Chapter Text
They’d been looking for spare pens. They swear. They needed new ones for their next lesson with Commander Erwin. His lessons, when he was available to teach them, were always theory-heavy and always had them writing either a long essay on battle tactics or sketching some random formation he’d pulled out of his ass that day.
They hadn’t expected to stumble upon Jean’s sketchbook.
“We should look.”
“No! That’s an invasion of his privacy, Connie.”
“So? It’s just art, not his diary.” Connie held the sketchbook in his hands. The leather-bound book was thick, It was almost full, each page probably filled with random scribbles and doodles of titans and whatever Jean thought was cool.
Sasha bit her lip, clearly thinking about it.
“Come on, Sasha. We’ll just look at a few drawings.”
Sasha glanced at the door, then back at Connie, her curiosity already winning. “Just a few?” she whispered.
“Just a few,” Connie promised. They both knew it was a lie. The second they opened that book, they’d be looking through the whole thing.
He flipped open the cover. The first page was harmless enough: a rough sketch of the Survey Corps emblem, a couple of swords, some shading practice. The next few pages were random doodles—horses, gear, a very exaggerated drawing of Erwin’s eyebrows.
“Wow, he’s actually kinda good,” Sasha remarked.
Then Connie turned another page… and froze.
Sasha leaned over his shoulder. “No way.”
It was Eren.
Not just one sketch—dozens. Eren reading. Eren laughing. Eren staring out a window with that angry scowl he always wore. Eren in full gear, hair tied back slightly, the wind catching the ends.
Sasha slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her gasp. Connie’s grin spread slow and wicked.
“Oh my god,” he whispered.
Sasha started to laugh, shaking her head. “He’s just—maybe he’s just practicing faces—”
“Practicing faces?” Connie pointed to a full-body drawing of Eren, shirt slightly undone, a faint blush sketched on his cheeks. “You think this is practice?”
There was another page full of close-ups of his face. Another page of action shots of him. Another page of close-ups of his body.
“He’s obsessed! Look at this, there’s hundreds of pages of just Eren.”
“He hates Eren! There’s no way. This can’t be his.”
“There’s one of his hands! Look how detailed it is—you can see every fucking vein!”
Jean’s hatred for Eren had been a running joke among almost every scout. People had placed bets since their first night in the training corps about how many arguments would break out between the two, how many times they’d glare at each other, how many backhanded insults they’d trade.
There had been shouting matches over everything from mission strategy to who got the last bread roll at dinner. Jean had once said—loudly—that if Eren ever gave him an order, he’d rather throw himself off the Wall. He’d called Eren “Titan boy,” “suicidal maniac,” “self-righteous brat,” and once (when particularly drunk) “a walking headache with abs.” He glared at him across the mess hall. He rolled his eyes whenever Eren spoke. He’d sworn up and down he couldn’t stand him.
It didn't make sense for this to be the way Jean saw Eren based on that.
The lines weren’t angry or careless. They were careful. Loving, even. Every stroke felt intentional, as though Jean had studied Eren for hours: the curve of his jaw, the way his mouth turned when he was irritated, the way his eyes softened when he wasn’t paying attention. There were tiny, meticulous details—the small scar under his chin, the way his hair always fell slightly over his left eye, the faint callouses on his fingers from holding his blades.
Connie and Sasha exchanged a look.
“This doesn’t make sense,” Sasha whispered. “He can barely stand being in the same room as him.”
“Yeah, well…” Connie turned another page slowly, and his smirk came back. “Maybe that’s just what he wants us to think.”
The next sketch stopped both of them.
It was Eren again—but different. Softer. He was sitting on the edge of his bunk, elbows on his knees, a faint half-smile on his lips. The drawing wasn’t perfect; the shading was uneven, and the proportions were slightly off—but it felt real. Intimate.
It wasn’t the kind of drawing you did of someone you hated.
It was the kind you did when you couldn’t stop looking. The kind someone drew as a gesture of love and passion.
“Holy shit,” Connie breathed. “He’s down bad.”
Sasha’s jaw dropped. “This is romantic! Look at the lighting! Look at the way he shaded his eyes!”
Connie wheezed. “He’s in love. He’s so in love. Oh my god.”
He flipped another page before Sasha could stop him.
More sketches filled the next spread—softer ones like the one of Eren on the bed. Ones of Eren asleep, his face half-buried in his arms. Eren stretching, yawning, hair messy. Eren leaning against a railing, wind tugging at his shirt. Faint smudges of graphite marked spots where Jean must’ve redrawn details, as if he couldn’t get them right enough. As if he’d gone over it multiple times, making sure every line was perfect. As if he couldn’t stand to see Eren in any way that wasn’t.
Sasha whispered, “He drew muscle definition. He learned anatomy for this.”
“Yeah,” Connie said. “Eren’s anatomy.”
She smacked his arm, trying not to laugh too loud.
“Oh, we’re never letting him live this down,” Connie said, grinning ear to ear.
