, with confidence, as she tucks a piece of fallen hair beneath her head.

"Do you guys want to order, or do you wanna wait for everyone else to get here?" Connie asks as he scans over the menu with his eyes through the rolled-up window.

"Now," Sasha claps. "I might shrivel up and die if we wait for everyone else to come."

"Alright," Connie says in agreement. "Sounds good to me. What do you guys want?"

"A large order blast with extra Oreos for me," Sasha tells him loudly. You can hear the excitement and hunger in her voice.

"I'll take the same as her," you say.

"Me too," Jean says.

"So four large order blasts with extra Oreos?" Connie glances at each one of you, "easy enough."

Connie rolls down his window and presses the red push to order button that's right below the menu. After a couple of minutes, the Sonic employee takes your order, and they let you know the total and that it will be out shortly.

"Oh! Before I forget, I want to take a picture of us tonight and post it on Instagram." Sasha grabs her phone and opens the camera. She hears Jean let out a low groan in irritants, and she instantly whips her head back toward him. "I don't want to hear it. You take pictures for thirst traps all the fucking time, for your Tinder account. The least you could do is take a picture with your friends."

"Fine," Jean gives in. "But don't bash my thirst traps when they work."

"Yeah yeah, Jeanie Boy. We know all the girls love you." Connie waves his hand in disregard. "Just shut up and take the damn picture."

The four of you gather in close, and Sasha snaps a picture. Sasha has up leave signs Connie has a thumbs up. You are peeking in with a small smile, and Jean leaned in near you, not much of an expression at all.

Sasha lowers her phone, "Ah! This is so cute! I need to post this on Instagram right now!"

"I'm gonna piss my pants," Jean says, opening the car door. "I'll be back. If my ice cream comes, don't you dare fucking eat it." He steps out and points over to Sasha. "I'm looking at you, Sasha."

"Why me! Connie is just as bad." Sasha chides, tilting her head over to Connie.

"Ay yo! What the fuck did I do to deserve to get thrown under the bus like that." Connie says as displeasure hardens his face. "I am a sweet innocent sexy man."

"Drop the sweet, sexy, innocent, and man part from that sentence, then you're spot on, my friend." Sasha sneers with a taunting smirk.

Connie's eyes shift quickly back and forth as he tries to calculate the meaning of Sasha's insult. When he finally pieces it together, he throws Sasha the finger, "hey fuck you."

She giggles and pinches Connie's right cheek, "love you too."

Jean throws a thumb over toward Connie's way. "I'm not worried about Connie touching my shit because he knows I'll slap him if he does."

"Yeah, that's true. I've learned the hard way." Connie admits with a shiver. "He slaps really fucking hard. It low key hurts like a bitch."

"I thought you had a slap kink?" You jest with a small smile cracking between your teeth.

"Oh, I do," Connie says, rapidly shaking his head. "Just not when it's so hard that I see my life flash before my eyes."

"Sorry, Jean, but I make no such promises," Sasha says, challengingly. "Food always tastes better when it's someone else's and not your own."

Jean looks at you. The overhead beams of a car passing by shines on Jean's tall figure making his brown eyes flicker in the low light. "Watch her for me."

"I'll try my best," you assure him. He gives you a sharp nod before closing the car door and walking away.

Sasha clicks on the Instagram icon on her Home Screen. "I need to tag you guys in this picture. Wait! That's right. Y/N, you don't have an account, do you?"

You turn your head toward the front seat and shake your head. "No, I don't. I deleted it a long time and never made an effort to make another one."

"That's it. We're making you one right fucking now," Connie says firmly.

"But-" you start to say, but Sasha cuts you off. She holds her hand out, "No! No butts. Give me your phone right now."

"Ugh, fine," you utter, setting it in the palm of her upturned hand, "but don't put anything stupid on there. I'm trusting you guys."

As you wait for your ice cream, you, Connie, and Sasha work on your new Instagram account. The three of you fill out the prompts and pick out your profile picture.

Sasha and Connie add themselves first and immediately follow you back on their accounts. Sasha then goes through her following list and adds people for you on your own. Once finished, she hands you back your phone, "There, you're all set."

You take it and begin to go through the people that she added to your account:

potatogirl - added

connie_thegod_springer69 - added

acooknamedniccolo - added

whatarminreads - added

erenjeagersfreedom -  added

mikasaackerman - added

queen.historiaa - added

ymirluvshistoria - added

a.leonhart - added

megamilk_reiner - added ... do you even want to know?

bertholdthoover - added

jeankthestallion - requested

Requested? Damn. This guy lives private as fuck.

"Connie, the god?" You stifle a small giggle, "And the number sixty-nine out of everything?"

"The god part is a simple fact, and sixty-nine just so happens to be my favorite number," Connie says, patting himself on his chest.

"Of course it is," You say, setting your phone down next to you.

"Nasty ass," Sasha grumbles as she moves around in the front seat to get more comfortable.

Your ice cream has now arrived. Connie hands you your blast. You take it from him and offer out your other hand, "give me Jean's too." He abides, and you set it in between your thighs, out of reach from Sasha.

Sasha gasps as she takes her ice cream from Connie's hand. "You don't trust me?"

"When it comes to not eating someone's food? No. When it comes to everything else? Yes," you say, leaving over in your seat and offering her a sweet smile before straightening yourself back out.

Sasha lets out a sigh of defeat, "fair enough."

"Okay. Now it's time for the real game-changer." Connie says as he cracks open the box of cosmic brownies; he hands a pack to Sasha and then tosses one to you. You catch it with both hands, "thank you."

Connie smiles back at you, "don't thank me yet. Not until you've seen how good this shit is."

"Connie and I have tried a lot of different food combinations, but I think this is by far the best thing we've thought of," Sasha says confidently as she removes the plastic from the brownie and tears it to pieces.

You follow her lead and begin to do the same. "How'd you guys even think of this?"

"We both packed a bowl one night and smoked out of the Pope." Connie takes the plastic spoon and begins to stir the brownie into his ice cream, mixing it up. "And the brain works fucking wonders when you're high."

You push your spoon deep into your ice cream and scoop up some. "That's all I needed to know."
You take a bite of the ice cream. The coldness of it and the flavors coat every inch of your tongue. You let out a sigh as you feed the hunger your depleting high gave to you.

"Sooooo?" Sasha beams a smile at you, "What do you think?"

You swallow, and you feel the cold dessert travel down your throat. "Best. Thing. ever." You go in for another bite, already craving more. Jean arrives back from the bathroom and opens the car door.

"Told you so!" Connie comes muffled reply with a mouth full of ice cream. "Sasha and I are geniuses."

Jean slides smoothly into the back, "Genesis? You and Sasha? In what world?" He pulls the car door shut.

Sasha looks back at him and takes a massive bite off her spoon. "The real one." She says as she chews, lips curved up into a smile.

Jean scoffs and looks over at you. "What'd I miss?"

"Not much," you say, handing him his ice cream. "I was just putting my life on the line trying to protect your ice cream from these two." He takes it from you. Your hands briefly touch. He mutters a quick thanks before pulling away.

"And we made Y/N an Instagram account!" Sasha singsongs handing Jean his own package of cosmic brownies.

"You didn't have one before?" Jean asks you, taking them out of her hold and tearing off the plastic wrap.

"No," you say, scooping up another heaping scoop of ice cream into your plastic spoon. "I never really used social media, but they made me get one. I sent you a friend request. Are you gonna approve it?"

"I'll think about it," he crumbles up the pieces of the brownie and puts them into his blast. "Maybe." He says before taking a bite.

The four of you eat your ice cream over small talk and music. After some time, your cup begins to grow empty, and your stomach starts to grow full.

"Alright, Y/N, I'm going to queue up a song for you. Let's see if you can remember where it's from," Sasha waves her plastic spoon in the air, looking at you with bright, hopeful eyes.

You take another bite of your ice cream and swallow it down, freeing your mouth to speak clearly. "Let's hear it."

As the song begins to play through the speakers, you recognize it by a few beats alone. A feeling of deja vu runs through you, the familiar muse acting as a time machine taking you back in time.

| ♬ currently playing ... love my way ; the psychedelic furs ♬ |

Your eyes open wide with realization. "Oh my god. Your dad used to play it all the time when I would come over. I actually still listen to it, so much that it was on my Spotify wrapped last year."

"Oh my god. Mine too!" Sasha takes three big bites out of her ice cream and shouts enthusiastically with a mouthful, "Let's dance!" She sets her now empty styrofoam cup, once filled to the brim with ice cream and chunks of cosmic brownies, down into the cup holder before opening the door and jumping out of the car.

She then pulls the handle of the back door and yanks it open. "Right here?" You ask wide-eyed, "Right now?"

"Yes!" Sasha pulls your hand and yanks you out of your seat, "just like we used to."

"Y/N," Jean calls out from the inside of the car. You turn around to face him. "Give me your ice cream" he holds out his hand. You fulfill his request and hand it over before spinning on your heels back toward Sasha, who is still holding your hand. She pulls you out away from Jean's car, guiding you to an empty space in the parking lot.

"There are people, Sash. They're going to be looking at us." You tell her nervously. You've never been one who liked to be under the eye of a crowd, no matter how big or small.

"Who cares? Let them be jealous that they'll never be able to be us." She exclaims with a laugh and calls out to Connie. "Let go, Connie! You too!"

Without an ounce of hesitation, he immediately gets out of the car, leaving the door open so you can hear the music playing from the inside, and runs over to you and Sasha.

You don't try to protest anymore. It has never taken much effort for you to be convinced by Sasha.

Jean gets out of the car next. He walks over to the trunk and lets his back sink into it. You're a little surprised. You figured he wouldn't bother.

"Come on, Jean!" Connie shouts, "Get off your high horse and dance."

"Yeah! You heard Con Man!" Sasha signals with her hand for him to come over your way. "It will be a good way to burn off all of the ice cream we just ate."

Jean's lips press together, and he crosses his arms in front of him. He shakes his head, "You know I don't dance."

"Suit yourself," Sasha calls out as she begins to dance to the music. Her dance is uncontrolled, arms and body all over the place. With the huge smile on her face, you know she's having the time of her life.

Her energy is what blows any sort of nervousness or skepticism you had away. You begin to move around like her. The two of you start to laugh as you spin circles around each other. "Love my way!!" you and Sasha sing.

"Jean! Watch my moves," Connie yells over to him as he breaks down into the robot.

Sasha grabs your hand. She lifts her arm above her head, following her lead, you spin underneath her. The two of you smile at each other, cheeks blushing red from true happiness and cool air.

You feel like you're eleven years old again, dancing around her family's garage while this song played loudly on her dad's old vinyl record player as he worked on his old run-down truck.

Before all the loss suffered, before being forced to leave her behind without a goodbye, before the endless miles of the distance you never asked for.

But at this moment, dancing with Sasha makes you realize that time, distance, change; none of that matters. Sometimes, friendship doesn't need consistency. All it needs is love.

You and Sasha continue to dance around each other. With a soft grateful heart, you say, "You'll never understand how much I missed you, Sash. You know you saved my life, right?"

Sasha pulls you into a hug. "Say anything more, and you'll make me cry. Thank you for being the best friend I could ever ask for. Even after all these years." She pulls away and lightly pinches the very tip of your nose. "Just promise you'll never leave me again."

"I promise," you say. "Never again."

"Good. Because it's you and me until the end of the world." Sasha kisses you on one cheek and then the other, which causes your smile to grow even wider. "And for the record, you saved my life too."

"Check it out, Jean!" Connie yells as he continues to break down to the music. "Our girls are kissing again!" Jean shakes his head, hanging it low.

Sasha pulls away from you and dances over to where Connie is. "Way to go and ruin the moment," she pokes him in the center of his forehead. "Now shut up and dance with me."

Connie begins to jump around, pumping a fist in the air as Sasha twirls around in circles, her arms spread outward like an angel. They are both are laughing hysterically with every movement they make.

Your hips begin to follow the movement of the music, You spin around in a circle, but when you bring your body around again, your eyes fall on Jean, who is watching you.

You continue to move and dance around as he studies you. His focus is so fierce it's like he's trying to memorize every inch of your being and the way that it moves.

You feel the same way you did earlier when he was staring at you in his car, but right now, you're far too happy to mind it.

"You sure that you don't want to dance?" You offer him with a bright smile as your body continues to feel like music.

"I'm sure," Jean replies, "I'm fine right where I am." His arms are still crossed in front of him, but this time, a faint smile meets his lips.

He doesn't fight it off the way he normally does, and it's not one of his cocky smirks. It's small, still lacking in light, but it's there, and it happened while he's looking at you, and for whatever reason, that makes you feel really good.

Other people are watching as you dance in the parking lot, heads are turning, people are muttering, but the only pair of eyes you notice belong to Jean.

Something unrecognizable is stirring inside of you. 

You feel your heart as it begins to pound heavily beneath your chest. Why is it beating so hard?

It must just be from all of your movement, causing your heartbeat to rise. That's the only logical explanation. It's not anything else. It can't be.

After a few short minutes, the song ends, and so does the dancing. Laughing, the three of you make your way back to Jean. "Eren texted me and said that he's on his way with Mikasa." He pulls out a piece of gum and pops it into his mouth.

"Hell fucking yeah," Connie replies, out of breath.

"Yay!" Sasha says, jumping up and down, "the whole gang is coming!"

A blue Camry drives by your small huddled group and honks its horn, which causes all of you to turn towards it.

"Look who the fucking cat dragged in," Connie says, pointing to the moving car. Inside, you see Armin driving and Annie in the passenger seat; they pull into the empty space next door.

Connie and Sasha immediately rush to greet the two of them as they get out of the car. Armin offers you a wave with his signature kind smile while Annie provides you with yet another stolid expression.

Standing directly behind you, Jean leans down toward the side of your face, "your favorite girl is here." He taunts in a low voice as he dangles a piece of silver wrapped gum in front of your face.

You tilt your head back. glare up at him, and take his offer, "Enough." You unwrap it and put it in your mouth, stuffing the wrapper into the sweatshirt pocket.

"What? It's no wonder she's a bitch to you." He runs the back of his hand across his jaw.

You chew the minty gum, "What is that supposed to mean? I haven't done anything wrong."

Jean pops his gum in your ear, sending chills down your spine. "You don't have to. A girl like you comes along out of nowhere, and it doesn't take long for everyone to love you. If I were her, I'd probably feel insecure too. Especially now that you’re working with Armin, risk of you taking him right out from under her."."

"I don't want Armin," you whisper only loud enough for Jean to hear. "Even if I did, it would be a bitch move even to try something like that."

"Is that right? Then who do you want?" Jean asks, hovering over your body. You can feel his breath as it softly across your face. "Trost is a big college town. There are plenty of guys for you to choose from. I'm sure even Connie would drop to his knees at your beck and call." He smells like spearmint from the gum he's chewing.

A small smirk meets the right side of your mouth. "Who says that it's a guy that I want?"

Jean's jaw drops slightly before he clams it shut, clenching his teeth. By looking at his face, you can tell that this wasn't a response he was expecting. For once, he's at a loss for words.

You tear away from his body, "I'll be back. I gotta use the restroom." You leave your group behind and find the bathroom located on the other side of the small building. You enter inside.

From inside the stall, you hear the door open and hear the movement of someone's footsteps against the dirty tile. The flickering sound of a lighter then fills your ears, and the smell of burning marijuana travels fills the stuffy air.

When you finish up and exit the stall, your eyes widen when you see Annie standing there, her right shoulder pushed up against the bathroom wall.

Her eyes meet yours, but she doesn't say anything. She watches you as you make your way to the sink as she takes a small hit from her rightly wrapped joint. You decide to break the silence because you know she won't.

"Smoking in a bathroom?" You mutter; turning in the faucet of the sink, you wet your hands, soap them and start to scrub beneath the lukewarm water.

Annie takes a long drag and blows it out. "Armin doesn't like it when I smoke in his car, and it's not like I can smoke outside with a bunch of families around. You know, a bad influence on the kids or whatever. I saw you come in here, and I figured you wouldn't care if I lit one up."

You glance at her through the mirror as you lather the soap between each of your fingers. "Yeah, I don't mind. But aren't you worried that other people will come in here? Wouldn't that defeat the purpose?" You turn off the faucet and grab a handful of brown paper towels.

Annie's bright blue eyes thin out as she points over to the exit, "I locked the door. If they need to use the bathroom, they can wait. And if they piss their pants, that's not really my problem, is it?"

You pass by Annie, throwing the used paper towel into the big back trashcan near the door. "So, you came in here just to smoke?" You ask, turning around to face her.

"No." Annie lets out a sharp high. "I actually came in here because I wanted to talk to you."

Chapter Text

The air is thick, full of sullen smoke and building tension, all because you had to take a piss.

Annie's bright blue eyes are piercing your flesh, like daggers, unblinking and unreadable. Lifting her right arm, she brings the lit joint she has set between her pointer and middle fingers up to her lips. Placing it in between, she takes one big deep inhale, the tip burning to ash, a burst of orange and red.

She exhales a large cloud of smoke stuffing up the air while lowering her hand back down to her side. She hasn't said anything else after dropping the bomb of her wanting to talk, and neither have you.

The few minutes you've spent in here have dragged on tediously. It's been nothing but interchanging glances, the quiet wonderment of whose gonna give into the traction first. The silence is as loud and as uncomfortable as nails on a chalkboard.

And you could just about pull your damn hair out.

You can feel yourself begin to itch in the tense silence. Growing uncomfortable with the way that it's making you feel, you decide to swallow your stupid pride and break the ice. Your anxiety can't take this shit for a moment longer.

"You said you wanted to talk to me, so talk," you finally voice. "I'm assuming that you're not wanting to hold hands and reveal to each other our deepest darkest secrets, so why are you here, Annie?"

Your tone comes out a little bitchier than you were aiming for, but who are you kidding? You're stressed the fuck out. It's highly doubtful that she chose to come in here to make nice with you. You've tried being friendly to her before, and she was having none of it.

Annie studies you for a few seconds more, chewing harshly at the skin on the inside of her cheek; then, she lets out a sharp sigh. "Okay. All bullshit aside, I don't really know where to start. I'm not really the type of person who does this sort of stupid crap."

"Does what?" You respond to her with suspicion, trying to figure out exactly what she's trying to get at. "Smoke in a dirty ass Sonic bathroom with a girl you have barely ever talked to?"

She heaves out a dry laugh. "I was going to say try and make friends with someone, but I guess that works too." She lifts her hand back up to her face, inhaling another long drag. The smell of the weed is vigorous, coating the inside of your nose.

Your eyes widen with astonishment, a little bit shocked by her confession. This is the complete opposite of anything you were expecting.

It looks like you were full of pessimism for nothing—typical over-thinker shit.

You relax your shoulders out and unclench your jaw, which has been exceedingly tight from you biting down on your teeth. "You're trying to make friends with me?" You ask her, looking for verification.

"Yeah, why? Did you think I was coming in here to kill you or something?" She shakes her head in disbelief, "look, I know that I might be sort of a bitch or whatever the fuck it is people say about me, but I'm not crazy."

We love a self-aware queen.

"Not kill me," you say half truthfully. "But I would be full of shit if I looked at you in the eyes right now and told you that the thought of you fighting me didn't cross my mind when I walked out of the stall and saw you standing here."

"You're serious?" Annie's head drops to the side; an eyebrow arched upward. "You actually thought that I came in here to fight you, Y/N?"

"How could I not?" You ask in defense,
running your clammy hands across the thighs of your sweats. "You do sort of seem like the kind of girl who knows how to fight, and I sure as hell didn't think you were coming in here to be friends with me."

"Sure. If it came down to it, I could beat someone's ass, but that's not what I came in here to do. The real reason why I'm here is to make things right with you," Annie pauses to rearrange her words. You can tell by how her body shifts that this is totally out of her comfort zone. "Well, that's what I'm trying to do, at least." She extends her arm out to you, offering the burning joint. "By the look on your face, I must be doing a pretty shit job, huh?"

You chuckle, nerves now subsiding. Shaking your head softly, you decline her offer of a hit; you're tapped out for the night. Jean, got you too good. "No, you're doing fine. This just caught me off guard, is all," you confess. "I do have a question, though."

Annie shrugs before another inhale. "Go ahead."

You collect air in your cheeks and cross your arms in front of you. "You haven't attempted to reach out to me before now. What all of a sudden changed?"

She taps off the ash building at the end of the joint, and it dances down toward the cracked white tile of the bathroom floor, landing ever so lightly right in between one of the brown crevices. "Nothing has changed. I just think we got off on the wrong foot."

You're happy to now know that she sees the situation the same way you do. "Yeah. Me too."

Annie looks down at the ground like she's a little bit uncomfortable. "I just figured it was time to say something about it, I guess, especially since we are all friends with the same people, and from the looks of it, we're going to be spending a lot of time together."

"I've wanted to do the same thing, but if I'm being completely honest, you're not the most approachable person," you admit to her with a slow blink. "I figured with everything that happened during kiss or bitch you didn't like me, so I left it alone."

"I could care less about what happened during kiss or bitch." Annie tells you as she lifts her head back up and rolls out her shoulders.

"I just thought-" you start, but you're abruptly cut off.

"I know what you thought, but it's not true. Armin told me the only reason he kissed you was that he didn't want you to get crossed, not because he actually had the desire to," Annie interjects. "Plus, on top of that, I kissed Connie, for fucks sake. If I were mad about what happened with you and Armin while I turned around and did the same shit, then that would make me two-faced, and I can't fucking stand people like that."

She runs a finger down the bridge of her nose and continues as you listen intently. "Look, I've never not liked you, Y/N. It's just that I usually don't make an effort to get to know people. I'm sure that you've heard that I like to stay distant. It's nothing against you or anyone else in this group. That's always how I've been."

"Okay. Well, that's good to know," you concede to her honesty with a half-smile. "I guess it was all just a big misunderstanding, which I'm happy about because I have wanted to be your friend since I met you."

It's true. You have. As cheesy as it sounds.

One of your main goals during your time here at TSU is to stay the fuck away from any bad energy. It's consumed your life before, and you don't want it to happen again. You won't let it. All you want is to be able to forget the past, avoid any unnecessary bullshit, and start fresh. Be happy for once in your stupid damn life.

"I'm glad we sorted this out," Annie offers you her attempt at a smile, though it's near impossible to recognize. "Because I hate drama and petty people."

You take note that somehow, even when she smiles, her RBF still shows through. You wouldn't want to be on her bad side, that's for sure.

"So do I," you say with a sigh of relief. "You have no idea. I moved here so that I could get away from shit like that."

There is a brief second of silence as she takes a small hit from the joint; only a couple of inches are left now. Then she says, "Wanna forget about it and start over?"

You nod, lips set in a small smile. "Yeah. That sounds like a good idea. Let's do it."

"Okay, cool," Annie says hurriedly as her tense body softens out. You can tell that she's glad this conversation is over and done with, and so are you.

It feels as if there has been a heavyweight lifted off of your shoulders. It was always tense being around Annie since you never knew what she was thinking or where you stood with her, and of course, you had Jean continually in your ear about how she didn't like you, which only made it worse.

Horse face sure loves to stir the pot.

But now that Annie took this step to talk things out, you see her in a new light that you hadn't before.

Suddenly, there is a loud pounding on the bathroom door that causes yours and Annie's attention to turn away from each other and over toward the sound; the knocking begins to get louder and more frantic by the second.

You whip your head back around toward Annie, "I think that's our cue to go."

Annie concurs with a sharp nod and makes her way to the door. Unlocking it, she quickly pushes it open, and you see a middle-aged woman standing there, scowling.

She pushes in between the two of you, her shoulder brushing harshly against you as she steps into the bathroom. She inhales deeply through her nose, breathing in the strong smell of weed, and turns back around toward you and Annie. "Were you two ladies doing drugs in here? At a place where families come? There are little kids here."

Her voice and face reveal her offense. She begins to sniff the air more as if she's searching for the source.

What is she a fucking bloodhound?

"Why?" You bring your eyebrows up, "Did you wanna take a hit? I can roll one up for you really quick if you'd like. You look like you could use one. Maybe it would help you loosen up."

Annie chuckles, throwing you a satisfied look. "Alright. You're so much cooler than I thought, Y/N," she mutters next to your ear. You smile.

"Excuse me? That is a highly inappropriate thing to say to a stranger," the lady's chocolate brown eyes narrow extremely thin with disgust. "You ladies are absolutely out of control. You should not be locking the doors to a public bathroom, and you especially should not be smoking the devil's lettuce."

"And you should learn how to mind your own damn business," Annie spits back, making the lady's jaw drop down with shock.

Before she can say something in response, Annie spins on her heels and steps out of the bathroom. "Let's go," she utters to you, and you follow behind.

As soon as the heavy dark blue bathroom door swings shut and cool night air hits your face, the two of you begin to laugh. You look over at Annie, "Did you see the look on her face?"

Annie throws the now dead joint onto the ground. "That's what happens when people stick their noses in places where they don't belong." She steps on it with the all-black Adidas to make sure it's out. "Your offer to roll her a blunt was a good one. She honestly looked so fucking offended. I thought she was gonna have a heart attack or something."

"Right? She's probably in there right now trying to condemn us straight to hell." You deliver your statement with a laugh.

"Fine by me," Annie says, unfazed. "I'm probably going there anyway."

"Yeah. Me too." You laugh again as you stuff your hands away in Jean's sweatshirt pocket. "Should we head back? Armin's probably wondering where you are."

"Yeah." She nods. "He's probably too busy reading, though. He brought Hamlet for whatever fucking reason."

You aren't surprised. He told you how excited he was to reread it for the third time while the two of you were at work earlier. "It's a good read," you reply. 

"Speaking of him," Annie says as the two of you begin to walk around the building at a relatively slow speed, "he told me that you moved here from Stohess?"

You glance over at her. "Oh, yeah. He said something to me about that briefly when I met him, but he figured we wouldn't have known each other because of the timeline."

"When did you move there?" She asks curiously.

"Middle school," you tell her. "It was pretty sudden, not really something that was planned. I never even heard of the town until I was living in it."

"How'd you end up in a piece of crap place like Stohess out of all places? It's not usually somewhere people choose to go." Annie asks as she tightens her uniquely tied bun that rests at the very center of the back of her head.

"After my mom passed away, my dad wanted to leave, so we did. He didn't really have a plan or a destination in mind, so we just drove, and that's where we ended up... sadly." You run a nervous hand across your jawbone. You hate talking about your dad. "I could have gone my entire life without stepping foot there."

She runs her tongue across her teeth. "Try being born there."

You swallow down the memories of your past. "What about you? Why did you move out?"

"My dad's job relocated," Annie says monotonously. "We had to leave when I was in middle school."

"Guess Armin was right about the whole timeline thing." You kick a small rock out of your way and watch as it skids across the pavement.

"That doesn't surprise me," Annie articulates. "He's scarily right about almost everything. His IQ is like a 160 or something crazy like that. Explains why he reads Shakespear for fun."

Your eyes widen. You knew Armin was smart, but an IQ of 160? Jesus Fuck. "Alright, so long story short, he's a genius."

"Yeah, pretty much," Annie says. "Our own little walking dictionary."

You smile. "So. Since you grew up there, were you sad to leave?" you ask as the two of you take a sharp turn around the corner of the building.

At least, for you, the things you left behind in that town were all the things that you were better without. Annie had a life there. You just had moments you were forced to live through.

"It's whatever, not anything I was that sad over," Annie says, not a single muscle moving in her face, leaving her expressionless as she speaks. "I did have one really good friend there that was hard to leave behind, but other than that, I was more than fine leaving that shit hole."

"A shit hole, to say that least," you mumble. "It's definitely one of those places where you move out while you can. If you don't, you end up stuck."

"Stuck and fucking miserable," she replies, keeping up with your footing.

"Especially the miserable part," you say in agreement. "For what it's worth, Annie, I'm glad we're both out."

"Me too," Annie nods. "I guess we might have more common ground than we think."

"Yeah. It sure seems that way," you say with honesty.

"I'm sorry," Annie says; her blue eyes are usually hardened, but right now, there is a softness shining through, "to hear about your mom."

"It's okay." You give her a small smile of reassurance. "It happened a long time ago." She nods, but she doesn't say anything else about it.

You reach the small patio seating area, where you see Jean, who is sitting alone at one of the tables, drumming his fingers on the table, head stooped forward, looking at the ground.

Hearing your voice from a small distance, he lifts his head in your direction, and his gaze falls in direct line with yours. His eyes shift quickly between you and Annie as his eyebrows pull together.

The two of you approach him. Annie stops in front of him, and you take a step right next to her. She crosses her arms in front of her chest and looks down at him. "What are you doing over here by yourself?"

Jean adjusts himself in the metal seat, pushing his hunched body straight. "What's it to you, Leonhart?"

Annie huffs. "Forget it. I should know better than to ask you anything and expect an answer." She turns her body toward you, "I'm going back to the group. You coming, Y/N?"

"I'll be there in a second." Your answer slips through your lips before you can even process what you're saying. Did you just voluntarily stay behind to be alone with Jean? What the hell is wrong with you?

"Alright." She nods and makes her way across the patio and turns the building, leaving you alone with Jean.

He looks up at you through furrowed brows; head slightly cocked to the side. "What do you want, Y/N?" His face is tight with irritability.

A small groan escapes from the back of your throat. "Do you always have a stick up so far up your ass?"

"Yep." Jean remarks immediately. "It's a fucking illness I have."

"Aw, how tragic," you sigh with melodramatic sympathy, looking at him with soft eyes. "I'm so sorry, Jean, that must be extremely difficult for you. I really hope you recover soon."

"Can't. Shit's fucking chronic." He snaps, causing your eyes to roll as you fight off a laugh. Jean may be a jack-off most of the time, but he can be pretty funny. "Seriously. Why are you still here?"

Trust me. I'm wondering the same exact fucking thing.

Why didn't you go back with Annie and leave Jean on his own the way he likes? That probably would have been the wiser choice. But as you stand here, looking down at him, it turns out you're not so fucking wise.

Three wise men, meet one stupid bitch.

"Is it a problem that I am?" You pull out the chair next to you, the legs of it scraping harshly against the grey concrete.

Jean shrugs heavily as he stretches out his neck. "Stay, go, do whatever you want. I don't care. It makes no difference to me."

You slide between the table and the chair and plop yourself down, taking a seat directly across from him. "If I were to ask you what you're doing all the way over here, alone, are you gonna tell me the same thing you told Annie?"

"Dunno," Jean sneers with yet another shrug.  "Why don't you try it out? Go on, Y/N, ask me."

You roll your eyes at him. "Why? So you can tell me that it's none of my business and make me feel like an idiot for being concerned. No thanks, you've done that enough already."

Jean's jaw goes tight as his hands ball into fists. "Yeah, because I don't need you to be concerned about me, but yet here you are."

You blink. "Everyone needs people to be concerned about them every once and a while." You curse yourself silently for telling him things you know he doesn't want to hear, yet again.

"Well, I don't. I'm perfectly fine," Jean says, so sternly it's almost as if he's even trying to convince not just you but also himself of the words he's saying. Pushing both of his palms into the edge of the round table, he presses his back into the metal grates of the chair, "What's up with that shit anyway?"

"With what shit?" You ask, resting both of your forearms on the black round table, leaning your upper body forward slightly.

He runs both of his large hands run through his mullet before they fall into his lap, "You and Annie."

"Can you elaborate?" you respond, growing irritated that you're having to basically pry what he is trying to say out of him. "What about Annie and me?"

Jean has adopted an abrupt tone. "I saw you guys talking. Are you like friends now or what?"

"I mean, yeah." You eye him as you lean back in your chair. "I guess you could say that. We ran into each other in the bathroom and talked things over."

"And?"

"And we decided to start new," Both your shoulders lift up briefly before you drop them back down. "So it looks like you were wrong about her not liking me."

"Oh, a little start over. How sweet." He clicks his tongue up against the roof of his mouth, "So I take it, you're a person who is quick to forgive?"

"There wasn't much to forgive," you breathe. "All of it was just a misunderstanding we both had. It's not like she did anything to hurt me intentionally. She told me her cold shoulder is just the way that she is."

"Sure," Jean replies, dragging his palms down his pants. "And what about those who do intentionally hurt you? Are you someone who forgives them easily?"

"Honestly, yeah, I am. Unfortunately," you admit, twiddling your thumbs together. "I consider that shit to be a flaw of mine that I wish I didn't have."

Jean's eyes trek down to your moving hands. He briefly studies how they move with anxiousness before he brings his gaze back up to you. "Then why do it?" His once stern gaze has now gone soft as he wonders about you.

"I guess it's because I'm someone who likes to try and see the best in people." You let out a soft sigh as you hear the words you're speaking of your stupid vulnerability reverberate inside your head.

Jean's face stiffens, and he pushes his lips harshly together. "You sound a little bit like someone I used to know." His voice wavers just slightly, most people wouldn't have even noticed, but you do.

Forcing your hands to stop moving, you set your palms on each knee, pushing into them slightly. You are about to spit out a response, but Jean quickly continues with his words before you get the chance, "Don't ask me about it because I won't tell you. Only one verity of the day, remember?"

"Right," your mouth claps shut as you swallow down your forming questions. "What about you? Are you a forgiving person?"

Jean heaves out a laugh so harsh you can almost taste the bitterness of it. "Nah. It's kind of hard to forgive other people when you can't even forgive yourself."

Your eyebrows knit together with curiosity and concern. Scanning his face, you ask, "What do you mean you can't forgive yourself?" You know full well that you are meddling in waters that you probably shouldn't, but you can't help it.

Jean pauses, the bitter laughter in him subsiding, and it's quickly replaced with a frown that's full of gloom. His gaze is locked tightly with yours, and his eyes flitter back and forth quickly as he searches you. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out but short ragged breaths.

A few seconds drag by before Jean clamps his mouth shut and forces himself to look away from you, breaking eye contact quicker than you could blink.

It's almost as if your eyes were on the verge of pulling hidden truths out of him that he doesn't want to reveal. That he isn't ready to show.

Jean Kirstein, the code that refuses to be cracked.

Yet, you still find yourself trying for whatever twisted reason, knowing there isn't a chance in hell you are going to get anywhere with stupid little endeavors.

Jean tears through the silence with his deep voice. "Nothing. Just..." he shakes his head as he runs a frustrated hand down his mouth. "Forget I said that shit, alright?"

As always, he pulls back the instant you feel like you might be getting somewhere. Sometimes, it happens so fast you swear you're going get fucking whiplash or something.

"Alright," your voice soft from understanding and a small fraction of disappointment. "It's forgotten."

It's frustrating that you keep finding yourself wanting to pry into a life you have no business prying into.

Why is someone as cold and bitter as Jean so fucking inviting to you?

Your head always spins when you're around him, but somehow, in some weird way, it's starting to become a little bit addictive. That can't be a good thing. Can it?

Jean's lips slightly part as he releases out a long exhale. "So. Y/N and Annie, all buddy-buddy. Damn, who would have thought we would ever see the day." He finally brings his focus back to you. "You're just winning everyone over, aren't you?"

He's faster than lightning when it comes to changing the subject—Mr. Speed Racer.

"Oh, yeah. It's my specialty." You say sarcastically, crossing your arms over your stomach. "I especially take pride in winning you over. How am I doing? Pretty good?"

Jean breaths out a small laugh. "Really fucking horrible, actually. You gotta know that you're wasting your time with that shit, though, because you winning me over is something that isn't ever gonna happen."

"You can believe that all you want," you say thickly. "But you know that I'm still gonna try anyway."

Jean gives you an eye roll, "Why? Are you doing it just to fucking spite me?"

You scrunch your nose up before you allow your face to relax again, "Don't reveal my true intentions like that, Jean Boy. It's supposed to be my little secret."

"Jesus Christ." Jean bites at his lip hard, fighting off the laugh he feels bubbling in his chest. "You're a piece of fucking work."

You smile, uncrossing your arm, you rest them on top of the cold metal armrests. You let your body sink a little bit into the surface beneath you. "I know."

If there's one thing that you're gathering fairly quickly as you spend more time with Jean, it's that giving each other shit is the most stable part of your complicated relationship with him. You've always enjoyed a good banter, but even more so when it's with him.

"So," Jean starts, now wearing a smirk. You can already tell by how his face has altered that his following words will be ones that will try and irritate you. "Are you gonna kiss Annie now, too, since you guys are best friends? The same as that you did with Sasha?"

Yep. And you were fucking right. He sure as hell loves to get a rise out of you.

"Maybe." Your eyes go in search of his as you match his taunting smile with your own. "Why? Wanna watch?"

And you sure as hell love giving it to him right back.

"No," Jean remarks sharply with a scoff, pegging you with his tense stare. "You're not that entertaining of a person," He says through tight, gritted teeth.

You release a rush for air between your lips. "No? I'm not? Is that why you couldn't take your eyes off me on the car ride over here? Or what about when we were out in the parking lot earlier? You sure were looking a lot then too."

Jean stares at you, utterly dumbfounded. His eyes go wide, his mouth agape. You wait a few seconds for him to bite back, but he offers no words to speak in return.

You decide to continue to tease him for the hell of it. With a smile crossing your face, you drop your head to the side and say, "you know, if you want me, then cut the shit and just say that."

Jean glares at you through eyes so thin his lashes almost brush together. This only causes your smile to grow even more, "It's okay, Jean. Live your truth."

Jean scoffs loudly. "Oh, here we go. Come off that bullshit," he clamps up his mouth, tensing the temples up in his forehead. "Fuck that and fuck you. I told you that it was only because I was high. It's not because of some kind of twisted fascination I have of you."

"Oh yeah, that's right," you grimly mock, heaving out a small sigh. "How could I forget something like that? Who knows, if you blame it on the weed enough times, maybe I'll actually start to believe you."

Jean's eyes roll. "I've said it once, and I'll say it a million more times. I hate how much you run your mouth," he says bitterly as he chews at his inner cheek.

You set your elbow on the top of the cool black tabletop and rest the side of your head into your cold palm, causing your gaze on Jean to fall sideways. "If you hate my mouth so much, why do you always call it pretty?"

Jean lets out a loud scoff, stating the irritation your words cause him. "Fuck you. You are seriously so annoying sometimes."

"Fuck me?" You snicker, running your fingers gently through your slightly tangled hair, "Again? Damn Jean, you tell me that so much, it feels almost like... you're trying to edge me."

A dry laugh pushes out past Jean's tight throat, "Oh. That's really fucking cute," he says, as he rises out of his chair and stands on his feet. You'll never get used to how damn tall he is.

You push your lips inward between your teeth as your eyebrows knit together as one, "what is?"

"What you just said," he takes a step behind the chair he was just sitting in and pushes it in toward the table, the scraping sound of the legs against the pavement filling your ears. "About you thinking that I'm trying to edge you."

"Why?" you lean back, lifting your chin upward, eyes following him as he moves, "How is that cute?"

Jean makes his way over to your side of the table. He is now hovering over you, and it's causing your hands to clam up.

He slowly lowers his body toward you, making his face level with your own. Jean places his right hand in the very middle of your thigh, his long fingers slightly digging into you. His other hand grips onto the back of your chair.

Swiftly, he pulls inward, bringing his face close to yours. So close. His touch is burning through the thick fabric of cotton of your pants, plunging all the way down to the very bone.

You can barely even breathe now; all you smell is the scent of spearmint coming from him. You swear that you can almost taste the flavor of Jean on your tongue, and it's making you feel like you are going to sink straight down into the ground beneath you. The hairs on the back of your neck stand as his small ragged breaths lightly glide across your heated face.

"Why? Because, Y/N," Jean's voice is deep and achingly slow as his focus falls briefly onto your lips before he meets your gaze once again; light brown eyes smoldering your flesh, "If there ever does come a time where I do decide to edge you...you'll know."

Your mouth falls open the moment you hear his words, a tight feeling bubbling around inside of your chest.

One touch from Jean, and you are fucking putty. One sentence out of his stupid mouth, and you are about to fucking crumble away, piece by piece, until you are absolutely nothing. Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck. This.

Jean removes his hand off of your thigh. He pushes himself upright, away from you, and adjusts his posture; he now stands tall. His warmth and smell are both now gone in an instant, and you find yourself cold. Freezing, almost.

Slowly, you crane your heavy neck up, bringing yourself to focus on his towering presence. It only takes one brief look at his face, and you can tell by the cocky smirk he is wearing that he is beyond proud of the reaction he pulled out of you, and you hate it. So fucking much.

With another word from either one, he turns his back and walks away, leaving you alone with yourself, your unwanted feelings, and his words repeating over and over inside your head, like a stupid broken record you can't turn off. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

Stuck like glue in your seat, you watch without even being able to blink as Jean turns the corner of the building. He doesn't give a second glance your way. You let out a heavy sigh and shake your head.

Finally, after a few minutes of you sitting in still silence alone, you gain enough control over yourself back to stand up. You push in your chair and start your journey out to the parking lot to return to your friends, but right as you take a step around turn the corner, you run into someone tall and sturdy.

They grab your shoulders tightly, stopping you dead in your tracks. You bring your eyes upward to see Eren.

"Shit, Y/N," Eren says with a slight chuckle, squeezing your shoulders lightly. "You sure do have a nasty habit of running into me, don't you?"

"Sorry." You shake your head, still trying to clear your thoughts. "I didn't see you."

He smiles down at you. "It's okay. I'm just giving you a hard time."

You let out a small laugh, "When did you get here?"

"Not even fifteen minutes ago." Eren releases your shoulders and drops his hands, stuffing them into his pockets. Your face must be speaking for itself because the next thing he asks is, "You good?"

"Yeah," Your response is immediate. "I'm good. Why?"

You're so full of shit. Jean's taunting words stole all of the color straight out of your face. You know it, you can feel it, and the worst part about it is that you're so god damn powerless when it comes to fighting off the effect the man has on you. Even though you can't exactly put a finger on what it is that you feel.

"You sure?" Eren's blue-green eyes shine through the few front strands of his dark brown hair that have fallen in his face, "you look flustered like you just saw a fucking ghost or some shit."

You clear your throat. "I'm sure," you say, trying the best you can to sound more convincing with your answer this time around, but by the way that your voice is a little frayed, you know you're failing. "I'm good. All good."

Eren hums quietly to himself. He obviously doesn't believe you, but he changes the subject despite that fact. "What are you doing all the way over here anyway?"

"I was in the bathroom, then I ran into Jean," you tell him. "We were talking for a minute."

"Ah. That makes sense why I passed by him a second ago," Eren says. "Did he say some out-of-pocket shit to you again? He was wearing this stupid ass smirk on his face."

Of course, he fucking was. He's eating this shit right up.

"No," you deny, as you internally pray that your face returns to normal within the next couple of seconds. "We didn't really talk about anything at all."

"Alright," comes Eren's reply. "Well. Mikasa forgot a hoodie back at your apartment. She said she didn't realize it was cold out or whatever, so I'm going to grab one that I have out of my car that she can throw on. Do you want to come? I had to park on the other side of the parking lot. There weren't any spaces near you guys."

You nod softly, "Sure." He smiles, and the two of you begin to walk alongside each other through the bustling parking lot.

"You wanna know something stupid as fuck?" Eren says as you pause at the edge of the curb, waiting for two cars to pass by.

You look over to him and nod. "Always."

After the last car passes by, Eren places his hand on the very small of your back, signaling to you that it's okay to cross. As you step off of the curb, his hand lingers there for a few seconds before he pulls it away. "When I got here, you were the first person I looked for."

You feel your heart flutter beneath the walls of your chest. "So not only are you cute, but you're a smooth talker too. As if you didn't have enough brownie points already," you say flirtatiously. "You keep getting better and better, Eren."

Eren smiles at you, his cheeks bursting a light pink salmon color, "Careful, Y/N."

"Careful?" You bite the inside of your cheek. "Of what?"

He runs his tongue across his lips, and his eyes soften. "Keep talking to me like that, and you're gonna make me fall for you."

You nudge him softly in the shoulder as you arrive at an all blacked out four-door blackout expensive Audi. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Nah. It's not a bad thing at all." Eren chuckles deeply, "I just never knew a girl could do it as easily as you." He says as he pulls his black keys out of his front pocket.

You blush. "I didn't know I was doing anything to make me fall for me."

"You're not. That's the whole fucking point," he tells you. "You're just being you, and that's enough to drive any guy in their right mind crazy."

Eren is extremely confident, sure as hell of himself. And it shows through in the way that he talks to you, especially when he's showering you with compliments. His flirtatious words to you fall off his tongue like butter. And you're not complaining one bit.

He pushes the round silver button on the top of the black matte key fob and unlocks his car, causing the headlights and tail lights to blink brightly in unison twice.

Alright. What the fuck is up with these guys at TSU and their fancy-ass vehicles?

"Nice car," you tell him, stopping right at the trunk as Eren swiftly makes his way over to the passenger side door.

"Drug money can buy pretty nice shit," Eren jokes as he pulls the handle, opening the door open. He turns his head toward you and sees that your eyes have widened; he chuckles. "Zeke's money. Not mine. I don't deal drugs. I just do them."

You laugh. "Hey. Get your bag however you want. It seems like your brother's little business is treating you guys pretty well."

Eren leans his upper body into his car and grabs out one of his sweatshirts he has lying inside, "yeah, you know know how it works, your dad turns into a crazy-ass psycho killer, your brother starts to deal drugs to make a living, and in return, you get the car of your fucking dreams. Highly recommend."

Your eyebrows raise, "shit I, uh-"

He pulls his upper body out of the car and turns toward you. "Sorry. A little dark humor. Not your taste? Too morbid?"

You shake your head. "No. I like dark humor. I just didn't know if I was supposed to laugh or not."

"You're a part of the Dead Moms Shit Dads Club Y/N," Eren says. "You can laugh."

"Duly noted." You breathe sharply out of your nose. "Good to know that I have that pass thanks to my dead mom and a scum of the earth dad."

"It's a great fucking club, huh?" He says teasingly.

You giggle softly. "Yeah, it's the fucking best. Only the coolest people get to be a part of it." Eren chuckles.

Whenever you bring up the situation of your parents, which is rare, people always turn dark and dreary, like you are going to break at the seams.

It's continually repeated apologies and sympathetic expressions, but with Eren, he is one of the only people that knows and doesn't look at you with pity. Instead, he looks at you as someone who he understands. And it's a really nice change.

He tosses the light grey Adidas crewneck over his shoulder, "I was going to ask you if you needed a sweatshirt, but it seems Jean already took care of that for you. I take it you guys are getting along better?" His eyes trace up and down your body.

You shrug and lightly pull at the fabric of it, "In a way, I guess." But the truth is, you have no idea what the hell to make of you and Jean.

"That's good." Eren slams the passenger car door shut and meets you where you are standing. "To be honest, when you told me guys were talking, I thought I was going to have to put the horse face in his place for running his stupid mouth again with you. I know it's been a minute, but I'm still sorry about what all those things he said in the basement, about you being a basic bitch and all the other dumb shit he said."

You shrug. "It's whatever. I didn't let it get to me. Plus, he apologized for it."

Eren's eyes go wide. "He did?"

"Yeah, why? Is that surprising?" You ask intuitively.

"Kinda, yeah." Eren nods. "He's not really one to ever apologize." You hum, not knowing what else to say.

He lifts his hand up and ranks his fingers through his hair all the way back to the knot he has tied ever so perfectly on the back of his head. "Well, I'm sure if he says any other stupid shit, you won't have a problem handling it yourself. I have to admit that you're pretty damn good at holding your own."

You chuckle. "What makes you say that?" You ask as your eyes study the way pieces of Eren's hair frames his face perfectly. It's messy but somehow in place all at the same time. No one can pull it off like him.

"Because," Eren starts. "Spending as much time with Jean as I do, I can say that he isn't used to girls snapping back the way you do. I probably shouldn't tell you this, but he's even told me that himself that he isn't used to girls like you."

He scratches at the tip of his chin before dropping his hand back down by his side and continuing. "He's pretty used to ones who will do whatever to get his attention or flirt with him in the most desperate ways in hopes to pull him, but from what I can tell, you don't seem that slightest bit phased by him, and I seriously don't know if that's ever happened to him before. And I'm talking about even before he turned all 'fuck everyone and fuck the world.'"

You feel your heart still for a split second, but you do your best to ignore the feeling. "Yeah, I'm not into him at all." You tell him assuringly. Eren gives you a nod, and then you go on to say, "Do you think he hates me for that? Like for not being someone who cares if he gives me his attention or not?"

"No. I already told you he doesn't hate you." Eren gives his answer instantly as if he didn't even have to think about his words at all. "If anything, he probably likes you even more for not caring, even though I know he doesn't act like it most of the time."

"Why do you think that?" You ask yet another question, your wonderment getting the best of you.

Eren runs a soothing hand down the length of his throat. "You're someone who meets his energy, and I think you not falling at his feet sets you apart from anyone else. It might sound like I'm feeding you a bunch of BS, but you're seriously different when it comes to that shit."

"I guess I don't really see it," you say, shaking your head.

"Of course, you don't see it," Eren tells you. "You're in the middle of it." You give a slight shrug, still not believing any of what he's saying.

