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Assistant: Title: okay, bambi
        Author: jaegersmoon jaegersmoon 
        Chapter: 17/42 
        Summary: The journey of two galaxies as they slowly collide . . .In desperate search of solace, wearing two losses on your hands like thick textured gloves, you arrive at Trost State University in an attempt to live out a dream you once shared with someone dear.There, eating off the bone of sheer chance, your present is greeted by your past, and you find your life intertwining with a group of close-knit friends. Lingering in their shadows, close behind, is an art student named Jean Kirstein, with a cold exterior, heavy-bagged eyes, and unpredictable behavior. It's not long before your heads clash, but what happens when your hearts begin to do the same?𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧crossposted on wattpad: jaegersmoon
        Contents: Chapter 17: In Three Days, He Drowned
    

    


      
        
          iwrote most of this chapter while sick with covid, so please spare me if there are any typos.
            
            (See the end of the chapter for  more notes.)
            
      
  

  
  
    
    The sky here in Trost cries more in a single day than you have in your entire life.What an odd concept but a brutally honest one nonetheless.It's dark this morning, gloomy, skyless, and you're scurrying through campus, running off two times more caffeine than you are sleep.
  Typical, Y/N. Never do you learn.
Late last night, you made the poor choice of picking up Perks of Being a Wallflower from your bookshelf and diving straight in after repeatedly hitting the submit button on a load of your @ssignments that were due at 11:59 p.m rather than calling it a day and going to bed when you should have.That would have been a better choice, one of far more logic, but once you slipped your fingers into the grimy off-white pages and you cracked the thin green book open like a bottle cap, releasing sealed words made of printed ink and vivid images into the air you knew you were screwed.In an instant, you were pulled out of your own reality and placed smack dab in the middle of the main character Charlie's messed up world intruding in on his life like you had been the one that was living it all along.Soon, page one turned into page two hundred, all in the time span of what felt like minutes but, in reality, had been hours. The sun was beginning to rise, announcing its arrival with rays hitting your curtains before the clouds rolled in. The light of the start of the day was peering through, and your eyes hadn't even been put to rest yet.It's not like you can blame yourself, though. Charlie's journal entries struck a nerve of familiarity in you as they read like a reflection of your own.He chose to write to a friend who wasn't really there, while you decided to write to a universe that had developed an immoral sickening addiction to punishing you for everything that was never your fault.Both of you and Charlie shared the similarities of finding a home in new literature, battling anxiety, suffering loss, and spending years living in a pathetic search to try and find a friend or two that you could confide in and help turn your lonely days into something more.
  You both succeeded.
It's a whole different experience when there are aspects inside of a book you find yourself relating to. When you look at the words and can physically feel the meaning behind them because you once lived through something of similarity is incomparable. In a sense, it makes you feel a little less alone and a little more at home.It's nice when you find a place to house the most broken parts of yourself, even if it's for just a small while. It offers some relief.That's the thrill of reading. Escaping into different worlds, one's you never knew you had the desire to live, and getting so sucked into the beautiful universe the genius author so carefully crafted that you can experience an alternate life simply by skimming through paragraphs and flipping pages crinkled and creased.With this novel, as short as it was, you felt everything there was to experience, and you wish you could have been able to experience it forever. But once the book ended, unfortunately, so did your escapism.Now instead of gluing your eyes to pages and small letters until they burn, you are here, placed back into actuality, wandering the beautiful campus of TSU with the sun that cracked the earth at dawn, now hidden behind a blanket of grey clouds, that are spilling out rain like a faucet.You are avoiding the endless swarm of students the best you can and taking steps over puddles that have blossomed on the ground. Droplets are falling from the sky, pattering down on your tan parka. The hood of it is pulled up, protecting your hair, and standard ribbon colored cream to match your sweater.Today's air is crisp and autumnal, paired perfectly with the velvety sweet smell of freshly fallen rainwater. It's not too cold nor too warm but somewhere ideally in between.The leaves are currently in the middle of their yearly transition, making your surroundings a little more inviting than usual. Different shades of gold, orange, and red proudly claim their place on the dancing leaves, sprinkled with drops of water, glistening in the world like fairy dust and magic.Since this university is a bit older, standing on its feet a little longer than most, the buildings make everything seem as though it's out of a film driven by the aesthetic of Dark Academia.The mellow colors of changing seasons reflect off the surrounding lecture halls built of wetted brown and burgundy brick, making the large campus look like something splotched across a canvas filled with warm-toned oil paints at the precise hands of well-trained artists.You wish it could stay in October forever. This chilly fall season has had a spell on you since you were a little girl, and it is strong enough in its power to bind you for the rest of your days.You breathe in the air. Filling your lungs to the point you feel relief under your ribcage, you indulge in it.With your AirPods on, blasting To Forgive by The Smashing Pumpkins, the selection of the song coming straight from your playlist you always traditionally listen to during this time of year, you arrive at the lecture building for your first cl@ss of the day, History with Professor Erwin Smith.Pulling at the door of thick polished wood, it creaks as you step inside. The air within the walls is far denser and warmer due to the sea of moving students and the lack of space.You make your way halfway down the crowded hall. Turning to your right, you step inside the cl@ssroom, the door of it already prepped open by a tall trash can pressed up against it, holding all its weight.Scanning your surroundings, you breathe in a large breath, this one not as relieving as the ones taken outside, for it lacks the autumn air.The rubber bottoms of your boots are greeted with smooth white tile, and the bright fluorescent lights tucked inside the