“Do you think he draws other people like this?”
Connie shrugged and flipped a few more pages, scanning. “Nope. Nope. Nope. Oh look, a horse—nope, back to Eren again.”
Sasha clutched her stomach, doubled over. “This is—Connie—he’s obsessed!”
The sound of footsteps outside the door made them freeze. They’d forgotten they were still in the barracks. Jean could walk in any second and catch them red-handed with his sketchbook. Anyone could walk in and see. As much as they were dying to share this discovery, they didn’t want to spill Jean’s secret to the whole squad. That would make them bad friends.
And if Connie and Sasha prided themselves on anything, it was being good friends.
Connie hesitated, then shook his head and swallowed hard. They both stared down at the book, the secret suddenly weighing heavy in their hands.
After a long moment, he closed the sketchbook. “We never saw this,” he said, his voice firm.
Sasha nodded, but her eyes lingered on the cover. “Never saw it,” she echoed. They stood there, pretending their hands weren’t shaking.
They were definitely cornering him about this later.
Notes:
There will be more chapters for this btw just wait trust
Chapter Text
“I mean, we have to say something!”
“We’ve tried. I don’t know how I could’ve been less subtle when I asked Jean to literally paint Eren the other day and he just yelled at me.”
“Maybe we just ask him straight up. Rip the bandaid off.”
It had been three days since they’d found Jean’s secret Eren Jaeger Sketchbook. Three days of watching their interactions in a new light, observing how every twitch they’d previously thought was anger was actually need, how his eyes blazed with emotion that seemed like hatred but now looked more like longing, like Jean was begging Eren to see through his facade.
“No way! Jean would just call us idiots and storm off. We have to be smart about this.”
They settled into silence, hands on their faces as they thought long and hard about their next move.
“We need a plan,” Sasha declared, straightening up. “A tactical maneuver. Like when we had to lure that pack of Titans away from the main group.”
“Right,” Connie agreed, tapping his chin. “If we go direct, he’ll deny it and probably burn the sketchbook. We’ll lose all that beautiful, juicy art.”
“The art is key,” Sasha murmured reverently. “It’s proof of his obsession.”
“So what’s the maneuver?”
Sasha’s eyes narrowed with genuine cunning. “We don’t talk about the book. We don’t talk about art. We talk about… circumstance.”
“Circumstance?”
“We put the two of them in a situation where the yearning becomes undeniable. Where Jean can’t fall back on yelling and name-calling.”
Connie leaned in, his own expression turning conspiratorial. “Like a mission where they have to rely on each other?”
“Too dangerous,” Sasha dismissed with a wave of her hand. “If they mess up, they’ll just blame each other more. No, we need… domestic circumstances. Soft ones.”
“Soft circumstances,” Connie repeated. “Like what? Putting them on kitchen duty together?”
“Exactly!” Sasha clapped her hands silently. “Kitchen duty is perfect. It’s stressful, they have to coordinate, but it’s contained, tight at some points. Bonus points if they brush against each other.”
Connie snorted, imagining the scene. “Okay, Kitchen Duty: Phase One. What else?”
“They need a reason to be alone, but not a suspicious reason,” Sasha mused. “What if we volunteer for kitchen duty—”
”No way!”
“—and then I corner Jean and beg him to take my spot, you corner Eren and get him to take yours. That way they won’t know the other’s on duty and we get out of chores for the day.”
Connie stared at her. “You’re a genius.”
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
They went to Hange.
Hange was their best option. Erwin was far too busy to be bothered with kitchen duty problems, and Levi was far too fucking scary. Plus, both of them would catch on to what they were doing in a heartbeat and assign them stable duty instead.
Hange was the obvious answer.
Hell, they’d probably be on board to meddle the second they heard the plan if they were told.
“You knock.”
“You knock. This was your idea, idiot.”
“This was both our ideas, you bald fre—”
The door opened. Moblit stood in the doorway, confusion flickering across his face as he glanced between them. “Do you need something? You two are being very loud.”
“Uhm—”
“We—Uhmm... We need to speak to Hange!” Sasha blurted.
“Right away! This is urgent,” Connie added.
Moblit raised an eyebrow but stepped aside, letting them in. “Uh... Commander, Connie and Sasha are here to see you. They say it’s urgent.”
Hange spun around in their chair, half a biscuit hanging out of their mouth, goggles pushed up onto their forehead. “Urgent?” they repeated through a mouthful. “Did something explode again?”
“Not yet,” Connie said quickly. “But it could if you don’t help us.”
Sasha elbowed him. “What he means is—we need to request an assignment change.”
Hange’s eyes lit up. “Oh? Assignment change? Are you finally volunteering for stable duty? Because the horses love you two.”
”NO!” they said at the same time, way too fast.
“Then what do you want?”
Connie took a deep breath. “We, uh...” He glanced at Sasha for backup.
She nodded solemnly. “We want kitchen duty.”