Eren takes a step closer to you and leans down toward the side of your face, "I'm trusting that you won't go and tell him that I'm saying all of this to you, so stay quiet for me, will you?" He whispers in your ear before he straightens himself back out, his eyes softening as he searches your face, "Please?"

Your heart skips as your nose is filled with his sweet scent, and your ears are filled with his sweet low voice. "I won't, Eren," you assure him while offering a smile, "I promise. But can I ask you something?"

"Anything," Eren says with a small smile. "You can always ask me anything you want, Y/N."

You tilt your head to the right side, "Why are you going out of your way to tell me all of this?"

"I don't know," Eren responds with a shrug of both of his shoulders. "Maybe because I think that Jean having a new friend who is different than what he's used to might help him in a way that the rest of us can't."

"Friend?" you say, almost laughing at his ridiculous statement. "I'm not sure he'll ever consider me to be his friend. I think we are more of an acquaintance to each other than anything else. And I highly doubt that will change. He sure as hell hasn't held back in telling me that himself."

Eren clears his throat as he leans his right side into his car, right elbow resting on the top of the surface of his trunk. "All I'm saying is that night we all went to Pied Piper, and you went out there to try and check on him, there's a reason he stayed out there with you for as long as he did."

You scoff. "That was only because we were smoking together. I think he prefers me when he's high."

Eren laughs. "Yeah, well, the fuckers pretty stingy with the weed I give him. Surprised he keeps sharing with you, tonight included."

Your mind immediately falls to the perfectly packed blunt you have stored away in one of your drawers in your room from when Jean was helping you pack. Sure, you stole it from him, but if he's so stingy with his weed, why did he give it up so willingly?

"He asked you to come smoke too," you make your claim.

Eren huffs air out of his nose, "he saw Mikasa asleep on me. He knew damn well I couldn't go and smoke with you guys. He didn't ask anyone else either. Like come on, he's not that fucking slick."

You swallow hard. "I think that you're reading way too much into the Eren. Jean likes to get high, and I happen to be with him when he does."

Eren shakes your head with disagreement. "If it were any of the rest of us that went out there after that phone call he took, he would have walked his ass home blunt or no blunt. And he sure as hell wouldn't have come back in the way he did with you."

"What are you getting at? He's not into me or anything like that," you argue.

Eren sighs. "I'm not saying he's into you. What I'm saying is that I think he likes you as a person more than he lets on."

You study Eren's face as you bite at the tip of your tongue, trying to process what he's telling you. "If that's true, then why does he act like such a dick to me?"

"Because he lost the one person who had this crazy-ass ability to keep him in line," Eren lets out a slow, steady breath and continues, "So he's fallen back to his old bad habits."

You tilt your head. "Marco?"

"Yeah," Eren nods. "From the stories they told us of them growing up together, Jean was super arrogant and only cared about himself. A spoiled rich boy with a big ass ego. I guess he was a pretty big asshole to everyone, except for one person. That being Marco. He was the one who helped get Jean's ass in check."

You knew Marco was Jean's best friend, that they were inseparable. But you didn't realize was that he played such a significant role in guiding Jean through life. "What was Marco like?"

"He was a fucking light," Eren tells you as he shifts the weight he has on his arm. "That's the best way I can put it. He was one of those people where when you were around him, you couldn't help but want to be more like him. Hell, even Armin found himself wanting to be better, and that little fucker is picture perfect."

You let out a soft breath. "Sounds like he was a really good guy."

"He was," Eren's voice has now turned the softest you have ever heard it. "So, when he died, Jean just went dark as fuck, and so did the world around him."

He takes a slight pause before continuing, "It's kinda hard to stay on track when you lose the one person who was helping keep your path straight. Even I'm pissed at the world for taking someone as good as Marco, and I wasn't even close to him the way Jean was."

You wish you didn't know what that was like, but you do. You nod. "It sounds like you know Jean pretty well."

"I just get it, you know, like I understand where his actions come from, as shitty as they are," Eren admits to you. "As much as I want to shame him for it, I can't. I was the same way after my parents died. It took me years and Zeke's constant push to finally stop being so damn twisted. I just wish he would let one of us pull him out of his darkness, but he doesn't want that. So, he just chooses to turn to drugs and girls instead. It's easier for him, I guess."'

"You care about him a lot." you say, tilting your chin up, "don't you?"

Eren grits his teeth, knowing that his words revealed to you the soft spot deep down that he has for his friend, "I swear if you say a word to anyone about this shit, even Sasha, I..." he trails off.

"Don't worry, Eren," you say, poking him lightly in the chest, "I'm not ever going to go against my friends, especially when they trust me enough to tell me shit like what you're telling me."

He smiles at you, "I'm really fucking glad I met you."

You match Eren with a smile of your own. "I'm glad I met you too."

| ♬ currently playing ... swing lynn ; harmless |

"Alright, enough about the mullet. It's getting depressing as fuck over here."

"True." You nod in agreement. "Should we go back?"

"Probably," Eren says. "Sasha did say something about her wanting to play a game or some shit."

"What game?" You ask curiously.

"Hell if I know," he pushes himself off of the car and stands straight, "Connie and Sash are brainstorming, so you already know that shit could be any and everything."

"You sure that's a good idea? Letting the two of them be in charge of that?" You voice.

There's no telling where their little games will get you; you learned that the hard way. At least it's guaranteed that with this one, whatever it is, it won't include a fucking closet.

"Probably not, but it's too late now," Eren shrugs. "We're in for it."

"Alright. Let's go then, Jaeger. Everyone knows you're the life of the party, so we can't keep them waiting forever." You start to take a step, but Eren's deep voice stops you before you can, keeping you right where you are.

"Hold on. Before we go, there's actually something that I wanted to tell you earlier when we were back at your apartment watching Demon Slayer, but I couldn't find a good time with everyone around," Eren confesses to you as he places the grey sweatshirt on top of his trunk.

This catches your attention. "What is it?" You ask with an arched brow of piqued interest.

"I just wanted to tell you that I think you look really, really good tonight," he says to you, kindly, as his eyes trek slowly across your face.

Your breath hitches at his compliment. "Thank you, Eren."

"The thing is, it's not just tonight. It's every single day." Eren shakes his head softly. "You're so fucking beautiful all the fucking time, and what's crazy to me is that you don't even try."

Your cheeks flush crimson red as he brings his hand up and picks up one of the long sweatshirt strings lying on your chest.

He starts to twist it between his long fingers, his prominent veins in the back of his hand shifting beneath his skin with the movement. "I mean, you would look even better if you were in my sweatshirt instead of Jean's, but I think I might be able to let that go." He lets go of the string, letting it fall back into place against you.

His eyes flicker down to your lips, and you watch as his mouth opens ever so slightly. The tension is growing by the millisecond, and it's sending chills directly down your spine.

You feel as though everything is on the verge of spinning out of complete control. You. Your mind. The entire fucking world. Where the hell is this going?

"Why- why are you looking at me like that?" You stammer. You can't help it. You're fucking drowning in an overwhelming amount of nerves.

"What? I can't look at you?" Eren smiles as his bright-colored eyes trail your lips again. "Don't tell me that, Y/N, because I fucking love looking at you."

You swipe your tongue across your lips slow and intentional. "You can, but you know Eren... you sort of look like you wanna kiss me," you say to him teasingly.

"Oh, do I now?" Eren replies, running a hand up and down your arm, his elongated fingers gently tracing you, making air get caught in your lungs.

"Yeah," you say, just barely audible. "You do."

Eren pauses for a second; bringing his hand up toward your head, he tucks a fallen piece of your hair behind your ear.

He speaks again, but this time his voice is so low it's almost silent, "What if I told you that kissing you is something that I want to do. That it's something that I've wanted to do since the day you clumsily ran into me in the hallway on the way to anatomy class."

You pause as you take in what he's telling you. You swallow your nerves and force out a response, "Really?" is all you can manage.

He nods. "Or what if I told you about the disgusting amount of jealousy I felt at my party, especially when you got paired with Jean during the last round."

Your heart slams harshly against your chest, almost as if it's looking for a place to escape. You were only teasing him, playing into the moment. You didn't think he would ever say something like this to you.

Is he actually going to kiss you?

Eren Yeager. Star of TSU's basketball team. One of the hottest, most popular guys on campus, and he wants to kiss you? What dream world is this?

He continues. "It should have been me in that closet with you and not him. You know that, right?" You nod slowly as your throat tightens around itself—a lump forming in the back of it.

Eren runs his thumb over your bottom lip; he takes in the way it feels underneath his touch. "I might not know what happened between the two of you in there," he breathes, "but that doesn't change the fact that I wished to all fuck that it was me."

Jean still hasn't said a word about what happened in the closet? You figured he would by now since he's always running his mouth, but it doesn't matter. The only thing that matters right now is Eren.

You look at him doe-eyed, your heart tipping in anticipation and desire. You swallow hard. "If you want to kiss me as bad as you say you do, then do something about it, Eren." Your tone is strong despite feeling like you are about to come apart. "Make up for shit choices in people the bottle made for us."

"Shit. I want to." Eren speaks to you quietly. "I want you so bad. You have no fucking idea."

You smile. Bringing your hand up slowly, you run the back of your hand up and run it across his cheek. Flipping it over, palm now facing downward, you drag it down his face until your hand rests at his jawline. "What's stopping you, then? Do it." You drop your hand back down to your side the corners of his lips curl up tauntingly.

Oh, he liked that.

"Fuck. How are you so damn beautiful, Y/N?" Eren whispers. "You're seriously one of the most beautiful girls I have ever laid eyes on, and I mean that."

He slowly lowers his lips onto your forehead and gently kisses your skin, causing your eyes to flutter shut—the sensation of his warm breaths escaping from his mouth sinking into you. He takes a deep breath, breathing you in.

Eren presses his forehead against yours, the tip of your nose touching his, "if only you could see what other people do when they look at you."

You keep your eyes shut with overwhelming anticipation; your heart is caught in your throat, your mind is absolute haywire.

You can feel him as he inches closer and closer to your lips. You're itching for it, for his lips to crash onto yours. You want it so badly that you can't even think straight.

"This is all I think about," Eren mutters, "You are all I can ever think about." You can almost taste him. Your lower stomach is tight, and your breaths are now shallow. Please, kiss me.

You can practically feel his lips on yours when a booming voice calls out in the distance.

"If it isn't my boy Eren fucking Jeager."

Just like that, the moment is out the god damn window.

You have got to be mother fucking kidding me.

And here you thought Connie's timing was complete ass; this fucker, whoever he is, takes the damn cake.

You almost ventured. You almost gained. But now, because of this random loud-ass stranger, you are now simmering in a whirlpool full of utter fucking disappointment.

Your eyes shoot open, and your heart drops. Immediately, Eren pulls away from you, bringing all his focus to the person approaching, "aw fuck me," Eren swears under his breath. You turn to look make out who it is the voice came from.

Eren lets out a frustrated sigh, letting you know he is just as irritated about this cruel interruption as you are.

He brings his focus away from the approaching stranger over to you. "I'm not done with you," Eren tells you lowly into your ear. His voice vibrating sends a rush through your body like a gust of wind you weren't quite ready for. "But you're just gonna have to wait for me a little bit longer." You swallow hard, and he takes a big step away from you.

The person walks up wearing a big smile. Now he's close enough that you can make out his face. One quick look, and you recognize him as one of the baristas that work at Aloha Java on campus.

You haven't spoken to him much other than when you place your order. He's always there working his life away with this corny-ass smile that isn't the best to look at. He represents one of those workers who takes his job a little too seriously for absolutely no reason.

"Shit," he says, eyes flittering between you and Eren. "Were you guys in the middle of something?"

So this guy is playing dumb as fuck.

"Nope. Nothing." Eren lies as he gives the no-name kid a head nod as a greeting. "What's up?"

"Chilling. The hell are you doing here, my guy." He lifts his right pats Eren harshly on the back a couple of times.

"Same as you, hanging out." Eren shrugs off his touch and looks at you, throwing an introductory hand in your direction. "This is..."

He interrupts Eren, "You're Y/N, I know."

He remembers your name? Yeah, you go to the coffee cart a little more religiously than you should but so does half of TSU. It's college, for fucks sake. Coffee runs in students' veins.

Eren's eyes draw narrow, bringing his focus to you. "You've met?"

"Not officially. I just remember her from Aloha Java. She's there like every single day," Eren's friend looks at him before craning his neck to you. "You remember me, right?" He sounds extremely hopeful.

You nod slowly. "Yeah, I remember you. You're the one who usually the one who takes my order."

"Iced americano with a splash of oat milk." He places a hand in his hip, popping it outward, "that would be me."

You swipe your hand across your forehead, your skin still burning from Eren's touch. "I'm really sorry, but in all honesty, I don't know your name." Even though you've seen him a lot, he isn't exactly someone you would consider to be memorable.

He lets out a loud chuckle. "Damn, really? With how many times I've taken your coffee order, I would have thought that you would have looked at my name tag at least once. But I guess I stand corrected."

You shrug and laugh nervously. “I’m kinda more focused on getting my coffee than I am reading nametags." 

“I see.” His eyes search yours, a smile still painted brightly across his face. "The names Floch. Floch Forester." 

You offer a smile in return, but there are only two things that happen to be crossing your mind right now, and neither of them is nice.

What is the actual fuck kind of name is Floch? And why does he have the worst timing in the fucking world?

Chapter Text

Alright, so maybe you're a little bitter.

Getting cock blocked by anyone at any time is never fun, especially when it happens at a time when you're only a few brief moments away from being able to grasp hold of something that you've secretly been yearning to happen.

And letting Eren kiss you was just that.

Unfortunately, the moments spent drawling in aching anticipation slipped through the small spaces of your fingers as easily and as quickly as air shifts through them, leaving you with absolutely nothing.

You can feel disappointment simmering inside of you as if you are made up of it entirely, making you almost itch, but it's the kind you can't quite scratch.

It's no secret that you had found Eren attractive since the day you bumped into him in the busy science hallway when he was nice enough to help you out before he even knew what your name was.

That morning is still burned heavily in your mind; you can envision it clearly as if it happened only yesterday. The lollipop enveloped nicely into his cheek, his signature man bun knotted securely in its place, the gold key necklace that hung over his black attire bringing all of him together, that smile he gave you when he realized that you were in the same lecture as him—all of it.

Your appeal toward Eren was most of the reason why you even agreed to play kiss and bitch at his party in the first place. That night, down in his basement, that was scented with weed, and the walls of it dressed up with various anime posters, you were wagering on a small sliver of hope that the bottle would spin around and around in the small formed circle and love you enough to land on him.

Taking that one out of nine chance was more than enough for you. But of course, because luck has never been one to favor you, by the end of it, your lips ended up landing on the one person that you were planning to stay the hell away from. Talk about the fucking odds.

Do you regret kissing Jean? No.

Well, perhaps, your statement should be rephrased because it is a bit more complex than that. Nothing is ever simple when it comes to that man. If the topic of Jean doesn't leave you with your head spinning, that's when you know something is wrong.

To put your answer into better words, you didn't regret kissing Jean until you did.

What occurred during the heat of the moment with him was the first time in your life that you ever permitted something like that to happen.

Before moving to this town, letting loose was not anything you were known for. It was out of character, one might say. You never had the freedom, or the friends, and especially not the fucking courage.

Back in Stohess, you were far too busy picking your drunk father off of the cracked tile floor at countless hours of the day, all while he demanded that you respect him as the man who raised you through slurred words drenched in cheap vodka and bitter hate.

You were too overwhelmed begging to be loved by your ex, who never could, as you spent days on end trying to convince him that you weren't cheating on him just because you wore an outfit that was too revealing for his liking.

And mainly, you were far too consumed trying to save your brother's life, all while wanting to end your own. But never did you utter a single word about your pain because that would only make you a burden, and that is something you never wanted to be.

Others before yourself had always been how you lived.

And what they don't tell you is how damaging being that kind of person can sometimes be.

So, of course, once you left behind the dark part of your life and made the promise to yourself that you would actually live your life when you moved here, as soon as the opportunity did arise for you to be able to say fuck it and truly let go, you took it and ran.

Stepping foot in that closet with Jean, you weren't looking for validation or security or for someone to make you feel like you were worth more than what you believe yourself to be. What you were looking for was for something to mean absolutely nothing, and Jean took care of that for you without any hesitation other than making sure he had your full consent to touch you the way that he wanted to.

He gave you every ounce of what you were searching for as if he could read your mind. He didn't ask any unnecessary questions, which meant you didn't have to provide any bullshit answers. It was simply two people who were desperate to numb their bottled-up pain within the short amount of minutes they were granted.

Once your time with Jean was up, and you stepped out of that small heated space filled with as much passion as two strangers could possibly share, you didn't feel an ounce of regret of letting him have his way with you. If anything, you liked it. You left feeling wanted and satisfied.

That was until you walked in on him on that girl upstairs soon after. Yes, what you and Jean did didn't mean a thing to either of you, but even still, seeing Jean move on as quickly as he did so that he could get off because you didn't have enough time to finish the job was a plain out shit feeling.

You could still taste the lingering hint of spearmint on your tongue as you watched him touch her from behind, for fucks sake. Who wants to see something like that?

All that aside, regretful or not of the choices you made in the closet, you still wish it had been Eren that you ended up with, whether it be in the closet or simply just kissing; going into that party, that was who you truly desired. And tonight, you almost got to make up for it. You almost got what you wanted.

You were so close, achingly close, only for the heated air of two close bodies to disperse back into nothing but the crisp hard night at the abrupt disruption of a certain someone.

Floch Forester.

You do your best to brush off the frustration crashing around inside your chest that you are holding against him for his extremely inconvenient greeting. For all you know, he could be a cool nice guy.

A cool nice guy with really shit timing.

Swallowing down the irritation that has snowballed in the back of your throat, you force a smile on your face and offer Floch the best apology you can musk up on the spot. "I'm sorry about not knowing your name. I'm usually dead before I have my coffee in the morning, so I'm not all there when I go to the cart. I'll be sure to remember it next time."

"That's what I like to hear. I'll be counting on it."
Floch looks over at Eren, hitching an eyebrow, "So the two of you are on a date? Is that what I'm seeing?" His pointer finger shifts between you and Eren rapidly.

Eren clears out his throat and shakes his head. "Nah. Not a date. The rest of the guys are here, too. I just had to grab something out of my car. What about you? You're here alone?"

"Yeah. I was just grabbing a bite to eat." Floch's focus finds you again, and he smiles. "So, I take it you are new to Trost State? Or is it Paradis in general?"

"Paradis in general," comes your calm response.

"How's that going for ya?" Floch's arms cross over his chest, head shifting to the side with curiosity. "Pretty difficult adjustment, I would assume? I know that it was for me when I moved here not too long ago."

"She's fine," Eren answers for you, almost possessively. "She's already found her place."

Eren's words fill you with a sense of warmth. You've been searching your entire life for a place where you can belong. Failed attempt after failed attempt, finally, you do.

And to know you're not the only one who thinks that your place is within your new small circle of friends is incredibly assuring. It means that they find value in you the same way you do them, and that's something that's never really happened to you before.

Floch's lips press together as he lets out a long low hum. "Gotcha. I was wondering why I'd never seen you around until this semester."

"Well, now you know." The corner of your mouth curves up into a faint smile as you lean your back into the trunk of Eren's car.

Floch gives a slight nod of his head, bright red hair slightly shifting as he moves. "Well, it sure is nice to officially meet you outside of making your iced americano." He offers out a greeting hand.

Taking it, you shake it softly. His hands are cold and clammy; it's definitely not the best feeling. "Thanks for always making my drinks right." Swiftly, you pull your arm back into you and wipe your palm on your pants, trying to rid of the moisture his touch left behind on your skin.

"Just doing my job," Floch says, his head held high with a little too much confidence. "I take great pride in what I do." You feel yourself almost wince. This guy seems a little bit weird.

Eren's voice pulls you from your scathing thoughts. "Y/N and I are about to head back over to everyone else." He tells Floch, moving his body to start his journey away from him. He seems a little eager to part. "I'll see you around campus."

"Oh uh," Floch speaks up, placing a hand on his hip, stalling Eren before he can even begin to take a step. "Do you mind if I walk over there with you guys? I wanna stop by and say hey to everyone."

There's an awkward pause. You shift your head and look over at Eren to see him grinding his teeth as if he is fighting off the urge to spit backfire and say no. His eyes fleet to you for a quick second before he blinks them back in Floch's direction. Eren releases his tight jaw and swallows hard, "Uh, sure. I guess."

"Suuuper cool," Floch says, removing his hand from his side. He snaps his fingers together and shoots Eren an obnoxious finger gun. "I can't stay long though, early morning shift, you know how it is."

Eren's face twitches with a small amount of irritation. He picks up the hoodie that still is resting on top of his trunk and tucks it between his arm. "Alright," he says hurriedly. "Let's go then. I'm not waiting for you to move your slinky ass."

Watching how they interact, you can't quite make out where the relationship between Eren and Floch stands. It seems like Floch has quite a liking toward Eren while Eren, on the other hand, appears as if he could give less than two shits about the guy.

The three of you make your way over to the other side of the Sonic building through the still busy parking lot, but the awkwardness that's floating around in the air is almost bone-chilling.

Eren makes more attempts than you can count to try and converse with you, but Floch keeps rudely interrupting him by spewing things out of his mouth so quickly that the words he's saying don't make the slightest bit of sense. You can't keep up.

Eren continuously looks at you with this save me, or I might die look on his face. You silently laugh at his quiet, desperate pleads as Floch unapologetically rambles on.

Eren nods every so often to make it seem like he's as invested in the conversion as Floch is. He even makes a few grunting noises here and there to make it more of a selling point. And Floch is buying every half-assed gesture Eren is making.

You never knew a person could be so damn oblivious to someone's impassiveness.

When you arrive back to the other side of the parking lot where your friends are, you spot Ymir and Historia, who are a few ordering boxes away from the rest of the group who are standing near Jean's car.

Reiner is nowhere to be found, while Annie and Bertholdt are off on their own, sitting on the curb of the patio emerged in a conversation where Annie is doing most of the talking. They both look a little bit tense. The wonderment of what they could be talking about passes through your mind.

In the distance, a few cars down, you see Jean with a small circle of four girls surrounding him; one look and you can smell their desperation for his attention from a mile away. As you watch, you feel your stomach twist. A feeling of irritation proliferates inside you. They are touching him every chance they get and laughing at whatever he is telling them, and of course, he's playing into it, making your fingernails dig into the skin of your palms.

"Y/N!" You hear Historia singsong from afar, pulling your focus away from Jean. She sends you a wave before flipping her hand around, signaling you to come over to them.

You give her a small wave back as a distant greeting. "I'm going to go say hi to Ymir and Historia."

Eren gives you a nod, and you head over to Reiner's truck, a White Ford Raptor, where the girls are sitting in the bed of the truck eating. Historia sits next to Ymir, arms and legs touching, stuck together as one.

You'll never get over how good the two of them look together. It's one of those rare momentum's, where you take one glance, and you know, they are meant to be together. It's the same feeling you get when looking at Niccolo and Sasha. It's a rare find in today's world, and that ticks you with a little bit of jealousy. You doubt something like that will ever happen to you.

"Hey, guys." You greet them cheerfully as you approach. "Where's Reiner?"

"Around somewhere," Ymir takes a sip of her drink. "If I had to guess, probably in the bathroom, looking himself in the mirror and crying as he stares at his own reflection." She puts a French fry into her mouth and chews. You laugh.

"I missed you!" Historia says sweetly. "How do you look so pretty all the time." She reaches out her hand and grabs yours squeezing it lightly once before pulling it back into her petite figure.

"I missed you too!" Your cheeks tint pink at her compliment. "And thank you, but I should be the one asking you that."

"So," Ymir starts, the straw of her drink tucked between her straight white teeth. "I didn't know you that you knew Floch's annoying ass." She tilts the top of her head over to the side as a gesture.

You look in the direction where she is signaling, and your eyes immediately fall on Floch, who is making his way around the huddled circle making his greeting. By the looks of it, no one seems to be thrilled about his presence.

"Oh, you mean the fruit basket?" You turn your head back to Ymir and softly give it a shake. "I don't, really. I only met him a few minutes ago."

"Fruit basket," Ymir repeats your comment as she pulls the straw out of her mouth and hacks up a loud laugh. "You know what. I know I said that we didn't need any more people joining this group, but you're the fucking exception. That shits gold. I fucking like you."

You laugh softly, wiping your mouth with your sleeve. "To be completely honest. It was the first thing I thought when I saw him. Is that mean?"

"Who gives a flying fuck if it's mean? Little fuckers annoying," Ymir says, with a quick raise of her chin as she adjusts her arm, draping it around Historia more securely. "Bash him all you want. You got my full support."

"Ymir..." Historia breathes out, resting her head against Ymir, gazing up at her with her bright blue eyes. "You literally say that everyone is annoying."

"True," Ymir admits nonchalantly, "but especially him. He's always saying some outta pocket shit and thinks he's a damn comedian." Historia bites at her lip but doesn't even try to develop any sort of defense. She must believe it too.

Historia lifts her head off of Ymir and releases her teeth from the skin of her lip. "Y/N. How have things been since your move? Is everything going okay?" She asks, with kind eyes and a small smile.

"I love it here," you admit as warmth fills the inside of your stomach. "This is honestly the happiest that I've been in a really long time."

This might just be the happiest that you have been, ever.

"You have no idea how happy that makes me to hear you say that," Historia exclaims excitedly as she places a grateful hand over her heart. "I was hoping that everything has been going well for you. I know starting fresh is never something that's easy."

You feel an extreme amount of gratitude toward her words. "That's true," you voice in agreement, "but everyone that I've met here has made everything so much better than what I thought it was going to be. I was worried it would take me a long time to adjust, but I don't feel like that anymore."

Ymir cocks a brow. "Everyone?" She sounds almost surprised at your choice of words. "You're sure about that?"

"I mean, yeah." Your forehead tenses as confusion swarms your head. "Why? Should I not think that?" You look at her with analyzing eyes as you wait for her to elaborate on her remark, but she doesn't.

Instead, after a few seconds, she inhales a quick whiff of air and sets her drink down next to her. "No. I just know not everyone in this group is easy to get along with. That's all." You hum in response.

She must be talking about Jean. It's the only thing that makes sense, really. Or Annie maybe, but you cleared the air with her.

Disregarding the rather vague conversation with Ymir, you line your gaze with Historias. "So, I know that I have said it a million times before, like literally every time I see you around campus, but I honestly feel it's never enough, so I'm going to say it again. Thank you for doing all you did for my room at the apartment. It seriously felt as if I had this weight lifted off of my shoulders."

Historia hops off of the bed of the trunk, her perfectly clean white tennis shoes hitting the pavement weightlessly. She quickly skips over to you. "There's no need to thank me, it was the least I could do," she says, wrapping her arms around you pulling you into a hug; she squeezes tight.

You hug her back, holding on a little softer than she is you. "You didn't have to do all that you know."

"I know." She nods her head against your body, her grip still wrapped securely around your waist, "but I wanted to. Plus, I enjoyed doing it. Ask Ymir."

Ymir picks the styrofoam cup back up and swirls her drink; the sound of ice moving around inside fills your ears. "It's true she wouldn't shut up about it."

"Told you." Historia giggles softly. "I love redecorating and all that sort of stuff. I just hope that everything is to your liking. I tried my best to go off of the things Sasha thought you would like."

It still blows your mind that even after all these years, Sasha still knows you as well as she does. You'll never understand what you did right in your life to deserve someone like her.

You sigh. "All of it is perfect." As soon as the words leave your tongue, you feel like they come up relatively short. There is nothing you can really say that can accurately express the gratefulness you feel.

Historia pulls away from you with a smile painted across her pink lips, "I'm so glad." She makes her way back over to the truck. She hops up and returns to her place right next to Ymir when a thick voice slides in behind you so deep it echos in your ear.

"Aye. Long time no see, Y/N."

You turn around to see Reiner standing there, bulky arms crossed in front of his hovering presence.

"Hey, Reiner," you muse. "How have you been?"

"Really good, thanks." He tells you through cracked lips. "Just been working out a lot."

As if this man needs to get any bigger.

"That's good. Hope that's going well for you," you say in return with a little bit of uncertainty. What the hell else are you supposed to say to that?

Reiner peers down at you with a puffed-out chest. "Where's my hug at?" He asks, spreading both of his arms outward. "Don't leave your guy hanging like that."

You freeze and try the best you possibly can not let your body cringe. You dealt with this shit enough in high school to last you an entire lifetime. Never would you have thought you'd have to deal with it in college too.

You clear your throat out, a little caught off guard by Reiner's abruptness. "oh I-"

"Reiner, for fuck's sake, leave her alone." Ymir hisses out a response for you, quite literally saving your ass.

"Fuck off, Ymir," Reiner's jaw goes tight, his arms dropping down by his side. "You're so fucking annoying."

"And you're a fucking creep." Ymir bounces back, drawing herself upright. "So what? Since you know that you can't have Historia, you're going to go ahead and try to make a move on Y/N?"

Reiner pops his jaw, "I'm not-"

Ymir cuts him off before he can speak another word. "Can you at least try to leave your dick in your pants for once?"

Reiner crosses his arms in front of his broad chest, rolling his shoulders back. "My dick is in my pants."

"Do us a favor and keep it that way," Ymir throws up a dismissive hand. "I can promise you not a single person here has the desire of looking at a damn chode."

You sink your teeth into the skin of your cheek and attempting not to laugh at her harsh remark.

By seeing Reiner's face alter, you can tell that Ymir's sharp tongue cut deep.

She really doesn't give a fuck when she speaks, and it's badass.

"You're such a bitch sometimes," Reiner spits back, clearly offended. "I swear to God. I'll never understand why she could have anyone in the world that she wanted, and she chose you." He throws a hand over in the direction of Historia. "Boggles my fucking mind."

"Go ahead, Rein, be mad all that you want," Ymir taunts, wearing a cocky smirk that has darkened her face around the edges. "But just remember whose face Historia is sitting on at the end of the night."

Your jaw drops down so far you swear it could almost hit the cold ground beneath you. Your hand slaps over your mouth. "Damn," you utter behind the palm of your hand. 

Reiner's body grows tense with rage from Ymir's harsh words. Mouth slightly agape, he stands there speechless, and for a good reason. Ymir dug his fucking grave, burying his body, mind, soul, and dignity.

It's time for him to rest.

Without another word, Reiner sends Ymir the middle finger and stomps away, feet hitting hastily against the rocky black pavement.

You turn your head to look behind you to watch him make his way over to Bertholdt and Annie, slowly lowering himself down to the ground next to them, and you notice that both of their moods suddenly change at his arrival.

Their conversation with each other must have been private.

Historia's head shoots upward toward her Ymir; eyes expand wide with pure shock. "Ymir!" Her voice causes you to turn back around towards them.

"What?" Ymir peers down at Historia, breathing out a small laugh as she studies Historia's face that is painted with pure astonishment. She runs a comforting hand over the top of her blonde hair. "Don't go getting all embarrassed on me now, baby. It's the truth. I'm just making it known."

Historia lets out a frustrated sigh. Lowering her head slightly, she shakes it a fraction of an inch. "That doesn't mean that you don't have to be so mean to Reiner about it."

Ymir chuckles as if what Historia said was a hilarious joke. "Why not? He knows it's all in good fun. It's his choice if he wants to take it up the ass or not."

"Even still! You can't just say stuff like that!" Historia protests, the pitch of her voice getting higher as it raises.

"But I can, and I did," Ymir says slyly, clearly unbothered with the fact she upset Reiner. "It's not my fault that he is still hung the fuck up on something that he can't have."

Historia blinks. "But rubbing his face in it?"

Ymir shrugs. "Of course, I'm gonna rub his face in it. I pulled you. He didn't. Gotta make sure he remembers who's fucking who." You laugh.

Historia says something in response, but you feel your phone vibrates against your body, diverting your attention away from their shared conversations. You pull it out to read the notification you just received.

Sash <3 - So I take my best friend to
Sonic to help feed the munchies
she's suffering from and
I get ditched?? What's that about??
Jk. I miss you. I'm literally over
here having withdrawals.
Come back. Now. Please.💛

Reading Sasha's text, a soft laugh passes through your lips. You close out of your messages and lock your phone, stuffing it away. "I'm gonna head over to the others." You tell them, taking Sasha's text as your cue to go. "Are you guys coming over?"

"We'll be over in a few. We're just gonna finish eating our food really quick," Historia tells you as she picks up the drink she has set next to her and takes a small sip.

You utter an okay and slide away, making your way over to Jean's car. You still see Jean surrounded by the girls up ahead, but you don't allow yourself to look for more than a second. You don't want that unwanted feeling creeping around inside of you again.

Arriving at the group, the first thing you notice is Armin; his back is pressed up against the trunk of Jean's car, holding his worn-down copy of Hamlet in hand. He's flipping through the pages, too immersed in the words on the page to focus on the conversation filling his ears. When he hears you approach, he looks up and smiles at you before diving right back into his world of literature.

Sasha's eyes light up the second you approach. "Finally!" She stretches both of her arms outward, inaudibly demanding that you fall into her embrace. "I was wondering when you were going to come back to me."

You smile, falling into her arms. "Me and you dating when?"

She smirks, "Now, baby," and plants a kiss hastily on your cheek, which makes you laugh.

"Who is Jean with?" You ask her, the question urgently leaving your mouth before you can stop it.

"I don't know," Sasha sighs. "Those girls came over and pulled him away. Said they are in the same art class as him or something like that. Not sure when he'll be back. It will honestly probably depend on if he's interested in hitting it or not if you know what I mean."

Your shoulders grow tense at her words. "Didn't need to know that."

She shrugs, unfazed. "You asked, babe."

That's true, and you should have known better than to be curious about Jean. But you definitely weren't expecting her to answer to knick something inside of you; it's dark and unwanted, but it's slithering its way through your veins anyways. You do you're best to push the feeling away.

I don't care. Is what you tell yourself. Makes no difference to me.

You hear Connie snicker from across you, pulling you out of your head. "Damn, Y/N, you took so long to come back over here. I thought you were blowing up the bathroom this entire fucking time." He says, humor sinking into the tone of his voice. "I was dead ass over here wondering how big the shits are that you take."

"I don't know." You rest your head on Sasha's shoulder. "Probably bigger than your dick." You say, without missing a beat, sending him a mischievous smile.

Connie slaps his right hand over his chest and his left hand on top of the other. Hunching over, he lets out multiple groans as if he's in some sort of agony. Sasha bursts out laughing while Mikasa teeters softly, adjusting the fabric of Eren's sweatshirt that she's now wearing. Armin looks up briefly and shakes his head before going back to reading.

"Jesus Y/N," Eren comments, his voice filled with laughter. "Pretty sure you just committed homicide and killed Connie."

You let an exasperated sigh. "What can you do? It happens."

Eren chuckles lowly. "You know, if you kinned my dad, you should have just said so."

Another one of his dark jokes, and you can't help but laugh.

"You morbid ass mother fucker," Connie drawls, shaking his head. "Grisha's probably rolling in his fucking grave right now."

Mikasa's hands drop off of the sweatshirt fabric as she looks over at Eren, her well-known serious look painted across her face, "Eren." The way she says his name sounds a lot like a warning.

"What? Come on. That was funny." Eren places a hand gently on Mikasa's shoulder. "We should be focusing on Connie. He's the one who was killed from what Y/N said to him." Mikasa grumbles lowly in response under her breath.

Your laughter subsides, but Connie's dramatic play does not.

"It's okay, guys. I haven't died yet, but I am on my death bed," Connie forces his voice to sound strained. "Before I go, I want to make a request to the Make A Wish foundation. Y/N is the only one who can make that dream of mine come true."

"Oh, God," Sasha lets out a groan. "Look what you did, Y/N. Now he's acting out an entire fucking pitty skit."

Connie crosses his arms in front of him defensively, "It's not a skit. It's real shit," he turns his head away from Sasha, and his gaze meets yours. "Come on. Help a guy out, would you? I'm growing desperate over here."

"Hm. What's your wish, Con Man?" You ask, playing along with Connie's ridiculousness. "I'll see if it falls within my capacity to be able to grant it."

"Great," Eren scoffs. "Now she's adding fuel to Connie's stupid fucking fire. Y/N really is a great addition to this group." He teases. His gaze meets yours from across the circle, and he shoots you a grin. You scrunch your nose up.

"Right? I fucking love her," Connie smiles. "Now. My one true wish is for... Y/N to kiss me."

"That's a pretty bold wish, Connie," Floch interjects with a jutted chin. "Don't you think? Maybe try to make it less obvious you're hard for Y/N."

"That's real fucking ironic." Connie's eyes narrow thin. "Maybe you should be the one trying to make it less obvious that you wanna get fucked by Eren."

Floch flinches at his words, "I don't."

Eren grits his teeth, "Alright, you're done."

Connie laughs. "What's your answer Y/N," he cracks a grin laced with hopefulness.

You halt at Connie's question. Scratching your head as if you're in deep thought, you let out a long sigh. "Wish...denied," you offer him an apologetic smile as you drop your hand down to your side. "I'm so sorry that I can't fulfill this dream of yours. The guilt I feel is almost unbearable. You gotta believe that."

Connie throws his arm in the air, "Come on! Why not? You kissed Armin, Sasha, and Jean, but you won't kiss me? Especially when I'm better looking than all of them put together as one? When is it going to be my turn?"

Your breath hitches, and your shoulders tense. You feel Sasha's grip tighten around you.

"Wait. Hold the fuck on. You actually did kiss, Jean?" Eren's eyes widen, and he looks at you with an unflinching gaze.

Shit.

"What?" Mikasa's dark eyes flicker your way, "When was this? At Eren's party?"

Shit, again.

"What party?" Floch voices. "Why wasn't I invited?" Why does he never stop talking?

Eren glances over to him, "My bad. Thought I sent you an invite." He doesn't even try to sound convincing, but Sasha chimes in before Floch can get in another word.

"Connie!" Sasha voices. "What the actual fuck?" You can tell that she is as shocked as you are at his slip of the tongue. "Why do you have to have such a loudmouth?"

Connie drags a guilty hand down his face, "Aw mother fucking shit. You guys didn't know?"

"No," Eren and Mikasa say at the same time, eyes not straying from you for even a blink.

"You're such a dumb ass," Sasha slaps her palm-full of shame onto her forehead.

You look over at Sasha, dropping your arms from around her; you take a step away from her, "you told him?"

"Oh my god, no." She shakes her head, "Are you kidding? Of course, I didn't. You know me enough to know that it wasn't me."

She's right. You trust her with your fucking life. Her word is good, always. Stupid of you to even doubt her for even a second.

You look at Connie as your eyebrows knit together, "Then who the hell told you?"

"Jean did," Connie says firmly, quick to point his finger at the source.

"What did I do?" Jean appears from behind your back, stepping into the circle next to you. When you look up at him and see him alone, knowing he left those girls behind, you feel a small sense of relief.

"Is Jean in trouble again?" Historia asks as she enters the circle alongside Ymir, next to Mikasa.

Connie looks at Eren with wide eyes and shakes his head so harshly you're afraid his brain might be rattling against his skull, but Eren turns away, blatantly ignoring Connie's silent pleas for him to stop.

Eren turns to Jean. "You kissed, Y/N."  His voice is tight.

You watch as Jean's arms tense up slightly. He lets out a slow even breath and shrugs, "Yeah, I kissed her. So what?" Despite the cocky tone that he is forcing to coat his voice, you can tell this wasn't anything that he was expecting to have revealed to anyone.

"So you're just gonna run your big ass mouth about it to Connie and not me?" Eren questions, evidently offended. "Armin, did you know?"

Armin brings down his copy of Hamlet slightly to look at Eren, "I don't know anything. I'm just trying to read my book. I am staying out of it." He says, and he puts his nose back into the book.

"What's the big deal?" Jean replies defensively. "You guys are over here acting like I railed her or some shit." His words and how close he is standing to you send chills directly down your spine.

"Shocker," Eren mumbles under his breath. "I would have thought you would have tried to fuck her. Everyone knows that you try to put your dick in everything that walks."

"Right. And so do you," Jean returns sternly. "You just hide it better than me."

"And what makes you think I would have said yes to him even if he did?" You chime in, looking at Eren.

Eren blinks your way. "Girls always give Jean whatever he wants."

His comment rubs you the wrong way, Don't lump me in with them, Eren," you say curtly, grinding your teeth. "I don't owe Jean a single damn thing."

"That's not what I meant," Eren deflates, trying to stuff the words he said back in his mouth with instant regret.

"Choose your words better then," you say, feeling sort of irritated. Eren swallows hard.

Ymir's laugh cuts into the conversation at hand. She looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. "So how was it kissing Jean? Did it finally make you realize that you actually like girls?"

"Idiot." Jean scoffs. "Shut up."

You turn to face Ymir and shrug. "I don't like girls. I love them, actually." You feel Jean's eyes burning the side of your face, but you don't turn to acknowledge his gaze.

"Oh, really?" Ymir laughs again. "Kissing Jean turned you bi or what? Is that what I'm hearing from you?"

Your eyes dart quickly across her face. "Can't turn me into something I already am," you shoot her a crooked smile.

"You better be talking about me," Sasha says, poking your shoulder. "And only me."

Your nose scrunches. "Of course. Who else would do it for me like you?"

"Well, well, well." Ymir musks up a smirk of her own. "Good to know you actually do have a taste."

"I told you to keep your mouth shut," Jean says to Connie, finally tearing his eyes away from you. "But of course, you had to go ahead and run it, huh?"

Connie's loud voice returns your focus back to him. "It slipped out, alright? I just thought everyone ended up finding out since you always love to run your mouth about any and all action you get, even from girls that you can't remember their name. I didn't know Y/N was different."

There's silence that comes into play between Connie's statement and a response from Jean.
Jean's light brown eyes flicker over to you. He studies your face like a canvas before he blinks his vision clear of you.

You fully prepare for harsh words to come from him, the way they always do, but to your surprise, he doesn't even attempt to spit out a reply.

Jean doesn't say that you are different, but he doesn't say that you aren't different either. He just lets Connie's accusation fly freely in the air, which makes your head pulse with two questions.

What does he think? And why do you care?

"If it makes you feel any better, Eren, I didn't know either," Mikasa tries to offer him some sort of comfort to the offense he so clearly feels.

"It doesn't because it's different, Mikasa." Eren snaps at her a little harshly. "You just met Y/N not that long ago. I've known Jean for a couple of years now. We dead ass hang out every single day. Like what the hell, man I thought we were close than that. I mean, I even asked you about it, and you wouldn't tell me shit. But you entrust Connie of all fucking people."

Eren is clearly irritated but what you can't tell is where his irritation is sourced from. Is it because Jean didn't confide in Eren, or is there a small chance that he's a little bit jealous of what happened between the two of you that night?

Jean lets out a deep sigh of frustration. "I only told Connie because he wouldn't stop asking me about it, and I wanted him to shut the fuck up for once."

"The only reason why I wouldn't shut the fuck up about it is that I knew when I walked in on you guys after your time was up and asked what happened, and you said that Y/N was boring that you were full of shit because there's not a single chance in atheist hell that a girl as fine as Y/N could ever be boring," Connie firmly states his argument.

You press your lips together. "I appreciate that, Connie."

"I always got your back, girl," Connie replies assuringly. Jean opens his mouth to say something, but Floch cuts him off.

"Damn Y/N. You just moved here, and you're already out here kissing how many people in this little group of yours?" Floch remarks, "You sure know how to make an entrance, don't you?"

Your face tenses up. This must be the part of him that Ymir told you about earlier.

"That's not funny," Mikasa warns.

Floch glances over to Mikasa for a second only to disregard her and continue running his mouth. "I gotta admit, I'm a little hurt. You guys should have told me you made a new friend that was hot as hell. I would have come to hang out sooner. It seems to me that you guys have no problem sharing her."

He starts to snicker at what he thinks to be a joke. His eyes moving across everyone standing in the circle. He's waiting for the laughter to abrupt from the others, but it never comes.

Instead, the air turns stagnant, and tension skyrockets before you can take a breath.

You just met the guy, and he's daring enough to say something like that to you and think that it would be taken as a joke? He's bold, and it's not the good kind. Floch seems to be hitting strike after strike; you try your best to get along with everyone, but it's not looking too good for him.

Your lips part from each other as you prepare to defend yourself, but to your surprise, before you can, your friends jump to your protection without a single ounce of hesitation.

"That's way out of line," Historia says with evident disappointment.

"Say something like that again to my best friend," Sasha says firmly, "and watch what happens. I'll tell you right now. It won't be fucking pretty."

"Hey, man," Connie calls out to him in a threatening tone, "Don't play like that, dude."

"Watch your fucking mouth," Eren says sternly, giving Floch a tense stare. "You literally just met her."

"What the actual fuck?" Jean's hands ball into tight fists by his side, "who the fuck are you?" He seems to be the angriest out of everyone at Floch's comment.

"What do you mean who the fuck am I?" Floch questions through tightly gritted teeth. "We've hung out how many times, and you seriously can't even remember my fucking name? You're that damn arrogant?"

"Oh no," Jean laughs dryly. "I remember your name. I'm asking who the fuck you think you are talking to Y/N like that?" 

"Seriously, Floch," Armin assents, closing his book up and setting it on top of the trunk. What Floch said was enough to bring Armin back to reality and come to your defense. "Why are you running your mouth about her as if you know her? It's not cool. I expected better from you."

"That's where you're wrong, Armin," Ymir says as she shifts focus to him. "You should never expect better from that shit head.”

"Fuck you, Ymir," Floch hisses, his laughter quickly turning into straight irritation. "I really can't stand you."

"Aw." Ymir clicks her tongue. "And why's that? Because I get more pussy than you?"

Floch winces at the sting of Ymir's comment. "Man, you guys need to chill the hell out," Floch throws up two defensive hands into the air. "I was just fucking around with Y/N. What's the big deal? It was supposed to be a joke."

"I don't give a shit what it was supposed to be." Jean rebukes, taking a step toward Floch. "You don't get to fuck around with Y/N. I don't give a shit how little or how well you know her. Do you understand me?"

"Yeah? In whose rule book?" Floch takes a step back, obviously skittish but still staying in tune with his snarky attitude.

"Mine," Jean says, taking one more step in the direction of Floch. "leave Y/N the hell alone, or I swear to fuck we'll have a problem."

Floch flinches, still backing away. "Calm down, alright? I'm just going to go."

"Good idea," Jean states firmly.

Floch brushes by you, his shoulder coming in contact lightly with yours. He stops by your ear and looks down so you can hear him speak, "I'm sorry, Y/N, if I offended you. Making you upset wasn't my intention at all." You don't even blink his way.

"I don't want you fucking talking to her either." Jean grits his teeth. "Get the hell out of here before I show everyone what a little bitch you can be." And Floch leaves without another word.

Everyone's mood changes the instant Floch disappears into the distance, from irritation to concern.

"Are you okay?" Sasha asks you with worried eyes. She wraps her arm around you offering her comfort, and of course, you take it.

"Yeah," you nod, hugging her in return. "I'm fine. Don't worry about it."

"You sure?" Eren's blue-green eyes flicker with softness. You nod.

"I'm sorry," Historia apologizes. "What Floch said was super disrespectful."

"He can be a dick," Armin rests his arm on the trunk. "It's not cool what he said to you."

"It's really not that big of a deal, guys," you say with a shrug. "People have said a lot worse things to me."

"Who?" Jean demands as soon as the sentence leaves your mouth. You look at him with slightly parted lips but don't respond. "Y/N. Who?" He asks again.

You shake your head, pushing your lips together with anxiousness. "Not a name worth saying." Jean studies you for a second, concern flickering in his eyes before he blinks them away back to emptiness.

"I never knew someone could kill the vibe more than Floch," Ymir says as she rolls her eyes.

"Never fucking fails," Jean groans.

Mikasa's face tenses. "One of these days, I swear I'll beat his ass." 

"That'll be easy for you," Connie states. "You're scary as fuck."

"Only when someone messes with the people I care about," Mikasa sends you a small smile, which makes you feel warm inside.

Mikasa has her existence wrapped in stone, where she comes off distance, a little cold, and pretty intimidating to those who don't know her. You can recall being nervous about spending time around her with the fear she wouldn't like you. But the more time you spend with her, the more you realize that she cares a lot and loves others deeply. You only continue to grow more and more fond of her and your friendship. 

Jean softly nudges you in your arm. "You sure you're alright?"

You tilt your head up regarding him, "Yeah. I'm sure."

His eyes scan your face before he gives you an understanding nod. "Let me know if you're not. I've always been looking for an opportunity to beat Floch's ass." You nod.

The next half an hour is spent talking and conversing with one another in the small huddle of the Sonic parking lot about nothing and everything at the same time. At some point, Bertholdt, Annie, and Reiner make their way over and join in on the conversation at hand. There's laughter, bickering, and some light-hearted moments that cause the time to pass in the blink of an eye.

Connie is telling a story about the time when Annie was stuffing her face with pie when Ymir disappears to Reiner's car.

When she comes back, she has a look on her face that you can tell is full of nothing good, her hands tucked behind her back, hiding something.

"Where'd you go?" Historia asks curiously, looking up at her.