Moblit choked on his drink. Hange blinked several times, completely silent for a full five seconds before leaning forward, elbows on the desk. “I’m sorry, what?”
“K-Kitchen duty,” Connie repeated, forcing a grin. “You know—washing dishes, peeling potatoes, stirring soup, that kind of thing.”
Hange squinted at him. “You hate kitchen duty.”
“We’ve changed,” Sasha said quickly. “Growth, development, responsibility—”
“—maturity,” Connie added, nodding earnestly.
Hange raised a single eyebrow. “Sasha, you’re banned from the kitchen for another three weeks.”
“It was one fire,” Sasha muttered.
“You set the entire kitchen on fire.”
Sasha threw up her hands. “It was annoying me!”
Moblit pinched the bridge of his nose.
Hange leaned back in their chair, clearly entertained. “So let me get this straight—you two, who would rather shovel titan guts than wash a dish, are begging me for kitchen duty? And Sasha, who was explicitly banned, wants back in?”
“Yes,” they both said in unison.
Hange stared for a long, agonizing moment, their grin slowly spreading. “You know,” they said finally, “the last time you two volunteered for something, the greenhouse practically exploded.”
“That was also an accident!” Connie protested. “And it only happened once!”
“And we learned from it!” Sasha added. “We’re better now!”
Hange hummed, clearly unconvinced but also clearly enjoying watching them squirm. “Alright,” they said finally. “You’re either hiding something or you’ve lost your minds. But you know what? Fine. Kitchen duty it is.”
Sasha gasped. “Really?”
“Moblit, put them on the next kitchen shift,” Hange said sweetly. “Let’s see how long they last before they start crying.”
Moblit sighed but scribbled something down on his clipboard. “You asked for it,” he muttered.
“Thank you, Hange!” Connie blurted, already backing toward the door. “You won’t regret it!”
“I already do,” Hange said cheerfully.
They bolted the second the door shut behind them, nearly tripping over each other in the hallway.
“Holy shit,” Connie panted. “We actually did it.”
Sasha grinned. “Phase One: complete.”
“Do you think they suspect anything?”
“No way,” Sasha said confidently. “We played that perfectly.”
Down the hall, Hange sipped their tea, watching them disappear through the window. “They’re definitely up to something,” they murmured.
Moblit sighed. “Should I tell Levi?”
“Absolutely not,” Hange said with a grin. “Let’s see where this goes.”
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
“Jean!”
Phase two of the plan: split up and convince Eren and Jean to cover their shifts. Her target was Jean.
Easy. If she complained enough, Jean would cave just to shut her up.
She found him in the barracks, cleaning his training gear with meticulous precision, as always. “What is it?”
Sasha planted herself on the edge of his bed and put on her best wounded expression. “I—uh—think I ate something weird and my stomach is doing that weird crying thing. If I don’t rest, I’ll be useless for training and—” She bit her lip and made a noise that sounded like a small child about to cry. “Please? You gotta cover my kitchen shift tomorrow.”
Jean blinked. He was built for blunt answers and zero patience, but there was a soft, practical corner to him—particularly when someone made a sufficiently pathetic face. He sat up straighter and folded his arms.
“You always get yourself into stupid situations,” he said. “Why would I—”
“Because I will owe you. I will clean your boots for a week. I will fetch your rations. I won’t tell anyone about that time you actually kind of liked it when Ymir called you a bitch. Please. Please please.”
Jean’s jaw ticked. He looked like he was weighing whether the humiliation of washing a few pots was worse than enduring Sasha’s debts. His answer came grumpy and half-muttered.
“Fine. One shift. But you’re paying me back. And don’t make a habit of this.” He stood and tugged his jacket on. “I’m not babysitting you. I’m covering because you’re an idiot.”
Sasha threw her arms around him in a quick, awkward hug that left Jean sputtering and annoyed and, probably, a fraction softer than he’d like to admit. “Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you!” she cried, then bolted before he could change his mind.
Now all she had to do was wait for Connie.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
Connie’s target was Eren—less predictable, more volatile—but he wasn’t stupid. He knew what Eren hated almost as well as he knew Eren’s tendency to throw himself headfirst into things. He found him on the roof, practicing pull-ups like the bars had personally insulted him.
“Eren!” Connie called, trying to sound casual, which looked ridiculous with his grin stretched too wide.
Eren dropped from the bar and landed in a crouch, chest heaving, eyes sharp. “What do you want, Springer?”
Connie put on his most conspiratorial face. “I have a proposition.”
Eren folded his arms. “If this is another one of your nonsense bets, I’m not interested.”
“No bets. Just… a trade.” Connie sidled closer. “I’ll take your morning watch on Tuesday if you take my kitchen duty tomorrow.”
Eren blinked once. “Why would I do that?”
He’d expected that question. He’d even practiced his answer on the way up.
“Because,” he said, drawing out the word with a flourish, “kitchen duty’s easy. You just chop some vegetables, stir some soup, maybe taste-test a bit when no one’s looking—”
“I’m not doing it just so you can steal food again,” Eren cut in flatly.
Connie held up his hands. “No stealing! Promise. Scout’s honor. I’m just… busy tomorrow. I’ve got—uh—latrine maintenance.”
Eren frowned. “You don’t have latrine maintenance.”
“Not yet. But you never know with Hange around.”
That earned him a stare so long and unimpressed that he nearly started sweating. Time to sweeten the deal.
“Okay, okay, how about this: I’ll take your next stable shift too.”
Eren hesitated, and Connie watched the calculation happen behind his eyes. Stable duty was brutal—cold, loud, and reeked of death. Kitchen duty, on the other hand, meant warmth, food, and a roof over your head.
“Stable duty and morning watch?” Eren repeated.
“Yep.”
“And all I have to do is cook?”
“Technically, you’re not even cooking,” Connie said quickly. “It’s chopping. Stirring. Maybe fetching stuff. Sasha and I—uh, well—she’s supposed to be there too. She’s banned right now, but she’s, you know, experienced.”
Eren’s brow furrowed. “Sasha’s banned from the kitchen?”
Connie grinned nervously. “Long story.”
Eren gave him the most exhausted look he’d ever received. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Unbelievably generous,” Connie said. “C’mon, Jaeger, you like helping people, right? Hero complex and all that?”
Eren’s jaw twitched. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.”
“So that’s a yes?”
Eren sighed. “Fine. But if this is one of your stupid pranks, I’ll make you regret it.”
“No pranks! No tricks! Just some wholesome, hard-earned kitchen duty.” Connie grinned so wide his cheeks hurt.
Eren shook his head, muttering something under his breath about idiots, but Connie didn’t care. The second Eren turned away, he pumped his fist in silent victory.
Phase Two was officially complete.
Notes:
ts so goofy LMAO trust erejean interaction will be next chapter
Chapter 3
Summary:
Jean and Eren's disastrous kitchen shift.
Chapter Text
Jean sighed.
A bone-deep, exhausted sigh that probably fit a 70-year-old retired veteran better than a 16-year-old boy.
He really didn’t want to do this shift.
When he’d agreed to take Sasha’s spot, he thought it would be fine. Some quiet time peeling potatoes, maybe scrubbing a few pots, pretending to be a productive member of society for once. What he hadn’t expected was walking into the kitchen and finding Eren Jaeger already there.
He froze in the doorway.
Eren glanced up from where he was standing by the counter, sleeves rolled up, a knife already in hand. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.
Jean’s stomach dropped. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Kitchen duty,” Eren said flatly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What does it look like I’m doing? Making daisy chains?”
Jean blinked once, twice, then groaned and rubbed a hand down his face. “No. No. No way. I am not doing this with you.”
“Too bad,” Eren snapped, chopping a carrot with a little too much force. “I’m already here.”
Jean glared. “You probably begged for this, didn’t you? Trying to make yourself look all responsible and self-sacrificing in front of Hange.”
“I traded for this shift, actually,” Eren said, not looking up. “Someone was too scared of getting dish soap on their hands, apparently.”
Jean’s eyebrow twitched. “Who’d you trade with?”
“Connie.”
Jean’s jaw dropped. Had Connie and Sasha coordinated this? Had they somehow managed to set him up with Eren just to piss him off?
Did they know?
Eren finally turned toward him, eyes narrowing. “You’re the one complaining, but you’re still standing there doing nothing. Either grab a knife or get out of my way.”
“Oh, I’ll grab a knife,” Jean muttered darkly, “just not for vegetables.”
Eren slammed the knife down on the counter. “You always have to start something, don’t you?”
“You started it!”
“I literally just said hi—”
“You didn’t say hi!”
“Fine! Hi!”
“Go to hell!”
It escalated quickly from there as they kept working.
Eren chopped aggressively while Jean tried—and failed—to organize the ingredients. Both yelled over each other like they were arguing a case before the Military Tribunal.
“You can’t even hold a knife properly!” Jean shouted.
“I’ve been holding blades longer than you’ve been brushing your hair, horse-face!”
“Stop calling me that!”
“Then stop neighing every time someone disagrees with you!”
Jean’s hand clenched around his wooden spoon. “You’re so—so—unbelievably—”
“What? Handsome? Talented? Right—again?”
Jean threw the spoon.
It bounced harmlessly off Eren’s shoulder and clattered to the ground.
“You throw like a toddler!” Eren barked.
“Oh yeah?” Jean grabbed the nearest thing—a handful of flour—and flung it.
It exploded across the kitchen like a snowstorm, coating Eren from head to toe. For one glorious second, Jean thought it was worth it.
Then Eren blinked through the white cloud, picked up an entire pot of soup, and tilted it just enough that Jean knew exactly what was coming.
“Don’t you dare—”
Too late.
Hot vegetable soup splashed down Jean’s front, dripping from his collar.