Ymir releases her arms from behind her back and holds a bag filled to the brim with weed into the center of the circle. "I'm just doing God's work."

"I told you to keep that shit in my car," Reiner warns. "You can't just bring this shit out in the open like that."

"Why not?" Ymir asks, shaking the bag of weed.

"You can get in trouble," Historia lifts her head out and grabs the bag out of Ymir's grasp.

"And what? Go to jail?" Ymir rolls her eyes. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Your eyes widen with both interest and shock. "You went to jail? What for?"

"Beat some dude's ass that was flirting with Historia." Ymir blinks, "I told him to back off, he called me a little bitch, so I had to make sure he ate his words."

"Well, jail or not, we can't smoke that here with all these kids around." Armin picks up his book. "Let's go somewhere else."

"Down," Eren says. "Where do you wanna go?"'

"The basement,"'Connie and Sasha say at the same time.

"At Zeke's house?" You ask.

"What other fucking basement, Y/N?" Jean taunts.

You roll your eyes. "I don't remember talking to you." You say sarcastically, which causes Jean to scoff.

The circle disperses, and everyone starts to leave in the vehicles they came in. Connie and Sasha are talking to one another as they hop in the back seat of Jean's Mercedes, leaving the passenger side open for you.

Jean is about to open the drivers' side when you stop him. "Hey, Jean," you say, grabbing ahold of his attention.

"Oh?" Jean replies, looking around his surroundings before bringing his focus back across the car over to you. "You're talking to me now? Who would have ever fucking thought I'd see the day?"

"A miracle, isn't it?" Your head shifts to the side, "But seriously, I just wanted to say thanks for sticking up for me after the stupid shit that Floch said. You didn't have to do that for me, but I do appreciate it."

"Yeah, well, I didn't do it for you," he bits at some skin on his lower lip. "I just can't stand the fucking guy."

"Damn, really? And here I was thinking you were doing it because you were in love with me or something," you taunt. "It felt like I had you as my own personal bodyguard."

"I'm not your bodyguard," Jean spits back with a tense jaw.

You shrug, "Could have fooled me."

Jean swallows hard as he grinds his teeth, biting down a laugh. "Shut up, Y/N."

You shoot him a smile so big your nose that scrunches up as you pull open the car door. "I would, Jean, but the thing is, I never let men tell me what to do." and you hop inside his vehicle, slamming the door shut.

___

Jean's pov

If only you could see the smile, you put on Jean's face.

If only you had waited a few seconds longer before getting into his car, you would have witnessed it in its pure form.

As hard as he tried to deny it access, he couldn't fight it back anymore. It slipped through.

Jean takes a moment to gather himself. His hand is frozen in place on the handle of his car. Forcefully, he stifles his formed smile back into nothing, not wanting to risk a single soul the chance to take notice.

Through a tight throat, he harshly swallows down the feeling of bliss rising inside of him, locking it away into the darkest parts of himself the same way he has been doing since the day he saw you passing through the grass field of Titan Turf.

At this point, it's embedded into his routine. It's what he knows.

Opening the car door, he slides into the driver's seat, refusing to admit to himself the way he feels when you're around because experiencing even a fleeting second of happiness isn't something he believes himself to be worthy of.

Especially when the reason those feelings are being awakened inside of him, for the first time in a very long time, is all because of you.

What Jean is worthy of is nothing, and even in his dark, twisted mind, he can recognize that you are so much more than nothing.

Jean Kirstein knows a person like him will never be worthy of a person like you.

And he hates himself for it even more than he already does.

Chapter Text

Pulling up to Zeke's house, your friends' cars are parked in a line in the curved red brick cul-de-sac paved in front.

The speed of Jean's black Mercedes starts to slow, and with a slight turn of the steering wheel, he pulls off the dark neighborhood street and in behind Reiner's truck. Cocking your head to the right, your eyes trace across the house's exterior. 

It's as you remember, white wooded, spacious and beautiful. Deep yellow and off-white hues radiate off of the lights coming from both the inside and out, creating an inviting aura around it.

It's quiet and still this time compared to the blaring music and loud conversations that filled every inch of it a couple of weeks ago.

Jean's unbending carefulness behind the wheel leaves himself, you, Connie, and Sasha the last to arrive. That and the fact that Connie's ice cream mixed with cosmic brownies decided to go right through him as you were about to pull out of the Sonic parking lot, forcing Jean to do a whole ass U-turn.

Connie claims to have eaten too much of it too fast, the truth is he's just lactose intolerant and doesn't give a damn.

Needless to say, Jean wasn't too happy about the situation. The way he cursed under his breath repeatedly was a dead giveaway.

On the car ride here, though it wasn't very long, being in the front seat, you witnessed how careful Jean is when he drives. For most of the way, he was quiet, hardly saying a word to any of you.

If something were spoken to him that needed to be answered, he would, but his voice was gruff, and his responses were short while his face stayed forward and stagnant. He seemed to have flipped some sort of switch, the way he always does.

Jean didn't want to ignite in conversation more than he had to. He was too focused on the black paved road ahead, scarred hands steady on ten and two.

While you were busy exchanging conversation with Sasha and Connie, as they bashed Floch's name to the ground for the things he said to you and how they are unquestionably convinced he has the hots for Eren, you glanced over at the speedometer a couple of times, just out of curiosity. That's when you noticed ten over the speed limit was the most Jean was willing to go.

As soon as Jean shifts his car into park, the locks on the doors make a clicking sound, automatically unlocking themselves. Connie is basically out of his seat before Jean can even take the weight he has on the gas pedal off.

"Race ya!" Connie chants loudly to Sasha, throwing off his seatbelt; the metal part of it smacks against the surface of the car door before he forcefully pushes it open. You glance over your shoulder to the backseat to see him hop out like his ass is on fire.

Sasha fidgets with her seat belt, struggling a bit, before she throws the door open, following his lead because there's no chance in hell she will let herself lose to Connie Springer. "Idiot. No fucking fair, you got a head start. You're such a god damn cheater." She yells at him, her voice echoing through the clouded night sky as both car doors slam shut.

Before you can even blink, Connie is booking it around the front of Jean's car and up the burgundy brick driveway. He's so fast you swear his black mesh Adidas aren't even touching the ground beneath him.

Sasha picks up her speed, arms flailing in the air as she fights for her life to catch up with him. Connie leaps skillfully onto the porch, not even attempting to use the three steps provided in front of him, and reaches the front door sprinting through it first with Sasha tailing right behind.

"With how close I am to them you would think by now I would have come to terms with the fact that I need fucking child locks on my doors." You hear Jean scoff to the left of you, the sound of his seatbelt unbuckling.

You laugh. "It's a fucking miracle they even waited for you to park the car before they jumped out." Taking off your seatbelt you place your hand on the shiny silver handle of the door. You begin to push it open using your leg as support.

Not hearing the sound of the driver-side door opening, you glance back to see Jean hasn't moved an inch. His hands gripped tightly around the smooth black steering wheel stitched neatly with thin white thread.

"You coming?" You ask, your forearm resting on the soft material of the halfway-open door.

"Not yet. I need to chill out. I'm in my head," Jean shakes it out of frustration. "Stupid shit." He isn't looking at you; his focus is aimed forward at the center of the steering wheel, the veins of his arms pushing through his skin as the grip he has around it tightens stressfully.

"Is that why you were quiet on the car ride here?" You tread lightly with your question, knowing all about his protected territory. "Are you okay?"

With no surprise at all, Jean isn't willing to answer. He simply ignores you. His eyes don't so much as blink your way for even a millisecond.

Accepting that you aren't going to get a response, you change the subject. "Look, it's not stupid, I promise. I get in my head sometimes, too," you mutter. 

"Yeah?" Jean breathes air out of his tight lungs almost in what seems to be relief, hands dropping from the steering wheel into the center of his lap. "Often?"

"Enough." You nod once, slow and steady. "It's not something you should be too hard on yourself for." Your eyes flicker down to his lower half, and you watch the repeated movements of his hands. Anxiously he runs his palms up and down his pants. You can tell he's stuck inside of himself, fighting to get out. "What do you need?" you offer bringing your line of sight back to him.

He blinks, finally bringing his focus away from the silver Mercedes logo in the middle of the steering wheel over in the direction of you. "I don't know," he grumbles, voice flat, unfaltering as his hands come to a halt, palms now pressing deeply into the fabric of his pants. "I think I just need a minute."

Your lips press together, sinking your teeth deep into the flesh of them. "Okay. I'll go and let them know you'll be coming in a few." You push open the car door the rest of the way, giving yourself space to move, and begin to shift your weight to step out.

Suddenly, you feel Jean's touch wrap snuggly around your left wrist, and he gives your arm a slight tug. With his weight pulling you, you sink back into the black leather seat that's warm from the seat warmers being set at the perfect temperature.

Confusion passes through you like a rush of air.
You crane your neck to look at him, his eyes on you too—a few fleeting seconds of silence pass by before he opens his mouth to break it.

"How else do you get out of your head?" Jean asks; the light brown color in his eyes flickers with something that resembles unspoken pleads. He begins to chew at his cheek distressingly.

By the look of it, you can tell that he isn't used to this. Whether it be asking for insight or being around someone when he feels off, you don't know.

It could be either; it could be both. Or maybe you're sitting here reading him completely wrong. Jean is not the easiest person in the world to understand.

"Music," you answer, trying not to focus on how his warm touch feels wrapped around your wrist. "That tends to help me a lot." It burns.

The grip Jean has around you disappears just about as quickly as it came. There's only a slight lingering sting left behind where his hold once was. He grabs his phone that he set in the cupholder before the drive over here and types in his passcode.

Phone now unlocked, he holds it out to you demandingly. "Here. Play something." Studying your face, he can tell you're caught off guard with his request. "Queue up a couple of songs. Give me until the end of them and I'll be good," Jean elaborates.

Hesitantly, you take his phone from him. "You want me to stay?" Your voice is addled, parallel with how you feel.

You weren't expecting this. You thought he would let you go freely, and by now, you would be making your way down the wooden staircase that leads to the basement to be with your friends. But here you are, stuck in Jean's car, in the dark, with just him. Twice in one night.

Go fucking figure.

Jean shifts his head away from you and looks out the front window, the beams of his white headlights lighting up the tail end of Reiner's truck. "Y/N. Just listen for once. Shut the damn door and put something on, alright?" That trace of weakness in his voice has vanished. It's now back to being as abrupt as you're used to.

You nod, agreeing, taking this as his twisted way of saying yes. "The others are gonna wonder where we are, you know." You pull at the door and let it fall shut.

Jean shrugs, undaunted. "Let them."

You don't argue.

The passing heavy clouds above begin to rumble, black in color, thick with an oncoming storm. Rain begins to escape from the dark sky, slowly and then all at once, the pattering sound filling the night.

The two of you sit in silence; with his head tilted slightly forward, Jean watches the way the water dances down the slight slope of the window, each one of them making its unique pattern as it drips,  while you scroll through his Spotify app, looking for songs per his request.

Jean lets out a long breath through his nose. "I'm gonna smoke," he informs you, breaking the silence with his focus still straight ahead taking in the water as the world cries.

"You don't wanna wait? You saw how much weed Ymir brought. There's enough for it to last months." You voice as your eyes scans the names of various artists.

The more you look, the more you realize that you and Jean share a similar taste in music.

Cigarettes After Sex. Beach House. Current Joys. Surf Curse. Joji. The Neighborhood. Frank Ocean. Tyler, the Creator. The list could go on.

"Have you learned nothing? There's not a fucking chance in hell all of that will last that long with this group." Jean adjusts himself in his seat. "I just wanna smoke alone. A big rotation sounds like a shitty fucking time right now." He pauses briefly swiping his tongue across his lips. "Are you gonna wanna hit?"

You think about it for a second.

You denied Annie's offer earlier, you thought you were tapped out but the truth is you were simply too anxious. You weren't comfortable enough because you had no idea where the conversation in the bathroom with her was going to go.

But now that it's Jean offering, another high does sound a little bit inviting. It is college after all.

"Yeah. Sure." You accept, still searching through the app. "I wanted to ask you, what kinda strain did we smoke earlier?" You glance briefly up at him before blinking back down, thumb dancing across the dimly lit screen of his phone.

"Indica." Jean runs the back of his hand under his chin, lined with scruff scratching at it. "Why? You liked it?"

You nod in response. "Yeah. I did." He hums lowly noting your preference and goes back to studying the rain.

Your eyes fall onto the name of one of the many playlists he has created on his account.

All of the songs I would send to you if you were still here.

Every part of you goes tense, your shoulders, your face, your hands, even your chest, but not enough for him to take notice, he's too fixated on the storm up above.

Jean has a playlist for his friend? For... Marco? Is that what this is? Jesus Christ.

Saliva builds up thickly in your mouth, your teeth grinding past each other. You blink softly trying to ignore what you just read, though a ping of sadness hits you sharply beneath the ribcage making you ache.

Disregarding the feeling as much as you possibly can, you continue, acting as if you never saw it. You know you have to.

Finally, you decide on the songs and queue them up. The first one begins to play through his Bose car speakers. The sound of it is clear and crisp, yet another perk of his high-end vehicle. The relaxing reverberation of the downpour of rain mixing in with the tune.

| ♬ currently playing ... levitation ; beach house |
(highly recommended! if you have an iPhone with ios 15 go to accessibility in your settings and turn on background sounds under audio and visual and hit rain sound. thank me later for this)

You are about to put his phone back into the cup holder when a notification banner pulls down from the top of his screen. You don't mean to look, but it's right there in front of you. Your prying eyes have a mind of their own.

888-891-3309: Laying in bed,
missing you, baby. ❤️
Come see me soon, please?
You know how well I can take care of you

Another one comes directly after. Double text.

888-891-3309: I'm not
wearing rn anything btw
Maybe this will be the selling point 🥺
*one attachment image*

Poor girl. Calling him baby, sending him vulnerable pictures and he doesn't even have her number saved.

Eren might have been dead wrong for trying to say you would give Jean whatever he wanted but he was being completely honest when he said that girls always do. There's proof right in front of you, being held in your tight agitated grasp.

A reminder of the kind of life Jean lives, one you sure as hell don't want to be tangled up in.

"Your girlfriend is texting you," you hand Jean back his phone, disregarding the unpleasant feeling that has suddenly curled up in your chest at the sight of the messages he received.

"Which one?" Jean smirks, taking it from you. Hitting the lock button, he sets his phone down into the cupholder. He doesn't even bother to read what she wrote.

You roll your eyes. "Too many you lost count?"

That amuses him. "Something like that."

Dick.

Jean opens the black cushioned center counsel; your focus falls, watching as he rummages through the different things he has stuffed inside. After a few seconds of searching, he pulls out a thin matte white stiizy. The top of it is black, yellow wax sitting right where the pod snaps in.

When he moves his hand out of the way, you notice a black Polaroid camera hiding away inside. He is about to close the counsel back up when you stop it halfway with your hand. He looks at you confused, and you reach in and pull out the camera. "Didn't know you were the sentimental type." You hold it up to him.

He glances at it briefly, corners of his lips pulling downward. "I'm not."

You turn it around in your hands, getting a better look. "It's a nice camera. Where'd you get it?"

Jean watches as it shifts around in your hold from palm to palm. "My friend gave it to me a couple of Christmas ago. He was the sentimental one, not me."

Was. 

You don't react though you feel your heart drop slightly with the thought of knowing who he is most likely talking about. "Is there film left?" Your thumb trails down the rainbow stripe, running straight down the middle from the lens leading to the thin slit that lines the bottom.

Jean shrugs. "Probably, I haven't used it much since I got it. The only one to ever take a picture with it was Connie, and that's because..." He catches himself before he says too much. "Actually, I'll do you a favor and save you from that information. It's probably better if you don't know."

You adjust your body, becoming more centered with him, back pressing into the frame of the door. "Just because you said that now you have to tell me."

"Alright. Fine. You asked for it." Jean pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers as if what he's about to say isn't anything he wants to be thinking about. "One night, I walked in on him trying to take a dick pic with it, which is why I keep this stupid shit in my car. I had to keep it away from him. Can't trust the dumb ass with anything." His hand drops back down. 

"No fucking way," laughter begins to rise from within you as you place the camera down into your lap. "Why the hell would he do that?"

"It's Connie. You should know better than to ask why he does anything." Jean hangs his head with mortification. "I swear to God I don't know why I'm friends with him."

His evident frustration only causes you to laugh harder. "Probably cause your life would be boring as fuck without him and you know it."

He doesn't argue your claim. "Shits not funny." Jean presses the back of his head into the headrest and looks at you, his mullet still somehow in perfect placement. "It was fucking traumatizing."

"Well..." You run a hand through your hair as your stifle any more laughter you feel might come. "Do you know if he still has the picture he took lying around somewhere? Did he make some copies, maybe? Asking for research purposes or whatever." You bat your eyes at him innocently.

"Y/N." Jean shivers, disgusted. "Enough of that shit."

You nudge him softly in the arm with your elbow. "I'm just kidding. He already sent me some. They're in my camera roll right now actually."

He lets out a scoff before taking a hit out of his stiizy. "Surprised it's not Eren." He huffs out smoke and holds it out to you.

"Oh no. Don't worry. He's next." You jab, lifting your hand out to get possession of his stiizy.

Jean's eyes narrow, pulling away from his offer before you can grab it. You reach your arm out further. "Come on, Jean. I'm just messing with you." Rolling his eyes, he gives in to you, placing the stiizy in the center of your upturned hand.

You bring it to your lips and inhale a few times. A sweet burst of blueberry coasts across your tongue. "Don't get me wrong, after what you told me, I'm glad you're keeping it out of reach of Connie, but why don't you ever use it?" You take one last hit before he takes it back into his possession.

As he takes a small number of hits, Jean reaches forward directly under his bright dashboard screen and twists the smooth black volume knob counterclockwise, turning the music down a couple of nouches so he can hear you a little better. "Haven't really seen the point in it."

"Alright, that's it." You say as you straighten your back upright. "We're taking one."

"Why?" He scoffs, almost irritated. "We're sitting in front of Jaeger's house, and it's pouring rain. What the hell is happening right now that I could possibly want to remember?" He takes one last inhale before setting the stiizy in the cupholder.

"You never know that it's a moment you want to remember until it passes," you reply, staking your claim. "Now stop questioning me and give me something that I can write with."

Jean hitches a brow blowing out the smoke he has tucked in his cheeks. "Why? What the hell do you need that for?"

You cross your arms. "You can't take a Polaroid picture without writing on it. Unspoken rule. Now come on. You're an artist, aren't you? I know you have to have something lying around in here somewhere that we can use."

He huffs sharply, knowing he lost this battle. Reaching beneath his seat, he pushes one of the control buttons and opens the trunk.

Jean quickly gets out of the car, rain falling down on him as he makes his way to the back. You listen to the rustling from behind you as he searches the inside of his trunk. He then shut it, shaking the car slightly with the small impact. In a matter of seconds, he hops back into the car, securing himself back inside.

You try not to stare, but you can't help it. He's wet from the downfall of rain.

Parts of his black shirt are gripping tight onto his skin, black fabric exposing his muscles in a way that makes your heart patter with something unknown.

The ends of his mullet are damp, water is escaping from the front strands of his hair slowly running down the length of his face, tracing his soft skin that is embedded with permanent lines from how much he frowns. A hint of pink meeting the very tip of his nose.

"You got me catering to your wishes getting out of my car in the rain to get to this shit. Now I'm wet, and you're the one over here wearing my sweatshirt." Jean runs his calloused palm down his face wiping away the access water and hands you a black graphic Sakura art pen. "How the hell does that work?" His deep voice brings you down to reality, snapping you back into yourself.

You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth and take the pen from him. "Hm. Honestly, that's a good question. I know you said the night we met that Eren was the one who was whipped on me, but it seems to me that it might be you."

You hear his breath falter beside you. "That's a real shit move, Y/N." He grits his teeth, tugging at the chest of his shirt, trying to get it to loosen the tightness of the fabric the rain has caused to latch onto his skin. "Using my stupid remark against me."

"Not as much as a shit move as when you insulted me the night we met for no reason, so it's about time I get you back for that. After all, I do like playing fair." You smile as his sharp jaw tenses. "It's nothing you should be ashamed of, Jean. It's okay to be whipped. It happens to the best of us." You remark slyly, patting him lightly on his damp shoulder.

Jean's jaw ticks with even more intensity, the bone of it so sharp you swear it could cut glass. "Do you always have to fucking bite back?" He shrugs off your touch.

"Not always." You smile as you start to twirl the pen in between your fingers. "Only when I feel like it."

| ♬ currently playing ... k ; cigarettes after sex |
(again, rain sounds highly fucking recommended)

"You're lucky you're a pretty girl, you know that?" He mutters under his breath. You glance over with a slightly drooped jaw, and you watch as his shoulders tense, realizing that the words he was thinking escaped out of his untrustworthy mouth. He's about to choke.

"Hold on. Did you just call me a pretty girl, Jean?" Your head falls to the side, the muscles of your neck stretching out.

Jean stares at you through widened eyes, silently cursing that he let those words slip out of him as his throat goes exceedingly tight. "It must be all in that mind of yours because I didn't say that. Maybe you should get checked out. It could end up being a problem."

"You are such a liar. You totally said it." You assert with knitted bows.

"I totally didn't." He reiterates, desperate to sound convincing enough for you to believe him. You don't.

You bite down on your teeth. "Jean, what is this? Are you trying to gaslight me right now?" You raise your question sarcastically.

"Why?" Jean chuckles, and as always, he meets that taunting tone of your voice with his own. "You gonna fall victim?"

Your eyes narrow, your vision of him going slightly blurry. "Do you honestly think that I look like the sort of girl to let you or a person with a dick between their legs have that sort of control over me?"

Stupidly, you made that mistake before, but let's not talk about the past. You're better now. Stronger.

"No," Jean says quickly but honestly.

"Then you'd be right." You adjust your legs, straightening them out in front of you. "I know my worth too well."

"That's a good girl." The side of Jean's mouth faintly curves up as he rakes a hand through his still semi-damp mullet, "keep it that way."

Thank fuck you have skin acting as shelter to cover up all of what his words just caused to burst inside of you. "I plan to," you force your words to remain unwavering, "now hush so we can take the picture." You pick the camera off of your lap.

"This is so damn stupid," he groans out in frustration, but he doesn't put up any more of a fight. As you flip the polaroid camera over so the front of it is facing the two of you, Jean leans himself toward you and you feel his shoulder push into your arm.

"Yeah, I know, Mr. I Hate Everything. It's just the end of the world. Now, get ready," you demand, setting your pointer finger on top of the bright red round button resting on the front of the camera, your thumb placed under the base of it to keep it steady.

You hear him let out a long sigh next to you. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"What do you mean what the hell are you supposed to do?" You tilt your head back a little and look at the black fabric roof out of frustration. "You've never taken a picture before? I don't know, smile or something."

You don't have to look at him to know that he just rolled his eyes. "I'm not fucking smiling," he bites back with bitterness.

You fix your hold around the camera, getting a better grip on it. "Okay, emo boy then don't. Do something else, just hurry up, my hand is getting tired, and you're going to bruise my arm if you put any more of your fucking weight into me."

"Big baby," Jean mumbles lowly. He adjusts himself.

Bringing his left arm across your body, he places the width between his pointer finger and thumb under your chin. Curling his slender fingers inward, he pushes pressure lightly into your cheeks. The side of his face resting into yours. Skin to skin.

The way he is touching your face catches you off guard, but you don't react in any way, nor do you say anything. Instead, you scrunch your nose up and smile the best you can beneath the pressure of his rough hand.

You begin to count down with a muffled voice. "3... 2... 1..." You put weight into your finger resting on the bottom of the polaroid and snap the picture, a bright white flash lighting up the darkness that surrounds the inside of his car.

As soon as the picture is taken, You lower the camera into your lap. With his fingers still sunk into the soft flesh of your cheeks, you turn slowly to look at him, but simultaneously he does the same causing you both to fall into an achingly close gaze.

Your breath hitches, not expecting to meet him this close. There's no voice escaping from the lips of either of you. There's only the music, the sound of the trickling rain against the large window, and the breaths of two people. Very faint uneven breaths.

Spearmint. All you can smell is spearmint.

This close to him, you take this opportunity to look at him. Really look at him. You notice the dark bags under his eyes, the length of his eyelashes, the pinkness of his lips and his nose, the tail end of a very faint scar hiding beneath his brown hair that rests on his forehead. You're beginning to grow warm.

You open your mouth to say something but Jean beats you to it.

"Hey." Jean starts, his calloused fingers curling into you, even more, eyes flickering between your lips and your gaze. "Do ever think about..." Pressing your lips together as one you wait for him to finish the sentence he started but instead, he ebbs.

You swallow hard trying to slow the heartbeat rising in your chest. Nervously, your tongue trails across your bottom lip. "Do I ever think about what, Jean?"

What is happening? Why can't you ever read him? His mind. His actions. Any of it.

Jean's mouth falls open marginally but within a matter of seconds, he clamps it shut with a harsh amount of pressure. Jean's focus on you breaks. "Nah. Nothing," his tone indistinct. "Never mind." Ripping his warm hand from your face he pushes away from you falling back into the driver's seat.

You blink a few times, lowering your head down to your lap trying to work through what thence this experience was.

You try to piece together how is it possible for something to feel like everything but be absolutely nothing at the same time, but you come up blank and overwhelmed.

"Satisfied?" Jean speaks, ignoring what just occurred. "You got the picture you wanted." You look over to him to see his gesture with his chin to the camera still set in your lap.

You follow his lead and ignore it too. You grab the freshly printed photo out of the slot. "Yes, I am actually. Was taking one with me really so hard?" You begin to shake out with small flicks of your wrist to speed up the drying process.

He sinks deeper into the leather seat. "Yes."

"Big baby," you mimic, and his face twitches.

The photo of the two of you has finally come to life; it's bright in color, showing the details of all that cameras can capture. You grab it and look at it, and you find yourself smiling.

You have to admit it's cute, the way his hand is holding your face, your bright eyes, his dim ones, the way the side of his face is pressed up to yours.

He did mean what he said though about not smiling, nothing meets his lips but a harsh stagnant line, only more defining the ones embedded into his skin.

Abruptly, Jean snatches the photo out of your loose hold and brings it to him to get a better look. He stares at it for a few seconds, the temples tense in his forehead. "You look happy," his voice is bleat, a sort of jealousy twisted into it.

"I am," you admit more to yourself than to him. "More than I was before, at least."

"What does it for you?" Jean's gaze lingers, stuck on the photo; his blinks come slow, scattered. "What makes you happy?"

"Oh, uh. I'm still trying to figure that out," you admit truthfully to him. You've been living without it for so long you forgot how to pinpoint exactly what it is that makes you feel a bit of serotonin. "I don't know exactly what makes me happy but I honestly think that moving here has helped me. What about you? What makes you happy?" The question slips from your tongue before you can attempt to filter.

"Don’t know" with his voice tight, breath spirals out of Jean's lungs. "I’ll let you know if ever figure that shit out" he speaks again, painstakingly. And that's that. He says nothing more about the topic and you know better than to ask.

Instead, he grabs the pen that's placed in the cupholder. "What am I supposed to write on this stupid shit anyway?" He asks, quick to avert the focus of the conversation elsewhere, tapping the pen against his thigh.

You shrug. "Whatever you want." Pausing for a moment, you come to your senses and make an effort to try and grab the pen away from him. "Wait, I probably shouldn't trust you with this crap. I already know you're gonna write something stupid."

Reading your movement, Jean jerks away. "Aw. Too bad. If only you had realized that sooner huh?" He sets the Polaroid on the horn of the steering wheel.

Setting the pen between his teeth he bites down on it and pulls the cap off. He begins to write on the white part, beneath the freshly printed photo his veiny hand that's marked with healed wounds gliding smoothly across the bottom.

Once done, he grabs the photo and pulls it out of your view before you can sneak a peek at what he wrote, pressing his back into the leather seat. A slight clicking sound fills your ears as he snaps the cap securely on his pen.

You signal over to the Polaroid he's holding with a gesturing hand. "What'd you write?" 

"It's not that big of a deal." Jean holds it out to you face down, tucked between his middle and pointer finger. "I just wrote your name," he looks at you with a smirk.

God. What did he do now?

You accept his offer. Taking the photo from his hand you flip it over, so it now faces upright. Directly under the side of the picture that you are on, you scan the words he wrote with black ink.

Jean's handwriting is fairly neat. Some of his letters connect with faint lines showing he doesn't always lift his pen after every stroke he makes. There is a thick black-colored arrow pointing up at you. This fucker.

Simp for Eren ⇧

You find his line of sight and roll your eyes. "That's not my name, dumb ass."

Jean lets his head stoop to the side. "It isn't?" He teases. "Damn. That's totally my bad. Could have sworn it was."

A harsh sound passes through your lips from the back of your throat. "Give me that. Since you wanna be a smart ass, I'm going to write yours," you demand snatching the capped pen out of his hand.

Leaning forward in your seat, you place the photo on the smooth dashboard. Pulling off the pen cap, you jot down words to the left of his writing in swift movements. Once complete, you hand the photo and pen over to him. "There, all finished." He holds it up to his face and reads it.

⇧ Simp for Y/N

"Jesus fuck. You're something else, aren't you?" Jean throws the pen into the cup holder. "What makes you think some stupid shit like that would ever be true?"

"Oh, I don't know, just my two cents, I guess you could say," you reply sweetly and doe-eyed. "And something about me is that I'm never wrong."

Jean sets his jaw firmly in place, causing it to grow more defined than it already is. "Well, I hate to break your fragile little heart, but you're wrong about this one because I'm not a simp for you."

You yawn, "Yet."

"What?" He questions, aggravation tightly creasing his forehead.

"Yet," you repeat, with a more precise tone, eyes sliding smoothly across his face. "You're not a simp for me yet."

His gaze on you remains unflinching. "I don't simp for people, Y/N. Ever."

"There's a first time for everything," you say, lifting your right shoulder before dropping it down. "What are you gonna do with the photo we took?"

"I don't know, probably throw it away," Jean holds his hand out toward you. "I'm good to go in now. Give me the camera so I can put it away. You've had your fun."

There isn't a doubt in your mind that the photo the two of you took is going in the trash. But it's okay, you only did that to distract him from whatever thoughts he was suffering from. It's not like you were expecting him to keep it anyway.

You are nothing but acquaintances, after all.

You tuck the camera under your arm and open the car door, "I'm taking it inside. Maybe we can take a group photo together or something." Jean scoffs like what you just said was the ridiculous thing he has ever heard. Your face goes tense. "Stop. It will be fun." 

Jean drops his hand defeatedly,  "Fine. Whatever you want, princess."  You try not to think about how that word sounded rolling off his tongue.

He continues, pushing the drivers' side door open. "Now let's go before they think we fucked. Wouldn't want your chances with Eren to be shot to hell now, would we? You saw him freak finding out we kissed. I could only imagine..."

You stop him before he can finish that sentence. "Enough, Jean." You step out of his car and into the rain.

Before shutting the door you glance back inside his vehicle trying to see if you can get a glimpse as to where he put the picture but it isn't in your line of sight. You sigh and shut the door.

Where the hell did it go?

The two of you hurry inside Zeke's house, trying to avoid your time spent in the rain as much as possible. Jean pushes the front door open, letting you step in first, and he follows close behind.

"Kirstein," a low voice fills your ears from a short distance, seeping in from the kitchen. The sound of it causes your head to turn. "That you?"

It's unfamiliar, one you haven't heard before.

Jean closes the front door behind him and locks it. "Zeke's here, " he informs you lowly. Taking a step around you he begins to walk through the living room to the kitchen.

Eren's big brother.

With the desire to meet the one Eren said saved him from his darkness when his parents passed, you decide to doddle behind.

Stepping into the all-white spotless kitchen, you see Zeke's tall statue standing at the granite island located in the center. You peek around Jean's tall body to get a better look.

Zeke isn't anything like you were expecting. He's tall and broad with a thick blonde beard to match his coarse hair. He has brightly covered eyes that sit behind the round frame of his glasses that rest nicely on the bridge of his nose.

He is wearing pair of grey joggers that gather at the ankles and a black RedSox T-shirt, with red lettering that sits snug around his broad chest, the short sleeves secured tightly around his muscular arm.

He's rough around the edges but still well put together. Masculine magnetism, in all its precision.

One day, when Eren was walking you to your stats lecture after Anatomy the way he habitually does, he told you that Zeke was only his half-brother.

Zeke's mother, Dina, died of brain cancer when he was fairly young so Zeke doesn't have many memories of her. Grisha remarried Eren's mom Carla shortly after, and Zeke has been by Eren's side since. Looking at him, you can guess which parts he received from Dina and the other pieces from Grisha.

Zeke is puffing out of his lit cigarette when he looks at you, the smell of potent tobacco hitting your nose. His large right hand is cupping around a clear crystal glass filled three-quarters of the way with whiskey on the rocks set in front of him on a thin dark wooden coaster.

"Well, well. Who's this we got here?" Zeke asks the cigarette kept securely between his lips. Leaving his glass of whiskey behind, he makes his way over to you. "This your girl Jean? You finally decide to stop fucking around and commit? It's about damn time. I gotta say, I'm proud."

"You honestly think I'd ever commit to anyone?" Jean clicks his tongue against the roof over his mouth, the sharp sound it makes filling your ear on the side of you where he is standing. "Not a fucking chance in hell."

"Hmm. You say that now," Zeke says pulling the cigarette briefly out of his mouth just to set it back in a moment later. "But just you wait."

Jean rolls his eyes, firm in his own belief that he's satisfied with the way he's living. "You have no clue what you're talking about."

"Yes. Of course." Zeke laughs bleakly. "You're right, the hell do I know?" His gaze now falls on you, "I apologize on behalf of his shit attitude. Care to introduce yourself since Jean is failing to do so himself?"

You smile, "I'm Y/N." Jean shifts his body to give you access to walk, and you take a step towards Eren's brother.

"Ah. In the flesh, I see. What a pleasure this is. Let me just say that I have heard a lot about you in a fairly short amount of time." Hovering over you, Zeke gives you a slight head nod. "Now I see why."

"It's nice to meet you," you reply softly.

"And you," Zeke says. "Can't believe I mistook you as Kirstein's girl. You're far too out of his league."

You laugh gingerly. Parting your lips a tad, you go to say something, but before you can, Jean speaks up, reverting the subject, clearly unamused by Zeke's playful jest toward him.

"What'd you call me in here for Zeke?" Jean leans his back into the stainless steel fridge and crosses his arms over his chest. "Just to piss me off?"

"Of course not. I just wanted to check and how you're doing." Zeke brings the cigarette back to his mouth, the end of it glowing cherry red, his broad body turning to level off with Jean.

Jean's face twitches with darkness. "I don't see you asking anyone else here that. What are you questioning me for? Do you think I'm depressed or some stupid shit like that?" He digs his fingernails into the flesh of his forearms. "What's it with you Jaeger boys? Eren's already on my ass enough as it is."

"Now come on. I didn't say that, Jean. I'd appreciate it if you didn't put words into my mouth." Zeke places a hand on Jean's shoulder, gripping firmly. "All I'm doing is seeing how you're doing. You know better than anyone that you've become like a brother to me, more than any of the other little fuckers running amock downstairs."

You can tell by the softness resting within Zeke's eyes that he is legitimately concerned and cares about Jean's well-being. You don't know anything about Eren's older brother other than what you've been told, but knowing what he went through at a fairly young age, there is no question as to why he wants to make sure Jean doesn't slip too far beneath the surface. Just like everyone else in his life he's close to.

Jean truly is blind to how much love surrounds him, and it makes you sad.

Jean yanks his shoulder harshly away from Zeke's hold. "I'm fine, Zeke. Alright? Just leave it alone."

Zeke holds his arm up in defense, the cigarette now set between the space between his fingers. "That's fine. But you can't blame me for asking." And he steps away, unfazed. It's obvious he's accustomed to Jean's walls of defense.

Jean blinks slowly. "How long are you in town for? Didn't even know you were back." Releasing the hold he put on himself around his forearms, he stuffs his hands deep into his pockets.

Zeke makes his way back over to the white granite island. "Just tonight. I got a flight early tomorrow morning, probably will be gone for a week maybe two. We'll see how it goes." He pauses for a second and his eyes slide over to you, the overhead kitchen lights reflecting off his round-framed glasses. "It's for a business trip, mind you."

You laugh to yourself. Zeke does sound convincing. If you weren't already told what it is that he does, you would have believed his blatant lie.

Jean sniffs, shifting his head regarding you.  "She knows your job, Zeke."

Zeke chuckles as he lifts his whiskey from the smooth surface, "does she now?" He takes a swig of the smooth brown liquid, the ice inside clinking against the transparent glass with the tilt of it. Placing the expensive crystal glass back down, he swallows his alcohol down swiftly.

You can tell he's an avid drinker. He doesn't even react to the burn you know that whiskey can cause as it travels down one's throat.

Jean shifts his weight, causing him to brush against you accidentally, and as always, as if it's some sort of growing tradition, you both ignore it. "Of course she does. You're the biggest drug dealer in Paradis. Fuck knows you're not a very secretive man."

"As long as they don't think I followed my bastard father's footsteps in becoming a doctor, I don't see a problem." Zeke runs his pointer, and middle finger along the rim of the glass that's holding his dark alcohol, the sound of faint ringing passes through your ears. "By the way, I told Eren I'm gonna leave you a few ounces, didn't know I was gonna be crossing paths with tonight. You got a preference in the type of strain you want?"

Jean side-eyes you briefly before bringing his eyes straight back to meet Zeke's curious gaze. "Indica."

Your eyes widen, and you bite down on the very top of your tongue. He asked for the strain that you just told him you liked. A coincidence right? Indica simply must be his go-to.

"Nice change of pace. You usually tend to go for a hybrid." Zeke gives a nod, resting his forearms on the countertop, "Any particular reason?" You bite your tongue ever harder.

"Nah," Jean mumbles, barely any emphasis in his words. "Just want something different."

"Indica it is then," comes Zeke's monotonous reply. "How much do you want?" he asks, putting out what's left of his cigarette into the black ashtray placed to the right of him on the island.

Jean pushes his weight off of the refrigerator and stretches out his spine, growing even taller than he already is. "Enough to last me until you get back."

"Noted," Zeke speaks firm and assertive. "I haven't seen much of you lately. I've been wanting to ask, has there been any leeway on your case? Been in contact with Rod Reiss?"

You glance up at Jean to see him go breathless for a second. "More contact than I'd like to." His expression falls dark around the edges. "But no. Unless that tree on the side of the road forms a mouth and starts fucking talking, I don't think there ever will be," he snaps in response. The hatred that has coated Jean's voice is so intense it makes you almost shiver.

Zeke's face has fallen into sadness and sympathy. "Ah. I see." He gives a slight nod and he brings the glass of alcohol to his lips and drinks once again. "Well, if you need —"

"I don't." Jean cuts off Zeke abruptly. "I'm going down to the basement. See you whenever the hell you get back." He looks down at you and signals his head toward where the basement stairs are located and turns to make his way out of the kitchen, nonverbally telling you to come with him.

He doesn't want help of any sort from anyone.

"I hope to see you again, Zeke." You note to him—he tilts his almost empty glass of whiskey toward you in acknowledgment. "I have no doubt you will, Y/N. It was brief but a pleasure."

You give a half-smile before taking your leave. Spinning on your heels, you turn away and follow in the steps of Jean.

Your mind is running havoc with Zeke's question and Jean's response. You caught on that they were talking about the accident. It was clear as day, but a tree? Did they hit a tree? Fuck.

The thought alone makes your stomach hurt. But you know better than to ask Jean about it, so you, despite your curiosity, decide it will be best to leave it as is. Maybe you can ask someone else about it later if you find a time you consider appropriate. There's still so much you don't know.

In quiet, you and Jean make your way down the dark wooded stairs. As you get closer, your friends' voices and the music playing within the walls grow louder. Arriving at the basement door, Jean places a hand on the doorknob and looks at you.

Shifting your head up, you watch as a smart ass smirk crosses Jean's face. It seems like whatever sadness he felt before has evaporated. "This place brings some back memories, now doesn't it, Y/N? Showing me that you can really let loose."

Asshole Kirstein is back.

"Oh, wait. Do you mean when you lied and tried to say that I'm boring? Even though I bricked you up so bad, you had to find another girl to distract you from me?" You cock your head to the side. "Yeah. It sure does." 

His hand wrapped around the doorknob tightens, "shut up." Jean snaps as he slowly opens the door.

"I will the day you make me." You reply cunningly with taunting eyes to match. You hear his breath hitch, which makes you chuckle softly before you turn and walk through the door without giving him a chance to cook up a pathetic response.

All of your friends are sitting around the coffee table, some on the couch, and some on the floor, passing around Eren's bong famously known as the pope down the line.

"Where the hell were you guys?" Eren asks the second Jean shuts the basement door behind him. He's sitting on a chair near Armin.

"Kitchen," Jean walks right past him. "Talking to your brother."

Eren looks over at you. He stares at you for a second before moving his focus back to Jean. "For fifteen fucking minutes?" He's unconvinced.

Jean falls heavily onto the couch, his large body sinking deep into the cushions. "Yep. For fifteen fucking minutes," he deadpans.

Mikasa lifts a straight arm your way, pointing at the Polaroid camera you're holding. "What do you have?"

"Jean's camera." You say, holding it up to the group.

"Hey!" Connie's eyes widen with excitement from the couch where he's sitting. "I've been looking for that shit!" You see Jean roll his eyes, but he bites his tongue, respecting Connie just enough to keep him from that sort of embarrassment.

You walk over to the coffee table and set the camera down in the center. "I thought we could take a picture later or something." Everyone except Jean praises you telling you it's a good idea. Even Ymir voices a positive comment, which says a lot.

"Do I have to keep a leash on you or what Y/N?" Sasha says, handing the bong to Annie who is sitting next to her. "You keep leaving me."

"A leash?" You repeat craning your head.  "Sure Sash, I'll be your bitch if that's what you want."

She cracks a grin, resting her elbow on the coffee table she sets her pointed chin into her palm. "Oh, yeah. I do."

"Say less," you say with a smile meeting your eyes. And Sasha winks back at you.

You pass the sitting bodies and walk by Eren but when you do, he stops you with his hand, making a barrier before you can take another step. You look down at him and he signals for you to lean closer to him with his hand. "Come here."

"Yeah?" You ask leaning in slightly, lining your face with his.

"You met Zeke?" He pulls his arm away from your body. 

"I did." You nod, resting your hand on the armrest of his chair. "He's really nice."

"He's alright." Eren shrugs. "He talk your ear off or what? You were gone for a minute."

"Jean's, not mine," you give a smile. "Why? Miss me?"

"Maybe." Eren gives you a smile matching your own. "Is it thought obvious?"

Pushing yourself off of the armrest, you straighten your back. "Just a little," you tease.

"Not anything I'd ever be embarrassed about." Eren laughs softly. "Glad you're back." You scrunch up your nose happily and walk away.

You take the empty seat next to Jean on the couch. The smoke rotation continues, and you join in. The shared conversation between everyone gets louder by the second.

The bong makes its way to Connie. With him to the right of you, he takes a large rip from the pope before handing it to you, you mutter your thanks as he blows a large cloud of smoke into the air.

You set your lips on the mouthpiece; you feel Jean next to you watching, slowly, carefully, studying you to see if you remember all of what he taught you. You do.

Flicking on Historia's pink lighter, you hold the small fire up to the packed bowl, the top of the weed burned black from the repeated use of flame. Bubbles begin to form in the water. You wait a few seconds before pulling the bowl out and breathing in. A slight burn hits the back of your throat. Tilting your head upward, you breathe out.

"Looks like Jean taught you well, huh?" Connie says, with a nudge to your shoulder. "We got another pothead on our hands."

Your tongue swipes across your lips. "I'm a fast learner." You try to hand Jean the bong but he shakes his head declining so you lean over him and hand it to Mikasa who is sitting on the ground on Jean's left and the rotation continues.
The only two people who aren't smoking are Jean and Bertholdt.

At some point, Bertholdt gets up to use the restroom, but when he comes back down to the basement, he doesn't make his way back to the group. Instead, he sits on the beanbag chair near the wall that rests in the back of the room behind the couch, away from everyone.

You look behind the couch where Bertholdt is to see him scrolling on his phone. With the high starting to hit you, you decide to tap out and make your way over to him. He looks a little bit lonely.

Once Bertholdt is in reaching distance, you pat him lightly on his shoulder to grab his attention. His blue and white plaid flannel made of fleece is soft to the touch. "Hey, Bert. Want some company?"

Bertholdt slowly brings down his phone and looks up at you almost surprised. "Sure, yeah," he offers you a smile that reveals a great level of appreciation. He shifts over, creating a little bit of space for you. "That would be nice."

You take a seat and stretch your legs out straight in front of you, "You feeling okay? I noticed you didn't come back over after you left to use the bathroom."

"Yeah, I'm feeling okay," Bertholdt gives you a brief but assuring nod. "I just needed a little space, to take a breather." He cringes at his own words. "Jesus, hearing what I just said I sound kinda lame huh?"

"Stop. If you were lame, I wouldn't want to come over here to talk to you." You poke him in the side of his thigh. "So what's up? You didn't feel like smoking with us?"

He shakes his head. "No. Not really."

You rest your hands on your stomach, "'why not? Just not your thing?"

Bertholdt hums, glancing across the room at your friends. "Not really. The last time I smoked, I greened out, which sucked super bad. I haven't smoked much since then."

You let out a groan of sympathy. "That's the worst. It happened to me once, literally scarred me for life."

"Bad trip?" Betholdt asks, craning his to look at you.

You clear your throat. "Yeah, back in high school. I don't even wanna talk about how fucking sick I got."

Bertholdt sighs in understanding, "sucks so bad."

"Right?" You say. "So I was in the same boat as you. I didn't smoke. Not until I moved here, at least."

"You haven't tripped out since being here?" He asks curiously.

Tilting your head upward, you look at the high ceiling. "No, I've actually been enjoying it a lot."

"That's good." Bertholdt stretches his body. "I think it matters who you're with."

"What do you mean?" You level your head out and find his line of gaze.

"Like I believe your best trips happen when you're with the people you like the most and who you feel the safest with," Bertholdt explains.

"Interesting theory," you reply. "I know that everyone in this group smokes a lot. You don't mind just sitting back and watching?"

His head tilts briefly before he shakes it out. "No, not really. I'm sort of used to it. Even apart from smoking, sitting back is sort of how I've always been, I guess."

Your eyes search his face, and you note how he always looks so kind. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah," Bertholdt admits. "If you couldn't tell by now, Reiner is the one who is always taking charge and likes to be smack dab in the middle of whatever is going on, while I'm the one who tends to who stays in the background."

He pauses briefly before he continues. "Do you think that's a bad thing?" His eyes saunter across your face as if he is looking for some sort of validation from you.

"No," you tell him honestly. "I don't think it is. Whatever you feel most comfortable doing is always what you should do."

"That's good to know." Bertholdt looks down at his legs, as he lets out a faint sigh. "Speaking of Reiner, Ymir told me on the car ride over here that he was trying to make a move on you earlier. I'm sorry about that." He lifts his head back up and offers you a sympathetic smile.

You laugh at how unfazed he sounds about what happened. Like apologizing for Reiner is something he does quite frequently. "It's okay. You don't need to apologize. It's not that big of a deal. I like Reiner a lot. But I sure wasn't expecting Ymir to throw him under the bus like that."

Bertholdt pushes his lips together.  "Hm. She does that. If you couldn't tell already, she's sort of a -" he trails off.

"A savage," you reply, finishing off his sentence.

"Exactly. You get it." Bertholdt twists more toward you digging his elbow into the soft chair beneath him resting his head in his hand. "Reiner might be my best friend, but I'll be the first one to admit that he definitely deserves it at times."

"The two of them fighting happens often?" You ask, still trying to understand this group as a whole. "Ymir and Reiner, I mean."

"Not constantly," he replies, matter-of-fact, "but often enough that everyone doesn't even look twice. We all just let them do their thing. It's not anything to waste your time thinking on. They are really good friends, so a lot of times, they are messing around with each other, but I know that there are also times where the tension between them is real, at least from Reiner's side."

Your head tilts with curiosity. "Why's that?"

Bertholdt swallows, "because of his history with Historia."

Your eyebrows raise. "Reiner and Historia have a history?" You know Ymir was giving Reiner a hard time about her but you didn't know there was something there.

He blinks. "I guess history is a bad choice of words on my part. What I mean is that Reiner is super hung up on her."

"Alright," you sit upright with interest, twisting your body to face him better. "I'm going to need a storytime now, please."

Bertholdt's eyes find your line of sight, astonishment written all over his face, "Wait? You're not annoyed by me talking too much?" He sounds shocked at your request.

Your eyebrows knit close together. "No, not at all. Why would you even think that?" You ask.

"I don't know," he raises his shoulders before dropping them down, sinking back into his weight. "I just feel like I have that sort of effect sometimes."

"Well, for what it's worth, I like talking to you. You're really cool," you assure him. "I know we still only barely know each other, but I can tell you that you aren't annoying at all."

"Thank you," Bertholdt says, a slight blush coloring his white cheeks. "It's worth a lot, by the way."

You smile in return. "I'm glad."

Bertholdt bites at his cheek. "If you want the Reiner Historia story, I can tell it to you. But it's not all that exciting."

You nod. "Absolutely." You set your hands in your lap and prepare for the story to come. "I still wanna know."

Bertholdt sends a small smile your way. "Reiner, Historia, and Ymir had English together a few semesters ago. Reiner has this crush on Historia, and I mean a massive one. He would legit come back to our place after class and tell me that he wanted to marry her and all this crazy shit. He wouldn't shut up about it."

"No way," you breathe, a bit surprised. "What did Historia do? Did she know about it?"

Bertholdt gives a frail nod. "He confessed to her. She told him that she's wasn't interested in him like that, but I think she was too nice about it for him not to think that he didn't still have a chance. He always hoped that he would be able to change her mind and pull her, but as you can see, that definitely was not the case."

"How'd he take the rejection?" You query.

"As well as almost any man... shit," Bertholdt grumbles. "I mean, he was obsessed with her. But you know, unfortunately, we can't help the people we fall for. Shit happens, and most of the time, it sucks." He sounds like he talks from experience, words close to his heart, but you decide not to ask; instead, you simply nod.

"Oh. And if I tell you this next part you can't tell anyone," Bertholdt's voice has now gone extremely soft.

This catches your attention. "Of course. I Promise."

He leans in closer so he knows for sure that his voice won't carry. "One time, Reiner and Historia were working on a project together at our place, and after she left, he started smelling one of the papers she left behind."

Your jaw drops. "Smelling her paper? Please tell me you're joking."

"I wish I was," Bertholdt sits himself up. "Told you him being creepy isn't anything new. You sort of grow accustomed to it after a while. Especially me, since I grew up with him. Can't even remember my life before having to deal with his BS."

"Thanks for sharing all this with me." You laugh softly, "you're good company."

"I agree. I know I can be sort of quiet and standoffish, but you're an easy person to talk to, Y/N. Thanks for coming to check on me. It means a lot," Bertholdt says with soft eyes. "I'm excited to start working with you too."

Your cheeks grow warm. "So am I. Do you work tomorrow?" He gives you a nod as his answer. You smile. "Cool. So do I."

From a small distance, you hear footsteps. You look over to see Sasha making her way over to where the two of you are sitting, "Now Bertie, are you over here trying to steal my best friend?" Sasha accuses stepping in front of the beanbag chair, peering downward.

"I might," Bertholdt voices with a timid smile. "I gotta admit, she's pretty cool."

"Very, cool," Sasha corrects. Leaning forward, she grabs you and Bertholdt both by your wrists yanking you up onto your feet. "Come on, we're gonna play a game."

"Oh, Jesus. So, you and Connie finally decided on the game, huh?" You breathe out a small sigh, stretching out your legs. "What is it? If it counts as me being in a small space with Jean, then I'm out."

She raises an eyebrow, "are you really, though?"

You roll your eyes, "yes." Your tone comes short and defensive.

Sasha laughs softly at the urgency of your answer. "It's not that, don't worry. Don't ask me questions. Let's just go." And you follow her lead and hope for the best.

The three of you make your way back over to the coffee table. Bertholdt sits on the floor in between Reiner and Ymir, Historia is sitting between Ymir's stretched-out legs, Sasha plops herself down on the carpet on the other side by Armin and Annie. Eren is still sitting on the chair across from the couch but Mikasa is now sitting on the ground near his legs. Everyone is cracking jokes with one another, high as fuck.

Your eyes fall on Jean who is still sitting on the couch near Connie, intentionally taking up the space that you were sitting in before.

You take a step in front of Jean. "Can you move over?"

Jean stares straight ahead, not even raising his head to acknowledge your presence. "Nope," he says blatantly.

An irritated exhalation of breath escapes from your lips. "Jean, come on. I was sitting here before and now you're taking enough space for two people for no reason other than to be an asshole. There's nowhere else for me to sit."

Your attitude grips hold of his attention. Jean cranes his neck up to look at you, cracking an arrogant grin. "Sit on me then," he's blunt—the demanding words slipping past his lips without hesitation.

You know he's giving you a hard time, but your eyes widen with shock despite your knowledge of how Jean's sharp tongue works, especially when it comes to you. "Excuse me?" Your voice sounds like a warning.

"I know you heard me the first time, Y/N."
Jean lifts his chin with pride. "I said, sit on me."

Trying to process his audacity, you pause for a second as you feel your stomach cave in on itself. You click your tongue on the roof of your mouth, "What the hell are you saying? You want me to sit on your fucking lap?"

Jean swipes his tongue across his lips, giving you a big shrug. "That what you want? Or would you rather sit on my face?"

You scoff bitterly at his ridiculous comments. He sure knows how to grind your gears, in a way no one has before, and you hate him for it.

At least, that's what you tell yourself.

Back to his arrogant fuck boy kick, is he? That's fine. You can play too.

You smile shoot him a smile laced with dynamite as you look down on him with pride building in your chest. "Hmm." You pause for a couple of passing moments. "Yeah. Okay."

Jean's eyes widen. You can tell by the shocked look that has spread across his face that he wasn't expecting this as your answer. "Really?"

"Sure." You lean into him slightly, the tone of your voice sinking to a level that only he can hear. "As long as you let me peg you first."

Jean makes a harsh abrupt sound as his fingers come together, bunching into a tight fist, his face now made of stone as he grinds his teeth together.

You cock your head to the side and force your eyes to go soft with pleading innocence. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because I can't believe that you just said that fucking shit to me," Jean speaks to you through gritted teeth.

You shrug, satisfied. "You wanna be bold, Jean-Boy? I can be bold too."

You continue before he can say something. "Now shut up and move, will you?" you gently tap him on his right thigh with your knee, trying to nudge him out of the way.

He pauses briefly before rolling his eyes. Placing both hands are either side of him, he lifts himself a little up a bit and pushes himself over, making room next to him. "Don't call me, Jean-Boy."

Ignoring him, you plot yourself down on the couch, your back pressing deep into the cushions; while internally making a mental note to keep calling him that in the future.

"Alright," Connie peeks over your shoulder, "So how long is it gonna be until you guys hate fuck?"

Okay, so maybe your conversation did carry over a little bit. Enough for Connie to hear at least.

"For once, Connie, just shut the fuck up before I make you," Jean says grudgingly, clearly still irritated by you and your previous comment.

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" Connie obnoxiously puckers his lips out and smacks them together loudly. "Do it, baby boy. I've been waiting all fucking night for you to make your move, growing all anxious and giddy over here. Any moment now I'll start swinging my legs and shit."

Jean rolls his head in vexation.

You elbow Connie lightly in the shoulder. "Hate fuck, Jean? You're crazy. I'd rather commit mass murder." Jean scoffs next to you.

Connie laughs obnoxiously, tilting his head back, his neck resting on the couch cushion. "Jesus, Y/N." His laughter lessens, and he brings his head back in your direction. "Commit mass murderer? You're starting to sound like Eren."

Eren hears his name spoken which catches his attention, pulling him out of the conversation he's sharing with Armin. "What sounds like me?" he voices kiddy corner from you. "You guys talking shit?"

"For once, no." Connie signals over to you with the top of his head, "Our girl Y/N over here said she would rather become a mass murderer than fuck Jean."

Ymir lets out a loud laugh, "Y/N with her priorities fucking straight. Sasha, you may be stupid as hell, but the one smart thing you ever did in your dumb life was befriending her." She raises her hand in the air toward you. You lean forward across the table and meet Ymir's palm, giving her a solid high five.

"I will happily agree with that statement," Sasha says with a smile.

"Fuck off, Connie. What are you bringing that up for? I said that if it ever came down to it, I might commit mass murder one time," Eren says defensively.

"Still, that doesn't change the fact that you said you would do it," Sasha spits back argumentatively. "Crazy ass."

Eren's eyes roll. "Let it fucking go already, will you? You guys always wanna act as if I ignited some sort of rumbling on the human race or some shit. It was a joke. Alright? I'm not crazy."

You lean back into the couch. "Do I even want to know why Eren said he would become mass murderer? Like under what context did that even come about?"

"He said that he would do it to protect us if it ever came down to it or something," Armin tells you.

"Yeah. It was some corny ass shit like that," Jean adds, looking to you. "I don't know he was crossed faded as fuck when it happened. If you haven't caught on by now, Jaeger is always spewing out some stupid shit out of his ass."

"I think my reason is as justified as Y/N's," Eren says to Jean throwing a hand over your way. "Committing mass murder instead of fucking you seems like the lesser of two evils, in my innocent humble opinion."

"There isn't a single innocent or humble thing about you." Jean mumbles.

"Right. Says you." Eren shrugs, crossing his arms over his lower stomach. "If anything, I'm the most innocent one sitting here right now except for maybe Bertholdt, but that's because he's too pussy ever to do anything."

"Hey," Bertholdt throws up both of his hands, voice full of defense. "I'm just sitting here, man. What am I getting dragged for?"

"It's okay," Sasha's eyes meet Bertholdt's. "Everyone knows that you're a soft boy. It's a good thing, though. Girls will eat that shit right up, I promise."

"Hell yeah, they fucking will." Connie pumps in the air in a circular motion. "You'll be eating well sooner or later, my man. I know it. If you need a wingman to help you pull, I'm your guy."

"I appreciate your offer but Reiner is supposed to be my wingman." Bertholdt tilts the top of his head over to Reiner, who is taking a reasonably big rip for the Pope.

Connie laughs, running a hand over the top of his head. "I said pull the baddies, Bert, not scare them away."

Reiner huffs out a large cloud of smoke. "The fuck are you talking about, Connie? I pull just fine." Leaning forward he slides the pope back into the middle of the table.

"Is that why Historia is sitting on Ymir's lap instead of yours?" Jean remarks cooly.

Connie laughs and looks at Reiner. "You wish that was you, huh?" He points a finger in the direction of Ymir and Historia.

"Oh my god," Armin mutters, his back setting into a hunch.

"Out of pocket," Mikasa shakes her head in disappointment. "Both of you."

"You guys... please," Historia tries to protest.

Ymir is next to her laughing hysterically. She is loving the fuck out of this. "What? Is what the boys said not true?" Ymir pulls Historia in closer to her, and Historia, knowing it's a fact, stays quiet.

"I fucking hate you guys," Reiner says defeatedly.

"No you don't," Connie says cracking a smile. Reiner laughs lowly knowing it's true and doesn't even try to argue it.

Bertholdt lets out a sigh. "Alright. Then tell me this. If it's true what you said about girls liking soft boys, then why don't girls ever talk to me?" He suddenly sounds vanquished.

This boy to too fucking pure for his own good.

Ymir winces, "fuck, this shit went from entertaining to sad real fucking quick."

Historia pushes her shoulder into Ymir's chest softly and mutters for her to stop. Ymir abides by her request. As an apology, Ymir kisses her hard on the forehead causing Historia to go full tomato red with blush.

"Why?" Jean stretches out his legs in front of him. "I don't know, bro, Probably because you follow in the shadow of a guy who has bigger tits than half the girls at our school."

"What size cup are you now, Reiner?" Connie remarks back tauntingly. "Or do you have to get that shit specially made?"

"Fuck off. Both of you." Reiner says in complete defeat, throwing the finger in their direction. "Go to hell."

"With how much of a fucking creep you are, Reiner it looks like you'll be coming with me," Jean says pragmatically.

"Enough boys" Mikasa warns, hand playing with the string of Eren's hoodie she's still has wrapped around her.

"Mikasa's right," Armin speaks up. "Stop ripping Reiner to shreds and just let him be."

"He's fine. Look at him, he's a big boy." Eren's eyes travel across the group and find Reiner. "You know we love you, don't you Braun?"

Reiner rolls his eyes. "Yeah yeah. Love you too, I fucking guess."

"Are we gonna play the game, or are we just gonna sit here and listen to these stupid asses fight all night?" Annie says, crossing her arms. "You know they'll never stop."

Armin puts a gentle hand around her and pulls her in with security. She sinks into his hold, relaxing her body.

Sasha claps her hands. "Alright, so the game is your common Smash or Pass, no fancy twists or turns, just the honesty of who you would fuck if given a chance. Now, I already took the time of writing everyone's name down and putting the pieces of paper into Connie's Bass Pro Shop hat,"

Leaning forward, she sets the green and white cap into the center of the coffee table. "So it's pretty much luck of the draw. Since there's eleven of us there's an odd one out so whoever's name gets picked out last means that they don't get to draw since everyone would have been paired off by then and there will be no more names for them to pick."

"A Bass Pro Shop hat, Connie? Really? That's frat boy fucking behavior." You tease, remembering his comment about how much he hates fraternities.

Connie sizes you up, eyes tracing across your entire existence. He raises an eyebrow. "Why are you so concerned about my fashion choices, Y/N? That's fucking fan behavior if you ask me."

"Alright." You shrug and lift a defeated hand. "It's true. You caught me. I am a fan. Just do me a solid and don't go telling everyone since I have seen first hand how much you love to do that." You look at him through thinned eyes.

"Aw come on." Connie pleads an apologetic expression has fallen on his face. "I'm sorry I slipped up. It was an accident."

You chuckle. "Since I love you, I'll forgive you." You say, unable to stay mad at him even if you tried.

"Enough for that kiss?" Connie's eyebrows raise with hopefulness, inching his body a little bit closer to you.

"Not quite yet," you say, shooting a wink. "Ask me again later."

Connie groans while leaning his body backward, spreading out his legs. "I feel like I'm playing with a fucking magic eight ball right now." 

You give him a slight nudge, a smile pulling at your lips. "Ask a question enough times. At some point or another, you'll get the answer you want."

Connie brings his pointer finger to your head and pokes you softly in the forehead. "Noted." You giggle.

Connie turns his focus back to the group. "Alright seriously, no pussying out with this game," he warns. "I already know all you fuckers want to smash me. All I'm asking is not everyone at once, okay? Form a single file line and take a number."

At first, not a single person says anything in regards to Connie's comment. It's crickets. Just crickets. But he never loses that grin of confidence. He just sits there, head held high, proud of his remark.

"The line to fuck you seems slim to none, Connie," Eren says, grabbing the pope from the center of the table. "At least you have your hand to take care of the problem. It's a decent solution for the time being." Flicking on the lighter he takes a hit, the fringe of his hair sitting right above his eyes.

Connie lifts his hand. He balls it into a fist and then releases it a couple of times before shaking it out. He turns to look at you. "My hand is rather tired, Y/N. How about you lend me yours?"

"Sorry," you sigh apologetically, you pat him lightly on his thigh, "I'm too busy using it on Sasha."

"So true!" Sasha flashes you a huge grin. "And I love every fucking second of it."

"So you really do fuck heavy with the LBGT, huh Y/N?" Connie says, patting you on top of the head. "I'm with it."

Your pinch his cheek, "My number one ally."

His cheeks go a tad pink from your touch. "Damn fucking straight."

"Armin," you hear Sasha's voice, pulling your focus away from Connie and over to her from across the table. She slides the hat across the table to her right. "You're picking first."

Armin's innocent blue eyes go wide, as he lets out an elongated sigh. "Why me?" He sounds as hesitant as he looks.

"Why not?" Sasha argues, firm in her choice of picking Armin. "It'll keep your nose out of your book for once."

With no energy to object, he takes the hat and begins to dig into the center of it with his right hand. He pulls out a piece of paper and pulls the edges apart to access the name in the middle.  "I got Annie."

"Aw! Cute!" Historia singsongs, white teeth bright with a smile. "I love that for you."

Ymir drapes her arms around Historia's shoulders. "What are the fucking odds of that shit, huh?"

Armin folds the paper back up and places it gently on the table. "Well, obviously, I would smash Annie as long as it was consensual and respectful. And under the right circumstances too." Armin says as his lips press together with nervousness. Annie places a hand over her face, trying to hide her cheeks that are coated bright pink with embarrassment.

What book is Armin Arlert out of, and where can you place an order?

"It's a yes or no question, Armin, " Eren grumbles, setting the bong on the ground next to him. "We don't need a step-by-step playbook on how you pull your girl."

Armin gives a weakened smile. "Right. Sorry." He's embarrassed. It's cute.

"Simp," Connie teases.

"So?" Armin's voice remains calm and collected despite Connie's quick attempt at an insult.

"See Bertholdt? Soft boys do get girls. Now, Annie, It's your turn. Let's see how lucky you get." Sasha says with enthusiasm. Armin passes the cap full of names to her.

Annie removes her hand from her face and takes the cap out of Armin's hold. She digs a quick hand inside and grabs a piece of paper. She reads it aloud. "Connie," her face goes dark with discomfort and irritation.

"Unlucky as fuck." Eren remarks with a laugh, tilting his chair back on its back legs.

"She's probably hating her life right now," Jean mutters lowly, which causes you to chuckle.

"Hell yesss!" Connie claps his hands together. "Let's hear it, even though I already know her answer will be sma - "

"Pass," Annie spits out bitterly before Connie gets the chance even to finish the rest of that word. She knew what Connie was going to say, and she didn't want to hear it.

He would have been better off biting his tongue but that's not something he knows how to do.

"Man, what the fuck?" Connie's disappointment could be felt from over a mile away. "You're gonna shove your tongue down my throat during kiss and bitch, but then say pass?" He crossing his arms defensively in front of his chest.

Annie's blue eyes roll, the annoyance she feels speaking for itself. "I need a trigger warning before you bring that horrible ass experience up to me," she replies to Connie sharply.

Connie leans forward in her direction of her. "Look at me in the eye and tell me that you wouldn't fuck me."

Annie meets Connie's forwardness by leaning herself in closer too, her eyes peering directly into Connie's without even a blink. "I wouldn't fuck you," she says, unfazed, and pushes herself back, this time even closer to Armin.

"Finally, this man is humbled," Jean remarks with relief. "I've been waiting for this one."

Connie sucks in a sharp breath. "You're one to fucking talk." True.

Sasha laughs. "Imagine having to moan out Connie's name in bed," she teases him. Connie flips her off.

"I would rip my own throat out with my bare hands." Ymir sneers. Historia sighs at her girlfriends' remark, a little disappointed but not at all surprised.

"Ymir, you would rip out your own throat if you had to moan any name in this entire world that wasn't Historia's," Bertholdt argue back. This causes the group to laugh, and you can tell by the smile that has grown on his lips that he's rather proud of himself.

"True as fuck," Ymir shrugs unfazed. "And I'll live by that."

Connie's head hangs with defeat. "Enough shit-talking Jesus. Annie saying that she wouldn't smash me is heartbreaking enough already as it is. I seriously don't know how I'm gonna fucking recover."

"Okay dramatic ass." Sasha giggles softly at her friend's frustration, "picking up where we left off... Connie, stop sulking and draw."

Connie huffs. Reaching outward, still obviously bitter toward her denial he snatches the hat away from Annie. He brings it directly in front of him he moves it around, shuffling the names inside.

30 seconds have passed and he still hasn't pulled out a name.

"Stop shaking the damn hat and pick already stupid ass," Reiner voices sternly, shifting around his strong stature. "Acting like you're over here beating your fucking meat."

"Already did that this morning, big boy. I'm just trying to make sure that I pick a worthy name," Connie finally brings his movement to a halt. Placing the hat into his lap, he draws.

Opening the paper, you look over to see a smile spread across his face as he reads it. "Y/N. Hell yeah! See Reiner. Me taking my time wasn't for no reason."

Jean elbows you in the arm, gripping ahold of your attention. "You're about to make that man lose all of his self-control." He says low enough for only you to hear.

You turn your focus, finding him. "Just like you did in the closet with me, huh?" You meet the quietness of his tone. "I guess I have that sort of effect."

Jean swallows hard, "that fucking mouth..."

"I know, Jean. Pretty." and you turn away from him to face Connie.

Connie turns his gaze to fall in line with yours. "Smash all the fucking way. If anyone were to say anything other than that, then they would be full of fucking shit."

"Not much of a hope there since rumor has it she wouldn't even kiss you in the Sonic parking lot eh Connie?" Reiner says, taking a crack at Connie, causing the group to laugh.

"Can it, Reiner." Connie crunches the paper with your name written on it into a ball and throws it a Reiner.

Reiner catches it in one swift movement with his large thick hand. He preps and chucks it back at Connie with a whirlwind of power. The ball of the paper hits him hard in the center of the head and bounces off. "Aim better next time, Springer."

Connie grabs the paper that just smacked him hard in the head off of the ground and tosses it onto the table. "I got good aim where it counts, Reiner. Trust me. Just ask your mom."

"Connie shut up and give Y/N the cap," Sasha demands. Connie listens and sets the cap into the center of your lap.

Putting your hand inside, you pick the first piece of paper that you feel with your fingertips and pull it out. You unfold it, and the instant you read the name, your lungs string together with anxiety. Of course. Of fucking course.

Why does chance keep choosing him?

You would have rather picked Bertholdt fucking Hoover.

At least he probably doesn't have girls sending him nudes asking him to come over in the dead of night. Even if he did he probably has the decency to save their number.

Fuck. Why are you even thinking about that shit right now?

"Y/N," Eren voices from across the table pulls you out of your thoughts that are swimming with dread to a point where you could almost drown. "What name did you pull?" He lowers his chair back onto all fours. You don't want to mistake it, but there is a sense of hopefulness laced in his voice.

You pause for a second and reread the name, the one person you don't want it to be. "Jean." You blink slowly as you feel Jean tense up next to you, but you don't turn your head even a fraction of an inch his way.

"Pass." Comes your answer. The word passes through your lips quickly but what you won't admit to yourself is that it tastes like a dirty little lie.

You know what the hell Jean is capable of. He showed you in private the night of Eren's party and you only got a small taste. To say it didn't cross your mind at least once would be a downright lie. But you know better.

"This has got to be the first girl not to want you, Jean. It's a bit of a humbling experience, is it not?" Eren jabs.

"Not like I want her anyways," Jean snaps quick and harsh. He reaches over and grabs the cap out off your lap, the tips of his fingers accidentally dragging across the fabric of your legs.

Resting the hat on his left thigh he sticks his hand into it. He moves it around inside, digging for a name, and pulls out the small piece of folded paper.

Jean opens it. Once he reads it, he lifts his focus and it lands across the table. "Mikasa." He looks at her with a smirk.

"Here we fucking go," Eren mutters irritably, knowing where this is going.

Jean ignores Eren's bitter remark. "Smash," he says with no hesitation.

Mikasa doesn't blink. "Never going to happen, Jean. And god knows you've tried. I'd say each attempt was a nice effort, but truly they were all just pathetic." She replies cool and collected. Ouch, that one even hurt you.

Eren laughs at Mikasa's remark, but as for Jean, he must be used to the rejection because he doesn't even flinch, he just hands her the cap full of names over to her before leaning back next to you and sliding his tall stature deep into the couch.

Mikasa puts her hand in the hat only keeping it there for a split second, pulling out the first piece of paper she grabs. Setting the cap onto the table she opens it.

You watch as her perfectly sculpted face pulses with something you can't quite put your finger on as she studies the name she has set in front of her. Dark eyes unblinking, she chews at her cheek so harshly you swear she could bite a hole right through it.

"Come on, Mikasa," Ymir comments. "We don't have all fucking night. Which one of these dumb ass fuckers did you draw?"

Mikasa releases her right jaw and finally forces her answer out. "Eren."

Eren looks at her. "What's your answer?" He questions. Mikasa blinks away, avoiding his gaze.

"Tick Tok, clocks running," Sasha says, tapping a finger on her wrist. "Come on, babe, let's go."

Mikasa swallows hard and places the piece of paper with Eren's name on it back onto the table. "Pass."

Eren's eyebrows raise. "Yeah? Why's that?"

Mikasa turns her head up toward him. "You're my... f-" she trails off, chewing at her bottom lip stressfully again.

"I'm your what?" He demands.

She releases the skin from her teeth. "Don't you think we're way too close? It would be weird, wouldn't it?"

Eren swallows, face relaxing out. "Yeah. You're right. It would be."

"Too bad Floch isn't here huh Eren?" Jean baits, shifting around his tall stature. "We all know what his answer would have been."

"Floch looooves him some Jaeger dick," Connie adds tauntingly.

"Little fruit fly probably writes his name as Floch Jaeger on all his assignments," Ymir ribs, shooting a smile laced with a hint of torment knowing she's irritating the hell out of Eren.

"Fuck off before I kick all of you out of here," Eren rolls his eyes as he takes the cap from Mikasa and picks it out of it next. He unfolds the paper, eyes shifting as he reads it. "Sasha," he speaks before balling up the paper and tossing it underhanded onto the surface of the coffee table. "I'm gonna have to say pass."

"What the hell?" Sasha's head instantly shoots in his direction as she crosses her arms in front of herself defensively. "Why so quick with your answer, Eren? I'm hot."

Eren's shoulders lift, undaunted. "Not trying to beef with Niccolo, plus you're not my type." He slides her the cap.

"Fair enough," Sasha says acceptingly as she pulls a piece of paper out of the hat. "I got Historia," she reads. Lifting her head, she looks across the way, "I would usually say smash, but since I know Ymir will be pissed as if I do I'm gonna have to say pass."

Ymir places a hand on Historia's thigh right above her knee and slightly squeezes it tightly. "Good choice, Sash. I would have killed your ass if you said otherwise."

"What can I say?" Sasha holds out the cap toward Historia, "I'm a damn good friend."

Ymir's shoulders roll, knowing it's true. "Not like I can deny something that's a fact."

Historia takes the hat from Sasha. Placing her dainty hand inside she swirls it around. When she pulls out a name and reads it; her soft face shifts with dread. "Reiner," she sighs.

You look over to Bertholdt who is already looking at you, giving you an oh shit look. You laugh softly.

"Ayo!" Connie drums his palms onto his thighs. "Come on, Historia, at least give him a pity fuck, will you? You gotta at least like one out of his two split personalities."

Ymir's jaw ticks. "Come get your boy, Kirstein." She threatens, throwing a hand in the direction of Connie. "I'll kick his ass straight to hell if he doesn't knock this shit off."

"Don't look at me. I'm not responsible for his stupid ass" Jean replies shaking his head. "If Connie wants to say dumb shit when he knows he will get his ass handed to him by you, then that's on him. I'll gladly sit back and watch it happen."

"Fine, fine, I'll stop," Connie admits his defeat. "I want my ass to remain intact if I can help it."

Historia elegantly folds the paper back up and places it onto the table. "I'm so sorry, Reiner but I'm going to have to say pass." She offers him a smile full of a million apologies.

Reiner's shoulders tense up a bit but let out a breath forcing them to soften, playing it cool. "Whatever. That's fine. I already knew that was going to be your answer." He extends his arm out in the direction of Eren. "Give me the Pope. I need another hit."

"Can't blame you for that one, bro." Eren picks up the bong and slides it across the table over to him.

Reiner flicks on the lighter, holding it up to the bowl that is packed tightly, and takes a rip. Setting the bong back on the coffee table, he picks up the hat. Reiner sticks his large hand inside and draws out one of the last names. "I got Bertholdt. Alright honestly?" Reiners's eyes flicker over the room, "smash."

Connie's mouth falls open before he ruptures from the inside out with laughter. "What did he sayyyy?"

"What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you say that Reiner?" Bertholdt groans, his palm meeting his forehead. "God, that's so embarrassing."

"I fucking knew it," Eren straightens his back and turns his head toward Jean. "Jean, you owe me twenty bucks."

"You guys made bets on that shit?" Connie's jaw snaps shut. "That's fucked up."

"Shut up," Jean remarks, turning to look at Connie. "You're just mad you weren't included."

"True. Where the hell is my twenty bucks? I'm tryna take Y/N out, man." Connie's eyebrows pull together, his arms crossing irritably in front of him.

"You and the rest of fucking Paradis," Jean rasps through teeth gritted so tight his words come out muffled.

You shift your head in his direction. "Jealous, Jean?"

He shifts his thin gaze toward you his face dark with unreadability. "Sure if that makes you feel better about yourself."

"Didn't you just say all of Paradis wants to date me? With that claim of yours, it seems like I'm doing just fine." You send him a smile which makes his shoulder tense.

You look back at Connie. "Where are you gonna take me when we go on this date?"

Connie cracks a mischievous smile. "Dicktown." You laugh and roll your eyes.

"Seriously, where's my money?" Connie continues. Balling his hand up into a fist he knocks on the table twice before sticking his arm straight outward, palm facing up. "One or both of you fuckers better pay up," He curls his fingers in a repeated motion. 

"It's up to your fucking ass," Eren taunts.

"Why can't we ever just play a simple game," Armin voices more to himself that to everyone else. "That's what I wanna know."

"Because that my friend, would be boring," Sasha says, eyes and smile both reflecting brightness.

Connie jumps up out of the couch onto his feet. He spins around once and sticks his ass out toward Jean, "Come pull it out for me, Jean-Boy." He starts to shake it around. "All the girls talk about is how good you are with your hands."

"I'm gonna kill you." Jean pushes himself up off of the couch. Taking a step toward Connie, he pushes him on his chest, causing Connie's weight to fall back down on the couch. Jean lowers himself back down next to you.

"First off, stop making bets on me." Reiner tosses the cap on the table. "Second off, I was just fucking around with you guys. My honest answer is pass."

Connie clicks his tongue. "That's fucking cap bro."

"Leave him alone," Armin says, pulling his right leg up to his chest. "All three of you."

"Alright, Fine," Eren grumbles. "Since we all know that Reiner tops Bert, let's get back to this stupid ass game."

"He does not!" Bertholdt argues defensively.

"Come on, bro, it's fine, alright?" Jean slumps backward. "We all know you probably bottom with Annie too."

Annie pops her jaw as her fists ball together, fingernails diffing into the skin of the palms. "You stupid asses better leave my name out of this. I'm about to fight someone for real."

"Okay, okay enough. Let's just finish the game okay?" Sasha points to Bertholdt, "Bert since Reiner picked your name that means you're last to go, which means your name is Ymir. This makes Ymir the odd one out who doesn't have to pick it all, which I'm sure she's thrilled about. So what's your answer? Smash or pass?"

Ymir looks at Bertholdt intensely through her piercing brown eyes. He runs his hands up and down the rough fabric of his dark jeans with what looks to be nervousness. "Pass," he says quickly like he can't wait for the word to be off his tongue.

You watch as Ymir's face turns from darkness to relief. "Good boy because that was your only fucking choice," she utters lowly, and Berholdt sighs.

Connie sinks into the couch, sprawling his body out. "I'm never playing this dumb-ass game again."

"You're just mad because you got rejected." Jean renders.

"Yeah? And so did you." Connie spits back.

Connie and Jean continue to bicker back and forth but you tune them out. You start talking to Eren and Mikasa to help divert your focus, as they are spewing nonsense next to you.

After a few minutes of small talk, Armin leans forward, he picks up the Polaroid camera that you placed on the table earlier. "Hey. Do you guys still want to take a picture together?"

All of the group says yes except for Jean, who looks like the suggestion is nothing but an inconvenience, but he knows better than to try to object.

Everyone gathers around and huddles in on and in front of the couch while Armin sets the camera up across the way. He sets set the timer on it and rushes over the couch finding a place for him to squeeze in. The camera ticks down from 10 everyone strikes a pose and then the flash of the camera goes off snapping the picture.

Sasha hops up onto her feet and skips across the room. Quickly, she grabs the photo out of the camera. "Who wants to take this work of art home?" She asks energetically waving it around in the air as it dries.

"Y/N should have it," Armin suggests softly. "We all already have a bunch of pictures together. This will be her first one. It will officially make her one of us."

Blush rises to your cheeks as happiness fills every inch of you.

"Perfect idea, Armin." Sasha singsongs, she grabs the sharpie she used when she wrote the names for Smash or Pass. She uncaps it and writes on the top of the picture.

♡ The Gang ♡
Jaeger's Basement // September 30

The photo gets passed around the table, everyone jotting down their initials at the bottom, different fonts, sizes, and angles.

S.B, C.S, E.J, M.A, A.A, A.L, B.H, R.B

The photo then gets handed to Ymir and of course, she writes her and Historia's initials together.

Y+H = 4ever

She then hands the photo and sharpie to you. You utter thanks and place it down on the table so you can write. There is a small space in the corner. You put down your initials neatly in the small opening, leaving enough room for the last pair of initials which will be Jean's. You hand him the photo and the pen.

Jean writes down his initials, dragging the tail end of his letter of the 'K' outward bleeding into yours, your names now connected as one.

He slides you back the picture on the table. Looking at it, a frown meets your lips. "You fucked up my name."

"I didn't fuck anything up," Jean tells you, putting the cap back onto the pen and tossing it onto the table. "If anything, I made it better."

You roll your eyes, as you push the photo into the center of the table, near the pope not wanting to lose it before you head home.

Sasha suggests a movie to wait out everyone's high and end the night. Everyone says yes.

All of you get situated in a comfortable position. You all come to an agreeance on the movie The Breakfast Club. Eren sets it up on the plasma screen TV and turns down the lights with Alexa that he has set up in the room. The film begins to play.

Jean's thigh immediately pushes into yours. Neither of you tries to adjust your closeness.

About almost halfway through the movie, you pull out your phone to check the time out of curiosity when you realize that have a lot of notifications. You've been far too busy enjoying your time around your friends the thought of checking it didn't even cross your mind once.

7 missed calls 4 voicemails from an hour ago and a text message received 5 minutes ago, sit unopened on your lock screen. Your stomach drops when you realize who they are all from.

You don't have the number saved, but you've been in contact with it so many times you would know it blind and you wish more than anything you didn't. You wish the number wasn't in existence at all.

Your father.

Chapter Text

The vivid colors, the sense of floating, and the overall contentment you have been relishing in for the last hour have now faded to black, all because of the most cynical person you have ever known.

Your Father, Keith.

It's been a while since you've heard from him, months if you remember correctly, but no time set between would ever be enough, not even eternity itself.

Doing the math quickly in your head, you calculate that he's out of rehab. Either that or he dropped out the same way he has thousands of times before because, in his head, he doesn't need it. He has himself fully convinced that he is a 'good man' and that getting help is only
for those who are 'weak.'

Bullshit.

Your stomach curls around itself as you prepare to read the message he wrote. It feels like you're bracing for the impact you know is about to come.

You turn your brightness down on your phone screen to the lowest it will go, not wanting to cause a disturbance to the darkened room.

Letting out a breath through your nose, the faint sound of it being hidden by the dialog of the playing movie, you hesitantly open the text. Reading it, your teeth crash together, making your jaw ache.

Y/N. You left Stohess?
Have you lost your damn mind?
This was an extremely poor choice
that you made. Where the hell
are you? Call me. ASAP. Urgent.

It's the middle of the night, but it's not like you're surprised by the timing of him trying to reach out to you; he's never been one to act with a single ounce of graciousness.

You've received texts from him a million times in the past. 2 am. 5 am. Noon. All different ranges of times but always the same meaning.

He's either in trouble or needs money, and of course, you are expected to do something about it. To fix whatever mess he got himself into this time around. It's the same old narrative. Never does it change.

Another text pops up from him; your blurred eyes fixate on it.

Need I remind you that people
in Stohess talk? I'm sure I can find
your location if needed.
Consider returning my calls.

A threat? Is he fucking serious?

You have always been aware that he's crazy, but he has lost his damn mind if he thinks you're going to willingly reply to any of his stupid efforts to try and get ahold of you.

With your fingers curled in angrily around the base of your phone, you press your thumb deeply into the screen and delete the texts. You then open your call log and erase the missed calls and voicemails without listening to a single word from the several that he left in your inbox.

Just the fleeting thought of hearing his raspy voice is enough to make you want to vomit. There is no doubt in your mind that his words will come slurred and intoxicated. Shaking your head softly, you lock the screen and stuff your phone away.

Out of sight, out of mind, right?

With everything in you, you try your best to put your focus back onto The Breakfast Club playing on the brightly lit plasma screen television that is set at the perfect volume.

A handful of minutes pass, but your mind can't seem to move on from the notifications you received. You feel yourself growing anxious, irritated, and unwell with each second that ticks by.

Every bad feeling there is to feel in this world is shifting its way through your body, trying to make you their home.

Cells turned into agony.

Hearing from your father makes you feel a type of rage and unsettledness unlike any other. It feels almost haunting.

It's triggering something inside you that you thought you had moved on from. You swore you did.

But look at you. Clearly, that isn't the case at all.

How can a human make another human feel this way with actions as small as a call or text? It's absurd.

This is when the entire out of sight, out of mind concept comes back to bite you in your ass.

You're beginning to grow hot, burning from the inside out, and it's only continuing to intensify. Sweat is now on the edge of trickling down your tense back. You have to get out of this warmth. You need to breathe. Somehow. Some way.

Unable to bear it, you pull your arms out of Jean's sweatshirt and over your head. Being wrapped up in it a second longer, you swear you would melt into a disgusting pile of mush.

"Where's the bathroom?" you whisper to Jean, carefully controlling your voice so it won't waver. You place the sweatshirt onto his lap, pulling your leg away that was once pressed up into his.

Jean feels your loss of touch before he hears your voice. "Upstairs," his focus tears away from the movie and shifts down to see the material of his sweatshirt resting on his thigh. His eyes flicker up to you. "Second door on your left," he meets your voice at the same level of softness. "You good?"

You nod sharply once and hope it's convincing, "gotta pee." Your words slip past your dry lips with ease, but it feels like the weight of the world is pressing on your throat.

It burns. So bad.

You swiftly push yourself off the couch and quietly sneak out of the basement as your friends continue to be completely infatuated with a movie they've seen hundreds of times.

The power of the Pope. The infamous saying is true; everyone does meet God when they hit it. Each one of them has entered into their own little world. Unfortunately for you, that joyous high has come crashing down.

Somehow, even with all of this distance between you and your father, he still manages to ruin your time.

Following Jean's directions, you head through the living room and up the stairs, quietly knowing Zeke is in his room asleep. You pass the walls decorated with framed pictures before making it to the second door on the left.

Stepping into the dark bathroom, you close the door softly behind you, the doorknob meeting the hinge with nothing but a faint click.

There's a light switch on the wall next to you, but you don't bother to flick it on. You welcome the darkness. It's what you need right now.

Sliding down the heavy white door frame, you rest your arms on your bent knees and tuck them into your tight chest. Lowering your head, your hands come together, and your thumbs rub against each other with anxiousness.

Hating the way they are trembling, you rip your hands apart and wrap your arms around your tense body. You close your eyes and try to offer yourself some form of comfort the way you always do.

To be in the warm embrace of someone else in a time of need is nothing but a myth as far as you're concerned. You've never been truly held or comforted by the like of another.

Your ex would only hold you for five minutes after he fucked all of his pent-up anger issues into you, and then post-nut clarity would hit him like a truck, and suddenly you weren't desirable enough to hold anymore.

Your father couldn't stand to be around you more than he had to. The last time he hugged you was before your mother died. It's been so long since then that you can't really remember what it felt like to be wrapped up in the arms of the one who is supposed to be your greatest protector.

He didn't even so much as brush a hand against you at your mother's funeral, even after you collapsed to your knees in front of her open casket suffering from an all-consuming heartbreak that you were too young to be experiencing.

And Lucas? Well, Lucas was far too emotionally and mentally exhausted from fighting to stay alive to worry about you, but that's something that you don't dare hold against him, especially since his efforts failed him and he tragically lost his battle.

So at the end of the day, it's been you, always. You are all you ever had. The single person who has never failed you. Your one and only.

Arms wrapped tightly around your shaking body; your fingernails press into the skin of your back. A dull ache is pulsing at your temples from how hard you are clenching down on your teeth. You pop your jaw and part your lips to help release the building tension as your thoughts go rapid.

"Everyone is running from something."

Jean's words he told you while the two of you shared a blunt on a swing set near Pied Piper come to the forefront of your mind. You hear them as clearly as if he is speaking them directly to you now.

He was right about that statement of his.

Your father reaching out is a jarring reminder that you are running. All you can do is hope that all of what you are running from doesn't catch up with you in some way or another. Your father is one.

Thankfully, he doesn't know where you are. You knew better than to tell him something like that. His being unaware of your location is an extremely good thing. It means he can't come to find you.

He might have hinted that he would, but you know him well enough to know that he's bluffing. Looking for you would take far too much effort and time out of his precious life. Why would he spend any of that on you? He's always told that you're nothing but a burden.

He is simply desperate to get ahold of your attention. He's trying to screw with your head.

You want nothing more than to block your father's number, but you can't ever seem to find the strength. Whenever you try to, your finger just hovers over the red block button, muscles refusing to agree with your mind's desires.

What if there's an emergency? What if something happens that you need to know? You have no family except for him. You already lost everyone else. He's all that's left of your bloodline.

Yes, you might hate him, your bitterness toward him is as potent as they come, but he is still your father, whether he's a piece of shit or not. At least now, there are miles and miles between his shitty ways.

But what are miles when he can still make you feel like this?

| ♬ currently playing ... i can't handle change ; roar ♬ |

Your throat is aching as uneven breaths pass through your cracked lips. You feel like you could cry, but you know you can't. The tears simply won't come. They never really do.

You're not one to cry much. When it does happen, it's either brief, or it's because you're enduring something so painful they can't help but escape.

Since your father felt the constant need to bring you down and laugh at you and fill you with the feeling of utter stupidity whenever you showed your genuine emotions, you quickly learned how to gain control and mask them despite what you truly were feeling.

Over the years, you have mastered the act of swallowing down your cries, even when they build up inside you to the point where it feels like you will explode.

You usually hate this developed aspect of yourself, but you're grateful for it right now. The last thing you want is to cry over your father.

It was wishful thinking that he wouldn't try to reach out to you anymore. You just hoped and prayed to a God you don't believe in that he would simply let you be, especially since the last time you saw him, you left with tear-stained eyes, a broken nose, a black eye, and a throat that was piercingly raw from all the screams.

Your father's last words to you as you parted ways with him were enough to almost kill you. It was the drunkest you ever saw him making the encounter the most brutal.

"Lucas dying is your fault Y/N. You realize that, don't you? How can you live with yourself knowing it was you that failed your poor brother?"

"Please. Stop." You remember the way your desperate pleads felt as they dripped off of the base of your tongue. You can still taste the salt of your cries. "I can't take it. Please."

Despite your disheartened begs, he kept going with his words of venom. "If it weren't for you, maybe your brother would still be here. But look at you crying over someone who is never coming back. What did I tell you about your emotions?" He laughed. "This is sad. Really. You are almost as pathetic as him."

It was one thing for him to insult you, but for him to slander your dead brother's name is what sent you over the edge.

You went on to stand your ground, but that was when his fist met your face.

You heard it before you felt it. The loud crunching sound rang through your ears as the impact of his swing broke your nose; you can still recall the sharp pain that ran through you. The way you fought tooth and nail not to pass out from it.

Somehow, even with the amount of physical pain, you were in, the words he said hurt so much worse.

Although it's been a long time since then, your father's sullen words said that night still pass through your mind several times a day, and they pain you the same way they did when they first fell from his vodka-covered mouth.

Words full of blood and smoke.

Words that made you wish your lungs would simply give up on searching for air, and your breaking heart would stop beating within your heavy chest that was full of years worth of held back sobs.

Over the years, your father has hurt you in more ways than you can count. Truthfully, as a coping mechanism, you blocked a lot of it out of your mind. But even with your mind trying to protect you from your trauma, or at least making an effort to make it a little more bearable, there is still no denying the pain you went through so frequently done because of him.

You would take the physical pain your father caused you any day over the emotional, though. At least the physical marks would go away. With how you feel right now, sitting on the cold white tile floor of a bathroom, it's evident emotional ones never fully heal.

Was your father right? Was Lucas' death really your fault? All of this pain, this suffering. All of what you've endured for the majority of your life, did you do it to yourself? Is all of the loss you've suffered what you deserve?

Fuck.

What would your father have been like if your mother never died? Would he have been kind? More patient? Would he have been a better person? Would he have actually been a father to you rather than wearing the title as a badge of manipulative power and holding it against you to get away with his horrible actions? Would he have loved you?

Love. Loved. Fuck, you want to be loved.

You feel yourself cringe as these questions pour into every inch of your brain, making it pound against your skull.

You can't think these thoughts right now. You have to put an end to them; if you don't, you'll be consumed whole, and you'll be damned if you let that happen.

You force them away from your father and focus them on your breathing to try to get some kind of grip on it, willing your pounding heart to slow.

About five minutes go by, and your breaths are now level again. Feeling like you have successfully gotten ahold of yourself, you push yourself onto your feet, slow and steady, and face yourself toward the door.

Hand resting on the silver doorknob, you place your forehead against the door, the coolness of the painted white wood transferring to the skin of your forehead. You take one final long breath as you run a hand down the length of your face. Slowly twisting the knob, you open the door and leave your overwhelming feelings behind.

You are about to start your journey back downstairs when the photos hanging neatly on the wall grab hold of your attention, creating a diversion.

You halt your step and turn toward the various frames to get a better look. You remember seeing these pictures in passing the night of Eren's party and on the way to the bathroom, but you didn't make an effort to really look at them.

This time, you do.

Eyes trailing the walls, you see the photos are of Eren and Zeke. Each of the framed memories maps out a different time in their lives. Deeper down the hall, there are some just of Eren creating a short timeline from when he was a child, to an adolescent, to current.

By how many photos are coating the hallway walls, it's clear that Zeke is a very proud brother who cares deeply for Eren.

Your eyes slide over to the biggest photo on the right side of the hallway. It's Eren being held by a dark-haired woman. You figure her to be Carla, his mother; the resemblance is uncanny.

Eren's colored eyes are bright under the light reflecting from the sun in the sky above. Carla has her face nudged deep into Eren's soft chubby cheek. Eren's small hand holding onto her chin, tiny fingers fisted into her porcelain skin.

She loved him. It's written all in her eyes.

You continue to study the two of them, trying to imagine what kind of person she must have been like, when suddenly, from behind, you hear footsteps coming up the stairs.

You turn to see Eren as he reaches the top step.

His eyes lock with yours, a smile immediately etching on his face. "Hey. There you are. What are you doing up here?" The dim light in the hallway hits his tall stature, shadows forming on him in all the right places.

You clear out any tightness that might be lingering behind in your throat. "Restroom. I -" you fail to finish your sentence.

Eren glances at the covered white walls and then back to you with questioning eyes. "Looking at my childhood pictures?"

You nod slowly. "Yeah. Sorry. They caught my attention on the way back down. I probably shouldn't have been snooping around."

He steps next to you, "Y/N, stop. You're good. This is your place too." His eyes begin to shake back and forth quickly across your face as if he's trying to get some sort of reading on you. "You doing alright? You disappeared on me for a minute."

You force on the most convincing of smiles onto your lips. "Oh yeah, I'm fine. What are the others doing?" You are desperate to change the subject.

You don't want to lie, but you don't feel like confiding in anyone about anything revolving around your father. Not him, not even Sasha.

Eren doesn't ask again. Thankfully, it seems that he can't quite see through your bullshit.

If it were Sasha that came up here, you would have been fucked.

"Just hanging out," Eren says to you. "Everyone just sorta stopped watching the movie after you snuck out. Connie said he was bored and decided that he wanted to challenge Mikasa to an arm-wrestling fight. Sasha's acting mediator."

"Who won?" You ask.

"Who else? Mikasa." Eren leans up against the wall, the back of his head resting on the smooth white surface. "Before I came up here, Connie's dumb ass demanded another round."

You laugh softly. "Could have guessed that."

"I don't know why he thinks a second time is gonna change the result. He has never stood a fucking chance against her." He stuffs his hands deep into his front pockets. "Mikasa's brutal when it comes to that kinda shit. She's always been the type who hates to lose."

You tilt your head. "You ever play against her and get beat?"

Eren's lips fall flat. "Next question."

You laugh at his answer as your eyes tear away from him and fall back to the long walls of the hallway.

You can't stop looking at the photos. There's just something about them that pulls you right back in.

Maybe it's the fact that they are a good distraction from what happened in the bathroom. Or maybe it's the sibling aspect, a reminder of what you and Lucas once were before he left you. Or perhaps it's seeing Eren at different times of his life.

Whatever it is, it is inviting to you.

Eren studies you as your eyes trail over the picture of him and his mother. He takes notice of your infatuation with it. "My mom was beautiful," he speaks, pushing his back deeper into the wall.

The use of past tense makes your heart drop slightly. The relation you feel in that sentence causes you a little pain. "She was very beautiful," you nod faintly, still processing her angelic presence. "I see where you get your good genes from."

Eren smiles to himself, grateful to see that you appreciate her beauty. "I have a couple more pictures in my old room if you wanna see them?" He offers. "Mikasa's staying here tonight to help me drop Zeke off at the airport tomorrow, so I have to go in there to grab her a couple of blankets for the night anyways."

Without an ounce of hesitation, you agree.

"Come on then." Grabbing your hand, Eren intertwines his fingers with your own and leads you down the faintly lit hall. He reaches the door to his room and opens it. Still holding your hand, he guides you inside.