“YOU—”
Jean lunged. Eren dodged. The kitchen descended into chaos.
Pots rattled, flour flew, knives clattered to the floor. Somewhere in the middle of it all, Jean and Eren slammed into the counter, gripping each other’s sleeves like they weren’t sure whether to fight or strangle or kiss.
“Get off me!” Jean shouted.
“Then stop touching me!”
“I’m not touching you—you’re the one grabbing—”
“You’re literally—”
“—you grabbed me first—”
“—you’re insane!”
”I’M INSANE?!”
Jean pressed his palm against Eren’s chest. He was going to push him off, going to shove him so hard he’d fall back. But… he didn’t. His palm rested there uselessly against Eren’s heaving chest, the heat of it seeping into his skin.
Eren froze.
For a moment, they both did.
The kitchen went quiet except for the bubbling of the stove and their ragged breathing. Jean’s eyes darted up—Eren’s face was only inches away, flour smudged across his cheek, his hair sticking up wildly.
Jean’s heart did something that was definitely not normal.
He snatched his hand back like he’d been burned. “Move.”
Eren blinked once and muttered, “You’re impossible.”
“You started it,” Jean muttered back, turning sharply toward the sink, ignoring how warm his face felt.
Eren muttered something under his breath—something that sounded suspiciously like ”idiot”—and went back to chopping, this time with even more aggression. The knife thunked rhythmically against the cutting board. Jean grabbed a rag and started mopping up the soup dripping from his shirt, glaring at Eren’s back the whole time.
“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” he said finally.
Eren didn’t look up. “You started it.”
“You poured soup on me!”
“You threw flour in my face!”
“That was an accident!”
“It was not an accident!”
Jean’s voice went up half an octave. “You don’t know that!”
Eren spun around, knife still in hand, and Jean immediately took a step back. “Do you ever stop talking?” Eren demanded.
“Do you ever stop being a pain in the ass?” Jean shot back.
“Not when you’re around!”
“Then go somewhere else!”
“I can’t!”
They were so close again that Jean could see the tiny flecks of flour stuck to Eren’s eyelashes, could see every pore, the fine peach fuzz on his jaw. His pulse jumped, traitorously. He forced himself to look away, snatching a potato from the pile and slamming it onto the counter with enough force to startle even Eren.
Neither of them said anything for a long while. The silence was heavy, thick with all the things they weren’t saying but definitely thinking.
Jean focused on peeling, jaw tight. Every scrape of the knife echoed in the quiet. He wanted to yell again, to call Eren an idiot just to get rid of the heat in his chest. Instead, he muttered, “You missed a spot.”
Eren looked up. “What?”
Jean gestured at the half-chopped vegetables. “You missed a spot. You’re supposed to cut them evenly. You’re butchering them.”
“I’m butchering them?” Eren snapped, spinning the cutting board around. “They look fine.”
Jean’s mouth twitched. “Yeah, if you’re feeding a titan.”
“I’d feed you to a titan,” Eren muttered, but his lips twitched too—just barely.
They didn’t notice the two faces pressed against the tiny kitchen window.
Connie was biting his knuckle to keep from laughing. Sasha had tears streaming down her face from holding it in.
“They’re insane,” Connie whispered. “They’re literally insane.”
“They’re flirting,” Sasha whispered back.
“They’re fighting.”
“It’s the same thing with them!”
Inside, Jean grabbed another potato and started peeling so fast the skins practically flew off. Eren snorted.
“What’s funny?” Jean snapped.
“Nothing,” Eren said, way too quickly. “Just didn’t know you could actually work when you’re not whining.”
Jean glared at him. “I’m always working.”
“Oh yeah, sure. Yelling doesn’t count as work, Jean.”
Jean dropped the potato. “You know what doesn’t count as work? Getting kidnapped by titans every five minutes and making us clean up the mess.”
Eren’s mouth fell open. “Are you seriously bringing that up right now?”
“I’m just saying!”
“Say it again, and I’ll—”
“What? Pour soup on me again? Oh wait, you already did!”
“Because you—!”
The door slammed open.
They both froze.
Levi stood in the doorway, arms crossed.
His eyes swept over the scene—the soup splattered across the floor, the flour cloud still settling, the counter littered with half-chopped vegetables and peeled potatoes—and finally landed on the two of them, standing there like guilty children caught in the world’s messiest crime.
“…What,” he said flatly, “the hell happened here?”
Neither spoke.
Outside the window, Connie and Sasha ducked out of sight so fast they nearly smacked heads.
Levi’s eye twitched. “Who started it?”
“He did!” they said in perfect unison, pointing at each other.
Levi stared at them for a long, painful moment. “Both of you,” he said finally, “clean this up. Now. And if I ever have to walk into something this idiotic again, I’ll assign you permanent latrine duty.”
He turned and walked out before either could respond.
Silence settled over the kitchen.
Jean exhaled shakily and brushed flour off his sleeve. “Nice going, Jaeger.”