It's a spacious bedroom with grey walls, a frameless bed with a grey striped comforter, and a few white, black, and grey pillows resting against each other, making for a neat bed. A Nirvana and a $uicideboy$ poster are both plastered above it.

A desk is pushed up to the wall on the right, a wooden chair in front of it, both colored black.

Eren closes the door to his room behind him and lets his warm touch on you go, giving you the freedom to roam around.

Stepping away from him, your eyes shift around before they fall on the grey wall that the desk is rested up against. You make your way over to it.

Resting a little higher than eye level are three rows of black shelves stacked under one another. Each row is filled with many basketball trophies dating years back. There are ribbons of all colors and metals of all sizes that stand for Eren's talent.

Eren doesn't say anything; he lets you take your time looking.

Your interested focus traces down to the desk that rests beneath it. The top of it is bare except for a few black-framed photos and two bright pink post-it notes stuck to the wood.

There is a message written on them in Sasha's imperfect cursive handwriting with her looped y's and i's dotted with hearts in thin black sharpie. You'd know her writing anywhere.

Connie and Sasha were here!!!
We love the fuck outta you bird boy

P.S.
(Connie says Tatakae)

The second neon pink sticky note is stuck directly next to it, writing still done by Sasha. It reads:

P.S.S.
Jean was here too, but he said he has nothing to say except you're annoying.
But you know that's his own dumbass way of saying he loves you
(Don't tell him we wrote this shit, or he will murder us in cold blood. We would prefer to live if at all possible)

Your chest shakes with silent laughter. The dynamics in this friend group sure are unique, and you wouldn't change a thing about it.

Your eyes pull away from the chaotic post-its and pull toward one of the matte framed photos. It's of Eren and Zeke. Each has an arm wrapped around the back of the other, both holding a crystal glass full of ice and dark alcohol, and of course, Zeke has a lit cigarette secured between his lips.

Your eyes move on to the next photo on his desk. This one is of himself, Armin, and Mikasa, who are on either side of him, resting their head on his shoulders. The three of them are asleep on what looks to be the train that runs through Paradis, the same one you took when you came here.

Your attention is pulled to the last photo Eren has framed on his desk. It's of himself and Jean. Immediately you think of how cute it is that he has a framed picture of just the two of them.

You know Eren loves all his friends and that he would go to the ends of the earth for each one of them. However, these photos show the ones he holds the closest to his heart.

"You didn't take these photos with you when you moved out?" you ask, eyes still focused straight ahead.

"I crash here a lot, so I just made some copies," Eren says from behind you. "Wanted them at both places."

You take a step closer toward the photo of him and Jean. Your eyes go soft as you take in the details of it.

The two of them are sitting on the couch in Eren's basement. The Pope is resting on the top of Eren's right thigh, a nicely packed blunt placed in Jean's mouth. Jean's mullet is a little bit messy, and Eren's hair is knotted perfectly. Both of their legs are man spread out. Jean is leaning toward the camera, his left forearm resting in the center of his thighs, his veiny hand dangling off his knee. His other hand is held up to his mouth, mid grab of his blunt. Eren is leaning back into the couch, his left arm resting on Jean's back. The two of them are looking at the camera, eyes beat red from being far too high.

The first thing you notice is how happy Jean seems to be. He looks almost like a completely different person. There are no dark bags under his eyes, no anger embedded into every square inch of his face. He looks content. Okay. Alive.

"I like this picture." Lifting a finger, you point at the frame. "Who took it?"

You hear light footsteps against the dark oak floor, and then you feel Eren step behind you, his body almost pressed against yours. Your backside is submerged with warmth as faint breaths pass through your ear. "Marco did." Oh.

You bite heavily at your lip before turning yourself around to face Eren head-on. "Well, it's a really nice picture of you and Jean."

Eren takes a glance over your shoulder. His hard chest presses into yours as he steps closer to the desk. He reaches his long arm behind you and lifts the frame to better look at it. Subconsciously, you breathe him in; clean linen and pine scent fills you up.

Eren looks at the photo carefully. "Yeah. It's pretty alright," he says. Setting the frame back down, he takes a small step away, parting his warm body from yours. Tilting your gaze up, you give him a small smile.

Eren shifts his head down a fraction of an inch, peering at you. Slowly he lifts his hand and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. You watch as his eyes trace your face, behind the fringe of his brown hair, from the top of your head down to your chin and back up again. You can tell he's lost in thought.

You swallow under his attention. "What are you thinking about right now?"

Eren pauses as he smiles softly. "Just that you're a very beautiful girl."

Heat rises to your cheeks embarrassingly fast. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me." He runs his hand through your hair once more before it falls to your face. The back of his hand then falls and meets your warm cheek. It brushes it softly against your skin. "You deserve to know what you are," he says before stepping away, parting from you completely.

You feel a little rush of disappointment travel through you. There was a piece of you that thought that maybe at that moment, in that shared closeness, Eren would make another effort to kiss you again, but he didn't.

Wishful thinking, maybe.

You sigh softly through your nose and push that feeling away. It's not anything you want to spend time relishing in.

Eren walks across his room to his walk-in closet. While he disappears inside, you make your way over to the right side of his bed, where his black-painted nightstand rests.

The top of it has an Echo alarm clock, a standard lamp, and a single all-glass frame that holds two pictures from Eren's high school graduation.

You lift the frame. Sitting on the edge of his bed, you bring it down to your lap. In the photo, Eren is dressed in a brown cap and gown, and his diploma is held up proudly in his hand that reads: Scout High School.

The top photo is of Eren and Zeke. The bottom is of Mikasa, Armin, and Eren, all three in matching caps and gowns. Armin has a white sash that has Valedictorian written down its length in fancy lettering and brown stitching.

Coming out of the walk-in closet, Eren walks back over to where you are, a stack of folded blankets for Mikasa in his arms. He sits next to you, placing them beside him on the bed.

You shift your body to look at him. "Looks like Armin beat you in the fight for Valedictorian, huh?" You tease.

Eren cracks a grin at your joke. "Oh, yeah. I had super fucking close competition with him," he says sarcastically. "He stole that shit right out from under me, little manipulative bastard."

"Oh, I believe it," you laugh. "You, Armin, and Mikasa are inseparable, huh?"

"Pretty much. For as long as I can remember," he answers, repositioning his legs. "Can't really remember my life without them."

"That's nice," you say, leaning away from him and placing the photo back onto his nightstand in the same position you found it.

"What is?" Eren questions, craning his neck with curiosity. 

"To have friends like that. That sticks with you through everything." You center your weight on the bed and turn back to look at Eren, "I'm glad I have Sasha back. Being without that sort of friendship for so long really sucked."

"It's not just Sash, Y/N," Eren says; his words are light. "You have all the rest of us too."

Happiness makes your heart flutter. "I'm really glad I have you guys," you reply, a smile pulling at your lips.

"We're glad we have you too." He glances at the framed picture, and then his gaze falls back on you. "Alright, so now that you've seen all my pictures, you have to show me yours next time I come over."

"Oh." The saliva in your mouth turns thick. You swallow hard. "I don't really have any to show. A bunch of stuff stayed behind when we moved out of Mitras."

Eren's head finds the angle of a slight tilt. "None? Even your mom? You don't..." his mouth clamps shut in an attempt to catch himself. He doesn't finish his question, but he doesn't have to either. You already know what it is.

Your head shakes slowly, eyes falling to your lap. "No. I don't have any photos of her. I didn't have time to grab anything before we left."

That's not entirely true but where they ended up isn't anything you want to talk about.

You bring your focus back to level again. All it takes is a one-second glance at him, and you can tell that Eren regrets his curiosity. "I'm sorry," he sympathizes, voice tight.

"It's okay," your lips come together with extreme pressure. It's not. But what can you do?

Eren studies your face. He's feeding you empathy with his eyes, an abundance of apologies shifting through them without a word being spoken.

You shake your head and lightly place your palm on his thigh near his knee. "Please don't look at me like that. I promise it's okay, Eren. I've come to terms with it. I'm just glad to know that you have pictures like this to help you remember. Seriously. Thank you for showing me this," you say, full of gratitude.

"Yeah, no problem," Eren's lips press upward into a faint smile. He lightly places his hand on top of yours that is still resting on his leg. "It's a good thing I caught you snooping around upstairs, huh? Or you would have never gotten to see how cute I was when I was a baby." He nudges you softly. You can tell it's his effort for trying to make up for any sadness his question may have caused you.

You appreciate him. "You're so right. Cutest baby ever." You laugh nervously. "I'm sorry about that again."

"No, don't worry about it. I'm just giving you a hard time. Honestly, when I offered to grab blankets for Mikasa, I was hoping that you would be up here," he admits, his thumb slowly beginning to rub against the back of your hand.

"Why?" you ask, with widened eyes. His touch is enough to make your stomach thrash around.

"You were gone for a bit, so I wanted to check on you. Plus, I wanted to take time to talk to you away from everyone before you left and apologize for what I said earlier," Eren rakes his free hand through the top of his hair. "When I basically suggested that you were someone who would give Jean what he wanted. It was foul."

You nod and make sure you're careful not to move your hand; you want his touch to remain. "Sorry for snapping at you the way I did, but I'll admit, saying that to me was sort of a dick move."

"I know." Eren sighs, evidently frustrated with himself and the choice of words he made in that situation. "It was a stupid fucking thing for me to say. I honestly was just caught off guard with everything. Mad, I guess, so I just sort of snapped. I know it's not an excuse."

Your forehead creases. "Why were you mad?"

"Why? Because I fucking hate Floch," Eren's face twitches with frustration. "And, finding out you kissed Jean. I don't know, I just —" his words fall off as he shakes his head.

"Mad because he kissed me or because he didn't tell you about it?" You ask, shoulders rolling back.

Eren swallows, "both."

You breathe out a small sigh. "It was a stupid game Eren. It didn't mean anything."

The movement of his thumb stops moving, but his hand stays in place on top of yours. "To you? Or to him?"

"Both." Your answer is short and sharp.

"You're sure?"

"I'm positive," you assure him.

Eren chews at the inside of his cheek for a few beats of silence, then he speaks. "There's something else."

Your heart squeezes beneath your ribcage. "What?"

Eren's eyes lock with yours. He begins to lean in closer and closer, inch by inch, in an achingly slow way. Is he going to kiss you? Now?

"Eren?" You breathe softly, nervous. "What is it?"

| ♬ currently playing ... will he ; joji |

He's so close to you now. "Do you remember what I said earlier? About you having to wait?" His voice is hoarse. The smell of him and his warmth is both overwhelmingly powerful. You nod your head wordlessly, submerged with nerves.

Eren takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly like he's trying to get ahold of himself, being this close to you. "I take that shit back because the one who can't wait anymore is me." He slowly lifts his hand off of yours. He brings it up and runs his fingers lightly through your hair. "I want to kiss you, Y/N."

Your stomach twists at his willingness to admit it. This is what you've been wanting. Him. This. It can't slip from you again. "How bad?" You want to hear him talk about his desire for you.

"Jesus," Eren starts, his voice twisted with desire. His eyes fall onto your lips as he runs his tongue across his own. "So fucking bad that it's actually killing me."

You bite at your lip, fighting the urge to close the distance set between the two of you. You want him to move first. "If you want it, ask nicely."

"Please," Eren doesn't even hesitate to beg for you. The word slips from his parted lips with urgent willingness. "Y/N. Please," he whispers, eyes locking with yours once again.

You swallow hard at how your name and the word 'Please' fall off his tongue like silk. "Kiss me, Eren."

Eren smiles at your words of permission revealing his satisfaction and eagerness. "Thank. Fucking. God."

He grabs your face with both hands. Gently, he
guides you into him, and his lips crash harshly onto yours. You let out a small sigh as your eyes flutter shut, his warmth radiating from his body into yours. His sweetness begins to grow more intense as he deepens the kiss.

Pushing his fingers deep into your hair, he tugs at it faintly, causing your stomach to flip. His lips are soft, and the movement is controlled; behind his kiss lies the perfect amount of eagerness.

Eren coxes your mouth open slowly with his tongue. A deep aggressive groan escapes from within him when he enters inside of your mouth like this is all that he's been aching to do. To have you, in even the simplest of ways.

The way Eren tastes is making your head spin. Your mind is consumed with him as you try to memorize how he kisses you before it ends.

This time, he pulls at your hair with a little more strength, causing your breath to hitch. You grab at his shirt, an effort to remove him closer, before your hands find their way to the back of his neck, right beneath the knot in his hair. You feel his lips curve up into a smile against your mouth; he likes your hands on him.

"Eren," you sigh breathlessly as you run your fingernails softly against the skin of the back of his neck.

"Fuck, Y/N." Eren groans into you. It's low and slow and full of so much pining you swear your can taste it. He pulls away from your lips and buries himself into the crook of your neck, both of his hands gripping onto your thighs, searching for some sort of stability before he loses it.

Tilting your head back, you give him access, not daring to open your eyes.

"Damn it," Eren speaks low against your skin as he lightly nips at your sensitive flesh with his tongue and teeth, just enough to make your lips part with breaths of satisfaction. "You drive me fucking insane," he confesses. His heavy breaths run down your shoulder, sending chills straight down your spine.

His lips slowly map their way back until he finds your lips again with ease, hands moving from your thighs to cup your face again. His slightly wet mouth latches onto yours with desperation. The kiss is rough and demanding, making up for the times he didn't get to kiss you before.

Ever so slowly, he breaks it and rests his forehead on yours. Your eyes flutter open to meet his gaze; a deep look of adoration lies inside. "I know I said this too many damn times but fuck, you're so beautiful," Eren mutters.

Your cheeks go pink at his compliment.

"I could look at you for hours." He runs both of his thumbs across your cheeks. His soft touch sinking bone-deep into your prickled skin.

"Hours?" Your heart slams against your chest.

"Fucking days." Eren moves his hand over to your mouth and drags his thumb slowly against your lip, feeling it against his fingertip. His breaths are ragged; yours are too.

The kiss with Eren is better than what you expected it to be, but something was missing. Something you can't quite put your finger on. 

Maybe you're just nervous. Eren does make you very nervous. That must be what it is. Maybe that's why you didn't get that same feeling that consumed your entire being the way you did when —

"Yo, Yeager. Have you seen Y/N?" A deep voice seeps in from under the door, snapping you back into reality.

"Jean," Eren grumbles frustratedly under his breath as he pulls away from you. "Uhh. Yeah, she's-" Before Eren can finish his response, the door to his room swings open.

"She looked lowkey upset I wanted—" Jean is standing in the doorway now, stopped dead in his tracks.

Did you hear him right? He wanted? He wanted what?

Jean's eyes alternate rapidly between you and Eren. His arms cross in front of his chest, and his jaw ticks with irritation.

Eren quickly grabs the pile of blankets he set next to him and tosses them onto his thighs as he tries to hide the excitement that rests inside his pants, but his timing seems to have been a little too late.

Jean runs his tongue harshly across his front teeth before letting out a dry laugh. It's not hard for him to put the pieces of the puzzle together. "Jesus Jaeger, come on. If you're gonna fuck her, at least lock the fucking door first."

That's a little bit ironic coming from him.

"Enough," Eren warns.

"We —" you begin to argue, but Jean cuts you off.

"Now that you've enjoyed your little time with Eren get up. We're leaving," he demands with a sharp tone.

You open your mouth to reply, but again he doesn't let you. "Right now. Let's go. Or I'll leave your ass here."

"She was talking to you, Jean. Let her talk." Eren states through gritted teeth.

You bite a little too harshly at the top of your tongue. "Don't talk to me like that," you warn, irritated not because of his disruption but because of how's he's acting. "You know I don't like it."

Jean's eyes burn you as his face sits in an unrelenting scowl. "I'll be in my car. Five minutes, Y/N. I'm not fucking kidding," he states firmly before turning around and walking out. The door slams shut behind him.

All the built-up air inside your lungs leaves you in a long shaky huff. "Asshole," you mutter as you stand to your feet. "I should go. There's no doubt he'll leave me behind."

Eren laughs. "He might be a dick, but he wouldn't do that to you." He shakes his head, "I don't know what his damn problem is."

"Me either," you shrug. "I should still go through. I don't want them waiting on me."

"Alright, just... give me a minute." Eren's head falls as he tries to focus on making himself go soft. "I'm gonna need you to turn around because if you keep standing there looking at me the way you do, this shit will be nearly impossible."

"Sure." You laugh softly as you turn your back on him and wait patiently by the door while he adjusts himself.

You pull out your phone, grateful to see no more notifications from your father, but there is one that you received less than a minute ago from Sasha.

Sash <3 - Jean was fine when
he went to find you. Now he's
acting all pissy... What did you do? 🤨

Y/N - idk. exist

"Alright." You hear Eren push himself off of his bed and tuck the stack of blankets under his left arm. "We're good now," he says, walking over to you.

You put your phone away. "Do I even wanna know what you thought about to help make it go away?" You ask, glancing back at him over your shoulder.

"Nah," Eren's low voice hits your ear, traveling straight through you. "Probably not."

Laughing at his honesty, you open the door, but Eren grabs you by the shoulder and spins you around before you can walkthrough. He places his hand under your jaw and tilts your chin up to him.

Eren's eyes search yours for a few brief seconds. He then leans himself forward and kisses you softly. Your eyes flutter shut as you savor him on your lips once more before he pulls away.

"Sorry," he mutters, "but I needed one more before you go. Consider it my goodbye." You can't help but smile.

You and Eren head downstairs together.  Bertholdt, Reiner, Historia, and Ymir have already left to return to their apartments. Armin and Annie are still down in the basement. Sasha, Connie, and Jean are out front. Mikasa sits on the couch in the living room, scrolling on her phone.

Eren walks over to her. "Here," he says, handing Mikasa the stack of folded blankets. She takes his offering and sets them on the couch. "Thanks. Where were you guys?"

"I ran into her upstairs, so she just stayed with me while I grabbed your stuff," Eren says. "She saw our high school picture."

"Oh god. That's embarrassing," Mikasa sighs as she turns her head back to look at you. "We had the ugliest school colors ever. Brown definitely isn't it for me."

"Everyone hated Scout Highs' colors," Eren says. "The brown looked like burnt bread or some shit."

Mikasa sets her phone in her lap. "Except for Armin. He loved it for some reason."

Eren laughs. "That's because Armin fucking loves everything,"

"Oh, please. Mikasa, you looked good as always." You make your way over to her, "you're staying here tonight?"

"Yeah," Mikasa says, looking up at you from her seated position. "You're heading out?"

You nod. "Wanted to say bye before I go."

Mikasa gives a small smile. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Probably late," you reply. "I'm tutoring Jean sometime tomorrow night."

Eren sucks air between his teeth. "Oh shit. I forgot about that." He gives a brief laugh as he plops himself down on the couch next to her. "Good luck."

Mikasa's teeth clench. "I still can't believe you signed yourself up for that."

You shrug. "Yeah, well, do me a solid and keep me in your thoughts. I'm probably gonna need it."

"Got you," Eren says, scrunching his nose as he rests his head back on the pillows of the couch.

Mikasa laughs breathlessly. "Of course. I'll be sending you my best, Y/N."

You bid a quick goodbye to Eren and Mikasa. You don't look, but you can feel Eren's eyes on you as you walk away and make your way out of Zeke's house.

As you let the door shut behind you, you see Jean sitting on the front porch step, watching Connie and Sasha in the distance, jumping around in the puddles created by the previous rain out in the middle of the dead street.

Jean waiting here catches you off guard a bit. With how demanding he was back in Eren's room, you would have put money that he would have been basically pulling out of the driveway when you came out here. But it seems that you were wrong.

You step next to him. Jean senses your presence, but he doesn't acknowledge it.

You sit on the step beside him. "Thought you were leaving me behind."

Jean's breathing shallows when he hears the sound of your voice. "Sasha would kill me if I tried," he says, eyes remaining forward. "If it were just me and you, I probably would have."

You look up at the sky briefly, noticing that the dark clouds have cleared, before focusing back on him. "Do you mean that, or are you just saying that?"

Jean blinks a couple of times, still refusing to address you with his line of sight. "What do you think? Since you seem to know everything."

"I don't think you mean it," you state your opinion while shaking your head.

"No?" He runs both palms down the length of his pants. "Why?"

"Because I think you like me more than you like to admit to yourself," you reply with a sly tone.

Jean's tongue clicks. "You're far off with that shit," he grinds out.

"Am I, though?" you nudge him softly in the shoulder, trying to lighten his mood, but it's not working. He ignores you like he didn't even feel you push your weight against him.

You sigh, pulling your shoulder out of his arm. It's obvious he's irritated at you. "Jean. What's your problem?"

Jean's teeth gnash, "I don't have a problem."

"Are you mad at me or something?" You ask as your head drops into a tilt.

"No," his voice falters just slightly. "What reason would I have to be mad at you?"

"I don't know, you tell me," you fist the fabric of your shirt with growing annoyance.

He swallows hard. "I'm not mad."

The grip you have on your shirt releases. "Then why won't you look at me?"

Jean's entire body goes rigid, your question nicking him in all the wrong places. "Is that what you want? You want me to look at you?"

Your eyes fall onto the pavement set in front of you. "Yeah, I do. You're kinda being a dick. I'd appreciate it if you'd -"

Before you can finish what you were going to say, Jean grabs you under your chin with his calloused hand, making you almost choke on your words.

He pulls your face in his direction of him, eyes looking into yours. There's space between your two faces, but you still feel like you're suffocating.

This is the burn you were looking for. It's so hot that it feels like flames have been ignited on your skin.

Something is lying in his eyes that you can't make out. Something you haven't seen before, not just in him but in anyone else. You are fighting for your life, making sure your breaths don't go pathetically ragged through your parted lips.

Jean digs his fingers into your cheeks, his tongue swiping against his lips. "There, Y/N. I'm giving you exactly what you want. I'm looking at you. Are you happy now?" His jaw is tight as his gaze sinks deeper into yours, unblinking.

A faint smile pulls at your lips as you try to cover up the feeling thrashing around inside of you. "I'm always happy when a guy willingly surrenders to my desires."

Your remark causes Jean's fingers to curl even deeper into your flesh down to your jaw. His eyes flicker down to your lips briefly before meeting your eyes again; it's so quick that you would have missed it if you had blinked.

Jean begins to lean in toward you, and it feels as though your heart is on the verge of stopping. His face lines with your ear. "You're ridiculous, you know that?" he deeply whispers before tearing his hand away from your face and setting his body straight.

You lean into him next, matching his actions with your own. "And you're submissive," you whisper cunningly.

You feel him tense at your words. you pull away from him and study his face. "Now, tell me what's wrong with you, Jean."

Before Jean can choke out a response, a voice fills your ears from behind. "We're heading out."

You turn to see Armin and Annie come out from Zeke's house.

Once Armin meets the level ground, he stops the pacing of his steps and turns your way. "Y/N, text me after you get off tomorrow and let me know how your first shift alone goes." His blue eyes are bright underneath his blonde hair resting on his forehead.

"Bertholdt will be with me, so it shouldn't be that bad," you smile up at him, "but I will definitely keep you updated. "Bye, Armin."

"Bye," Armin sends you a smile before turning his focus to Jean. "See you later, Jean," he says to him.

Jean gives a swift nod rather than being verbal with his goodbye, and Armin parts away from the two of you.

Annie, who is following behind him, pauses and takes a step directly in front of you and Jean. When Armin realizes she stopped, he turns around. "Annie, you coming?"

Annie glances behind her shoulder at him, "be right there, just give me a second." Armin gives mutters an okay and walks over to his car.

Annie turns her focus back to the two of you and crosses her arms in front of her, "Kirstein," she says firmly, glaring down at him. 

Jean slowly tilts his head up at her, "what?" he snaps.

Annie's face pulses uncomfortably. "I hate doing this stupid shit, but she won't leave me alone. She literally keeps texting me, and it's annoying the shit out of me."

"Who?" Jean asks gruffly. "What are you talking about?"

"Pieck," Annie replies, slightly rolling her eyes. "She said she texted you. She's up my ass asking why you haven't texted her back."

The girl that was texting him earlier is named Pieck?

Jean lets out an irritated scoff. "Why the hell is she texting you about me? If I wanted to answer her, I would."

Annie's blue eyes glaze over with vexation. "You don't even have her number saved, do you?"

Jean gives Annie a bored gaze. Every part of him is placid. "Seems to me that you already know the answer to your own question, Annie."

"God." Annie sighs like Jean's response was something that she was expecting. "I told her not to sleep with your ass. I don't know what she was thinking. If she thought she was actually gonna change you, she's dumber than I thought."

"Not sure what you want me to say or do," Jean says with faux indifference.

"Tell her yourself that you're not interested," Annie tells him as her arms release by her side, "I'm not about to do your dirty work for you."

"What dirty work are you talking about?" Jean grumbles; it's blatantly apparent that this is a discussion he does not want to be having. "She went in knowing it was nothing but a hookup. I made that clear. Texting you and having you ask me about it isn't gonna do anything but piss me off."

"Maybe remind her of that again so she will leave both of us alone about it. I don't know, but what I do know is that I don't wanna be involved with your sleeping around." Annie rolls her head in irritation before looking down at you. "I'll see you later, Y/N."

You give a small smile, though this conversation has made you feel a bit uncomfortable. "See you," you say, and Annie parts ways, heading toward Armin's car.

"Annoying as hell," Jean mumbles under his breath.

Your lips purse. "Maybe if you kept your dick inside your pants, you wouldn't have this problem."

"What I do isn't any of your business." Jean bites back as he pushes himself to his feet and brushes off his pants.

"Fair," you shrug.

Jean shifts his head to look down at you. "Did you tell your boyfriend goodbye, or do you need to go do that before we leave?"

Your muscles tense in your face as you push your weight up to stand on your feet. "He's not my boyfriend."

"But you did kiss him tonight, didn't you?" Jean bites through his tight jaw.

You blink. Why does he care?

Jean continues. "Come on, Y/N. I'm not stupid."

"That's a hypocritical thing to be asking me, don't you think?" You state, matching his attitude, "If what you do isn't any of my business, why is what I do any of yours?"

Jean clicks his tongue. There isn't much of an argument he can make after your statement, so he doesn't. "Let's go," is all he says before walking away. Letting out a frustrated sigh, you follow behind.

Seriously. What the hell is his problem?

The car ride is quick. You arrive back at your apartment complex. Sasha hops out of the car and says goodbye before pushing the car door shut. Taking off your seatbelt, you open the door on your side.

Jean turns over his right shoulder and reaches back toward you, catching you before you can step out. "You're forgetting something." He hands you the group Polaroid you took tonight in the basement. "Seems like you were a little distracted. You're lucky I didn't throw it away like I did with the other one."

You take the photo from him, ignoring his bitter comment. "Thanks. Text me when you get home safe."

"Who do you want to text you?" Connie snaps his head around, peering over the headrest. "Me or Jean?"

"It doesn't matter." You reply with a slight shrug, "either or both is fine with me."'

Connie gives a big salute, sighting off his duty. "I'm up for the task."

You laugh. "Thanks, Con Man."

Connie sends a grin your way,  "I would do anything for your fine ass."

"I'd do anything for yours, too," You step out of the car, "bye, Connie."

"Bye, Y/N. I miss you already." Connie says.

"I miss you too," you say sweetly. "Bye, Jean. Drive safe."

"Yeah. Later, Y/N." And his gaze on you breaks as he snaps his head back front. You shut the door, and they drive away.

After getting inside your apartment, you and Sasha disperse into your rooms. You place the Polaroid photo from tonight on top of your vanity and get ready for bed. You change out of your clothes and into a pair of pink and white striped pajamas.

Once situated in your nightclothes, your eyes fall back onto the Polaroid resting on the flat wood.  You decide to give it a place in your room, not wanting to lose it.

You take the photo and set it into the mirror of your vanity, tucking its edge securely into the white painted wood that frames it. Taking a step back, you feel like something is missing.

The lightbulb clicks inside your mind—the Polaroid of you, Sasha, and Lucas on Christmas from years ago.

Next to your bookshelf lies your school backpack. You walk over, open it and grab your wallet out of it. Unzipping it, you dig out the aging Polaroid tucked away inside.

Walking back over to your vanity, you place it on the opposite side of the mirror, the photo of your past placed parallel to the one of your current life. Taking a step back, you look at them and smile.

Your two safe-kept Polaroids.

The first of the two people you loved more than life itself before it came apart at the seams, and the other of those who are helping piece all that is broken back together again.

Satisfied with the new additions to your room,
you make your way into the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed.

You lather your face with cleanser and wash your face at the sink. After you finish your nighttime skin routine, you grab a towel and pat your skin dry.

Your phone that is resting on the counter vibrates. You pick it up and see that you received a text.

Eren - Home safe?

Y/N - Yes :)

Eren - Good.
Goodnight Beautiful
Sweet Dreams 🖤🌙

Smiling at your phone, you text your reply.

Y/N - Goodnight, Eren 🥰

As you hit the send button, a banner notification pulls down from the top of the screen.

Sash <3 - My room, now.

Y/N - I'm tired :(

Sash <3 - I have Oreos

Y/N - OMW

You make it across the hall to Sasha's room and promise to yourself not to say anything about what happened earlier with your father, not because you don't trust her but because you don't want her to worry about you, and you know she will.

She's too good of a soul not to make your worries her own.

Arriving at Sasha's bedroom door, you knock, and she orders for you to come in. "You called?" You say as you step foot into her bedroom and shut the door softly behind you.

Sasha is lying on her bed, a case of mega stuff Oreos resting in the middle of her stomach. The anime Nana plays from her wall-hung television, adding light to her darkroom in addition to her hanging white fairy lights. "Sit," she pats on the bed next to her.

You obey. Reaching her bed, its weight dips as you jump in next to her.

"Soooo," Sasha looks at you through peering eyes. A half-eaten cookie held up to her mouth. "I thought you said you weren't into Jean," she accuses you, tossing the small reminder of the cookie into her mouth.

"Into Jean?"  Your eyes widen. "Are you crazy? You told me to be careful of him. That's not a warning that I'm willing to take lightly."

Sasha swallows down the Oreo. "Don't think I didn't see you guys flirting at Zeke's. And you were wearing his sweatshirt. Plus, on top of that, did you see how defensive he got when Floch was running his mouth? Like hello? What the hell is going on?"

You roll your eyes. "We weren't flirting. And me wearing an article of clothing doesn't mean I'm into someone. And lastly, Jean hates Floch as it is. It has nothing to do with me. He told me that himself. I'm seriously not into Jean, Sash."

She presses her lips together, still not entirely convinced. "Prove it then."

"You want me to prove it? Alright, Fine." You bite at the inside of your cheek, the truth bubbling inside your chest. Sasha is your best friend. You have to spit it out. "Eren kissed me tonight."

That catches her attention. "Holy shit? Eren did what?" Sasha shoots up straight, almost choking on her tongue. "Are you serious right now?"

"Yeah," you tell her honestly; lifting your hand up to her face, you kindly wipe away the tiny crumbs of Oreos she has on her cheek. "Dead serious."

"When?" Sasha asks urgently. She grabs the remote next to her and pauses the show, giving you her undivided attention. "You know you damn well that you can't pull any of this vague shit over me, so don't even try. I'll interrogate you until I get my answers. Start talking."

"Okay, well, at Sonic, I went over to Eren's car with him, and he made a move there..." You take an Oreo out of the container on her lap. Plopping the entire thing in your mouth, you begin to chew. "... but Floch decided to drop in and pay a little visit, so that didn't happen."

"Of fucking course, it was Floch." Sasha blinks quickly, taking in what you're saying. "Give me more. Something. Anything. The slow burn of your storytelling is the worst like I seriously wanna strangle you with my bare hands."

"Good thing I have a choking kink," you joke before eating another Oreo.

"Y/N," Sasha warns impatiently, crossing her arms in front of her.

You swallow. "Okay, fine." You adjust yourself and face her entirely. "I went upstairs during the movie to use the restroom. When I was about to come back down, I ran into Eren, and we talked. He showed the photos he had in his room, and then one thing led to another."

"Okay. Keep spilling," Sasha's foot begins to twitch with urgency, lightly moving the bed. "How was it? Good? Bad? What was it like? Oh. My. God."

"Breathe, Sash," you pat her on top of her head. "One question at a time."

Her anxious foot stops moving, and she straightens her spine. "Sorry, sorry. This is just so fucking wild. Okay. Seriously. How was it?"

"It was a good kiss," you admit, the thought of it making your cheeks grow pink, a small smile making its way to your lips.

"Tongue or no tongue?" She asks, wide-eyed and curious.

"Tongue."

"That's all the detail I get?" She pouts. "Are you kidding?"

"You seriously want a play-by-play?" You laugh. "Eren is a good kisser. He definitely knows what he's doing. I don't really know what else to say." This whole girl talk thing is still something you're getting used to.

Sasha squeals with excitement. "Okay. Next question. Do you actually like him, or do you just wanna like to hook up with him? Or what? What's the deal?"

You run a stressful hand across your throat. "I don't know. I seriously have no fucking idea. I mean, of course, I think he's attractive. I told you this the day I met him, and on top of that, we get along really well. I like being around him because I feel like we connect on things, but I don't know what I want. I guess I'm still surprised that he's showing interest in me."

"Are you kidding me right now?" Sasha lets out a breath of amusement, "of course he is! You're hot. Give any of these stupid dudes even a hint that you're interested, and they will come running at the snap of your fingers. I mean, I know I fucking would."

"Just say the word Sash. I'll drop everyone for you. No questions asked." You tap her on the thigh softly with your palm, "But sadly, I doubt Niccolo would ever let you go."

"He better not, or I'll murder him," Sasha reaches for another Oreo. "Seriously, though. What are you gonna do about it?" She asks, taking a large bite.

"That's a loaded question." You close your eyes briefly, trying to gather your thoughts. "Probably nothing. I'm just gonna let whatever happens to happen. I'm not gonna read much into anything or overthink it. I think I just want to have some fun right now. There are still some things that I need to work on from the shit I went through in my past. I think it's gonna take a lot for me to be willingly vulnerable for someone again."

"But you do wanna fuck him," Sasha says; it comes out more of a statement than a question. Closing the container of Oreos, she sets them to the right of her on her nightstand.

"Straight to the point, huh?" You shrug. "As I said, I don't know."

"I was serious before when I said I want dirty details." Sasha rests her head on your shoulder. "If you do, you know, get dicked down by him, you gotta tell me what it's like, width, length, calculations, all of it."

Your eyebrows pull together. "He's like one of your closest friends. Wouldn't that be weird if I did all that?"

"No," Sasha says nonchalantly. Lifting her head back up, she looks up at you. "You're gonna sit there and try to tell me you never wonder what a dude's dick looked like? Whether they're your friend or not? Come on, Y/N, get real. Every girl does it whether they admit it or not. Dick curiosity is simply human nature."

"Ymir doesn't," you try to argue.

Sasha stretches out her legs. "And that's because she is repulsed by every man who walks this planet. She is as gay as they come. Therefore, she doesn't count, making this cute little argument completely invalid." She brushes her hands together, wiping away any lingering crumbs. "I know all about Jean, so it's only fair I get the stitch on Eren too."

Your throat tightens. "Jean?" You ask curiously but not eager.

"Yeah." Sasha laughs. "It's a Ten."

Your eyes shoot open. "A Ten?"

She laughs again at your reaction, "Ten, Y/N," she confirms her words holding up the number with her hands. "Ten."

You squint your eyes, forcing the shocked look to leave your face. "How do you know?"

Sasha's shoulders lift in a big shrug. "Well, I don't really know that it's an actual fact. It's more a rumor. Girls love to talk, and sleeping with Jean is the holy grail because of what's they've heard, but I know nothing about Eren, so you can be my little investigator."

You clear your throat, trying to play off your cool despite the information that you were just gold, but holy shit? A ten?

"Alright, fine," you admit your defeat tilting your head back to look at the smooth weight ceiling above. "If I ever sleep with Eren, I will help solve your curiosity and tell you everything."

"That's my girl." She says, planting a kiss on your cheek.

"In return, I expect to hear about Niccolo," you state as the corner of your mouth lifts. "It's only fair."

Sasha perks up like it's business she's been dying to tell. "Now, you later."

"Now." You tap your palm on top of your thigh a couple of times urgently. "Duh."

"8," she cracks a proud smile. "And he knows how to fucking use it."

"8?" Your eyes widen. "Damn."

She cocks a brow. "And let me just say not only does he know how to cook, but he knows how to fucking eat too."

Alright. Now Sasha is definitely rubbing your face because you aren't getting any.

"And he's a man who actually knows what he's doing?" Repositioning yourself, you rest your head on her chest. "Sasha Braus, you lucky fucking girl."

Sasha begins to scratch your head softly with her fingernails. "Oh, trust me... I know." She grabs the remote next to her and unpauses her show. "Only a matter of time until you get lucky too."

"We'll see." Laying on Sasha, you begin to watch Nana as she plays with your hair. "Is this your favorite anime?"

"Yeah, best anime out there," Sasha says, still running the tips of her fingers across your scalp. "This is like my tenth time watching it."

You hum. "Guess we both like depressing shit, mines - ."

"Banana Fish," Sasha adjusts her body slightly, sinking deeper into the mattress. "I know.'

You tilt your head up slightly to look up at her. "You know, did I already tell you that?"

"No." She gives a slight shake of her head with a smile. "Jean told me."

There's a strange feeling that suddenly arises in your chest. It feels sort of warm? You can't explain it. Your lips press together, but you don't say anything after that. You don't know how to reply, so you let the conversation end itself.

You watch an episode in quiet in the company of your best friend. When you decide to call it a night, you say goodnight to Sasha and part from her. You are halfway out of her door when she calls out to you. "Y/N."

You glance over your shoulder. "Yeah?"

Sasha pulls the blankets over her supine body. "When Jean went to find you did he happen to see you kiss Eren?"

"No," you answer, "He didn't. He was asking me about it, though. Don't really know why." Sasha pops his jaw and lets out a slight hum like she's pondering something. Your eyebrows knit. "What? What is it?"

Sasha's head briefly shakes, "I don't know. I'll tell you when I figure it out. Goodnight. I love you."

You let out a sigh a sense of confusion shifts through you. "Uh. Okay. Goodnight. I love you too," you reply, letting the door shut behind you. Stopping at the bathroom, you brush your teeth and head to bed.

Once you're back in your room, you sluggishly pull down your soft blankets and slide into your bed, instantly welcomed by its softness and comfort. Lying on your back, you sink into the mattress, caving into the night.

A notification coming from your phone brightens the darkness filling your room. You grab it off the side table and bring your phone close to your face.

Jean K. - hey.

Y/N - hey yourself.
guessing you're not being
a dick anymore?

Jean K. - I wasn't being a dick

Y/N - me when I lie (5)

Jean K. - okay.

Y/N - why text me if
you have nothing to say?

Jean K. - I know Connie said
he was gonna text you, but
I doubt he did so, just letting
you know we got home safe

Y/N - you know Connie well
bc he definitely didn't text me

Jean K. - go fucking figure
I can't expect him to do anything istg
other than try to hit on your ass
he has no problem doing that shit

Y/N - so true!
I kinda like it
though tbh ;)

Jean K. - Jesus.
Is it Eren or Connie
that you want?
Make up your mind, Y/N

Y/N - both?

Jean K. - 😐😐😐

Y/N - kidding, I want
Floch actually🖤

Jean K. -... yeah, alright
That's enough out of you

Y/N - LMFAO
Stop, I'm kidding

Jean K. - I honestly think this
is just where I should dip
and leave the chat, maybe lose
your number completely

Y/N - you can say that Jean-Boy
But I know you won't

Jean K. - What did I say
about you calling me that?

Y/N - tbh I can't remember
sometimes I don't listen
when you talk /:

Jean K. - It's alright, I don't
listen when you talk either

Y/N - It's because you're too
busy staring at me 🥺

Jean K. - I'm too tired to deal
with your BS. I'm going to bed.
Is 7 pm still a good time to pick
you up tomorrow?

Y/N - yeah, I'll be at the bookstore for
a shift, but I'll be done by then.
If you can you pick me up there?

Jean K. - Alright. I'll text you
when I get to The Garrison
If you make me wait, I'm leaving

Y/N - That's a pretty good threat
but I'm not too sure your
grades can suffer any more
then they already are 😔

Jean K. - ...
Stfu Floch Luvr

Y/N - you first Y/N luvr 🖤

Jean K. - Whatever helps
you sleep at night, I guess
Good Night Y/N

Y/N - Goodnight
See you tomorrow

You hit send and close out your messages shared with Jean and decide to check Instagram before calling it a night. When you open it, you see that you have two notifications waiting for you from a few hours ago under the activity section.

jeankthestallion approved your following request

__

jeankthestallion started following you

Your lips press together your thumb hovers over his username. An overwhelming urge to dive into his life nicks your mind. He's a closed book, not giving an inch for you to feed off of. Maybe his profile will allow you to gain more access than him that Jean doesn't want to show.

Curiosity kills the fucking cat.

With your self-control flying straight out the window, you gently tap the tip of your finger on his username, and his profile pops open.

Jean Kirstein

Posts | Followers | Following
3         7,987           50

On his profile, there is only his name, no bio to describe who he is or what he likes, and the pictures he has posted are slim to none. It seems dry. He definitely doesn't use this account to get much anymore.

What your eyes are taking in isn't really what you were expecting it to be. With how popular he is and how cocky he carries himself, you figured it would be loaded with thirst traps and photos mainly of himself, but to your surprise, he doesn't have a single one.

His posts aren't revolved around himself. Instead, they have revolved around the people in his life.

You begin to look through the photos he has posted, starting with his oldest one at the bottom of his profile.

Two years ago
(art credit:  la_crospa)

jeankthestallion: They're pretty alright, I guess (except for the annoying ass mf in the front who is obsessed with freedom)

Comments

whatarminreads - 🕊💙🌊

mikasaackerman - my three favorite boys and Jean... just kidding! 🖤

erenjaegersfreedom - Tatakae, you arrogant ass motherfucker 🥴

megamilkreiner - ^ The birds talking again...

ymirloveshistoria - ^ Mr. Split Personality is talking again...

connie_thegod_springer69 - LMAO ^ help?

You scroll to the next one posted.

2 years ago
(art credit: bearbrickjia)

jeankthestallion: The end result of Marco dragging our asses to the mall to get our portraits taken. What they don't tell you is how blasted we were in this shit 🍃

Comments

potatogirl: Ah! My entire heart!! My boys forever. 💛

connie_thegod_springer69: Damn, I look good as fuuuck! Who let me get away with this shit?? Jean, you better hide your mom because I'm OMW 😤 The camera lady was fire too ngl

jeankthestallion: @connie_thegod_springer69  Connie, shut the fuck up, your mom is literally a titan

erenjaegersfreedon: ^^ that's foul as fuck, Jean lmfaoooo ... do it again

halfoffmarcobodt: you guys are the best for coming with me to take these photos. It means so much to me!!! Let's make portraits our yearly thing. 🥳 Thanks for continuously making my life better. ❤️

| ♬ currently playing ... je te laisserai does mots ; patrick watson ♬ | 

Marco Bodt.

It's one thing to know his name and learn some of how his life tragically ended but seeing his face and the comments he left behind on his profile that was once active makes everything scarily real. It makes your stomach twist with uneasiness.

With a tight throat and aching heart, you continue to Jean's most recent post on his profile, dated a year ago. He hasn't posted a thing since, and now you know why.

1 year ago
(art credit: _sonagee)

jeankthestallion: "The summer we were boys for the very last time."
Today, my world went dark. What I would give for one more day. One more minute. One more second. My soul is always with you. I miss you, friend. Now until the very end of time.

Comments disabled

Reading the caption and seeing the picture of the two of them together makes your chest grow heavy. Your throat feels strained, making it difficult to swallow.

Looking at Jean glow with happiness in the picture makes you realize just how much of a shell of a person he truly is.

A face to Marco's name. A glimpse at Marco's existence. A mere peek at who Jean was before his best friend slipped right through his scarred, guilt-ridden hands. Before he stopped caring about anything in this unfair world. Before he decided it was easier to shut down and go cold than to feel. And honestly, you don't blame him.

You find Marco's profile. Seeing that it's not private, you decide to click on it, despite the fact you feel a little bit guilty for peering into a life that is no longer.

Marco Bodt

Posts | Followers | Following
1           576              201

19. TSU. Human & Animal Rights Activist. Treat people with kindness.

2 years ago
(art credit: _sonagee)

halfoffmarobodt: The Ash to my Eiji. Forever grateful for a friend like you. My brother. For now. Forever. For life.
(Photo credit to the queen Historia herself, of course)

Comments

jeankthestallion: 1 week without you. I miss you.

jeankthestallion: 1 month without you. I still haven't processed the fact that you aren't coming back. I'm trying to learn how to live without you, but I don't know how. This isn't something I ever thought I would have to do.

jeankthestallion: 2 months without you. You had all the answers. I have none. How do I do any of this without you?

jeankthestallion: I miss what the world was when you were still alive. It's not the same as it was.

jeankthestallion: Watching Banana Fish for the first time without you. It's weird that you're not with me while I do. We probably shouldn't have been watching this when we were 14, but I wish we could go back to that time.

jeankthestallion: 6 months without you. Half a year since I last told you about all my stupid problems and mistakes, you always were there to listen. Who do I talk to now? Where do I go? I never deserved a friend like you. I know. Is it selfish of me to want you back anyway?

jeankthestallion: Happy Birthday, Marco. I guess you stay 19 forever, don't you?

jeankthestallion: 1 year without you, and somehow it's harder. I wish you were here to tell me that things get better because right now, I don't think that they ever will. I don't know who I am anymore, and I'm too tired to care. I think it's time for me to stop looking at your things.

jeankthestallion: One more thing before I go. Thank you. For everything. Goodnight, Marco. Sleep well.

Your gut plummets. You are glued to the images in front of you, so much so that you can't even blink your heavy eyes as they burn with sadness. The grip you have on your phone tightens, fingers digging deep into the hard edges of it.

Reading Jean's comments makes you feel almost nauseous. His feelings, sadness, and heartbreak are being relieved to you. Anguish begins to crash over you like a reckless tidal wave, and before you know it, you are drowning in a sorrow that isn't even your own.

This must be why Banana Fish is so significant to Jean.

You take a deep huff of air and flutter your eyes shut as you try to get a grip. Letting out a slow, shaky breath, your heart pumps out empathy into every pulsing vein in your body.

Feeling heavy and knowing you've seen enough, you close out of Instagram.  You plug your phone into the charge and set your phone next to you on your side table.

You feel this sense of anger towards the world as you wonder why it seems to take all of the good people. The people who deserve to live long lives.

You wish you could have known Jean before his loss, and you wish you could have known a person like Marco, whose radiance shows even through photos on a pixilated screen.

Setting your phone on the nightstand, you adjust yourself on your bed to get comfortable as you try to push away the sadness you feel and prepare for your tutoring session with Jean tomorrow.

What version of him will you get? Who the hell knows.

He is fire and ice.

Closing your eyes, trying to shut out the world, you fight to sleep but find it difficult. You would think your thoughts would be full of Eren and what happened with him, but they aren't.

You lay in the still quiet, in great indisposition, mind seemingly unable to turn off of Jean.

Little do you know that tonight, you aren't the only one who is consumed with thoughts of the last person you want to be thinking about rather than being able to fall into the realm of rest.

Jean's pov

| ♬ currently playing ... come back to earth ; mac miller |

Jean is lying in bed, restless.

He keeps tossing and turning, but his pathetic repeated efforts to rest are nothing but aimless. For Jean, sleep never comes easy to him anymore, not how it used to.

Since his accident, this is something that Jean grapples with quite frequently; the heavy dark bags under his eyes paint that story themselves.

Sometimes it's because he has terrible nightmares, while other times, he can't stop thinking about Marco or about the person he used to be.

Tonight, however, none of those is why he can't seem to fall into darkness. Instead, it's because of this feeling he has bubbling around inside of him. It's something that he hasn't ever felt before, causing him to feel disconcerted.

Jean doesn't know what caused this unfamiliarity to transpire; all he knows is that it happened when he found you close to Eren and that whatever this is that he is feeling is scaring the living shit out of him.

He can't remember the last time he felt something other than nothing. But this is it.

It started in his heart, and it's only expanded since then, increasing tenfold. Now it's sitting heavy in his stomach and his mind. It won't go away, but he is aching for it too. Dying for it.

He hates it. God, he fucking hates it.

His mind is going haywire again.

What happened between you and Eren? Did you kiss him? Did you touch him? More importantly, did he touch you? Why does he even care? Shit.

He couldn't get the image of what you would look like with Eren's lips all over you that his mind unwillingly created.

That is why it was so fucking hard for him to look at you when you sat next to him on the front porch. That very image in his head burned him all the way down to his core.

But as soon as he heard your request for his gaze to be honed in on you, he found himself abiding before he could stop himself like your voice has this stupid force of magnetism.

The sound of it awakening things he used to feel. The things he thought he turned off a long time ago.

What the actual hell is wrong with him? This shit doesn't happen, not to a guy like him.

These stupid thoughts are like vengeance against him. Though it's not a surprise, his mind has always been his own worst enemy.

"Music tends to help me a lot," Jean hears your voice clearly as if you are speaking to him right now.

Needing to get out of his own head Jean hastily grabs his phone next to him, opens Spotify, and finds one of the songs you queued in his car tonight in the pouring rain.

K by Cigarettes After Sex begins to play.

With his eyes closed, Jean listens to it. He runs his hand through his mullet repeatedly to give himself something to do while he waits for this stupid feeling burning inside of him to subside in hopes that sleep will eventually grant him his one wish of rest.

But the song doesn't work as well as it did when he was sitting next to you, but he plays it on a continuous loop anyway because it's the next best thing.

Chapter Text

Today's schedule:

A 6-hour shift at your new job followed a dreadfully long tutoring session with TSU's most unpredictable, arrogant boy, all while running on four hours of sleep.

What a fucking treat this is going to be.

Just the thought of your to-do list makes your body turn with dread and fatigue.

All that's on your mind is the high amount of caffeine you'll have to consume to get through this day successfully. It's not like your complaining, though. That shit runs through your veins more than blood.

As you finish getting ready, you take one last glimpse in your vanity mirror and adjust your yellow dress patterned with small white flowers all across it. You tie the thin cotton string on the top seam that lies on your chest and secure it into a tight bow.

According to the weather app, it's predicted to be a clear day in Paradis, with no clouds passing through the town. Knowing that sunny days here don't happen that frequently, you decide to take advantage of the cloudless blue sky by wearing a cute sundress.

You lift your arms above your head and shift your head downward to make sure the length of the dress won't expose the scars you have on your upper thighs. Thankfully, even when it rises, it remains long enough to hide the mutilated skin of your past.

Feeling satisfied with the protection of the soft yellow fabric and the overall result of your outfit, you smile to yourself and head out of your room. The instant you open the door, the smell of freshly brewed coffee coats the inside of your nose.

Thank you, Sasha Braus. You angel.

Breathing in the scent of it, you make your way to the bathroom. Already having brushed your teeth and washed your face when you first woke, you take this time to focus on doing your makeup and hair.

You decide to go light today, with only mascara and a hint of blush. You'll put on some lipgloss when you finish your breakfast.

You pull out a yellow ribbon hiding inside the drawer beneath the bathroom sink that perfectly matches your dress. Grabbing some front pieces of your hair, letting your fingers part them into small sections, you pull it back, going for a half-up, half-down look. With the work of your hands, you tie the yellow ribbon in a bow on the back of your head in the center.

Sasha is blasting music through a speaker from within the kitchen the same way she does almost every morning. A standard routine in your apartment.

The current song ends, and Pretty Girl by Clario begins to play.

"Oh, Yesss!" Sasha's sweet voice carries itself through the white walls of your apartment, meeting your ears with ease. "I love this song!"

She turns the music up a couple of notches, making the soft tune reverberate a little louder, and she begins to sing. You listen along with her from a distance as you finish getting ready, her voice only adding character to the already good music.

You're not even in the same room, and you can feel the enthusiasm emanate from her.

At least someone is a morning person.

Something that you can always count on is for her to act more as your alarm than the several you set up on your phone. She's someone whose energy never really leaves them, making it easy to perk up when she's around, even when all you want to do is crash back into slumber.

Finishing the final touches of your look, deeming yourself presentable enough, you turn off the bathroom light and make your way toward the kitchen.

"Morning, Sash." You greet, short white boots pattering against the hardwood floor out of the hallway and into the kitchen. You are welcomed by the high morning sun peeking through the opened blinds resting on the large window in the living room. The curtains it wears are pulled back, exposing the outside world.

"Morning sunshine," Sasha chimes with more enthusiasm than the average person in the morning. Her head is deep in the fridge, looking for who knows what. "I toasted you a bagel with cream cheese. Also, you're fresh out of your blueberry Red Bull, so I made you a coffee instead."

She lifts a hand, signaling over to the island, too infatuated with trying to figure out what to eat to be bothered with acknowledging you with her eyes. "You're welcome for being the best roommate in all of existence."

"Wow. You took all the words I wanted to say right out of my mouth." Gratitude maps a curve of a smile onto your lips. "I feel so spoiled. How do you always know exactly what I need?"

"It's something that I like to call platonic soulmate intuition." Sasha digs deeper into the fridge, the sound of the items inside clinking against each other as she sorts through them with all-consuming hunger.

"My favorite kind of intuition," you say back to her. "You know, Sash, with your music this loud, the neighbors are gonna kill you."

Sasha glances behind her, finally offering you her brown eyes. "If they come to complain about the noise, then I'll flash them my tits. I'm sure they won't be complaining then."

Your eyes roll, but you can't fight the laugh that slips through. "Won't that make Niccolo a little bit jealous?"

Sasha goes back to searching the fridge. "Probably, but maybe that's the push he needs to make it official." Watching her body shift, you swear that she will crawl her entire body inside it within seconds. "But honestly, I think the only person Nic actually feels threatened by is you."

"As he should." With your heavy body tired from lack of sleep, you plop yourself down on the barstool at the sit-in counter where Sasha neatly placed your breakfast alongside a pink ceramic mug that reads, 'trying to get my shit together' on it in gold lettering. "His worry isn't without cause."

She straightens her body out of the fridge with a carefully selected food item in hand and spins in your direction. "How are you feeling today?"

A general check-in with Sasha is a part of your newly formed morning routine. There isn't a day she doesn't ask you this question, and even when you are apart, separated by the conflict of personal schedules, she texts it to you.

Your well-being is very important to her and hers to you.

You lift the mug; it's hot to touch but not so much that it burns. You take a sip of the warm liquid, and a burst of coffee explodes in your mouth before you gulp it down. The perfect coffee to oat-milk ratio. She knows you well. "I'm super tired. I honestly feel like I lived a million lives last night."

"Welcome to the world of us," Sasha pushes the fridge door shut with her hip. "I hope you're enjoying it so far."

"More than you know." A fuzzy feeling makes a home for itself inside your chest. "Can I get your honest opinion, though? Can you tell I'm running on almost no sleep?"

Sasha tilts her head to the side, checking out every inch of you that she can see. "No. You look so cute," she compliments you as her head places itself straight again. "If I didn't know you were tired, I wouldn't be able to tell."

Your eyes narrow, and a scrutinizing look crosses your face. "Are you lying to me?"

Sasha clicks her tongue as she swiftly walks to the drawer where the utensils are and pulls the silver knob to open it. "Yeah, Y/N. You caught me. I totally am. You actually look absolutely terrible." She pulls out a black matte spoon.

Your lips fall into a flat line, "I knew it."

Sasha laughs sweetly. "Oh, stop. You know I'm kidding. You look like a million bucks, babe, I promise." She pushes the drawer shut.

You chuckle as you set your coffee mug back on the counter. "You gotta be the biggest ego booster out there."

"Oh, really?" Facing you again, Sasha raises an eyebrow. "I find that a bit hard to believe." The song that's playing comes to an end, and she puts a pause on the next song to put all her focus on your shared conversation.

Your head tilts. "Why's that?"

The corners of her lips pull upward in a taunting way. "Because I thought making out with Eren would take the cake of boosting your little ego," she jokes.

Shit. That's right. You kissed Eren. So it wasn't a dream.

You pretend to be unfazed by her reminder. "Eh, honestly?" your shoulders lift, "I'd rather make out with you."

Sasha breathes in an elongated gasp, the hand she's holding the spoon in pressing into her chest. "Don't you dare say that to me. I kissed you once, and I'll gladly do it again," she says with a small smile. "But I'm serious about you looking good. You could be bald, for fucks sake, and you would still look hot as hell."

"Ooh," you muse, your eyes fluttering shut. "Hold on a second. I'm having a Connie Kinnie moment. Let me relish in this feeling for a second before it passes." Your eyes open again, and you look Sasha's way with a scrunched-up nose.

Sasha's chest shakes with laughter as she makes her way over to you, a teal mason jar filled with a unique mix of fruit and overnight oats in hand. "To be honest, that's a pretty damn good kin to have," she says as she lifts herself onto the barstool next to you and places the items she's holding down onto the countertop.

"You're only saying that because you and Connie are literally the same person," you gently press into the side of her leg with your knee and give her a nudge.

"Exactly," Sasha shrugs as your legs part from each other. "And the two of us are the best people to step foot on this planet." With her hand placed on the jar, she twists the silver lid and pops it off, gaining access to the food.

"Yeah, there's no use in trying to deny that," You agree as you watch Sasha dig her spoon deep into the layers of oats. "Uh, isn't that Mikasa's food you're about to eat?"

Sasha shoves the spoon into her mouth and pulls it out once the food is set on her tongue. "That is a possibility, yes," she grins through a mouthful.

"She's gonna kill you for touching that," you warn her with a head shake.

Sasha swallows down the food, barely chewing it, and sinks the spoon back into the center of the healthy cold breakfast. "No, she isn't. Why would you even say that?" She denies your claim with dignity before taking another bite of a scoopful so big it's on the verge of falling off the curved edges of the utensil.

You place your hand around the cool-to-touch mason and spin it around, so its front is now facing her. "Because it says it right here," you point to the white sticky note stuck to the blue transparent surface.

On it, there is a message written in Mikasa's perfect thin cursive handwriting; it's so neat it looks as if it could be stenciled.

Don't eat. 

This is directed at Sasha. 

"Aw, damn it," Sasha's eyes go wide with realization, her confidence now crumbling around her. "That's totally my bad." She looks at you out of the corner of her eye, face already pleading guilty for the actions she is about to make.

One glance at her, and her thoughts become yours too. Your eyebrows pull apart. "You're going to keep eating it anyway, aren't you?"

Sasha's shoulders roll back as she heaves an elongated sigh, knowing you have figured out her plan. "Well, it's too late now. I'm in too deep. Just do me a favor and don't tell her I ate this, okay?" Her once guilt-ridden brown eyes are now wading in pleads.

You pat her on the shoulder, directly on top of the strap of her medium-washed jean overalls. "I hate to break it to you, Sash, but I won't have to. I'm pretty sure when Mikasa comes home, and her food isn't in the fridge where she left it, she'll be able to figure it out for herself. And considering the note she left, she'll have no problem figuring out who the criminal was."

"Tell her it was you, Please?" Sasha bats her brown eyelashes so long that they naturally curl up at the ends. "I don't want to suffer the consequences of my own actions."

You suck air between your teeth. "You're cute, and I love you, and I usually would cover for you, but under this specific circumstance, I think that I'm gonna have to go ahead and say no." You take a couple of bites out of your toasted bagel, the crispness of it gently scraping the base of your tongue.

Sasha groans frustratedly at your words of refusal that have now crushed her single ray of hope. "Why not?" Her upper body hunches forward, heavy with disappointment.

You swallow down the chewed bread. "Because I really like Mikasa, and she said that she trusts me, so I'm not gonna risk breaking that."

"Fine," Sasha grumbles in defeat. "I guess I'll just have to make some and replace it before she gets back."

Your eyes thin out. The vision you have of her sets into an angle as you tilt your head to the side. "When you say that you're going to make some to replace what you stole, you mean you're gonna force Niccolo to make it don't you?"

Sasha straightens out her back and lightly pushes your arm with her elbow. "Okay, seriously. You don't have to call me out like that. I swear, I hate how well you know me."

"You love it, and you know it." You let out a yawn before reaching for the coffee mug once again, you're so used to caffeine you're not even sure if it helps you anymore, but you drink it anyway.

A smile meets Sasha's pink lips as she pinches your right cheek. "Of course I do." She says as she takes a few more bites of her stolen breakfast. With the rate she's eating, she will be reaching the bottom of the jar in no time.

"Why are you eating anyway? Doesn't Niccolo have a picnic planned for you guys or something?" You spin your mug around and around in circles against the hard surface of the counter. "What time is he coming to get you?"

"He does. I'm just pregaming," she tells you nonchalantly. "He worked a short four-hour early shift at Dok's, so he's off now. He should be here pretty soon."

"You're pregaming with food?" You shake your head. "Sasha, I'm not quite sure if that's how that works." You continue to eat your breakfast.

"Says who?" Her shoulder lifts as she taps her fingernails on the glass of the mason jar. "A girl gotta eat when girls gotta eat."

You breathe air heavily out of your nose, no claim of argument left to make toward her true statement. "You're right. Your stomach is an endless pit. By the time you guys get to your destination, I'm sure you'll be starving again."

"Exactly," Sasha nods, spoon now scraping at the bottom of the jar. "Which is why I'm downing this before he gets here." She turns her head to meet your gaze, "I mean... unless you would rather be my next meal instead," the right corner of her mouth pulls up.

You almost choke as you swallow down another small bite of bagel. "You're saying that to me like that's not something I spend my time consistently dreaming about," you tease, taking a
a swig of coffee.

"Go on, stand up then. I'll take you on this counter right now," Sasha sends you a flirtatious wink.

Women are so much hotter than men.

"Don't play with me like that because I am in love with you, Sasha Braus," your weight shifts, and you rest your head on her shoulder. "You understand that, right?"

"Yes, I do, and I think it's a very good thing because I'm in love with you too, Y/N," Sasha tells you, kissing the very top of your head. "Have been for years. Had me sitting and beckoning. Waiting for you to come find me again." She kisses you in the same place another time, marking her appreciation for you once again. "Took you long enough, by the way."

"I know," Your eyes shut briefly as you let the warmth of her comforting friendship overtake you. "Way too damn long."

It's moments like this one where you wonder how you went on living after you suffered the drastic loss of losing her steadfast love.

It's unfeasible to forget how it felt to be stripped of her friendship without any warning. It was quick. It was raw. And it was so fucking painful.

But now, here she is, next to you, in a place that you get to call home that you share with her and holy fuck does it feel good.

Eating breakfast next to her in the morning as the two of you joke around is enough to breathe life back into the pieces of you that have withered away throughout the years.

You wish you could tell Lucas all about the person she's become, how a person as good as she has only continued to flourish.

He would be such a proud big brother.

You lift your body away from Sasha's shoulder and smile at her. You want to thank her for simply being herself, for never losing the love she has for you despite all the things that have changed, but there's a knock at the front door before your lips even part for a breath.

Sasha is up and out of her seat before you can even blink. "Nico's here!" She singsongs as she quickly grabs her now empty jar off the counter. She rushes to put the dish into the kitchen sink, attempting to hide the evidence, though the effort is seemingly minimal.

Sasha then skips across the hardwood floor, overflowing with excitement. Opening the door quickly, she is greeted by a smiling Niccolo, who is holding a bouquet of purple lilies.

"Nico, baby!" She serenades, her body moving around excitedly.

Sasha's enthusiastic greeting only causes Niccolo's smile to double in size. "Good Morning, Sash." He steps into the apartment and sees you sitting at the counter. "Y/N, always good to see you." He gives you a slight head nod.

"Morning, Niccolo," you tilt your half-empty coffee mug toward him before bringing it to your lips and drinking the liquid down.

Sasha closes the door and twists the lock. She takes a step in front of Niccolo, and his eyes trace over her presence, taking her in. Her overalls, her white and pink striped t-shirt underneath. Her hair pulled to the back of her head with a light pink claw clip.

You see his entire face shift with admiration. "Wow. You look so beautiful." He holds out the bunch of perfectly arranged flowers to her. "Here, take these."

Sasha's eyes flicker with joy. "Aww! For me?" Her smile expands, tightening her pink-tinted cheeks.

"Actually, I was hoping you could pass these along to Springer for me. Things are getting pretty serious between us." Niccolo bites sarcastically, still wearing a grin.

Sasha reacts by crossing her arms in front of herself defensively, which causes him to laugh. "You know I'm just giving you a hard time. Of course, they're for my girl."

Sasha's tight lips break into a fit of laughter. "God, I hate you." She pokes him in the center of his white button-up shirt before taking the bouquet.

"Yeah, I know, I'm so terrible," Niccolo's palm meets her face, resting kindly on her cheek. Leaning in, he plants a small kiss on her forehead.

Sasha relishes in it before he pulls away. "The worst." Lifting the flowers to her nose, she breathes in their scent. "These are beautiful. Thank you."

Niccolo smiles. "I'm happy you like them."

"I'm ready to go whenever you are," Sasha says, smelling the flowers once more.

"Before we head out, I need you to do me a favor and go pack a bag," Niccolo's hands tuck themselves into the back pocket of his dark-washed jeans as he submits his vague request to her.

Sasha jumps back, eyes expanding with unforeseen surprise. "A bag? Why? I thought we were just going on a picnic?"

"We are. Don't worry, you're still gonna get your food, but there's also been a slight change in plans," he informs her, careful to limit his words. "Now, don't ask me any more questions because I won't tell you. Just grab the stuff you need so we can get going." He takes the fresh lilies from her hold. "I'll put these in water for you. Do you have a vase that I can use?"

"Ah, okay!" Sasha bounces around with excitement. "There should be one under the sink." She waves a hand in that direction as she runs over to you, her white converse hitting the flat surface beneath her.

Grabbing both of your shoulders, Sasha yanks your body forward, her elation zapping through you as she lines her face up with your ear. "Guess who's getting lucky tonight," she utters so softly you almost miss her words.

You can't help but giggle. Shifting your body, you switch positions; you are now leaning into her ear. "Take the 8 inches like a champ," you whisper lowly. Your comment causes Sasha to erupt with laughter.

Standing in the middle of the kitchen, Niccolo looks over at the two of you, cautiously curious about your shared whispers. "I feel like I know better than to try and ask what the two of you are talking about right now."

Sasha's laughter begins to subside as she turns to face Niccolo. "Oh, don't worry. I was just telling her how excited I am for our date today."

You nod profusely. "That's the truth."

It is. Well... in a sense.

Niccolo hums, his lips pressed tightly together as he examines the two of you. "I'm just gonna go ahead and act like I believe you guys."

"It's probably better that way." Twisting on her heels, Sasha travels to Niccolo. "Alright, I'll be right back. I'm going grab the stuff I need." She plants a kiss on his cheek before turning and skipping down the hallway to her room.

Niccolo glances behind him to watch her as she disappears. As soon as he hears the door to her room shut, he brings his attention toward you with a quick turn of his head. "Hey." A nervous smile begins to build on his face. "Wanna know something that I haven't told anyone about?"

"Always!" You reply eagerly before taking a bite of your bagel.

"I need to know something first." Niccolo looks at you with analyzing eyes, "can I trust you to keep a secret?"

"That's funny you ask," you start to say, drumming the tips of your fingers on the countertop. "Keeping secrets has always been a great talent of mine."

Niccolo takes a few steps forward, standing directly in front of you on the other side of the counter in the kitchen. "Even if I need you to keep this secret from your best friend?"

Sheer curiosity clouds over you all at once. Your interest in this secret reaches its peak. "Now that depends. Is she benefiting from me agreeing to keep this said secret of yours?"

A low chuckle ruptures from Niccolo's chest. "Yeah. I would like to think that she will hopefully benefit from what I'm about to tell you." He sets the flowers down next to him.

"Then yes, I promise you that I'll bite my tongue," you lean in slightly, the edge of the countertop pressing into the skin of your stomach. "Tell me. I'm dying to know."

Niccolo takes a quick glance down the hallway to ensure that Sasha remains inside her room. Turning his neck toward you again, he leans his tall stature down toward you. "I'm going to ask Sash to be my girlfriend today," he utters before pulling away.

Wide-eyed, the small fraction of bagel you have left slips through your fingers and falls onto the center of your white ceramic place. Your hand slips over your mouth, catching a gasp of disbelief. "Shut up. Oh my God. You're serious?"

"Dead serious," Niccolo says, emphasizing his words.

You lower your voice down even more, to ensure it won't carry. "During your date today?"

Niccolo nods, running a nervous hand through his fluffy blonde hair. "Yeah, that's what my plan is. I made her this cake that I wanted to incorporate into it. I felt like it would fit, considering..."

Your palm parts from your mouth. "You know your girl well," you reply softly with a rapt grin. "Maybe even better than me."

"Never that," Niccolo returns, anxiously shifting his weight around on his feet. "I have a picture of the cake if you wanna see it?" He asks, his tone of voice remaining quiet.

"Is that even a question?" You hold out an impatient palm to him. "Show me right now."

"Alright, alright," Niccolo laughs at your eagerness. "Hang on one second. Let me find it." He pulls his phone out of his front pocket. Selecting the desired photo, he places it in your hand. "I tried my best. Don't expect a lot. I'm a lousy cook, not a cake decorator."

You bring his phone up to your face, and you feel your heart skip a beat of happiness as you examine the picture.

The cake is heart-shaped, coated with red frosting. Patterned all across it is pink icing in the shape of small flowers with short green stems attached to each one. In the center of the cake, it says 'will you be my girlfriend?' in thin white frosting, neat and legible. You can tell he took all the time in the world to make this.

It's sweet as hell.

Your eyes light up as you look up at him. "Are you kidding me? This is perfect." You hand his phone back to him.

For Sasha to experience something as pure and as kind as this fills you with so much boundless joy that you feel it could spill right out of you.

Niccolo stuffs his phone back into his pocket. "You actually think so?" He sounds like the words of your approval are precisely what he was hoping to hear.

"I do," you nod as your wrap your hand around the base of your coffee mug. "I'm being serious, Nico. She is going to love this even more than I could possibly explain to you."

"Oh, thank god." Niccolo's chest relaxes as he breathes out a large sigh of relief. "I was planning on keeping this a secret until after, but I felt like I needed your approval since I know how much you mean to her. If you disapproved, I would have been so screwed."

"I would never disapprove. I honestly believe you guys were made for each other." You smile and then ask, "Are you nervous?" Reading his body language, he seems to be.

Niccolo's head hangs briefly as he shakes it twice. "You have no fucking idea, Y/N," he picks up the flowers off the counter and walks over to the sink. "I'm telling you this in pure confidentiality, but I actually got here a good fifteen minutes before I came and knocked on the door. I was sitting in the parking lot trying to hype myself up because I couldn't stop fucking shaking."

"Aww, Nic," resting your elbow on the countertop, your chin falls into the palm of your hand. "What part of it is making you so nervous?"

He leans down and opens the cabinet to gain access under the sink. "That she would say no, I guess. I don't know. That girl is just so out of my league." He pulls out a crystal vase and sets it on the counter to the left, closing the cabinet door with his knee. "I don't even feel like I should be asking her this question because I don't feel like I deserve to."

You find his nervousness sweet. "I promise you that you don't have a thing to worry about," you assure him. "You're all she ever talks about, and I mean that in the best way."

Your comment makes him smile. "I'll take your word for it," Niccolo says as he turns on the faucet. "I'm hoping that she will at least read the cake before trying to eat it." He sets the vase under the running water and begins to fill it.

You laugh softly. "Let's be real for a second. You and I both know that might be a far stretch."

"You're right." He stops the running water and sets the halfway filled vase down beside the sink, "but her eagerness for food is just one of the many things that I like so much about her."

"What else do you like about her?" you ask curiously, finishing the last of your coffee.

He looks at you, nose and cheeks colored with a hint of blush. "Everything. She's perfect." He turns back around and places the flowers he got for Sasha into the vase.

Hearing Niccolo talk about Sasha with such admiration, especially when she is not around, is the sweetest, most assuring thing ever. You couldn't even think of someone better fit for her than him.

If there's anything you care about more than your own happiness, it's the happiness of others, so the joy you feel right now for your friend is beyond compare.

You open your mouth to reply, but you hear Sasha's door rip open from down the hall.

"Whatcha guys talking about?" Sasha's voice breaks through the air as she walks back into the kitchen, holding a large duffel bag with strawberries patterned on it. "Me, I hope."

Swiveling the barstool, you twist it to face her. "I was just telling Niccolo that you and I are actually in love and the real reason you were packing a bag was to run away with me."

"And what is your response to that, Nic?" Sasha asks, playing into this false scenario that you so quickly created.

Niccolo glances at her from over his shoulder. "Over my dead body."

Sasha giggles, her face lighting up with brightness, indicating that she is getting a kick out of this conversation. "I love having my two favorite people fight over me like this." You and Niccolo both laugh.

Niccolo grabs Sasha's dirty dish in the sink; he examines it closely before holding it up to her. "Sasha, did you eat before I got here?" He asks, changing the subject.

Sasha's mouth stoops as she places her bag on the dining room table. "No?" she lies, her voice a tad shaky, making it clear that she is trying to protect herself from his accusation.

Niccolo's eyes narrow as he peers at her through furrowed brows. "Don't lie to me when I have the proof right here. I even texted you this morning reminding you that we're traveling on empty stomachs."

Sasha lets out a frustrated groan, shoulders softening out in defeat. "Okay, fine. Yes, I ate it, but it was only because I was starving, and I felt like I would shrivel up and die if I waited until our date. It was just sitting there in the fridge begging to be eaten."

Niccolo shakes his head. Turning his back to her, he turns on the faucet and begins to clean the dirty dish with dish soap and water. "You're trying to tell me that the food was literally calling out to you?"

"Yes, it was pleading, Nico. I couldn't say no. That would have been rude to ignore its request." She claims. Niccolo laughs at her argument as he sets the clean dishes into the drying rack and turns off the water.

Sasha turns in your direction and points at you. "You. I'm mad at you."

You throw up a defensive hand into the air. "Hey, what did I do? I'm simply sitting here trying to enjoy the amazing coffee you made for me."

"You could have covered for me," she argues. She crosses her arms in front of her chest as she plops down on the egg chair set at the dining table.

"In my defense Sasha, you didn't do the best job at getting rid of the evidence." You hop off of the barstool and pick up your dirty dishes.

"You're right." She sighs. "Well, I'll try to get better at it. That way, if you ever murder someone and call me to get rid of the body, there won't be a trace of anything left behind."

Making your way over to the sink, you pass by her and gently poke her shoulder. "Promise? Because I'm counting on you."

"Promise," Sasha says with an assuring smile. "As long as I can count on you to hide the body if I'm the one who commits the crime."

"I've seen Dexter three times. I know what to do." Standing to the left of Niccolo, you place your dishes into the sink. "I've seen Dexter three times. I know what to do. "My hours of binging have to be good for something."

"Noted. Just do me a favor and try not to murder Jean when you tutor him later on. I don't feel like going all no body no crime tonight. I have other important plans." She says, sending a wink Niccolo's way.

The warm water from the faucet runs onto your hands as you scrub the plate and mug clean. Never leaving dirty dishes. "I can't promise you that he won't push me over the edge, especially after working a six-hour shift beforehand."

"What time is your shift?" Niccolo asks. With the case in hand, he makes his way over to Sasha.

"Soon. I'm getting ready to leave now," you tell him, placing the dishes in the rack to dry.

"We can drop you off if you want," Niccolo offers, placing the lilies onto the center of the dining table and adjusting them, so they look nice. "We have to go that way anyway."

"Are you sure?" You ask, still unaccustomed to the kind gestures of others when they're directed towards you.

"Positive," he nods, sitting himself down in the chair next to Sasha.

You smile. "Okay. I gotta grab a couple of things, and then I'll be ready."

Leaving Sasha and Niccolo behind, you make your way into your room. You gather the belongings you will need for the day, your keys, your backpack, and you pick the book If We Were Villains by M.L Rio off of your bookshelf that is next on your TBR list.

You grab your phone you left on the charger and check the time when you see that you have one new text message from Jean sent a few minutes ago.

Jean K. - What anatomy textbook
is your class using this semester?

Y/N - Not even a Good morning?
Is human decency not in 
the realm of Jean K?

Jean K. - Lmao. Are you
actually serious right now?

Y/N - Yeah?

Jean K. - Good morning

Y/N - Once again, quick to give me what I 
want. I told you that you were submissive :')

Jean K. - it's 9 am, and I'm already done
with you. Are you going to answer my question
, or are you gonna continue to be the most annoying girl that I've ever met?

Y/N - lmao, does talking out of your ass 
make you feel better or what? Because I'm
the best girl you've met, and you know it

Jean K. - I fr can't deal with you
Just tell me the textbook

Y/N - We're Using Pearson Human 
Anatomy 9 Ed. Why? Don't tell 
me that you don't have your own

Jean K. - I did, but I misplaced that shit

Y/N - Yeah... I call BS🤥

Jean K. - 🥴 alright, fine
I didn't care enough to get it
But it turns out I kind of need it

Y/N - damn, who would have thought? 
maybe if you actually did the things you 
needed for your classes you wouldn't 
be almost flunking out 😭

Jean K. - I fucking hate you

Y/N - ugh, I love when men lie to me 💛

Jean K. - LMAO. stop. Just bring
the textbook for tonight, alright?

Y/N - Say, please?

Jean K. - There's no fucking shot
that I am going to beg you rn

Y/N - Why? Not one to beg a girl?

Jean K. - Definitely not

Y/N - Not even me?

Jean K. - Especially not you

Jean K. - you sure do talk about Connie
a lot. Why don't you go ahead and shoot
your shot with him? Guaranteed that he
will eat that shit right up

Y/N - oh.. word??? 😏😏😏

Jean K. - holy shit
you irritate me.

Y/N - Come on, Jean, all you have to do
is be nice and I'll bring the textbook :)

Jean K - ...
Jesus fuck.

Y/N - I'm waiting ... 
It's now or never

Jean K. - Please.
Can you please bring
the textbook?

Reading his text, you can't help but laugh to yourself. What is it with these men that live in Paradis?

So quick to be so damn spineless.

Y/N - Did you just say please not once but twice??? I've never screenshotted
something so fast in my life.

Jean K. - istg
😐😐😐

Y/N - 4k 📸

Jean K. - Delete it.

Y/N - Sorry! It's almost time
for my shift. I gotta go /:

Jean K . - This has gotta be
one of the top 10 anime betrayals rn.
Seriously Y/ N. Delete it.

Y/N - Lmao, you're actually funny? 
But no. I think I'll keep this 
forever. See you tonight, Jean-Boy.

Smiling to yourself, you lock your phone and stuff it away, not giving yourself a chance to read his response because you are far too satisfied with yourself.

You grab the textbook you need for tonight and stuff it into your backpack before zipping it and throwing it over your shoulder. You make your back into the kitchen.

With you, Sasha, and Niccolo. now ready to go, you make your way out of your apartment. You walk through the parking lot and arrive at Niccolo's car, a white Subaru Outback.

When you make your way around his parked vehicle, you notice a couple of outlines of various sizes of poorly drawn penises in the built-up dirt on the back window.

Shaking your head, you internally laugh to yourself. Opening the car door, you hop into the back seat and place your backpack next to you in the center. "Nic? What's with all the dicks?" You ask as Niccolo gets in the driver's seat and Sasha in the passenger.

"Connie. Who else?" Niccolo answers, voice unfazed as he pushes the push to start the button, starting up his car. "Thanks for reminding me that I gotta get clean that off."

You adjust the fabric of your dress resting on your thighs as you laugh through your nose. "Didn't know we had Van Gough himself in our friend group."

"Literally," Sasha giggles, putting on her seatbelt. "Why would you want to erase his masterpiece of scientifically accurate penises?"

Niccolo shifts gears and pulls out of the parking spot. "Look, I like Connie, but I don't really wanna drive around all of Paradis with dicks on my car. It's not really my taste."

"You know, even when you clean it, he's probably gonna do it again," Sasha says, putting on some music.

"Yeah, well, I'll try to enjoy my dickless car on the days that I can." Niccolo turns his steering wheel and pulls onto the Main Street.

As the short drive continues, the three of you are in the middle of a conversation when the currently playing song crossfades out, and another begins to play.

| ♬ now play ... good old fashioned lover boy ; queen ♬ | 
(I had to give them the moment they deserve)

The energy in the car instantly tenfolds at the song's first note that escapes from the speakers.

You hear a small squeal escape out of Sasha. Her body shifts around in the black cloth seat with excitement, her hands clapping together, emphasizing her joy.

"Nic, oh my god. Oh my god. oh my god." She begins to shake his arm rapidly, revealing just how happy she is that this song is playing.

"I know, baby," you watch Niccolo turn his head from the road for a moment to smile at her, "It's our song." He says as he begins to tap his fingers against the steering wheel to the tune.

"Ooh, love. Ooh, lover boy," Sasha belts out, her voice shifting in range. As Niccolo approaches the red light, he finds Sasha's gaze already on him. She continues to sing. "What are you doing tonight? Hey boy."

"Set my alarm, turn on my charm," Niccolo follows.

"That's because I'm a good old-fashioned lover boy!" They sing in unison together.

Sasha throws his head back in laughter, while Niccolo simply admires her happiness with a smile before the light turns green, and he is forced to look away to focus on the road.

They're so cute it's nauseatingly painful, but you can't stop watching their sweet interactions from the backseat. It's like you're in some sort of hypnotized trance.

This is it. This must be what it's like to be cared for—sought after—seen as more than mere matter.

To experience what the two of them share, to have that special connection, is a chilling desire to have. There isn't any denying that the thought of showing every part of you, even the dark and unfairly wounded pieces, to another human scares the living shit out of you.

However, with your eyes stuck like glue on the two that fit together as one so well, that aching hunger for that intimate attachment only continues to grow in number.

Sasha and Niccolo carry on with their little performance full of laughs and tenderness, and you sit in silent watch. Happiness rushes through you, but so does a slight trace of jealousy.

Nobody has ever looked at you the way Niccolo and Sasha look at each other, and deep down, you wish someone would.

With their cheeks colored pink and eyes full of teeming adoration, it is crystal clear that what you have experienced in the past wasn't love at all because love shouldn't ever make you hate yourself.

This sweet interaction is just reassurance that your past relationship was nothing but a toxic trap of manipulation full of incessant occurrences of complete dehumanization and fake apologies spilled alongside crocodile tears.

A never-ending cycle you couldn't get out of.

It was never bright or warm, or safe.

It wasn't a thing like this.

To be able to share a song with someone, to be so happy with another person that others around you can feel it, the way you can feel it radiate off of your friends in the front seat is an undeniable desire you want to be able to come to know.

Is that asking for too much? Maybe.

Or maybe, you're simply unworthy of love.

You don't know. But you do know that you hope it happens to you one day. That one day, you will be deemed worthy enough to feel cared for all the way down to your bones. That someone will create a place where you will feel safe to be vulnerable again, and you don't have to worry about coming undone in front of them.

Maybe it will happen to you. Perhaps there is someone on this planet that will find you to be as lovable as you dreamed you could be.

All you can do is hope.

"This better be our song at our wedding," Sasha tells Niccolo pulling you from your thoughts as she places her hand on top of his head and ruffles his hair.

"Of course," he says, without even thinking about it. "Anything you want, it's yours."

"Unfair," you chime in, pushing your thoughts as far down as they will go. "I wanna be the one to marry Sash."

"Seat's already taken, Y/N." Niccolo's eyes glance at you through the rearview mirror. "Try all you want, but I won't budge."

"You can marry Eren," Sasha beams. "Except you're probably gonna have to fight Floch on that one."

"Easy win," you confidently state as you look out the window. "Please, give me a real challenge."

"Marry Eren?" Niccolo laughs, glancing behind his shoulder at you and then at Sasha before turning his neck straight back to the road. "I was thinking more like Jean."

"Oh," Sasha gasps. "Now, that is an interesting theory."

You almost choke on your own spit as your head shoots to the front seat. "Hello? Are you insane?"

"What?" Niccolo shrugs, his eyes meeting yours in the rearview. "I was thinking the whole enemies to lovers thing. Aren't girls supposed to love that sorta thing?"

"Taking the book world a little too seriously, Nic," you say, shaking your head in strict denial.

"Yeah yeah, okay." He taps a palm on his steering wheel. "How do you feel about tutoring the kid tonight, by the way? I give you mad props."

You sigh, resting your head on the transparent glass window that's a little dirty on the outside from the rain from yesterday. "Let's just say I'd rather ditch all my responsibilities and third wheel on this picnic with you guys."

Niccolo turns on his blinker and makes a right turn. "Funny, because I figured if you did come with us, I would be the one-third wheeling and not you."

"Let me come, and we'll test that theory," you jab, and the three of you laugh.

Niccolo pulls up on the side street directly in front of The Garrison and shifts his car into park. You grab your belongings and push the car door open. "Thanks for the ride. I owe you."

Sasha turns to look at you around the headrest. "Have fun tonight," she chides with a smile so wide her eyes squint. "Be sure not to fuck the 10-inch. I would like my best friend back in one piece, please, emotionally and physically."

Your mouth falls agape as you take off your seatbelt. "Sash, knock it off. If there's anyone I'm gonna be fucking tonight, it will be Connie."

Niccolo's head hangs. "I hate the fact that I'm getting extremely used to these kinds of conversation," he grumbles.

Sasha erupts with laughter. "I'm telling Connie you said that."

"Do it," a smile forms on your lips as you step out of the car. "I'm sure he'll be thrilled."

"Seriously. Where do you get your confidence?" Sasha asks, still laughing. "I want some."

"Fake it till you make it, babe," you kiss your hand, reaching back into the car, and place your palm on top of her head. "I love you. I'll see you later."

Sasha takes her hand and places it where your hand touched and brings her hand to her mouth, acting as though your kiss transferred to her lips. "Have a great shift. Love you."

"See you, Nic," you bid your goodbye with a smile. "Take care of our girl."

"Of course. It's my number one priority," Niccolo sends a quick wave. "See ya, Y/N." You close the car door and head toward The Garrison.

Once you step inside, your nose is met with the addicting smell of ink printed on paper. You see Bertholdt, who is standing behind the check-out counter in the middle of a transaction. When he sees you, he gives you a smile and a wave before going back to help a customer.

You make your way to the back room and place your belonging in one of the few lockers laid up against the wall near Miche's desk. You clock in and head out of the backroom to begin your shift.

___

About three hours go by, reasonably easy for a Friday morning. Your shift so far has consisted of checking out customers, unpacking shipments, restocking books, and advising a couple of readers here and there on new genres to start.

With no customers inside shopping, it has finally died down enough to take care of tasks, like straightening things out and cleaning, so you decide to do that. Grabbing the dustpan and broom, you get to work.

"Any plans for tonight, Y/N?" Bertholdt asks you. He is sorting through cash in the register. With it being just you and him for the time being, you use this time to talk to each other freely.

"I have to tutor tonight, unfortunately," you sigh. Both your arms are working the broom and the dustpan as you sweep the wooded floor, which is a bit dirty with buildup from the customers that have gone in and out throughout the morning.

"Oh, Jean," Bertholdt replies with a nod of his head. "That's right."

You scoop a small pile of trash into the dustpan. "You heard?" You ask, eyes shifting from the ground over to him across the way.

"Yeah," Bertholdt lightly laughs. "Connie likes to talk... a lot."

The right corner of your mouth gently lifts. "Yeah. I've kinda gathered that."

"I think it's really nice of you to agree to do that."
Bertholdt pushes the cash drawer shut with both hands. "Jean probably won't say this because you know how he is, but I'm sure he appreciates you helping him out."

"Yeah," you blink. "I just hope it's bearable enough to get through. I'm sure you've noticed that we tend to get on each other's nerves a lot of the time."

"I've seen that, but I know you'll be fine. You seem to handle his crap well. Plus, Jean's smart. His lack of caring put him in this situation, not his lack of knowledge." Bertholdt clears his throat as he begins to stack a few books that need to be restocked into a small pile. "He was here on a scholarship, you know... before he lost it."

"Scholarship?" Your eyes widen, and the movement of your cleaning hands goes still like water freezing over. "Academic?" This throws you way off.

"No. A sports scholarship." Bertholdt tells you. Pausing, he takes a deep breath through his nose and lets it out slowly, but it falters in its evenness. "Baseball. Full ride. His grades in high school had to be really good for him to get an offer like that. The team here is pretty competitive." He pushes the pile of books off to the side.

The grip on the broom tightens, the cracked old wood of its handle sinking into your flesh. "I didn't know about that."

"I kinda figured," Bertholdt says softly, nodding once with expectancy. "Jean will kill us if we talk about it, but I figured I'm in the safe zone since he isn't here."

"What happened?" You ask, forcing the tight muscles in your hand to relax.

"The accident happened." He says, eyes blinking slowly. "Sasha and Mikasa told you about it, right?"

| ♬ now playing ... dream, ivory ; dream, ivory ♬ |

"Yeah, some. I didn't know he lost a scholarship because of it, though." You let out a small breath and then ask, "Was it due to injury?" Your palms begin to sweat.

If that's true... what didn't Jean lose in this tragedy?

"Yeah." Bertholdt sinks his teeth into the side of his cheek, skin shifting. "Fortunately, his family is well off, so they didn't have a problem paying for his tuition after everything happened, so he could stay enrolled in TSU but still. Nothing can really make up for what he lost."

You blink a couple of times, forcing your widened eyes to shrink back into normal size as you wait for him to elaborate.

After a brief pause, gathering his thoughts, Bertholdt speaks again, his face hallowing with pain. "Jean got hurt badly in the accident. His right hand took most of the damage, and the doctors said they didn't know if he would be able to play again or even be able to continue with his art."

This information makes your stomach turn ghastly. Jean's accident really did cause him to lose everything. His best friend, his hobbies, all of his fucking joy.

That built-up bitterness that seeps out of him so abundantly, like it's all his body and soul are made out of, is becoming more and more understandable.

Humans can only take so much pain and loss before they break down entirely and come back as a person their past selves never imagined they would ever be.

Your head hangs as you shake it out, trying to take in all you can and sort through your swarming thoughts. "What kind of..." you trail off, biting at the tip of your tongue, trying to stop your curiosity from getting the best of you, but it's too late. Bertholdt reads your face as if it has the visible questions written all over it.

"Injury?" He finishes your sentence for you, and you nod, confirming your curiousness.

"His hands and wrist were broken, and his arm got fractured in... fuck," he pauses and winces. His neck shifts as he tries to adjust his words. "I don't know. More places than I can even count. He lost some mobility in his arm and hand for a while, so he was constantly in rehab. Thankfully, after endless therapy, he recovered. They told him he could go back to playing ball, but he never did."

"Fuck," you mutter under your breath.

Bertholdt leans himself forward on the counter. "It's sad because he still struggles with it at times, too, so it's like this horrible shitty reminder."

Your bottom lip wobbles. "How so?"

Bertholdt's hands drop, his fingers running against the counter, feeling the wood beneath his fingertips. "His hand will sometimes cramp up or tremor pretty bad, which makes it hard for him when he's working on art pieces. It sucks having to watch." He lifts his head to meet you again. "I feel so bad that he lost his scholarship, but I think even if he didn't get this injury, he would have quit anyway."

"What makes you say that?" You ask.

"Well, because of Marco," Bertholdt's voice turns so quiet it almost doesn't travel through the space set between the two of you. In this friend group, just speaking Marco's name is hard to force past their tongues. "He played on the team, too, so I think it would be too hard on him if he had to be on that field without him."

"Oh," even speaking one word, you hear your voice waiver when it plays back in your head. You want to say more, but the words seem lost somewhere in your throat.

"Jean was the pitcher. Marco was the catcher. They grew up playing together. Little league is how they met." Bertholdt's voice catches. "After Marco died, a huge petition was going on where the team called to retire Marcos's number, which was seven. They wanted to make it to where no one would be able to take that number on the field since he was lost so young and so tragically."

"Did they?" You ask. God, you hope so.

He gives a slight nod. "They did."

A wave of relief crashes over you. "I'm glad."

"Yeah," Bertholdt says. "Me too."

You go back to sweeping, trying to distract yourself from the sadness you feel that's attempting to eat away at your heart. "Jean must have been a pretty good ballplayer to have gotten offered a scholarship like that."

"He was," Bertholdt says, pushing his upper body away from the counter. "Jean was the best." His words come without an ounce of thought.

Before you can say anything else, the front door of The Garrison opens. A group of customers enters, and the conversation is torn away, forcing the two of you to get back to work.

___

Your last ten break comes around, you've kept your hands constantly busy, but your mind hasn't been able to move away from what you learned about Jean.

You're grateful to take this time to destress.

You make your way to the backroom for privacy and grab the protein bar you have stuffed away inside a few days ago that you didn't eat in between your classes.

As you tear the wrapper open and take a bite, you see a text message from Sasha sitting on your lock screen she sent to the group chat, which consists of herself, you, and Mikasa that the three of you made when you first moved in with them.

The Three Musketeers 🧸 💌

Sash <3 - SOS! SOS!
SOS! SOS! SOS! SOS!

Mika❣️ - Oh, God, what kind of
trouble did you get yourself into now?

Y/N - is it already time for me to come 
and pick up a body and keep 
my promise that we made this
morning? Jesus. Pace yourself Sash
Please tell me the murder wasn't over food

A couple of minutes pass, and you stare at your phone, waiting for her response, but nothing comes.

This girl and her damn attention span.

Y/N - Sash, you can't just type SOS 
that many times and then give us 
no context behind it. You're 
playing heavy with our emotions

Sash <3 - OMG, sorry I got distracted
Okay! I'm here now. Are you guys
ready for this?

Y/N - OML yes 😭 been ready!

Mika❣️ - if we weren't, we
wouldn't be texting you rn Sash

Sash <3 - Ahhh! It's so hot when
you catch an attitude with me. I'm
like legitimately turned on rn

Y/N - No, literally 
Mikasa is always so hot 
I don't understand it

Mika❣️ - Says you ;)

Y/N - Threesome when?

Mika❣️ - Tomorrow.

Sash <3 - Marking it on my
calendar as we speak

Y/N - Finally! I guess
manifestation does work

Mika ❣️ - Okay, seriously, Sash
what was your urgent text about?

Sash <3 - Niccolo asked me to be
his girlfriend!!!!
*One attachment image*

Smiling to yourself, you open what Sasha just sent.

It's a picture of Niccolo and Sasha together at their picnic. Niccolo has his arm draped around her. Sasha is holding the cake the Niccolo showed you earlier this morning with a huge smile, and Niccolo is kissing her on the cheek.

Good shit, Nic.

Mika❣️ - I've been waiting for this one.
I seriously love you guys so much

Y/N - You deserve this, baby! 
I am so so happy for you

Sash <3 - I've been waiting
so long for someone like him I
can't believe he likes me enough
to want to make it official 😭
He's hot AND he cooks like ???

Mika❣️ - Likes you enough?
Are you blind? He's literally
head over heels for you

Y/N - That's so true 
Everyone can see it 💛

Mika❣️- I'm already ready to
plan the wedding, lmk when

Y/N - same😭
Me & Mikasa better be in it

Sash <3 - You're kidding, right?
That should be an absolute given.

She sends a double text.

Sash <3 - Also, he's taking us to an air b&b!
He got this small cabin overnight so I won't be coming home until sometime tomorrow night.

Y/N - omggg! how dare you leave me?
I'm just kidding b, have the best time 🤍

Mika❣️ - I'm not going to be
home tonight either /:

Y/N - You're abandoning me too? 
The audacity??? 😭

Mika❣️ - I'm sorry! After Eren
drops me off, and I go to the gym
Hitch wants to go to the movies and
drink, so I'm just going to crash there

Y/N - Aw! I love that! That
sounds like so much fun💛

Mika❣️ - I know you're tutoring Jean
tonight but if you want to tag along
after you're more than welcome 🖤

Sash <3 - Hello??? What about me?
Am I invited to this cute little party?

Y/N - 😐 As if you don't already 
have plans to get railed lmfao

Mika ❣️ - Right? Ask again later
when you're not in the woods
getting your back is blown out

Sash <3 - 😭 you're both just jealous
because you guys want to be the ones
blowing my back out huh?

Mika ❣️ - tbh

Y/N - canon

Mika ❣️ - Y/N, yes or no
for tonight with Hitch and me?
I wanna let her know

Y/N - Raincheck 🥺 too much 
going on tonight, unfortunately

Mika ❣️ - Break my heart like that :(
It's okay! Just sad you won't be with me

Y/N - don't worry, 
my heart is breaking too

Mika❣️ - since you're you, I'll
forgive you I value our friendship
too much to stay mad

Y/N - Okay, now I'm blushing 🤍

Mika ❣️ - good 🥰

Y/N - My break is over so I gotta go 
but I love you guys so much 
Happy for you, Sash, cheap wine
for celebration when the three 
of us are together

Sash <3 - deal baby, love you

Mika ❣️ - sounds good
love you both.

Standing to your feet, you stuff your phone into your backpack, put it back into the locker, and make your way out to finish the rest of your shift.

"I'm back," you tell Bertholdt as you walk up to the check-out counter.

"Did you have a good ten, Y/N?" Bertholdt beams a smile, turning his head in your direction at the sound of your voice.

You return a smile of your own. "Yeah, it was great. Thanks for asking, Bert." He's so fucking nice.

"Oh, good. I'm glad." He taps his hand on top of the counter. "Well, now that you're back, I'm gonna go ahead and sort through some stuff in the back that Miche asked me to take care of before close."

You make your way around the counter. "Yeah, no problem, I'll watch front." Bertholdt nods and parts ways with you making his way to the back, leaving you to yourself.

There are a couple of customers here and there, but the rush from earlier has died down immensely. It's slow now.

A good handful of minutes pass by when another customer approaches the counter. You greet them with a welcoming smile. "Hello. Did you find everything okay?"

The blonde sets the book American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis down on the counter. Meeting your eye, he smiles at you. "Fine, thanks."

Placing your palm on the center of the cover, you drag the book across the wood, pulling it toward you. "Good. I'm glad to hear."