Eren scowled. “You started it.”
He rolled his eyes, but there was something softer about it this time. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”
They cleaned in silence for a while. At one point, their hands brushed while reaching for the same rag.
Neither of them said a word.
Connie and Sasha were dead.
So. Fucking. Dead.
Chapter Text
”YOU’RE BOTH FUCKING DEAD, YOU HEAR ME?!!??!”
Connie exchanged a look with Sasha, both their shoulders hunched as Jean continued to yell at them. God, he was really fucking angry.
They’d expected Jean to be angry. Expected him to yell at them a little before settling down and calling them idiots. But they had been very, very wrong.
He’d yelled at them for an hour. Called them ’stupid fucking idiots’ and then forced them to take all of his shifts for the next week in return for setting him up and causing him to ruin his ‘favourite’ shirt.
He’d yelled so long that even Sasha’s stomach had growled out of boredom halfway through, which only made him yell more. By the end of it, Connie was ninety percent sure his eyebrows had been permanently singed off from proximity to Jean’s fury.
Now, as they sat outside the barracks later that evening, both slumped against the wall, they were feeling... conflicted.
“We did everything right,” Connie muttered.
“Everything!” Sasha agreed. “We planned! We schemed! We executed!”
“And they still ended up trying to kill each other.”
She sighed dramatically. “Do you think maybe the flour was symbolic of love?”
“No,” Connie said flatly. “It was symbolic of failure.”
A long silence stretched between them.
Then Sasha straightened. “…What if we fixed it?”
He side-eyed her immediately. “Sasha.”
“No, listen! What if we made him happy again?”
“He was never happy.”
“Okay, fine, less angry!”
She leaned in, lowering her voice like she was about to suggest a war crime. “We show Eren Jean’s art.”
Connie blinked. “…You’re joking.”
“He’s got, like, that whole sketchbook, right? All those drawings of people from training, landscapes, and—”
“—and Eren,” he said grimly.
Sasha grinned. “Exactly.”
Connie rubbed his face. “You’re insane. That’s insane. That’s a felony.”
“Jean’s not gonna know! We’ll just… accidentally leave it somewhere Eren can find it!”
“Where?”
“I don’t know, somewhere casual! Like his bed.”
“That’s not casual, that’s stalking.”
“Connie. Focus. This is for love.”
The thing was, despite how ridiculous their plans were, he really, really wanted Jean to be happy. And he could tell that Eren made him happy, at least somewhat. He’d never seen Jean look happier than when he was yelling at Eren. Never seen him look so passionate and intense as when Eren was in his thoughts.
Even if Jean would rather swallow glass than admit it, everyone in the barracks knew he had it bad for Eren. No one could get under his skin the way Eren did. No one could make him look so alive.
And when Jean drew him, when he thought no one was watching, there was something softer there. Something real. Connie had seen it.
If this plan got them together, he didn’t care.
He’d wash a billion more dishes if it meant his best friend was happy.
“Fine. But you’re the one stealing the book.”
“Deal!”
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
Eren was having a good day.
For once, things were calm. Training hadn’t been a complete disaster, no one had yelled at him (yet), and Levi had only insulted him twice instead of his usual five times. He’d showered, eaten, and was now trudging back to the barracks with his towel slung over his shoulders, humming something under his breath.
The sun was setting outside the window, painting the hallway gold, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, his brain wasn’t full of shouting, missions, or Jean’s stupid face.
He was about to lay on his bed and close his eyes. A nap sounded like heaven right now, before he had to start his night time chores.
But something stopped him. There, sitting neatly in the center of his bed, was a notebook. Not just any notebook—a thick, worn leather sketchbook with Jean Kirstein written in neat cursive across the cover.
Eren blinked. Once. Twice. “…What the hell?”
He stepped closer, frowning. He knew Jean drew sometimes—everyone did—but what the hell was his sketchbook doing on Eren’s bed?
He picked it up carefully, flipping the cover open.
The first page was a drawing of the mess hall. The second, a sketch of Sasha mid-bite, probably during lunch.
Then there were landscapes, quick portraits of their classmates, all rough pencil lines and smudged shading—until he turned another page and froze.
Multiple drawings and sketches of himself stared back at him. These were different from the others. Detailed, precise, intentional. He could tell Jean had spent time on these, hours, probably. Every stroke was careful, deliberate, layered with shading that made the images almost lifelike. There were ones of him sparring, mid-motion, jaw clenched and eyes sharp; others where he was just sitting, looking out a window, hair falling across his face. There was even one of him asleep, his head resting against the mess hall table, lips parted slightly.
Eren stared at that one for a while.
What the hell was this?
He flipped another page.
More of him—different angles, different expressions. Sometimes he looked tired. Sometimes he looked angry. Sometimes, weirdly enough, he looked almost peaceful.
It was unsettling. No one had ever looked at him long enough to draw him like this.
He shut the book halfway, then opened it again, like maybe he’d imagined it. Nope. Still there. Still his face, over and over, drawn with unnerving precision.
“...What the fuck,” he muttered, rubbing the back of neck.
Was this a prank? It had to be a prank. Connie and Sasha, maybe? Or—no, this was too specific, too detailed. And it had Jean’s name on it.
He frowned harder, flipping through the last few pages. The final sketch wasn’t even finished, just the outline of his face, jawline shaded in soft graphite.
He stared at it for far too long. His thumb hovered over the page, brushing lightly against the pencil lines, tracing the faint shadow under his nose, the curve of his cheek. It was weird, he could practically feel the time Jean had spent on every detail. Every line of his hair, the tiny freckle near his eye, even the damn scar under his lip. Jean had noticed all of it.
He didn’t really know what to feel.
Didn’t know why his chest felt like it was going to explode, why his heart was beating so fast, why his face felt like he’d dipped it into a pool of hot lava.
It was that same feeling he always got whenever Jean was around—annoyance and hatred, sure, but laced with something else he could never quite name. Like the way his stomach tightened when Jean smirked at him. The way his pulse jumped whenever they argued, standing too close, shouting over each other until the air between them crackled. The way his brain went blank whenever Jean’s voice dropped low, right before saying something smug enough to make him want to throw a punch.
Eren swallowed hard, staring down at the drawing again.
He’d seen himself a thousand times—reflections, shadows—but he’d never looked like this. Not to himself. Not to anyone.
His chest felt too tight. Like someone had stuffed cotton in his lungs. His heart hammered so fast it made his fingers tremble, and his face burned like he’d dunked it straight into a pot of boiling water.
He didn’t get it. He didn’t know why it felt like that, why something about it made him feel seen and exposed and flattered.
It was just a stupid drawing. Just Jean. Jean, who couldn’t go a single day without calling him an idiot. Jean, who picked fights over who got the last ration biscuit. Jean, who apparently spent his free time drawing Eren like he was something worth looking at.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, snapping the sketchbook shut a little too fast. The sound cracked the silence like a gunshot. He ran a hand down his face. “What the hell’s wrong with him? Who even—why would—”
“What’re you mutterin’ about, weirdo?”
He nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun around so fast he almost dropped the damn thing. Jean stood a few feet away, his shirt slightly damp from training, looking way too casual for someone who’d just walked in on Eren having a meltdown.
Eren froze. Jean froze.
Then Jean smiled. Too quickly. “Oh. My sketchbook.”
Eren blinked. “Your what?”
“My—uh, yeah, that’s mine.” Jean forced out a laugh that sounded like he was dying inside. “Cool that you found it. Was just lookin’ for that earlier. Totally not a big deal.”
He took a casual step forward. Too casual.
Eren took a step back.
“Where’d you—uh, where’d you even get that?” Jean’s voice cracked halfway through. He coughed into his fist, pretending it hadn’t happened. “Not that I care or anything. I just—you know. Sketchbooks. Priceless artistic value. Would hate for someone to, uh—spill soup on it.”
Eren squinted at him. “You’re acting weird.”
Jean barked out a nervous laugh. “Weird? Me? No. Nope. Totally normal. I’m just—haha—super chill right now. Look at me. Chillest guy you’ve ever seen.”
Eren just stared. “You’re sweating.”
“I just trained, dumbass!” Jean snapped a little too fast. “It’s called effort!”
The silence that followed was excruciating. Eren could feel the heat crawling up his neck, and Jean—who had now gone slightly pale—kept darting glances at the sketchbook like it was a live bomb.
Finally, Eren muttered, “You draw me a lot.”
Jean’s soul left his body. “I—what—no! I mean—those are studies! Practice sketches! Y’know, anatomy! Composition! It’s not weird or anything—don’t make it weird!”
Eren tilted his head, deadpan. “You drew me like fifty times.”
Jean’s voice went an octave higher. “That’s called dedication!”
Another beat of silence. Eren raised a brow. Jean tried to keep his cool and failed spectacularly.
“Okay, give it back,” Jean said finally, lunging forward just as Eren yanked it out of reach.
“Not until you explain why I look like some kind of model in this one!”
“That’s—THAT’S LIGHTING PRACTICE!” Jean lunged again. Eren dodged, clutching the sketchbook to his chest like contraband.
“Eren—give it back!” Jean hissed, voice cracking with panic.
“Why?” Eren shot back, grinning now because oh, this was too good. “You embarrassed? Got more secret portraits of me in there? Maybe a shrine too?”
Jean’s jaw clenched. “Shut up!”
Eren flipped the book open again just to be an ass, but his grin slowly faded as he turned to another page—another sketch of him, softer than the rest. He wasn’t in uniform this time. Just sitting by the window, head tilted, light cutting across his cheek. His expression was... peaceful.
Jean went still. “Eren.”
No bite to it now. No bark, no threat. Just his name, quiet and careful. Eren looked up, and Jean’s face had shifted—still flushed, still trying to look annoyed, but something else flickered there. Something real.