As you ring the book into the register, you feel his eyes on you like daggers. He's watching you.

You glance up a few times to see if his gaze has changed, but it hasn't. It remains unfaltering. Your forehead creases with uncertainty, but you bite your tongue, remaining respectful, reminding yourself that this is your job and he is a customer.

He can sense the uncomfortably that's radiating off of you. "Sorry, I don't mean to stare," he says apologetically. "You just look really familiar. Do you go to TSU?"

You nod, placing the book back down onto the surface. "It's my first semester. Maybe you've seen me around campus or something? I'm not sure."

His green eyes light up brightly like wires just connected in his brain. "Ackerman's class. Statistics." It's a statement, not a question.

You meet his gaze, lips slightly parted. "You're in that class too?"

"Yeah," he laughs like he's embarrassed and shakes his head. "Sorry, I probably looked like a damn creep looking at you like that. I swear that I'm not. I was just killing myself trying to place you."

"It's alright," you say, pushing a few buttons on the register. "Sorry, I don't recognize you. That class is just so big."

He sucks air through his teeth. "Shit, yeah, it is." He rests his forearm on the wooded surface. "I'm Colt, by the way. Colt Grice."

It clicks. You remember hearing that name from the times when Professor Levi called roll.

You smile, eyes sliding into his. "Y/N."

"It's to meet you outside of lecture, Y/N," Colt says, voice and face both beaming with kindness. "How are you doing in it so far?"

Your right shoulder lifts. "Alright, but I can guarantee you that it's because it's still the start of the semester." You admit to him. "All courses are bearable at the beginning."

"That's true," Colt agrees. "I can't believe he's already giving us an exam in what? Like a week or two?"

Your head rolls with the stress of simply thinking about it. "I know. It's so dumb. I better start looking over my notes soon, so I'm somewhat prepared. Rumor has it that his exams are pretty rough."

"Yeah, I don't doubt it." Colt heaves out a sigh. "The guy does seem pretty damn uptight."

"Perfect way to put it. I'm definitely not looking forward to taking it." You tell him truthfully, pushing the book back to him across the counter. "Your total is gonna be 17.01 today."

"Oh, shit. I got all caught up in our conversation. I forgot I actually have to pay for what I'm buying," he laughs to himself. Swinging the backpack off his back, Colt places it on the counter. Unzipping the large zipper, he digs inside. "My bad. Give me a second for me to get my shit together."

"Oh, no. You're fine." You laugh softly at his frantic state. "No worries."

Pulling out his money, he hands it to you a twenty-dollar bill, clean and crisp. You push the transaction through, the drawer pops back open, and count his change.

"Hey, listen. I was wondering if it would be cool if I gave you my number?" You hear him ask as your eyes remain down on the cash drawer. "I don't mean to seem straightforward, but I figured maybe it would be good to stay in contact. That way, so we could help each other out through the semester. Especially with Ackerman's shitty exam coming up."

"Oh, Sure. That's a good idea," you say, pulling out a couple of dollars.

"Awesome."

Pushing the cash drawer shut, you look up you see him writing on a small piece of ripped notebook paper with a paper mate pen.

Once Colt finishes, he looks at you and smiles. He hands you the piece of uneven ripped notebook paper that holds his number, and you give him his change and receipt. "Use it only if you want to," he assures, green eyes soft. "Not because you feel like you have to."

"Thank you," you say, holding the paper between your fingers. "I appreciate it."

Colt parts from you. "Bye, Y/N," he calls before exiting the front door. "I hope the rest of your shift goes smoothly."

"Bye, Colt. Have a good day," you reply before the front door closes shut behind him. Your eyes travel over his barely legible chicken scratch handwriting.

111-228-0990

See you in class 

"How's it been?" You hear Bertholdt's voice approach you from a short distance.

You pull your focus away from the paper letting your arm drop to your side. "Good. Pretty slow." You turn in the direction of Bertholdt.

He works his way behind the counter. "We're ahead with all our tasks. How do you feel about clocking out early?"

You check the time, and it reads 6:25. Knowing that Jean won't be here for another forty-five, you decide to take this time to read the book you brought in the area that Armin showed you upstairs. "I won't object to that."

"Run then," Bertholdt utters. "While you can."

You pat him on the shoulder as you pass by. "Best co-worker ever."

"All you, Y/N," Bertholdt replies with a deep chuckle.

You grab your things from the back and make your way to the Midnight Library, where no one ever goes.

You take the book If We Were Villians from your backpack and sit on the Nook by the window, isolated from the rest of the world.

The sun is slowly moving from its high place in the sky to be soon replaced by the moon. You crack open the book where your bookmark lies and begin to read, stuffing the piece of paper from Colt into a random page, ensuring you won't lose it.

Within minutes, with your spine and head resting against the clear glass window, you are immersed in the main character's world named Oliver Marks, where he tries to navigate through his life alongside seven actor friends who attend an elite school where studying Shakespeare is their passion. Everything is perfect until they find themselves facing a brutal murder of one of their own.

It's captivating, beautifully written, everything you look for in a story.

Time passes though you don't know how much; minutes feel like seconds when you get your hands on a good book. Soon you are a few chapters deep, and it feels as though you are the one living in this fictional world. Your fingers are flipping through the thin, frail pages like it is what they were made to do.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the book slips through your hands and is in the possession of someone else. "Don't tell me I've been out in my car waiting for you just to come up here and find you reading one of your stupid books."

Your eyes saunter upwards, and you see Jean standing there, face contorted with displeasure.

He is dressed in a sand-colored Lucky Me I See Ghosts hoodie, the hood of it pulled over his head, pieces of his mullet still peeking through. Paired with it are a pair of black joggers with pockets on the side of his thighs and all-black Nike's.

You've come to notice that he always seems to wear long sleeves. The only time you saw him in short ones was when he gave his hoodie to you.

Studying his face, you note that he looks relatively tired. The bags under his eyes are darker than usual like he didn't sleep much last night.

"Shit," you murmur. "When did you get here?"

"I don't know, like ten minutes ago, or something like that," Jean tells you, your book, now shut, shifting between his hands. "Check your phone. I texted you a bunch of times ."

You pick up your phone set next to you and tap the screen to be greeted with several messages from Jean, each trying to grab ahold of your attention, letting you know that he's here to pick you up, none of which you saw. "Sorry," you say, looking back up at him. "I didn't even see any of them."

Jean hums, his fingers running down the unbroken spine of the book, feeling its sensation press into his skin. "What did I say about you making me wait on you?"

God. His hands. His fucking hands.

The veins, the way they move, the control he has.

You wonder ...

Shit. Snap out of it. What the hell is wrong with you?

"Yeah, I know." You rip your gaze from his prominent veins and smile softly at him. "You said you would leave, but here you are, Jean, waiting for me anyway."

Jean's mouth tightens, and a strange shadow darkens his expression. He has backed himself well into a corner that he can't squirm out of. "Let's just go, alright?" He's nearly breathing fire, words hot with annoyance.

Hunching over, you gather the belongings you placed at your feet. "How'd you know I'd be up here anyway? Keeping tabs on me?"

"Funny you think I care that much, that I would go the extra mile for you." He snaps abruptly. "Bert said I could find you up here."

Pushing your lips together, you stand and throw your backpack over your right shoulder. "Can I have my book back, please?" You extend a hand.

"What's this one about?" Jean jerks away from you. He flips the book around, and his eyes begin to scan the back cover, reading the words of the synopsis printed in bright white ink against the dark background.

"It's really good so far," you voice, though you aren't sure he really cares. "One of my favorites in a while."

Jean nods his head slowly as his lips press together. He continues to gather the short description of the world that's locked inside. "Surprised it's not another one of your smut books," he says calmly, handing you back your book.

Damn it. You should have known better than to allow him to rummage through that box full of novels when he was helping you pack.

Your shoulder tense, as your jaw falls agape, embarrassment begins to crawl around inside your chest at an alarming speed. Slowly, you reach out and snatch the book back into your possession. "You saw my -"

Jean interjects, not willing to let you finish your question. "Of course, I saw your smut books, Y/N. Maybe if authors didn't put half-naked men on the covers of their work, then it wouldn't be so damn obvious that you're into fairie fucking."

Caught red-handed like a mother fucking bandit. Way to go, Y/N.

You swallow down thick saliva, releasing your clenched teeth from each other. "Don't knock reading smut until you try it."

"Not getting enough dick in your real life?" Jean's lips set themselves into a smirk so stupid you wish you could slap it off of him, again and again.

You hum as a sly look overtakes your entire face. "I've been more into pussy these days." You offer him a smirk of your own, feeding him back all he loves to give you.

Jean's smirk clears itself. His mouth falls open, but he clamps it shut in a matter of a millisecond.

Laughing to yourself, you continue and say. "Don't look so surprised. Girls have always been better at getting each other off. It's no secret that guys never know what they're doing."

Jean's arms cross in front of him, eyes leering. "You must not be fucking with the right guys then."

With your lips parted, you swipe your tongue across them. "Well, if you know of any, send them my way. I do like experimenting."

Jean balks, temples in his forehead tensing. He is unaccustomed to your mouth yet somehow accustomed to it in a twisted concurrent way. "What makes you think any of them would want you?"

"What makes you think any of them wouldn't?" Your nose scrunches up as your smirk broadens itself into a smile. "I've seen the way you look at me, Jean. You probably want me to. Tell me, were the ten minutes in a closet not enough for you?"

"Nah. It was plenty." Jean's face twitches; your words are itching him down to the pit of his stomach. "Those were the most boring ten minutes of my damn life." He taunts, egging you on.

"Yeah?" You laugh jeeringly. "The hard-on you had that I felt against me said otherwise."

Jean glares at you so hostile you can feel it inside your stomach. "I h-"

You cut him off. "You what, Jean?" your head falls to the side. "You hate me?"

Jean rolls his shoulders as his jaw remains tight. "More than you know."

You yawn, indifferent. "Then we're gonna have a long ass night ahead of us then, aren't we?"

Jean scoffs. "You have no fucking idea."

You spin around and begin to step away so the two of you can head out, but Jean's voice catches you before you can. "Y/N."

You footing half and your head snaps to look at him. "What?"

"Turn back around really quick," Jean says, the tension he was holding in his jaw loosening out. "Your ribbon is all fucked up. I'm sure you don't wanna walk around looking like an idiot."

You lift your hand and touch the back of your head, feeling the secured bow you once had has come unraveled. "Biting my ass off one second, making nice gestures the next, I can't keep up."

"That's our little game," Jean blinks. "Isn't it?"

Your stomach shifts around. "I can fix it." You say, disregarding his statement. You are about to ask Jean to hold your book again so that you can adjust your ribbon, but he speaks before you get the chance. "Your hands are full, so turn around, and I'll do it."

You abide. Shifting your weight on your heels, you offer him your backside.

Feeling the warmth of him sink into you, your head starts to pound against your skull. "Jean Kirstein knows how to tie up hair?" You use your sarcasm to pull yourself away from what you're feeling internally. "Learn about it from all your past girlfriends?"

"I know how to tie up a lot of things, Y/N," Jean slyly replies. You don't have to look at him to know the smug expression that has most likely taken over his face. "But thin shit like this won't hold for the stuff I'm into." And in an instant, his hands are in your hair, fixing your yellow ribbon.

You fight back a choke that's clawing at your throat. "I-" You start a sentence that you pathetically can't finish.

"Chill before you bite back." Jean laughs dryly, the air of it sliding down your spine. "I'm kidding." He pulls the loose ribbon out of your hair, and with a flick of his wrist, he lets the ends straighten themself out for a fresh start. "You want my real verity now or later?"

Your eyes widen, though he can't see them. In all honesty, you weren't counting on their verity deal to last more than a day, but you stand corrected. "You remember our deal?"

"I do." He brings the ribbon back up and begins to wrap it around your hair, putting it back in its place. "I told you I never go back on my word, Y/N."

"Okay," you voice, tucking your book tight into your chest, pressing it deep into your skin, turning to feel something other than the burn you feel coming from him. "Now then."

"I have this cousin that lives with my parents," Jean tells you; pulling the silk ribbon tight, he yanks your hair just enough to feel it travel through you, making you bite your tongue as he continues. "She's more like my little sister than anything else, and since I had to take her to school so many times in the morning, I learned how to do this kind of shit over the years."

He's good with kids? You feel your heart shift around inside of you. "What's her name?"

"Zofia."

"Pretty name."

There are a few beats of silence, his fingers still moving, making sure the tails are even. "Yellow looks good on you," he mumbles from behind you, his low voice hitting your ear and shifting throughout your entire body.

You can hear the resistance in his voice like he was fighting to keep the thought to himself, but his mouth betrayed him at the last moment.

Heat consumes your face, and you thank the twisted universe your back is toward him. You know he would be able to take notice and that you would never hear the end of it. "Is that a compliment, Jean-Boy? I wondered how long it would take before you started flirting with me."

"Always with that mouth," he grumbles.

You smile to yourself. "I wouldn't be me without it, would I?"

"No, you sure as hell wouldn't." Jean drops his hands from your hair and takes a step away from you, taking that heat his body offered you along with him. "They're you're fixed."

"Thank you." You lift your hand to touch it; even with your palm, you can feel how nicely it's sitting. "I really do appreciate it."

Jean gives a nod, taking a step around you. "Tell anyone about what I told you, and I'll have to kill you."

You bite at your lower lip. "Don't tempt me with a good time if you're not gonna go through with it."

Jean runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "I'm serious, though. I don't need what I told you to get back to anyone. Especially Connie. Never tell that fucker shit that he can run with."

Your head falls sideways, and you look at him with soft eyes. "I'll keep your verities as long as you keep mine."

Jean's eyes trace your face. "Deal."

"Good." You shift the book in your hands, releasing it from your chest when the piece of paper you stuffed away inside slips out. You don't take notice of your loss of possession, but Jean does. His focus changes from you to the floor, watching it fall near his feet.

"Clumsy girl." Jean insults as he leans forward and picks it up. He straightens himself upright and is about to hand it to you when his eyes scan the writing. His face immediately falls to concrete. "You know Colt?"

"Oh. Not really," you tell him, holding out your hand to take the paperback into your possession. "I met him today."

"What'd he give you his number for?" Jean's tone is monotonous.

He sets the paper in your palm. His warm touch zaps through you; not even the paper placed between is enough to lessen the sensation. "He's in my class. He said he wanted to give it to me so we could help each other out throughout the semester." You pull your hand away.

"Bullshit," Jean looks at you, flat-faced.

Something is radiating off of him that you can't quite make out, but it feels close to being something bitter.

You tuck the paper back into the pages of your book. "What do you mean?"

"That's the oldest fucking trick in the book, Y/N," Jean's arms tuck themselves deep into the front pocket of his hoodie.

You raise an eyebrow. "You would know, wouldn't you?" He shrugs as his response, and you click your tongue. "And how many did it work on?"

"All of them," Jean answers, openly honest. "The same way Colt's attempt worked on you." Pausing for a second, he grinds his teeth, and then he says, "are you going to text him?

"Maybe," you shrug. "I don't know."

He laughs bitterly. "What about Eren?"

"Since when does being single mean that I have any sort of limitations?" you reply slyly, words smooth and unfaltering.

Jean rolls his eyes as his shoulders grow tense. Reading his body language and facial expression, he seems to be slightly irritated. Your eyes squint. "Do you not like Colt or something?" You take a gander at his unreadable reaction.

"No," Jean says, sharply like that answer was already prepped and ready to go.

Your hands curl, tightening around your book. "How many people do you actually like, Jean?"

"Enough." He says bluntly, evidently done with the conversation. "Let's go."

You and Jean head downstairs to level ground and say goodbye to Bertholdt as you pass him on the way out. You wish him a good close, and he tells the two of you to stay safe.

Making your way out of the Garrison, you head to Jean's Mercedes, parallel parked in front of the bookstore. Jean presses the button on the key fob, and the lights in both the front and the rear flash twice.

You make your way to the driver's side, but Jean takes a large step, putting himself in front of you.

He opens the car door.

This gesture catches you off guard, but you simply slip inside while murmuring a quick thanks. Jean gives a sharp nod before he shuts the door and makes his way to the driver's side.

Jean hops inside, starts the engine, and swiftly pulls out of the parking spot. Goodie Bag by Still Woozy begins to play on the car speaker.

"How far is your apartment from here?" You ask him over the music.

Jean lowers the volume using one of the buttons on his steering wheel. "Not far, about three minutes."

You turn to the outside window and watch the building of the businesses pass by in blurred colors. "If you live that close, I could have walked. You didn't have to make a trip."

Jean adjusts the grip he has on the steering wheel. "Right. Like I would let you walk all the way to my place along when it's getting dark."

"It's not the big of a deal," you voice, moving your eyes from the storefront over to him. "I can take care of myself."

"I never said that you couldn't, " Jean replies, turning left at the light. "but that doesn't mean there aren't fucking creeps around."

"See?" You smile at him. " I knew you cared about me."

Jean briefly glances at you before turning his focus back to the busy road in front of him. "Anything more out of you, and I'll pull over, and you can walk the rest of the way."

His response only causes your smile to grow, cheeks meeting your eyes. "That's fine. If you do, maybe I'll just call Colt to come and pick me up."

Jean's jaw clenches, and you laugh to yourself. Getting a rise out of him is your favorite thing, and it works every damn time. "I hate you," he says, lips pressing together in a tight thin line.

"Yeah, I know," you breathe as you tap your fingernails on the armrest of his car door. "I hate you too."

___

Arriving at Jean's apartment complex, you note that it's much larger than yours. The grey building is broader and taller, with more floors making for more residents; the way the building is constructed is nicer than yours as well.

His apartment is located on the sixth floor, out of the eight stories it offers.

As you make your way down the long, well-lit hall, the doors of each apartment are painted white, the letter and number of each one hammered onto the front above each peephole with black metal lettering. Beneath your feet lay grey wood floors.

| ♬ now playing ... september ; earth, wind, and fire ♬ |

Following a few paces behind Jean, you hear music in the distance coming from within one of the apartments, only growing louder as you make your way further down.

"I wanna be friends with whoever is playing this song right now," you say as you memorize the song's tune.

"You are,' Jean says, leading the way to his place, messing with the keys in his right hand.

You scan his back as he remains a few steps ahead, "What do you mean?"

"It's Connie's stupid ass," Jean tells you.

Of course, it is. Blasting music loud enough for the entire complex to hear? Connie and Sasha genuinely are two sides of the same coin even when they're apart.

Jean takes a step to the right and stands in front of his apartment door that reads F4. He sticks his key into the fob and twists it. "Watch this. I'll bet you good money that the idiot is on the couch singing this shit like he's the one who wrote it."

Jean slowly cracks the door to his apartment open, not enough for Connie to notice but enough for you to take a peek inside.

Your eyes find Connie across the way, and of course, Jean was right. Connie is doing precisely that. Jamming out to September by Earth, Wind, and Fire as if he's performing at a concert that holds thousands of fans.

There's a white broom held tightly in his hand, and he's holding the end of it up to his mouth, acting like it's a microphone, singing the lyrics out from the very bottom of his lung. He is jumping up and down on their nice grey couch in the living room. His arms are flailing about as he moves his body to match the upbeat tempo engulfing the room.

"Swear to God sometimes he swears he's Earth Wind and Fire himself." Jean's low voice meets your ear.

"As far as I'm concerned, it is." A smile tugs at your lips, as your hands wrap around the straps of your backpack. "Is this something he normally does?"

"All the damn time. Plus, it's his clean week, making it even worse." Jean mumbles, pushing the door open, giving you access to the inside of his place. Typically, you'd focus on the details, but you are too honed in on the performance Connie is putting on.

Connie hears the hinge of the front door creak as it opens up. His head snaps your way so fast that it seems like he might have given himself whiplash.

His eyes meet yours, and you watch them light up, his presence shining brightly underneath the light of the tall black lamp sitting in the living room corner near the window with black curtains.

Connie's performance doesn't stop. Instead, he takes a massive jump off the couch and continues to perform the show for you.

You laugh as he throws the broom down onto the ground and dances his way over to you, pointing both fingers at you, before running his hands all over his moving body.

"I feel like I should be paying for this right now," you tell him over the music. "Are you gonna ask me to dance? Or are you just trying to impress me with your moves?"

Connie throws his head back and laughs. "Look who it is," he chides with a giant smile that lights up his entire presence. "It's my mother fucking girl."

Connie's happiness toward seeing you fills you with welcoming warmth, "I've been waiting to see you all day," you tell him sweetly.

Arriving to you, Connie scoops you up into his well-defined arms. Lifting you, he spins you around in a circle a couple of times. "What are you doing here."

"Any guesses?" You ask as he places you down on your two feet, slow and controlled.

"Dressed like that?" Connie's eyes take in all of you, from head to toe. "I sure as hell hope that you're here so I can take you on that date to dicktown."

"Smart boy." You run a palm across his short grey hair. "That's exactly what I'm here for."

"See Jean?" Connie jumps in the direction of Jean, wrapping his arm snuggly around your shoulder, "I'm smart. Y/N said it herself."

"Y/N's opinion matters?" Jean taunts as he locks the front door. He's poking fun at you the way he always does.

"Hell yeah, it does!" Connie exclaims, pulling you even closer to the side of his body, "More than anyone else's." He turns his head to you and shoots you a wink.

A smile places itself on your face. "You're in luck. Smart, bald men, are just my type."

"Shit, Y/N. Don't you know better by now than to encourage him?" Jean passes the two of you and heads into the kitchen, "His head is already big enough. You'll make that bald shit blow to fucking pieces."

"Damn, Kirstein, look at you," Connie pulls away from you, arms crossing in front of his chest. "Getting all jealous because Y/N is flirting with me."

Jean gives you a quick glance. Blinking, he clears his vision of you and refocuses his attention on Connie. "Could give less than two shits who she flirts with." He throws his keys into the black wooden basket placed in the corner of the counter.

"Then why's your ass all tight right now?" Connie takes his palm and smacks himself in the behind. "Want me to grab some lube to help loosen that shit up? I think I have some laying around in my room somewhere." He signals in the direction of the hallway with the top of his head.

Jean's teeth grit to the point where it is probably causing him pain."I swear to fucking God, Connie, it's like you want me to kill you."

"It's alright to be jealous. Jean." Your head traces up Jean's tall statue and meets his face. "I mean, we could Effiel tower it if you guys want," your eyes bat with innocence. "That's not really something I would protest against."

"Yooo! For real?" Connie gleams, his entire body perking up with significant eagerness. "Cause I'm way too down."

Jean's eye twitches. "I'm so done with you. Try thinking before you speak every once in a god damn while."

You walk a couple of paces and sit on the edge of the couch's armrest. "Is that a pass?" You taunt, sizing him up.

Jean stares at you, narrow-eyed. "Hard fucking pass."

You recall when he told you that you should have joined in with him and the random girl you walked in on him with at Eren's party.

Taking this thought, you decide to say fuck it and run with it. Your lips find themselves in an upwards curve. "My bad. I just sort of figured that you were into threesomes, but I guess you're just another one of those pathetic guys whose all bark and no bite."

Laughter tears out of Connie filling every inch of the main room. It's so contagious that you can't help but laugh too. You don't even need to be high to reach this level of serotonin; it's normal when you're around the people in this group.

"Shut up, Y/N," You hear Jean say through the room full of laughter. He clearly isn't finding this joke funny. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

Connie's laughter begins to subside. "Jean, do you want me to queue up Marvin's room by Drake for you really quick." He walks to where he dropped the broom on the floor and picks it up.

Jean leans his lower backside into the edge of the grey and white marble counter, his palms pressing into the edge of it. "Why the hell would I want that?"

Connie walks over to the storage closet near the front door and tosses the broom inside. "I mean, shit, you keep getting your ass handed to you on a continuous loop by the finest girl at TSU. I figured it would help set the tone," he taunts. You bit down on your tongue to fight the laughter you feel bubbling inside your chest.

"Nah. You're done. I'm definitely gonna beat your fucking ass now," Jean pushes himself away from the counter and takes a giant step forward, but Connie takes off like his entire body is made of speed. "Gotta go! I love you, Y/N, but I love my ass more." He books it down the hall.

"Pussy," Jean calls out.

"You are what you eat, Jeanie," Connie spits back loudly. You hear the door to his room slam shut, securing himself and his safety inside.

Jean walks out of the kitchen and passes you, his head shaking with built-up irritants. "When you leave tonight, take him with you." He crashes down onto the couch near you.

You twist your back and smile. "Don't have to ask me twice."

Jean runs a palm along his scuffed chin. "Wanna smoke? I need to after that shit." He leans his body back into the soft grey cushions of the couch. "Eren dropped what Zeke left me before taking him to the airport this morning."

"Not right now. We need to study," you take off your backpack and hold it in your lap.

"Can't we study high?" Jean challenges you.

You stand and walk yourself over to the dining room table to your left. "No, because I know that you won't be able to focus on what I'm trying to teach you."

He grabs at the strings of his hoodie. "No? What the hell else would I be focusing on?"

You place your backpack on one of the chairs and glance over your shoulder. "Me," you answer instantaneously.

"Jesus fuck." Jean's eyes shift around in irritation. "This tutoring session will be the most agonizing two hours of my life."

"Ironic, considering I'm the one who has to deal with you." You sigh as you turn your head back to the table. "How about this, we study, and then we can smoke after, under one condition."

"Oh, God. Alright." Jean looks at the ceiling, the back of his head pressing into the couch cushions. "What's the catch?"

You pull out your needed textbook and notebook. "I wanna know how to roll."

His head snaps straight; he blinks over in your direction, eyebrows laced together. "You want me to teach you?"

Setting the items on the table, your turn to face him. "Yeah. Teach me."

"Fine. I'll teach you," he verbalizes, agreeing to your terms and conditions as he pushes himself onto his feet. "We'll study now and roll later."

"Alright. Deal."

Jean nods and walks back into the kitchen. "You hungry?" He asks as he pulls the door open to the fridge. "Or do you want something to drink?"

"Water is good. Thanks," you say kindly as you lift your backpack off the chair. Jean mutters back an alright in return.

You hear the door to Connie's room creek open down the hall. Your head follows the sound to see his bald head sticking out of the doorframe. "Y/N," he calls, getting your attention.

"Yeah?" You respond loud enough for your voice to travel.

"I'm changing, and I need your advice," he says. "Can you come here for a second?"

Jean pulls a black Brita filtered water pitcher out of the fridge. "What, man? You're going out?"

"About to," Connie informs him.

"Where?" Jean asks, pushing the door to the refrigerator shut.

"I'm going to hang out with Bert and Reiner," Connie yells, allowing his voice to carry clear enough to understand. "I think we're gonna try to get some food and hit a couple of bars."

Jean walks over to the counter and sets the pitcher down. "You're gonna be third-wheeling that shit."

"And I'm doing that shit here too, so what difference does it make?" Connie blurts out.

"Far off," Jean calls back as he opens the cabinet to grab a couple of glasses. "Stop pulling shit like that out of your ass."

You scratch at your nose. "Trust me, Connie, I'd much rather be here for you,"

"I believe it. I know how much you love me." Connie replies. "I really do need your help, though, please?" He pleads.

"Yeah, I'll help you," you say with a nod and begin to walk toward his room.

"Good shit." Connie taps his palm onto the wall where his head is sticking out. "You're the best," he says, and he disappears back into his room.

You begin to walk down the hall when you hear Jean call out from behind you. "Try not fuck him. He'll never let that shit go."

You glance over your shoulder, halfway down the hall. "I don't like making promises that I might break," and you enter Connie's room.

Inside, you see Connie rummaging through his closet, sorting through a large number of hanging clothes. "What do you need help with?" You ask, getting his attention as you step behind him.

His room is disorganized, all over the place, decorated with fancy colored bright lights. You can't even see the walls because they are coated entirely with many posters and random photos that probably won't make sense to anyone but himself.

Clothes are on the floor, the bed is unmade, and it smells like it's been drowned in cologne. There is also a massive mega mind 'no bitches' tapestry that hangs above his bed.

Connie pulls out two shirts, one in his hand and another in his right. "Help me pick an outfit," he requests as he holds the shirts up on either side of his face. "I wanna look good. Up my chance at being able to pull a fine ass woman."

You tighten the ribbon in your hair. "I'm sure you'll have no problem pulling Connie, but I'll definitely help you if that's what you want."

"Thank fuck," he breathes out words of relief. "Okay, which crewneck, Navy blue or maroon?"

Your eyes interchange between the shirts and him as you try to envision what he would look like in them. "Hold them up to you."

"Anything you wish, Y/N," Connie says, abiding by to request. He first holds the navy one up to himself and then switches to the maroon.

You smile, noting the way the maroon color makes his eyes pop; your answer to his question comes instantaneously. "Maroon."

Connie throws the maroon one on top of the Navy blue sheets of his unmade bed. "I like how you think," he hangs the disregarded shirt back into his closet. "Okay, next question."

You lean your right shoulder into the wall nearest to you, "let's hear it."

He walks over to his wooded dresser, picking up the black Neff beanie he has set on top of it. He turns and holds it up and dangles it for you to see. "Beanie or no beanie."

"Beanie," you say without any hesitance. "Definitely, beanie."

"Guess we're in sync because I was thinking the same thing," Connie chuckles and pulls the beanie onto his head. "I'm eating this shit up right now. It's like you're my own personal stylist."

"Oh sure," you say, flashing him a smile. "I'll be anything for you, Connie.

"Yeah? Even the love of my life?" He raises an eyebrow, a smirk building slowly on his lips.

"Of course." You give a nod, "that too."

"Good to know."

Looking around his room, your eyes focus on the blue lights surrounding his room. They're fun to look at; it seems almost like the night sky. "I like the lights you have set up."

"Pretty sick, right?" Connie cranes his head to the ceiling; his eyes now focused on his colored lights as well. "Real chick magnet, let me tell you that."

"The lights are? Or you?" You ask with a smile.

Connie shrugs smugly. "You tell me."

You hum, shifting your weight to push your whole back into the wall. "In my opinion, I'd say both."

"That's all I needed to know. Like I said before, your opinion matters most to me." He smiles. "I'm going to change now, so you better dip. I mean, unless you wanna watch? I sure as hell won't complain."

"What's this, Connie?" Your head drops to the side. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

He laughs, forehead creased. "Maybe. How's it working out?"

"Great," you say flirtatiously. "It really makes me wonder why there isn't a long list of girls fighting to be with you."

"Even if there were, you'd still be at the top." He sends you a wink as he picks up the maroon shirt you picked out for him.

"And you, mine." You say as you push yourself off of the wall. "I would love to stay and enjoy the show, but if I do, I know I'll never be able to walk away."

"Can't say I'd blame you, Y/N. With an ass as juicy as mine, I wouldn't be able to either." Connie runs a palm down his jaw down to his chin. "Thanks for your help."

You laugh. "Anytime." You exit his room and make your way back into the central place of their apartment.

At the dining table, you see Jean sitting there, with his needed school materials placed on the surface alongside a small red box of some sort of snack as well as two glasses of water, one for him and another set up for you at the empty seat across from him.

Jean is focused on his notebook, doodling away. His black pen moves light and swift across the smooth white page.

"Miss me?" You attempt to grab ahold of his attention as you walk over toward him.

Jean's head lifts slowly in your direction before his eyes move. "Back already?" His eyes follow next, finally meeting your gaze. "That was a quick fuck."

You shrug. "Yeah, guys never seem to be able to last that long when they get with me."

Jean's lips fall into a thin, irritated line. His head then dips, and he leans back into his chair. "You never fail to annoy me."

"Why am I annoying you?" You sit yourself down at the table, in the seat directly across from him. "Do you wish it was you instead of him?"

"Why would I?" He tosses his pen on top of his notebook. "I have plenty of other options."

"Maybe you do," you say monotonously, pulling the chair in, "But none of them will ever be me."

His head drops and shakes irritably. "You're something else." He grabs the snack he has next to him and begins to eat it.

You lean your upper body a little toward him. "What are you eating?"

"Pocky," Jean says, lifting the front of the red box to you so you can read it.

Your eyes gravitate toward the small open red box. "Never had it." You rest both forearms onto
the table.

Jean's eyes widen slightly before shifting down to the food he's holding between his fingers. He breaks off a piece of the thin stick indulged in milk chocolate and offers it out to you. "Here. I'm giving you the best part. Try It."

You take it. Bringing it to your mouth, you bite down, letting it snap between your teeth, and you begin to chew. The sweetness of chocolate begins to spread all across your tongue. The texture and flavor are both immensely satisfying.

Jean studies you. "Good, huh?"

"Yeah." You admit, swallowing down the food. "It's good." You finish it off.

It's fucking amazing, and it only continues to get better with every small bite. Why is something as simple as this so damn good?

Jean pushes the red box of chocolate Pocky toward you. "You can have the rest."

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, ridding of any small crumbs. "I don't wanna take your food."

"You're not taking anything. I'm offering. Go ahead and have it. I'm not that hungry anyway," Jean says. You mutter thanks before digging into the box and begin to eat more.

After a minute or two, Connie makes his way out of his room and tells you Reiner and Bertholdt are here to pick him up. He says goodbye to both of you, tell you thanks again for your help, and heads out the door.

"You think he'll be able to pick up a girl tonight?" Jean asks as soon as the door shuts behind Connie.

"I'd say there's something really wrong with our society if he didn't," you reply before eating another thin stick of Pocky.

Opening the textbook, you set it between yourself and Jean, and you begin your time of studying. "Alright. What are you working on in class?"

"Brain shit," Jean replies. Flipping to the chapter of your textbook, he finds it and slides it over to you. "Chapter five."

"What do you know about it?"

"Nothing," Jean leans back, his spine pressing into the dark wood chair.

"Let's test it," you challenge him. Taking your pen, you point to the unlabeled part of the brain that is printed pink on the right page. "What's this part of the brain?"

"Don't know," he says, pulling the hoodie off his head, the wearing of the fabric causing his mullet to be out of place and messy.

"Come on, Jean." You groan. "It's in the front of your brain. Therefore it's called the... ?"

"Frontal lobe." Jean doesn't even blink when he answers. It's obvious he knows this.

"Right," Your head nods. "And what does it control?"

Jean rakes a hand through his hair, fixing it the way he likes it, "I seriously don't want to do this."

"You have to, Jean." you sigh. "Just try to get through this semester."

His lips press together, his hand dropping from his hair onto the table. "Why are you helping me anyways?"

"Because no one wants to be stuck at college for even a semester longer than they have to," you say. "Now, what does the frontal lobe control?"

He grabs his pen and clicks it several times. "Emotions or some things like that, right?"

"Correct. It also controls things like our judgment and problem-solving," you tap your pen onto a picture of the brain printed on the textbook. "That's why in many brains scans done on serial killers, it's noted that this part of their brain has abnormalities."

Jean hums as he takes in the information you just told him. "Crime junkie?

You lift a shoulder. "Guilty pleasure of mine."

He studies you for a second and then nods his head swiftly. "Pre-law fits you well then," he says, making you bite down a smile.

It's always assuring to hear that following in your mother's footsteps is something you were born to do.

The two of you continue your lesson. You ask questions, and he answers the best he can. Bertholdt was right. Jean is smart. All the knowledge is there. It just seems like he refuses to use it.

About an hour passes. You are now on the topic of neurons when you begin to feel Jean's eyes on you, making you swallow under the pressure of it.

You don't even have to blink up at him to know where his focus is. You can feel it. His brown eyes seem to have some sort of twisted ability to sear your skin in some kind of unwanted coveting way.

With your ballpoint pen pressed deep into the paper, you pause your writing. "Eyes on the textbook, Jean. Not on me," you demand, remaining focused on the assignment you are trying to help him with.

Jean adjusts himself in his seat quickly to try and cover-up. "You're not even looking at me, Y/N. Bold of you to assume I was looking at you."

"I don't need to," you tell him plainly. You blink up at him. "Your eyes are always seen to have a nasty habit of finding their way to me."

Jean makes a harsh sound. "Cocky," he reprimands accusingly.

"No, not cocky. Honest." You reply with a faint shrug, "Maybe you do have some twisted fascination with me after all."

"Shut up," He begins to doodle on the paper, harshly sketching something you can't quite make out in the corner of his paper to go along with the others he's done throughout this tutoring session. "I swear sometimes I actually wanna strangle you."

"Oh really?" you laugh weakly. "Choking? You're into that?"

An up to no good smirk crosses Jean's lips as he pauses the artistic movement of his pen. "I'd say I would show you, but as you said, I'm a pathetic guy who is all bark and no bite."

Your teeth sink into the side of your cheek. "With how arrogant you are, I would have guessed that you would have wanted to prove me wrong."

He taps his pen against his notebook. "Can't really do that when you were right about what you said, now can I?"

Interesting. "And what exactly was I right about?" You adjust yourself into a more comfortable position in your seat.

Jean looks up at you through the front hairs that shape his mullet. "I don't like threesome."

"No?" You breathe. "That surprises me. I figured all guys would."

"Most of them do." Jean blinks twice. "The difference is, I'm someone who doesn't like to share."

Your stomach knots and your mouth falls open, but you catch it halfway, clamming it shut before he notices.

So what? He's ten inches relying on hearsay, into choking, claims to be possessive, and...

And?

...and emotionally unavailable.

You can't forget about being emotionally unavailable, Y/N.

You heave out a sigh, frustrated with your own thoughts that are eating away at you. "Seriously, Jean. I'm trying to help you," your chest feels tight though your words stay level and controlled. "Stop looking at me, stop drawing, and just pay attention to what I'm trying to teach you."

Lifting an eager hand, you try to grab the pen from him, but when he jerks it away, its tip drags across the skin on the palm of your hand, the feeling of its inked tip traveling through your arm. You pull your hand back into you and bring it to your face, making out the mark of the jet black liquid left behind.

The sound of a sharp click comes from your tongue as you release it from the roof of your mouth. Turning your palm upright, you hold it up to him, showing him the accidental mess he made. "Look what you did, Jean."

His eyes blink to your palm and then to meet your face. "Let me see it," he commands. You look at him with a confused look on your face. He signals to your arm with his scruffed chin. "Your hand, Y/N. Let me see it."

You give a half-smile. "Aw. If you wanna hold my hand, all you had to do was say so."

"Jesus fuck. Always talking, never listening," Jean roll of his eyes. "I swear, what the hell am I gonna do with you?" His hand suddenly wraps around your wrist.

Jean's blindsiding grasp causes all the words that were building on the tip of your tongue to ball into the back of your throat. You swallow them down as his touch aches your bones.

"What's your favorite flower?" Jean questions, pulling your arm in towards him.

"Uh." You're caught off guard. Your body slightly pulls forward with the weight of his strength. "Sunflowers," comes your muted response. The kind that your mother surprised you with on your last birthday that you got to spend with her before she left you, unwillingly. "Why?"

"Quiet, Y/N," Jean's voice meets your ears with a sense of softness, "for just one minute." He flips your hand, palm facing upward. The tip of his ballpoint pen meets the center of it, and he begins to draw.

Jean starts at the end of the right side of the accidental half-circle he drew and connects it to the other side, creating a full circle. You watch as he works the pen, temporarily dying a piece of your existing skin with his art.

Using his grip, his fingers press a little bit deeper as he shifts your hand a little so he can work at a specific angle. His pen begins to work up as he starts in the peddles; it's just line work, but the shapes he's creating are level and smooth.

He is almost done with the set of petals he is working into you when suddenly his pen drops onto the table on top of the Anatomy book.

"Shit," he hisses through gritted teeth.

His hold jerks away, releasing itself from your skin and bones, and both his hand pull into his chest. He grabs onto his right hand with his left and pulses weight into it, trying to rub out whatever pain his muscles tendons are feeling.

The lingering aftermath of the accident that Bertholdt told you about is happening right before your eyes, and there isn't a thing you can do but watch his handshake as he goes into a head-to-head battle with the pain he doesn't even speak about.

Your eyes tear from his tremoring hand and flicker to his face. You see him wince, the tightness of his muscles defining the lines embedded in his skin. The sight of it makes your heart drop deep into your stomach, your eyes oozing with sympathy. "Are you alright?" Your words are weak. All of you... powerless right now.

"Fine. I'll be fine." Jean works his thumb deep into his palm. "Just hang on a second."

All he wants to fucking do is draw.

You know to tread lightly with him, so you ask your question with hesitance. "Is there anything I can do?"

Jean blinks up to your face and locks eyes with yours for a short passing second before turning his focus back to his hands. "No. Just gotta wait for it to pass." Embarrassment washes the color right out of his face.

You can tell, it's obvious, that he doesn't want you to know this part of him.

But there isn't anywhere he can run.

"I can go get—"

"No, Y/N... Just." Jean cuts you off. abruptly. "Just stay where you are. This isn't anything I'm not used to." Biting your tongue hard enough to feel a pinch of pain travel through it, you nod.

| ♬ now playing ... PPP ; beach house |

I'm sorry, you think to yourself. I'm so sorry. But you force your apologies to stay locked inside of your mind. You aren't sure what he needs, but you know that pity isn't one of them.

Your apologies won't make his pain go away.

Nothing can make his pain go away. Can it?

Jean's eyes close as he continues to try to get his shaking hand to function normally again. You watch as he works his good hand into his damaged one. You know he's working at it to give it relief, but you can also feel a sense of frustration coming off of him. Almost like he's angry at himself.

Pissed. Livid. Internally bleeding with self-hate .

After a few more seconds, the pain slightly elevates, and the pained look on his face softens out. Jean shakes out his injured hand as he shakes his head with lingering frustration. "Alright. We're good. Let me see your hand again."

You glance down as the half-finished sunflower lays in perfect placement in the center of your hand. "It's okay. I think it looks good like this." You put a smile on your face, not wanting to cause any more strain to his damaged hand.

"Give it." He grabs your hand and pulls it to him. "I gotta finish what I started." You don't try to debate or argue his command. Instead, you let his pen's sharp, thin tip kindly greet your skin once again.

His hand is still shaking, but he works through it. About two minutes pass and his work is complete. "There." He tears away, giving you control over your limb once again. "Now, the mark I left on you is one you can't complain about."

You lift your hand and hold it upward to the center of your face. You take in the straight, unfaltering line-art of a sunflower sketched on your skin. With how quickly it was done, you're impressed with how perfect it is.

"I like it," you admit to him, and you hold out your hand. "Let me see yours now."

"Why?" He moves his hand away. "You can draw too, or what?"

A small sigh escapes your lips. "No. I wish." You extend your arm out further.

Then why do you need to see my hand?" He asks. "You gonna read my palm or something? Tell me my future like you did with that damn Polaroid you made me take?"

You bite at your lip. "How'd you know?"

You don't know the first thing about the lines of hands and their meaning, but you take this idea and run with it, another one of your efforts to help him escape from his internal pain.

Jean's eyes narrow thin, still holding his hand away from you to be able to access it. "You're playing me, Y/N."

"Me? Playing you? I wouldn't dream of ever doing such a thing," you shake your head. "It's the real deal, Jean."

He gives. "Fine." He groans out, too defeated to deny you anymore. He offers his fisted hand to you, placing it into your palm that's been marked up by him. "Tell me about it then." He releases his fingers, exposing the center of it to you.

You can feel his hand shake in your hold. With the veins breaking through the skin of his scarred hand, you can tell that he's fighting to keep it still as best as he can.

As you look down at the evidence of his crash he has written all over him for the world to see, you find yourself wishing that his pain would transfer over. That it would come and find you, sinking itself into you, into your cells, your bones, your tendons.

You wish you could take his pain away because no one deserves to be constantly reminded of the day their life went up in flames.

You glance up at Jean to see his temples pulsing in his forehead, his lips twitching like he's begging you not to say anything about what he considers to be his shame.

So, you respect it. You think quickly on your feet, desperate to try and help get his mind off of what he's dealing with, even if it's a load of shit.

"This right here is your heart line," Using your pointer finger, you push your fingernail lightly into his palm and trace it upward in the direction of his fingers. "It signifies things like your love life." This much, you know. You don't know the meaning behind the curve or the length, so you make your own up as you go.

"Yeah? What's it say?" Jean asks, concentrating on the interchange you are making with his hand.

"Let's see." You trace it once more, this time with a little more pressure, and then you look up at him. "It says you're gonna fall in love with me."

As you say those words, you feel the tremor in his hand alleviate completely. His hand has fallen still within your grasp. It is finally calm.

Jean's eyes roll, along with his head. "You have no idea what the hell you're talking about, do you?"

"What do you mean I don't know what I'm talking about?" You cock a brow, "It's literally embedded in your skin."

"You're so full of shit." Jean scoffs, adjusting his legs underneath the dining table.

"And you're so full of denial." Taking your pointer finger, you drag it softly across the palm of his hand that's calloused rough over the years. You mark the outline of an 'X' in the center of it.

His eyebrows come together as one. "What the hell was that for?"

"I locked your future in, so now it's absolutely guaranteed to happen, almost like a promise." You lift your finger away from his palm. "The day you realize your true feelings, I better see you on your hands and knees in front of me telling me that I was right all along."

Jean's face shifts; he looks at you as if you said that most ridiculous thing on this planet. "I've never gotten on my hands and knees for anyone," he says. "And I sure as hell don't plan to either."

"Just because something has never happened before doesn't mean it never will." You smile at him, feeding into this moment a little more than you probably should. "You'd be surprised, Jean, how much I can change your life."

Hanging his head at your ridiculousness, he shakes it. "Should have known better than to believe you. I would have rather had you draw something shitty on me than tell me all about your ridiculous two cents again."

"Complaining, are we?" You pull his palm toward you more and grab your pen off the table with your free hand. "Fine. I'll draw on you too then."

"You better not draw a dick or some shit," Jean warns.

You adjust your hold on his hand. "Don't worry. I don't plan on taking Connie's job of drawing penises away from the legend himself." You click your pen, exposing the ink, and you meet it with the center of his hand.

You begin to draw. It doesn't take long, a few seconds at most; there isn't any detail like his. It's small and simple enough for a toddler to do. You lift your pen from his skin and let go of your hold on him.

Jean pulls his arm back into himself and looks at his palm, taking in your shoddy work. "A smiley face? Why'd you draw that?"

"Because I'm not like you," you put the pen down on the tabletop. "If I tried to draw anything else, it would look really fucking bad."

You pause for a few seconds and then say. "Plus, I drew it because you never smile, and I wish you did." Your honesty slipping past your tongue.

Jean's throat goes tight. "Why?"

"Because," your breathing becomes thin. "You deserve to."

Jean's shoulders tense up, dropping his hand into his lap beneath the table. "I don't feel like you know me well enough to have an opinion on what I deserve." His voice isn't defensive, nor is it on edge, showing any sort of irritability. He isn't being mean; or sarcastic. It simply seems like he's saying what he's thinking. Honest.

He sounds surprised that you would even think happiness is anything in the realm of what his life should consist of.

You swallow hard, your tongue pressing hard into the roof of your mouth. "Maybe I don't, but I don't think I need to know you that well to know that you deserve to be happy."

"Yeah, we'll..." Jean pauses briefly. Taking a breath, it leaves him with a quiver. "I think you're the only one that thinks that."

"No," you say.

"Then what?"

Your bite the skin of your cheek, a pulse fluttering in your throat. "I think you're blind to all the rest who think that too."

You don't know why you're saying these things to him. You know he doesn't care about what you have to say or what you think. But even still, you feel like he needs to hear them anyway.

Jean opens his mouth, but words don't leave him. After a couple of pathetic attempts, he clears his throat, giving up. Pushing the chair out, he stands, his face stoic. "I gotta piss."

It seems like you overstepped. "Okay." And he leaves you at the dining room table.

As Jean disappears down the hall, your phone lights up with a notification. You faintly smile at Connie's name.

Con Man🍆 - I just got done eating
at Dok's about to out to go into the
bar now. Wish me luck! I feel like a
brand new man, all thanks to you

Y/N - Trust me, you look so good, Connie! 
Low key got me wishing I was at 
the bar getting picked up by you rn

ConMan 🍆 - Damn it, Y/N. You
got me acting like a fool kicking
my feet in the back of Reiner's truck rn
My #1 hype woman istg

Y/N - always! You got my 
back I got yours 🤍

Con Man 🍆 - Facts
I gotta surprise for you btw

Y/N - for me? Stop I'm the 
one kicking my feet now lmao
Am I about to get something NSFW 
From you? because I'm gonna need 
a minute to mentally prepare for greatness

Con Man 🍆 - Damn I've been waiting for
you to ask me if I send 😏 Nah, fr though
it's not that, I gotta give it to you when I
see you next

Y/N - Can't wait! you're seriously the best 🤍 have fun tonight! And take a shot for me

Con Man 🍆 - with you having to deal
with Jean's stupid ass all night?
I'll make it three 😤

Y/N - that's my boy

Con Man 🍆 - I fr love you Y/N

Y/N - and I fr love you Con Man

You are silently laughing at the texts exchanged between you and Connie when another text pops up on the screen.

Your eyes scan it, and in an instant, it feels like your entire existence has plummeted down to the pits of hell.

It's your father. Once again.

You have gone from pure happiness to being on the verge of splurging vomit in a split second.

God, he sucks the fucking life right out of you.