“It’s just practice,” Jean muttered, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. “Didn’t mean for anyone to—”
Eren closed the sketchbook gently. “They’re good.”
Jean blinked. “What?”
“They’re... really good,” Eren said, looking away, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “You make me look—” He paused, searching for the right word. “—different.”
Jean stared at him. “Different how?”
He shrugged, fidgeting with the edge of the book. “Like I’m not always angry. Or yelling. Like I’m—” he hesitated, “—someone worth looking at.”
Jean’s throat worked. For once, he had nothing sarcastic to say. The air between them felt thick and fragile.
“You are,” he said quietly. “Worth looking at, I mean.”
Eren’s heart skipped. He glanced up, and Jean was still watching him, eyes soft in a way he’d never seen before. His usual arrogance had melted away, leaving something almost shy in its place.
“Guess I just...” Jean trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess I draw what I can’t say.”
Eren swallowed hard. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
For a long second, neither of them said anything. The barracks were quiet except for their breathing, the faint sounds of the others outside. Eren’s fingers brushed the edge of the sketchbook again before he handed it back.
Jean took it carefully, their fingers brushing for a moment—warm, tentative.
“You should, uh. Keep drawing,” Eren said, clearing his throat.
Something low in Eren’s chest jolted, the feeling sharp and unsteady. His pulse jumped so hard he felt it in his fingertips. For a second, he forgot how to breathe.
He didn’t know what to do with that. With him. Jean wasn’t supposed to look at him like that, wasn’t supposed to sound like that. Soft. Sincere. Like he actually meant it.
Eren’s brain scrambled for something, anything to grab onto, some insult, some smartass comment, but nothing came. Just static. Just the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.
And suddenly everything about Jean felt like too much. The way his hair was still damp and curling against his forehead. The faint rasp in his voice. The stupid way he wouldn’t meet Eren’s eyes for more than a second. Too close. Too real.
His throat was dry. His palms itched. He wanted to step back and forward at the same time, which made absolutely no sense and only made it worse.
The silence stretched between them, thick and electric. Eren suddenly realized he was still standing too close. Close enough to see the faint pulse in Jean’s neck. Close enough that if he leaned forward even a little, if he just moved, he could—
He stopped himself. His hands curled into fists.
No. No, he couldn’t—he shouldn’t—
But god, he wanted to.
He wanted to press closer and see if Jean would stop him. Wanted to find out what that look meant, the one Jean was giving him now. Gentle, a little nervous, like he’d been waiting for Eren to catch up.
Eren’s pulse thudded in his ears. His chest ached with something so fierce and unfamiliar it almost scared him.
He wanted to laugh, or scream, or punch something just to shake the feeling off, but it was useless. It was already under his skin, sinking deep.
And when Jean’s eyes flicked down briefly, nervously, to Eren’s mouth, it hit him like a blade to the gut.
Oh. I love him.
The thought came uninvited, raw and violent, and Eren almost physically flinched from it. But once it was there, he couldn’t unhear it. Couldn’t undo it.
Jean laughed softly, breaking the silence, rubbing the back of his neck like he didn’t know what to do with himself either. “Guess I should keep my stuff outta your bed, huh?”
Eren swallowed hard, voice catching in his throat. “Yeah,” he managed, too quickly. “Yeah, maybe.”
Jean nodded, still smiling, completely unaware that Eren’s entire world had just cracked open in his chest.
And when he finally turned to leave, Eren just stood there, staring at the door long after it shut behind him.
His heart wouldn’t stop racing. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
He was so, so screwed.
Notes:
AODHUS this is so clapped
SharkyGoesReading on Chapter 1 Mon 13 Oct 2025 12:05PM UTC
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ConnieSpringersGirlfriend on Chapter 1 Mon 13 Oct 2025 01:11PM UTC
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Shameless_Pancake on Chapter 1 Tue 14 Oct 2025 12:41PM UTC
Last Edited Tue 14 Oct 2025 12:42PM UTC
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ConnieSpringersGirlfriend on Chapter 1 Tue 14 Oct 2025 07:29PM UTC
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Rosabelle220 on Chapter 1 Sun 26 Oct 2025 03:21PM UTC
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folded_napkins on Chapter 3 Mon 20 Oct 2025 05:10PM UTC
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Bajo_mi_mantita on Chapter 3 Fri 24 Oct 2025 07:20PM UTC
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Theobbymaster on Chapter 3 Sat 25 Oct 2025 09:45PM UTC
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Lezleonardo on Chapter 4 Sun 26 Oct 2025 01:38PM UTC
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Theobbymaster on Chapter 4 Sun 26 Oct 2025 02:11PM UTC
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Bajo_mi_mantita on Chapter 4 Sun 26 Oct 2025 06:09PM UTC
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BleedingHeart_Ari on Chapter 4 Mon 27 Oct 2025 11:17AM UTC
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