You should have just blocked the damn number.

God fucking damn it. Why didn't you just do it?

Stupid girl. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Hands now shaking, in anger at yourself at your father, you open it.

When I said Urgent, I meant it. It's about Lucas Y/N. I need to talk to you. Meet me in Stohess tomorrow at 4 p.m, at home. This is something you're going to want to know.

Lucas? Lucas. What. The. Fuck.

And just like that, it's as though you're drowning. A single name on the screen is powerful enough to rip you clean of your self-control.

Hearing from your father is one thing. Having him say something about your brother is another.

You lose your grip, and your phone slips through your shaking hands, meeting the wooded table with heavy impact.

A distressing pain is eating away at your chest, and it is growing outward rapidly. It feels like every single cell in your body is burning. Like you are about to explode.

And that's when you realize what you're lacking is oxygen.

You aren't breathing. You haven't been breathing since you saw the number on your phone screen, and your lungs are screaming out to you frantically.

Pull yourself out of it, Y/N. The way you always do.

It's okay. You're okay.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Your insides cry out in despair once more, begging for their rightful owner to give them any sort of alleviation.

Abiding, you suck in a generous amount of air all at once, filling your lungs full until you can't anymore. Relief washes over you, and the burning begins to subside.

You read the text message over again. And again. And again. Eyes going dry and raw from the loss of ability to even fucking blink.

Lucas.

What about Lucas? What the hell does he want with your brother?

Did your father find out? Does he know? About the truth behind your brother's death? The honest truth that only you know.

Fuck.

Please. Not that. Anything but that.

Let him rest in peace.

Uncryable tears lodges themselves in the back of your throat as your heart rate skyrockets.

You know what this means. What you have to do, and fuck, you would instead peel your skin back layer by layer.

The passing thought of going home to Stohess is enough to make you cave in upon yourself.

God, you don't want to, but you have to. Since this has to do with Lucas, if you don't go, that guilt of not going will eat you raw straight down to your hollow bones. You know it will.

And you've suffered from that enough already.

Your forehead falls into your hands, elbows pressing deep into the hard surface below. You continue to fill your lungs with air as you try to slow your heartbeat that is about to tear through your chest.

Lost in your runaway thoughts, you don't hear Jean leave the bathroom and approach you.

You don't notice him until he places his hand on your shoulders. Acting as gravity, his light hold pulls you back down to reality. "Y/N. Hey. Are you listening?"

He called out to you a couple of times before, but you couldn't hear a thing over the pounding sound of your own thoughts.

You lift your face from your hands and straighten your back out. "Sorry, I didn't hear you," you murmur.

Jean's forehead creases, concern spreading across his face. "What's wrong with you?"

"I'm fine, I just I," you close your mouth up and pause, trying to get a grip on your words and how you want them to be delivered. They need to be convincing. Believable. Anything but real.

Swallowing hard, your lips part again, still dry and weak from pent-up anxiety that has nowhere to go.

Using all your willpower you can grasp onto, you force out the fakest of smiles onto your face, stretching it tight. One that matches close to the one that Eren believed yesterday. "I'm fine, Jean. I'm just tired from work today and then all this studying. I think it just all hit me at once. I don't know. Seriously. Don't worry about it."

Jean lowers himself down into a squatting position next to you, making his tall body level with yours as you remain seated in the chair. His left forearm is set on the table, the right resting on his thigh, thick with muscles. "I thought you said you hated liars, Y/N."

Keeping a smile on your face, you nod. "I do," you reply, focusing on your words, ensuring your voice doesn't falter.

Jean runs a hand over the top of his mullet. "Then why are you lying to me?"

All of you freeze at once. Your bullshit smile fizzles out.

He knows? He can tell? He can see through you? There's only one person in this world who has been able to do this, and that's Sasha. Not your own family, sure as hell, not your ex. Eren couldn't even do it when you lied straight through your teeth last night.

But Jean?

He can.

You feel as though your vocal cords are wrapping around themselves, tying into a tight knot in the very back of your throat, making it nearly impossible to speak a single word.

Your mouth opens and closes several times, but nothing comes; there's only the air that passes through your cracked lips as you breathe raggedly.

As you struggle to reply, his concern for you only burgeons. With your lips growing dry as you try your best not to choke, you watch his face grow with tension, the muscles underneath his smooth skin straining tight. "What the hell happened to you while I was gone?" Jean demands. "Who made you upset, Y/N? Tell me."

"I-" you stammer over your own words. Your mind fails to sort through the chaos transpiring inside. "I just," you stutter once more, words defying you, again and again, making you feel even more pathetic. "I don't wanna talk about it right now."

You look away from him shamefully, but his eyes remain locked on you. Your hands find their way to each other out of uncontrollable habit with their annoying need for your thumbs to rub together.

You look back to Jean to see him watching the movement with your hands with intent. Closely and carefully as he is figuring out pieces of the person, you are without having to ask. What makes you tick. The habits your body naturally falls into when your mood shifts.

There are a few beats of silence until Jean speaks up, shattering it completely.

"You're in your head," he says, his eyes moving from your hands, mapping up slowly to your line of gaze. "Aren't you?" His voice is set into a tone so soft you never thought it would be capable of something like that.

Your heart drops.

Jean knew you were lying the first time, so what would benefit from trying to lie to him again?

Your head nods slowly as your teeth sink deep into your bottom lip. "Yeah." your words and heart painfully weak. "I am."

You feel vulnerable admitting this to someone. You can't remember the last time you did.

Being this honest exposes you to the point you wish you could become one with the earth and disappear completely. Vanish forever and be no longer.

But Jean doesn't even blink at your weakened mental state. "Come on. We did enough studying for the night," He stands, his warm hand wraps around your wrist as he helps pull your hands apart. "It's time for me to teach you how to roll."

Is this his effort to pull you out?

Your eyes snap down to your wrist, that familiar quick zap of electricity rushing up to your arm going straight to your head. Your body is swimming in the fierce heat; you force yourself to ignore it. "It's fine. We can just call off that deal. You don't have to do that."

"I'll never do anything I don't want to do," Jean yanks at your arm softly, trying to pull you onto your feet. "Now, let's go. I'm going to grab the shit I need, and we're going out on the balcony."

You breathe out a sigh making no further argument; you stand, his touch falls from you, and you follow behind him as he leads you to his room.

Jean's room is nice and big, more spacious than yours, but that's expected. You begin to walk around, focusing on the little things to distract yourself from your thoughts.

The tone of it is dark, grey, and black, with hints of dark red: black furniture and a grey wooded floor.

On different areas of the standard white walls rests an Arctic Monkey poster, A Cowboy Bebop poster, A Mob Psycho 100 poster, a Tyler, the Creator IGOR poster, and a Frank Ocean Blonde poster.

And, of course, a Cigarettes After Sex tapestry hangs on the ceiling directly above his bed.

There is a black bookcase, set to the left of his bed, full of both books and different volumes of various manga, like Vinland Saga, Hunter x Hunter, and Soul Eater.

You take notice that he has the entire collection on Banana Fish. Impressive.

Jean's bed is nicely made, dressed in all black. Volume 11 of Jujutsu Kaisen rests at the corner of it, signifying that it was tossed there in a hurry.

On the part of his room directly across from his bed, to the right of the bedroom door, is a double mirror closet with slidable doors. On the glass on the left side, multiple sticky notes are stuck to the surface, varying in colors. It reminds you of the ones you saw in Eren's room last night.

"What's the thing with you guys and sticky notes?" Your eyes stay glued on them, each is secured in place with a piece of tape lining the edge, so they won't fall out of place when the sticky residue begins to wear over time. You can tell these were written a while ago.

"Dunno," Jean says from behind you; the sound of rummaging fills your ears. "Just sort of a shitty tradition one of us started, and I guess it sorta stuck."

You take a step forward and begin to read each of them, starting with the one nearest to you and making your way down the line.

On a red sticky note:

Good luck at your game. Kick ass 

the way I know you & M will. 

- Mika

On a light blue sticky note:

You got this in the bag!

Hard work always pays off! 

On a light pink sticky note:

Don't fuck shit up tonight. 

I have money riding on this game 

Written below on the same sticky note is another message, with a change in fancier writing.

What she meant to say is good luck

♡ We love you ♡

On a dark blue sticky note:

Reiner said he wanted me to write that he's the Armor Titan and I'm the Colossal?

Idk what that means? He concerns me sometimes.

Anyways...  good luck, from both of us 

On an orange sticky note:

10 inches just happen to be my favorite ruler measurement. Crazy shit huh???

I'm just fucking around... unless... 

- Connie (world's sexiest man alive) 

On a green sticky note:

In case you were wondering, you still suck ass. Arrogant ass mf lmfao

(Good luck tonight, I guess. Don't choke) 

On a dark pink sticky note:

Love you, my baseball star! You & Marco better kick some ass. I wanna brag about having the coolest friends ever

Btw! Win or lose Dok's is on Eren tonight

The handwriting changes at the very corner of the same sticky note, pointing up at Sasha's message.

^ No fucking shot 

I'll start a whole ass war over this

Your eyes fall onto the last yellow sticky note beneath the pink one with Sasha's writing.

On a white sticky note:

See you tonight for the game against Marley. You know I'll always have your back on & off the field.

Let's go for 5 and 0. Pitch a good one, brother. 

- Marco B.

Saliva builds on the base of your tongue. Pushing your lips together, you swallow it down and keep your mouth shut through your heart is nicked with pain.

You turn your back to the sticky notes and investigate the rest of his room while Jean is at his desk, pulling items out of one of the top drawers.

To the left of the room lies a black dresser. On the wall it's pushed up against are different sketches, made with both pen and pencil, some paper is worn, some brand new, of people, places, and things. It looks like art Jean made while he was either practicing or bored.

On top of the dresser is a black Crowley record player; the album, Nectar by Joji rests on it, showing what he last listened to. On the floor is a small wired basket full of other vinyl records.

Next to the record player on the hard flat surface are three black-framed photos, a small distance set between each of them.

One is the same basement photo of Jean and Eren that Eren had in his bedroom.

On the other side is a picture of Connie, Sasha, and Jean in the back of someone's car. Sasha is on the right of Jean, holding up a huge bag of original Lay's potato chips and a tin can of cheddar cheese Pringle's in her hands, showing them off to the camera. She has two Pringle stuck in her mouth, making her look like she has a duck beak. Jean is next to her; he has his head rested on her shoulder, looking at the camera with a relaxed face. Connie is laid out in the middle of their two laps, holding up two peace signs, smile so big his eyes squint. Jean's right arm is rested on top of Connie's body.

You smile to yourself as your eyes move to the frame in the very middle. This frame is bigger than the other two. Behind the clear, clean glass is a picture of him and Marco on the baseball team, taken on the field at home plate.

The front of their white jerseys read Titans, in thick blue cursive writing, their numbers #7 and #21 claiming their jersey's as their own.

Marco is squatting down in the typical catcher position. Arms resting on his thighs, catchers mitt held in his right hand. His cage mask is pulled up off his face, resting on top of his head, a smile beaming across his freckled face. Even though the picture, you can see the light that lies behind his brown eyes.

Jean is standing to the left of him, wearing a blue baseball cap, an orange letter T in the center of it, his brown hair sticking out frayed and messy. He has a worn black baseball bat on his right shoulder, the skin of his arms unharmed from any scars, mouth mid-blowing a bubble with his gum.

You blink and force your eyes away and turn to face him, not wanting Jean to notice the focus of your gaze, but unfortunately, he caught it.

"You know," Jean's eyes sink into the back of his head. "Don't you?" His face is now painfully colorless.

Your lungs tie together. "Yeah," the level in which you speak is a whisper so soft it barely carries over. "I'm..."

Jean's head shakes, and he interrupts before anything else can roll off of your tongue. "Let's just go outside, alright? I think we both could use some fresh air."

"Yeah," you say with a nod. "Okay."

Leaving the stuff he has gathered on top of his desk, he walks over to the closet door and slides the right side open. He shifts through his clothes and pulls out an item. "Put this on," he removes its hanger and tosses it across his room to you. "It seems like you forget how cold it can get here at night."

You catch it with both hands. "Thanks." He responds with a nod as he puts the hanger back on the rod. He closes the closet and walks back over to his desk.

You investigate the sweatshirt, shifting it through your hands to get a better look at it. The black fabric is soft as it sinks into your fingertips, the orange letterings stitched with white thread.

On the front:

Trost State University

Baseball 

On the right sleeve running down it are the words:

Titans

And on the back of it is in bold orange letters is:

Kirstein 

As he gathers all the things he needs to roll, you slide your arms and head into the sweatshirt he gave you and allow it to become one with your body. The smell of him sinks into you; the scent is strong, like pieces of him are permanently embedded into every thread of black material.

Jean walks across the room and opens the clean glass that leads to his balcony. He halts his step before stepping outside. "My hands are full. Do you mind grabbing my grinder? It's sitting on my nightstand."

You pull the hood to his sweatshirt over your head. "Sure." He mutters a thanks and steps out.

Making your way over to his nightstand, you see the grinder sitting near his lamp. It's all black, but a colorful psychedelic pattern with a picture of Rick from Rick and Morty is printed on the top. The whites of his eyes are colored red, and he has a bong held up to his mouth.

When you go to grab it, you miscalculate the distance, and you knock it onto the rug he has set on top of his dark wooden oak floor. "Shit," you mumble to yourself.

You squat down to pick it up, but being at a low level, you notice something to your left of you, under his bed. It's a large black box.

Curiosity getting the best of you, you inch forward slightly with your hand when you notice that there is a label and a photo strip, the kind that you get from the photo booth area in the center it.

The long thin photo consists of 3 different poses. The entire friend group, along with Marco, are striking various poses in each one, some holding silly props, some not. On the top of the strip reads in fancy lettering:

Marco Bodt's 

18th birthday!

Your eyes shift to the left; what's revealed to you, is a message written in Jean's handwriting that you have come quickly to know.

I wish to trap you in my memories 

M.B | June 16 - September 2

September 2. The way it reads must be the day Marco died.

Counting the days silently in your head, you realize that it had reached the year anniversary of his death, a week from the day you met Jean at Eren's party.

You recall the Banana fish T-shirt. The harsh comments. The girl in the bedroom, minutes after you. The overall shit experience of your first encounter with the infamous Jean Kirstein.

You can't help but wonder if that's why he was so determined to drink himself dry that night until you pulled him from his hideaway on the kitchen counter. The reason why he mouthed off and said disrespectful things about you when the two of you barely exchanged any words at all.

That night, it seemed like he was seeping with an overwhelming amount of anger, and being nothing but a random unwanted stranger to him, he made his outlet you.

An itch to take a look inside the box begins to crawl beneath your skin. You run your thumb across the tips of your fingers as you remind yourself that what is inside isn't any of your business unless he wants it to be.

And there's a great chance that he never will. Jean doesn't talk about Marco to anyone. Mikasa and Sasha told you that themselves.

"Find it?" Jean's voice travels over to you from outside in one big wave pulling you back into the real world, making your body tense in startlement.

"Uh, yeah." Quickly, you pick up the grinder and push the box back under the security of his bed. "I got it right here." You push yourself to your feet and meet him out on the balcony.

You are greeted with the coolness of the dark sky that has welcomed the moon. "Nice grinder. If you have Rick, does that mean someone has Morty?" You hold out your arm to hand it to him.

On his balcony, there is a set of two black wicker chairs that have a cream-colored cushion along with a small black table in the middle where he has all his items set. The view is nice. You can see the different lights coming from the streets and people's homes. The sound of white noise meets your ears.

He takes it. "Eren does," Jean takes the lid off the grinder. "It came in this set that Sasha got us. Connie has the one that has Pickle Rick on it."

This makes you smile a bit. "I thought he can't roll?"

Jean laughs through his nose, but his lips remain stagnant. "How do you know that?"

You sit in the chair that is set to the right of him. "It was the first thing I learned about him when I met him."

"What a fucking introduction," Jean shakes his head, spinning the grinder around between his fingers. "You're right he can't, but I gave it to him anyway to help him feel better about himself."

"Oh, how sweet," you smile. "I knew you loved him."

"Fuckers, one of a kind. I'll tell you that." Jean shifts the tray on the table, and rolls up his long sleeves to meet his elbows. "Alright, I'm gonna show you and talk you through what to do first. Then you can attempt in on your own, alright?"

"Alright," you say as your focus shifts from his face down to his hands.

"Everyone rolls different, but this is how Eren and I do it. First, you're going to wanna grind this shit." He places pieces of the weed into the grinder and puts the lid back on. "You're going to want it to be bigger chunks. Make sure that it's not in the consistency of a powder because then it will just fuck everything up."

Jean twists the grinder a few times, letting the inside do its job. "You want it to be a little thick but not too thick. I usually grind it about three to four times to get what I want." He explains while taking the lid off.

He dumps the freshly ground piece onto his RAW tray, next to an opened pack of Strawberry Swisher Sweets, the brown papers from it already emptied and ready to go.

Jean sets the grinder down on the table. "This is about how you're gonna want it to look," he says, and he sorts through the weed with his elongated fingers. "Got it?"

"Got it," you say, completely fascinated with the way his fingers are dancing in the small mountain of chunky dark green.

Jean grabs one of the papers and begins to stuff it full. "Then you're gonna wanna take this and put it inside."

"How much?" you ask, still only looking at how his scarred hands move.

"The more you can pack, the fatter it will be." He tells you as he works. "Now you're gonna wanna tuck the edges and start rolling. Make sure it's not too loose but also not too tight because that shit messes with the airflow."

| ♬ now playing ... me and your mama ; childish gambino |

Jean further explains in greater detail the process as his hands move in a skilled way showing a perfect example of what should be done. You listen intently.

His veins, both big and small, pop through his skin with the more movement he makes. He's swift with every gesture to the point where it seems like he could do this with his hands behind his back, eyes utterly blind to the process. This is nothing but child's play to him.

He continues on. "Once it's tucked, you need to lick its edge so it will stick together." Jean brings the blunt up to his mouth. Your eyes watch as his lips part, and his pink tongue slips through.

His tongue glides across the paper, wet and taunting in the once smooth slow movement.

You're not even willing to blink.

When he reaches the end, he licks his lips wet, and his tongue sinks back into his warm mouth.

Jean's fingers begin to move the paper again, gluing it shut to the other side with the help of his saliva. Once it's in its place and rolled just the way he likes it, he holds it up to you, showing you what his effortless skills just created. "Think you got it?"

You bite at your cheek anxiously. This is way more complex than you thought it would be. "Maybe." You force a nervous smile. "Guess we'll see." You have no idea what the fuck you're doing.

"Connie said you were a fast learner, didn't he?" Jean remarks cooly; he lifts the tray from the table and sets it on your lap, which is covered with his sweatshirt's fabric. "Prove that idiot is actually right about something for once in his life."

Adjusting yourself into a comfortable position, you fix the tray and begin to attempt to do everything he just told you.

Jean talks you through it step by step as your hands attempt to mimic everything he did as accurately as possible. It's difficult, but his words of explanation are definitely the extra push of help you need.

You do the final step by bringing the packed Swisher Sweet to your mouth. You can feel his eyes on you as you lick the paper, and you find yourself basking in the sensation of his attention.

"Atta girl," Jean says, and your stomach coils.

Swallowing down his words, you sink your tongue back into your mouth. You pull the blunt away from you and begin to roll the rest.

Once finished, you hold the freshly rolled blunt up to him vertically, the length set between your eyes as you look at him with a smile. Small laughter escapes from within you. "Like this?" You feel proud of yourself for your accomplishment, though you know it's fairly shitty.

Jean chews at the inside of his cheek so hard that he could almost bite clean through. It looks as if he's internally at war with himself.

Jean releases the skin between his teeth. His slacked jaw loosens, and suddenly, on his face is something you've never seen before, making your breathing go still.

It's a smile—Jean's smiling.

It's oh so faint, but it's there. Enough for you to notice. Enough for you to appreciate. Enough to make you feel a sensation of comforting warmth. Enough for you to wish it could stay like that forever. But knowing Jean, you know it will be only momentary.

"Yeah," Jean says in sweet approval. "Just like that."

And then, just as you expected, you blink, and that rarety of his smile is nowhere to be found. It evaporated like water on a hot day, no trace of it lingering behind. Like it never even existed.

Your insides settle as his face sets back into the standard habitat placement of pure unreadable stone. Although the moment was brief, it warmed your heart in a way you can't quite explain.

"Here," Jean pulls the blue lighter he has in his pocket and holds it out to you. "Light it."

With the lighter in your possession, you hold it up, place it between your lips, and light the flame against the tip of your creation.

You take a small hit. Sucking the smoke between your teeth, you let it coat your lungs. You hold the lighter out to Jean. "Your turn."

Jean shakes his head. Grabbing it, he sets it on the table on top of the RAW tray. "I don't need it."

"Is the blunt gonna automatically light itself or something?" You ask before taking another hit.

"Such a damn smart ass." Jean pushes himself to his feet and steps in front of your seated body.
Without warning, he sets both hands on either side of the armrests of the wicker chair, surrounding you completely. You freeze.

"Jean?" You mumble.

"Hold on," he says lowly. "I wanna see something."

Jean takes his free hand; and grabs the blunt you have resting between your two fingers. "Open," he coaxed. Doing as you're told, your lips part, and he sets it between. You close your lips around it; familiarity with this action slithers around inside you. "Hold it there." Again, you listen and follow the request of his actions but not without worry.

Your eyebrows knit together as you wonder what he's doing, but like he can read your thoughts, he answers the question bubbling inside your mind.

"Trust me... alright, Y/N?" Lifting his hand, Jean lifts his own blunt up to his lips. "I'm just experimenting."

Jean pauses momentarily. His eyes flicker down to your lips wrapped nicely around the blunt. "Make sure you breathe in with me," he whispers.

Jean sets the perfectly rolled blunt between his lips. Moving his hand out of the way, he lines his face with yours and slowly leans in, meeting the tip of his blunt with your burning one, holding onto its base with his middle and pointer finger.

You are drowning in the smell of him.

You watch as the end of the two blunts brush together like they're kissing. He shifts his head around slowly, making sure the flame coats every inch of his end.

You convince yourself that the warmth you feel is the combination of Jean's thick sweatshirt and the burning flames held in front of your face.

But Jesus, could you melt away.

Simultaneously, as if in sync, you both look up and lock eyes. You breathe in together as one, long and slow, both coating your lungs, coming from the smoke of your blunts burning together. He blinks as he finishes his hit, then pulls himself away.

What the fuck.

What the fuck just happened.

You look at his towering presence, your face revealing how unexpected this interaction has made you feel. "Why?" You breathe the smoke out; it surrounds his broad body before dissipating into the chill night air.

"Why did I do it?" Jean asks, his mouth full of thick smoke. You nod wordlessly.

"Just wanted to see how well it would work," Jean admits, unruffled as he walks away from you and sits back in his chair.

You wait patiently for the feeling inside of you to subside, but it never really does. It stays there, unwanted and annoyingly powerful.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence as you smoke your worries away. The moon's light beams down onto the earth only to be muted out with the hues of stoplights and house lights on the outstretch.

After a couple of minutes, Jean ignites conversation. "How was your shift today?" he asks. His voice is slow as he lets the high slowly take over him.

"It was pretty good," you say.

"Fuck anything up?" He says tauntingly, adjusting himself in the seat.

Setting the blunt between your teeth, you lift your head to the sky and take a long inhale. His eyes are on you; you can feel them burning the side of your face, turning you into moldable wax. "Of course not. I'm perfect, Jean. You should know this by now."

Jean's tongue clicks loudly. "Oh, that's right. How could I forget that you're such a good girl?" He places his perfectly rolled blunt back into his mouth for another hit.

Your ribcage caves in, squeezing your insides with so much pressure they physically hurt. Why does he feel the need to say this to you? And why is it enough to make your heart feel like it weighs the world?

You need the tightness his words have caused to go away. You don't want to feel it. You need it to stop.

You place the blunt into your mouth.

One hit. Two hits. Three.

You let the thick smoke warm you and then blow it out, watching it fade into nothing.

Now it's time to rely on your tongue to deny how Jean sometimes unwantedly makes you feel. You crane your neck to look at him, his eyes already on you. "With how much you probably think about me when I'm not around, I'm surprised you would forget anything about me at all."

"Is that mouth of yours ever serious?" He taps the top of his burning blunt with his finger, flicking off the building ash.

Your eyes transfer and watch as the ash floats to the ground weightlessly. "I mean, it can be if that's what you want."

He takes another hit. "Prove it to me."

You don't know why, but you feel yourself wanting to tell Jean about the text you received earlier. Maybe it's because he pulled you out of your head, or perhaps it's because you're starting to feel really fucking high.

It's sure as hell , not a question you can answer.

You attempt to eat your words, but they leave your mouth anyway. "Fine. Want my verity?"

"Shoot," Jean says, putting the small remainder of his blunt out in the ashtray set on the table.

You put yours out, too, following his lead, starting to feel high enough. You drag your tongue across your teeth and take a moment to yourself. You can already taste the hate of your own words, and they haven't even been spoken yet.

You breathe in deep, drinking in the cool night air, and it leaves in a rush through your nose. "I think I'm gonna need to go home." The words of confession finally push past your lips hurriedly.

"Home?" Jean jolts. "You need to go back to your place like right now?"

You've already started down this route; you might as well keep going. "No. I don't mean to my apartment. I mean home, like back to Stohess."

Jean's forehead scrunches beneath his hair, his face tense with curiosity intertwined with a faint amount of concern. "Don't you hate it there? What do you need to go home for?"

Your lips part. You take a few steady breaths before you respond to his question. "I heard from my father. There's something I think I need to go take care of."

"It sounds like the last thing you want to do," Jean says.

"Because it is. My father he..." you stumble, "he isn't a good person." Your voice leaves your throat with unevenness. Even though you're being vague, it's still a topic that feels raw and vulnerable.

Jean adjusts his body, twisting to face you more. "Then why go? If he's a shit person, you don't owe him anything."

"I know I don't, but it's more because of what he said in his message to me," you tell Jean, leaving out the details of your brother. "If I don't go, I don't know if I'll be able to live with myself."

Jean's lips come together with pressure, teeth grinding together. "Would you feel better if someone came with you? Is that part of the issue?"

"Maybe. Probably. Yeah. I don't know." your jumbled words match your cluttered mind, making it that much more apparent how overwhelmed you are feeling right now. "But it's kinda far from here. I wouldn't ever drag another person out to a shitty place like Stohess. It's nobody else's issue but my own."

Seconds of silence pass as he studies your face, then he speaks.

"I'll go," Jean says abruptly.

Your eyes shoot open. His words catch you off complete guard, so much so that you can feel your entire existence shift with shock.

Jean's eyes trail over you, reading the evident surprise written across it. "Don't look at me like I just said is so damn crazy, Y/N. I'm being serious. If it would make you feel better-having someone with you, then I'll go. It's not that big of a deal."

With your father's unpredictability and current unknown mental state, maybe it would be better for you not to go alone. You are so used to getting through shitty things alone that maybe, for once, it would be nice to have someone near.

"Okay," you cave into his offering. "I would appreciate that. Thank you."

He nods, head shifting so he can focus out on the city. "Don't mention it."

Your body is crawling with the need to change the subject, so you do it as quickly as possible. "How high are you right now?" You ask.

"Probably an 8. I'm chilling. You?" He asks, eyes still forward, taking in all the lights of human existence.

"About the same," you shift your body around in the seat. "I can take an Uber home tonight, so you don't have to worry about coming down to take me back. It will be easier. Plus, you're already doing enough by taking me back to my shit hometown tomorrow."

Jean's head snaps so quickly you swear it probably hurt. "No," he says sharply, barely even letting you finish the last word of your sentence.

Your body and mind both freeze over, not expecting this demand to fall from his lip. "No? What do you mean no?"

Where is he going with this?

Jean's eyes gaze into yours, the color of them shifting into softness below the moonlit sky. "Why don't you stay here tonight?"

Chapter Text

"Stay?" You blink slowly as your brain processes Jean's words to you. "You want me to stay?"

Jean stares at you for a second; his face befuddled like he can't believe he's actually doing this. His words then flatly greet your ear. "It's just a suggestion, Y/N. It would be easier, right? Since I'm going with you tomorrow."

A large amount of saliva gathers on your tongue and settles; you swallow it harshly. "You aren't gonna kick me out of your bed in the middle of the night?" Your head tilts slowly to the side, gaze on him remaining firm. "Heard that's sorta what you're known for."

Jean drags out one long blink, patently unfazed that you know this. "Who said you're gonna be sleeping in the same bed as me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. You're totally right." Your head aligns straight again as a small laugh passes through your lips. "Connie's bed is available for me to take when he gets home, isn't it?"

He racks his long fingers back through his mullet, smoothing out any crevices. "Why? Is that the selling point or some shit?"

"Exactly," you shoot him a smile so vast that your cheeks meet your eyes, proudly knowing you're pushing all the wrong buttons. "You should have just started with that. I would have said yes to your offer right off the bat."

Jean's eyes roll before locking with yours again, both of his palms running down the length of his thighs to rest on his bent knees. "You think you're funny?"

Your nose scrunches up. "You don't?"

His mouth twitches, and a smile breaks through, allowing a low chuckle to spill through the walls of his lips. It starts deep within his chest and works its way out, offering a chance for the tenacity that lives in his face to break in half.

You haven't really heard him laugh before now.

It's fairly quiet mixed in with the white noise of the night, but it's enough to warm you from the inside out. The air outdoors is cool, but the temperature around you seems to skyrocket as his low laughter encompasses you like a blanket of solace.

You take a moment to relish in the sound, letting it travel through your ears and settle comfortably into the structure of your bones.

You wish it would last longer, that Jean would laugh more often, that he would let happiness, in general, be present in his life for more than just a passing glance.

The more time you spend with him, the sadder you are starting to feel seeing him be down all the time, especially now knowing where his sorrow sources from.

After a few moments of silence, letting the deep sound of him sweep through the crisp air, you speak again, the smile on your face remaining bright. "Well, I guess that answers my question, now doesn't it?"

His faint laughter slowly diminishes into nothing, and his perfectly structured face sets itself back into its standard grave expression. Looking at him, you already find yourself missing his laughter.

"Jesus fuck. You're so damn annoying, Y/N, you know that?" Jean exhales sharply, his lips now set stagnant and firm. "This is exactly why I'm taking the couch."

"Is that the real reason, or do you just not trust yourself enough that you'll be able to keep your hands off me?" You tease him, twisting one of the strings to the sweatshirt around your index finger around and around. "Do I tempt you that much?"

A noise erupts from the back of Jean's throat, which signifies that he's fed up. "Look at you, feeding into your own little ego."

You let the string of his baseball sweatshirt fall back into place on your chest, your hand settling down into your lap. "Yeah, and who do you think I learned it from?" 

Jean's pink lips twitch as he turns away from you. He looks like he could laugh again, but he fights it off before it can rip through. "Fuck," he mumbles deeply under his breath as the center of his palm runs down his sharp, scruffed jawline before dropping down into his lap. "You know, I've never met someone before who ruins my highs as much as you do."

You adjust yourself in your seat. "If that's true, then why do you like smoking with me so much?"

His focus remains straight ahead, looking at something far off in the distance. "You just somehow happen to be around me whenever I wanna get high," he attempts to claim placidly.

"Lucky you." Tilting your head up to the sky, you see the clouds above begin to roll in, ridding the night of any clearness that once was. "Looks like the clouds are back."

Jean's head shifts upward to see what you do. Once his focus sets, his breath leaves his lungs in a spiral. "Never fails."

The two of you watch the thick dark clouds as they float in toward the city of Paradis for a few beats, and then he says, "We should probably head in before the rain starts. I mean... unless you like getting wet."

Your chest shakes with soft laughter, your eyes shifting from the clouds over to him. "I do, just not in a way that's caused by rain."

This gets his attention. His head snaps to you desperately quick, and he meets your gaze, lips pressed tightly together. "No? Caused by what then?"

You bat your eyes, "women."

Jean's tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. "I guess I should have seen that one coming." He gathers his RAW tray full of papers and the other items from your small smoke session. "Did you have shit weather like this in Stohess?" He asks as he stands.

"No. Stohess isn't anything like it is here." With your hands pressed into the cold metal arms of the chair, you push yourself to your feet, "from the weather to the people, it's all just sort of... different."

He steps around you. "Do you mean that in a good way or bad?"

You could almost laugh at his question. "Definitely in a good way. The difference is night and day, honestly. You'll see what I mean tomorrow. Stohess is just a shithole where everything that can go bad somehow goes worse."

"Sounds like shit," Jean says plainly as he steps through the sliding glassdoor back into his room, and you follow in after. "No wonder you don't wanna go back."

Yeah. You have no fucking idea.

Jean puts all of his belongings back into their correct place, and the two of you make your way into the central area of his apartment to clean up the table where you had spent the previous hours studying.

"So, do you feel like studying helped you at all?" You ask him as you gather the papers and notebooks strewn out across the dining room table and begin to organize them.

Jean is standing in the kitchen at the counter nearest to the fridge, refilling glasses of water for you and him. "I guess," he sounds indifferent to your question as his shoulders lift into a shrug.

"If you weren't drawing almost the entire time, you could give me a more confident answer, and I wouldn't be feeling like I wasted two hours of my life for nothing," You flip shut the notebook filled with all the doodles he made while you were trying to teach him.

"Don't worry. You didn't waste your time." Jean walks over to the fridge and puts the Brita water pitched back into the place he pulled it from. "I actually do feel like I accomplished something," he answers with no further elaboration as he closes the fridge door.

"Which is?" As you reply, you keep your focus down, stuffing all the gathered study items into your backpack.

"Surviving being around you for as long as I have," he says. "I swear you're like my own personal little annoying devil I can't get rid of. It's to the point where I feel like I need to get on my knees and start praying or some shit to try and get you off my damn back."

"By all means," you disseminate as your body shifts to face him. "I love watching men kneel before me."

"For the love of fucking God." Jean walks over to you with an extended arm, offering you the refilled glass of ice-cold water. "I wanna kill you."

A smile slowly creeps onto your lips tauntingly, "God, Jean, all this talk about murdering me and strangling me, but nothing ever gets done," you extend your arm out, his fingers brushing against yours as you take the glass. "I'm just waiting for you to rip my heart out, but it seems you might all talk."

"Don't do that, Y/N." His hand stays there for a few moments, his skin scorching yours as his eyes lock in with yours. "Don't tempt me," he warns with a low voice set in his chest.

"Why not?" You say, as your eyes soften, "It's not like you'd do it anyway. You'd miss me too much."

"I wouldn't," he claims, his hands stuffing themselves into his pockets. "What I do miss, though, is my life before I met you."

You take a small sip of your water and swallow. "Give your ass a break, Jean," you bite back, "stop talking out of it so damn much."

He makes sure you see him roll his eyes before he shifts his weight and turns toward the kitchen. "How about I just stop talking to you instead?"

You walk into the living room. "Okay, dramatic ass," you sigh as you sit on the couch, placing your water glass onto the coffee table. "That's fine with me. I've been waiting for this to happen since I met you."

Jean doesn't reply. He decides to go through with his threat and lets the silence hang, and with your pliant stubbornness, you don't fight to break it either.

He is standing in the kitchen, resting his lower spine on the counter's edge, drinking his water, while you are sitting on the couch sipping on yours.

The shared quiet doesn't last long, a couple of minutes at most. Drops of rain begin to fall against the windowpane to the right of the living room when Jean loses the quiet game and speaks to you again. "Have you eaten today?"

You chuckle to yourself. "That silent treatment lasted about two seconds." You set the glass of water down on the coffee table and shift your head to look at him. "You don't last very long, do you?"

"Nah, I do. But only when it matters," Jean pushes his weight off the counter and walks into the living room. "Now answer my question," he demands as he passes in front of you to get to the open spot on the couch.

"Earlier this morning," you tell him, your head following his movement as he walks. "Sash made me a bagel and coffee when I woke up."

Jean is next to you now, plopping himself down on the couch to your right, a little closer to you than you expected him to land. "And what about since then?"

The heat of his body is emanating from him, warmth sinking into your skin, making his presence obnoxiously known to you. You ignore the slight level of comfort you feel and shake your head. "Uh, just a protein bar on my break at work and the pocky you gave me."

Jean's head rolls before he cranes it to the left to look at you. "Come on, Y/N. You gotta eat." He pulls out his phone from his pocket, "I'm gonna order some pizza. What kind do you want?"

You lean back into the cushions and shrug, indifferent. "I'm not that picky. I'll honestly eat whatever."

Jean spins his phone around between his long fingers. "That's not what I asked. I asked what kind of pizza you want."

Your hunger has grown significantly since smoking, and pizza sounds like the one true answer to all your cravings. "Pepperoni," you reply him softly, "If that's okay with you."

He hums and unlocks his phone. "Alright, I'll order it and get it delivered."

"Let me know how much it is. I can Venmo you for half," you offer.

With Jean's focus drawn downward, his fingers work against the bright white screen as he makes the desired selections for his order. "Don't worry about it, Y/N. I got it."

Your eyebrows raise for a moment before settling back down, you open your mouth to try and fight him, but Jean interrupts before your voice can push through your throat.

"I'm not taking any of your money, so don't even try to argue with me about it." His head moves in your direction; he's now looking at you with accusing eyes.

You firmly clamp your lips shut. "How do you even know that's what I was gonna say?"

His eyebrows furrow as one. "Are you actually gonna sit there right now and try to play it off like you weren't?"

You throw up a dismissive hand in the air. "Fine. I was. I just don't like when people pay for me."

"Well, what a damn shame, huh?" He turns his attention back to his phone and finishes placing the order. "I'm serious. Pay me a cent, and I'll be pissed."

You blink. "You're always pissed. What difference does it make?"

"Only when you're around," he tells you monotonously. "Just let me do this, alright?"

"Yeah, alright." You sigh softly, not wanting to argue with his kind gesture. "Thank you."

He nods once. Locking his phone, he stuffs it into his pocket and sinks his back into the couch. "Pizza with being here in thirty."

The two of you share small talk to pass the time, not about anything important, mainly just challenging the other on who can get on the other's nerves more.

You won, of course.

Finally, after a little more than the estimated time you were given, the pizza arrives.

You remain seated as Jean answers the door. From behind, you hear him mutter thanks and keep the change before the door clicks shut.

Jean appears in your view again. With his hands full, he walks into the kitchen to grab a set of white plates from the cupboard above the sink. "Wanna watch something?" He asks, carrying the pizza box with the dishes stacked on the couch.

You hum, lifting an eyebrow. "Do I get to pick?"

"Depends." Jean sets the pizza box down on the coffee table in the center and slumps himself down on the couch where he was before, just as close, if not more. "Can I trust you with something like this, or do you have a shit taste?"

You let your legs stretch out in front of you, palms pressing into the couch's cushions on either side of your thighs. "That's a contradictory question, Jean. We literally have the same favorite anime. If I have shit taste, that means you do too."

"Fair," he admits with a shrug, "Depressed might be a better word for it."

You let out a small laugh at his subtle joke because it's true; anyone who has Banana Fish as their favorite anime has got to be a little messed up in one way or another. "Look at that, something the two of us can actually agree on."

"Who would have ever fucking thought," Jean remarks as he opens the pizza box lid with his right and hands you the remote to the television with his left. "Here, put on what you want."

You find Crunchyroll on the home screen and open the app, lighting the television up bright orange.

"How many pieces of pizza do you want?" He asks, holding one of the plates in his hand.

"Two, please," you answer kindly as you type in the desired show you want into the search bar.

Jean's focus shifts to reading the title on the screen as the words form. "Fruits Basket?" he grabs a couple of slices from the pizza box and tosses them onto the plate. "What the hell is that?" He questions, handing the plated food to you.

You accept and place it on your lap. "It's easily the best romance anime of all time."

"Romance?" Jean's jaw ticks, face twisting with apathy. "I'm not watching this cheesy shit."

You take a small bite of one of the slices of pizza, the heat coating your tongue as you chew and swallow. "You and I both know you're secretly romantic deep down somewhere. Just stop being so grumpy about everything all the time and let it happen."

He irritably shakes his head, adjusting himself on the couch, his plate now filled with slices of pizza as well. "You know what? Go ahead. Let's watch your little show. I'm not even going to try to fight you on this."

You flip the remote around in your hand repeatedly. "Why not? Because you know that I would win, or because you can't say no to me?"

Jean's legs man spread, his knee now pressing lightly into the outside of your thigh. "Nah. I can definitely say no to you."

"Yeah?" You blink in his direction, keeping your leg still, the same way you always do whenever this accidentally happens. "Say it then, Jean."

Jean's gaze meets yours. His eyes slightly widened with shock from your demand. "What?"

"Say it," you repeat with a soft smile this time. "Tell me no."

His eyes travel across your face, studying every inch like he has something to learn before he blinks away, returning his focus to the television. "Shut up, Y/N, and just play your damn show. You piss me the fuck off."

"Good. It's payback because you piss me the fuck off too." You press the play button on the remote, and the first episode begins to play.

An hour has passed now. A few episodes have been watched, and the pizza is wiped clean from both of your plates. Only trails of grease on the white ceramic surface remain.

Fruits Basket's closing theme begins to play, and you hit pause. "So, what do you think so far? Pretty good, huh?" Leaning forward, you close the lid of the more than halfway-eaten pizza box.

Jean stretches out his body, legs straightening out in front of him, the side of his thigh still touching yours. "It's alright."

You scoff, pushing your spine back into the couch. "Seriously, Jean, is there anything in your life that you find better than just alright?"

"Yeah, actually." He admits with a tense swallow. "There is."

"Oh?" Your eyebrows pull together, creating a crease of curiosity on your forehead. "How many?"

Jean stares at you for a few seconds, then he blinks. "One," he says with a low, steady voice. "Just one."

Your eyes widen slightly. "Yeah? What is it?" You find yourself extremely curious. You just expected his answer to be one quick depressing no.

He presses his lips together in a tight thin line. "I would tell you, Y/N, but I already used up my verity of the day, so I guess you just gotta wait."

"Good thing I'm an extremely patient person," You smile softly. "Don't think I'll forget about this conversation."

"I know you won't." Jean's head turns away from you, and he signals with his chin toward the television. "Seriously though, it's a good anime. Better than I was expecting it to be."

"See? I told you it was good. I'm glad you like it," you admit to him.

"Kyo's a stubborn ass, though." Jean voices, his jaw slacked. "He's in a shitty mood all the time."

Your lips twist into a smirk. "I mean, it kinda sounds a lot like someone, don't you think?"

"No idea what you're talking about," Jean hurries to deny it, knowing what you're getting at. "One more episode, then we'll call it a night."

You smile, glad to know that he is actually interested in the show. "Sounds good to me." You press play on the remote, and the intro of the next episode begins.

After the episode ends, the two of you clean up and move out of the living room to get ready for bed.

Standing in the narrow hall, Jean grabs you a clean towel and a spare toothbrush to use out of one of the storage cabinets. Since it's not uncommon for this group to crash at each other's places time and again, Connie and Jean keep extra spares of things if they're ever needed.

With an extended arm, he offers these items out to you. "You can shower first. I think there's a pair of sweats or something Sasha left here last time she crashed when she got too high with Connie to drive home. I'll see if I can find them, and I'll put them in my room for you to change into when you get out."

Taking his kind offer, you thank him before making your way to the restroom to wash off the day.

After your shower, you dry yourself off and wrap the towel tightly around your body.

While brushing your teeth, you down look at the palm of your hand to see that the sunflower Jean drew has mostly faded from the use of hot water and soap. There are only a few small areas where the ink still faintly remains.

You let out a small sigh as you move your fingers around, tracing what's left of it with your fingertips. You knew it wouldn't last forever, but it still makes you somewhat sad that it has gone so quickly.

Once finished in the bathroom, you open the door to access the hallway and step out. You turn to head toward Jean's room to get changed, but he is coming out at the same time, making his way into the hallway. His eyes fall right on you.

Great fucking timing.

Your eyes widen at his unexpected presence as you quickly suck in a whiff of air, remembering you're in nothing but a towel.

You feel somewhat unnerved, but Jean is the one who looks like he has just seen his life flash before his eyes.

His entire existence has frozen over solid; his mouth slightly gaped open. "I. I uh," he spews, a light pink tone coloring the cheeks so faint you almost swear you're making it up in your mind.

Is he flustered?

He clears his throat before starting over. "I found the... the shorts Sasha left here when she crashed a while back. They're on, uh, my bed -" He's staring at you, eyes widened and unblinking, still struggling to get the words out, "if you want them."

You study his face, and you can see with how sharp his jawline is that he's biting down harshly on his teeth. You let out a small sigh, "You know, for a guy who sleeps around as much as I have heard you do, you sure look real nervous right now."

You can tell he's internal fighting himself, trying to look away but can't. "I-" His teeth grit further into each other, his whole body now tense. "You-"

His words are betraying him like no other right now.

You grab onto the towel tighter, ensuring it remains secure. "What?" The corner of your mouth lifts, forcing confidence, even though your heart is beating almost out of your chest. "Picturing what I look like under the towel? You're usually pretty hard to read, Jean, but your face is speaking for itself right now."

His eyes blink. Finally, getting a grip on himself, Jean forces his once nervous face to go smug, "Why? If I say yes, you'll show me?"

He was stuttering over his own words a second ago, now trying to pull it off with his well-known cockiness.

A for effort, Jean.

"You wish," You huff out an airy laugh. "You can just ask Connie, though. He knows what's under here," you jab, altering your face to match his. "A quick fuck, remember?"

His lips fall from a smirk into a harsh line. "Jesus Christ. I fucking hate you." Jean's head rolls with irritation before he shakes it out harshly. "I'm taking a shower."

"Have fun." Your nose scrunches as you walk past him and head into his room. "By the way, I fucking hate you too," you say before shutting the door behind you.

While Jean is in the bathroom, getting ready for bed, you get dressed in the pair of Sasha's shorts he left for you and put back on the baseball sweatshirt that he let you borrow earlier.

To your surprise, he had already turned down his bed, ready for you to get into.

You grab your book out of your backpack and walk over to his bed. You slide underneath the covers and lie your tired body back on his firmly cushioned pillow.

His bed is full of the scent of him, and you're devoured whole. It's coming from his pillows, blankets, and the mattress itself, overpowering but also weak in some twisted way.

You breathe deeply and crack open If We Were Villains. Pulling the blanket up to your waist, you begin to read to distract yourself from the fact that the smell of him is enveloping your entire body.

After reading two chapters, you hear the door push open. "Reading again?" Jean's voice rushes through the air, breaking the world that the words on paper were building inside your head. "How far are you now?"

Your eyes move from the off-white pages held in your hand and blink up to see Jean making his way into his room, closing the door behind him.

He is wearing a pair of black sweat shorts, the length meeting a little bit above the knee, a white string tied in front at the waistband with a plain white T-shirt that defines every muscle he has. His mullet is still damp with water. The parts of his legs that you can see are firm and muscular, his arms with their standard veins and marks.

He's letting the scars show around you again.

You can smell his cleanliness from where you are, a mix of his shampoo and body wash, coconut and vanilla, and you just about sink into the mattress beneath you.

You hate the fact that you are starting to recognize all these different details about him, both big and small.

Forcefully, you look away and bring your gaze back to the words of your book before he can mark it as staring even though you deservingly were. "Yeah. I'm more than halfway now."

"When did you start it?" He asks, making his way over to his desk.

"Today," you say, bringing the book down to your lap for it to rest.

Jean's head snaps over to you, shock covering his face. "I knew you were a reader Y/N but Jesus."

You raise an eyebrow. "Impressed?"

"Low key, yeah," he confesses to you with a sharp nod. "You said it's becoming one of your favorites?"

You pause. There is a part of you that is surprised that he remembers you telling him this earlier. You were just rambling on about the book, not thinking he was actually listening to any of what you were saying, but it seems he was.

You swallow. "I think so, but I can't say for sure yet. I have to finish it, and then I can sort through my thoughts and rank it."

Jean's eyes widen slightly. "Rank it? What do you mean?"

You close the book, leaving your thumb on the page you're reading to keep your place. "Yeah, I have this list of my all-time favorite books where I rank them from one to ten with my thoughts and notes about what stood out to me about it the most, my favorite scenes, and stuff like that." You pause and shake your head, realizing how ridiculous you sound as your word rebound back into your ear, "it honestly sounds kinda stupid now that I'm saying it out loud."

Jean shakes his head faintly. "Not stupid." He looks at you for a moment and then blinks, "Mind sharing the list?"

Your eyes peel wide, completely thrown off by his request. "You want the list of my favorite books?" You try not to sound too excited about it, but there is an immense rush of happiness that takes flight inside of you.

The last person who asked you about your favorite books was Lucas. Your brother despised reading, but he knew how much it meant to you, and knowing that your mother was no longer around to talk about books anymore, he would try to ask you about your current reads when he could. Even when he wasn't doing well, he would still try to make an effort.

It's been a while since then. You have honestly missed talking to somebody about your stupid little hobby.

"Yeah, I'm curious." Jean shrugs cooly, not knowing how much this actually means to you. "Maybe there's a book on there that will convince me to start reading again."