ceiling shine brightly down on you, adding the light to your life the weather today has taken away.This lecture hall is relatively smaller than your other cl@sses, calling for a smaller number of students as well, almost half of what you're used to.There are ten rows of desks neatly lined and spread out, six seats lined in each one. Since you are running fairly close to the cl@ss start time, you find most seats occupied by bodies, electronics, and backpacks.Professor Erwin is here at the dark wooded podium, preparing his content for the cl@ss. Keeping to himself, he stands in place, tall and firm. His presence is intimidating but welcoming all the same. He is well-maintained with his blonde hair slicked back, wearing a pressed navy blue suit, a two-toned blue striped tie, and a white handkerchief tucked into his right pocket on his chest. His thick eyebrows are pulled together in intense focus as he sorts through the large stack of papers set in front of him, wholly devoured at his task at hand.Early morning history is never something to look forward to, but at least your Professor is far more than decent. He is a brilliant strategist spilling over with knowledge of how this county came to be. And more than that, he is kind enough to take the time to learn and know every student by name, breaks down the content of his lectures in a way that's easy to grasp, and never @ssigns too much homework.A rare but golden find in a University. What more could you ask for?You pace across the front of the cl@ssroom. About to p@ss the podium, Professor Erwin looks up and smiles, catching your attention. "Good morning, Y/N. Beautiful rainy morning, isn't it?" he greets as he adjusts his phone clip attached to his dark brown belt.Your music isn't too loud, so you can hear his baritone voice without any problem. He basically shakes the room anytime he speaks.You take your right earphone out, pausing the music, wanting to give him what attention you can. "Good Morning, Professor. It is," you smile at him too."Ah. Now. As I recall saying on the first day of cl@ss, there's no need for formality here," he tells you with a shake of his head, not a single strand of his hair moving from its set place; it's gelled well, clear to have taken his time on it this morning. "Go ahead and drop Professor. Erwin is just fine. I prefer it." You nod in return showing that you understand. You are about to walk away, but his words stop you prior."Oh, Y/N, One moment before you go." With both large hands, he adjusts his tie a little tighter, making sure it lines with the buttons of his dress shirt. "I wanted to say excellent job on your History report. It is the best I've seen in quite some time. You should be very proud of yourself. It seems as though you will be one to excel in your academics within my cl@ss this semester without any problem."Your smile only grows at his compliment. A small amount of satisfaction injects itself into the arteries of your heart. You worked on that report for three days straight last week. Staying extra hours on the fourth floor of the school's library, losing sleep, overplanning, and whatever else isn't healthy, all due to your excessive fear of failure.Having never received approval in the right places from the right people, those right people, of course, being mainly your @ssh@l@ of a Father, your want for acceptance shows through in everything you do, especially within your academics.It's stupid how although that part of your life is now finished, no longer surrounded by those who made you feel not good enough or like you had something to prove in order to matter, you still see the remains of all of that damage buried inside of yourself whenever you reflect.If only those parts of you were something you could leave behind the same way you have left your past, it would make the whole starting over thing a little bit easier.Shutting your thoughts away, knowing there's no point in wasting time bashing yourself for everything you wish you could change, you smile at Professor Erwin as you feel a sense of pride rise within your stomach. You keep your response mellow but appreciative. "Thank you so much. I tried my best.""Well, your best was up to par, I must say. Let me know if I can be of @ssistance to you in any way at any time." Erwin offers one final smile before he lowers his gaze back to his papers and goes back to work.You nod and smile though he doesn't see it. Pacing away, you put your music back on, Cinnamon Girl by Lana Del Ray now playing, and quietly find one of the few open desks left at the center of the room, about five rows back from the whiteboard.Unfortunately, a random student is sitting in the seat you usually occupy yourself in. You're a little irritated about it, but it's okay. It's not like you really talk to anyone in this cl@ss anyways.This is a cl@ss you have yet to make any connections in. You come in, take notes, get whatever information you need for future @ssignments, and get out. It's routine, and you're fine with it.Wiggling out of the thick straps of your backpack, you lay it down on the desk and take off your tan parka and hang it off the back of your chair so it can air dry since the material is still damp. Adjusting your brown flair pants, which you have tucked into your thick oversized cream-colored sweater, you slide into the seat.Yanking at the zipper of your bag, you open it wide and pull out your notebook, and set it on top of your desk to prepare to take notes."Excuse me," a small voice to your left says, but with the music blasting in your ears, you don't hear them. They try again, reaching out to you this time and tapping you on your shoulder. "Hi. Excuse me."Their unexpected touch grabs your attention. Your head lifts and shifts in the direction, your gaze pulling up.Sitting next to you is a girl with naturally curly hair dyed dark burgundy red with ringlets of volume you've never seen. It is thick and healthy; the length of it reaches the center of her back with a few strands of curly fringe bangs resting in her forehead right above her large dark green eyes partnered with sharp and evenly winged eyeliner. Her lips are colored with shiny pink gloss, and the septum of her button nose is pierced. She has freckles painted on both cheeks and the bridge of her nose, her smooth complexion a soft brown with a warm undertone.You can smell her from here, the scent of sugar cookies.She is beautiful. Very beautiful. One glance at her, and you are instantly reminded just how much you love women.With a dimple resting deep into only her right cheek, her other cheek free of one, she smiles at you. "Hi," she greets, her voice a little husky, making it unique. "I'm so sorry. I don't mean to bother you, but I was wondering if you had a pen or pencil I could borrow. I forgot to charge my laptop last night after I finished working on my homework, and that's usually where I take all my notes." She holds up a black Mead Five-star college ruled notebook and gives it a light shake. "So now I'm stuck writing in this thing, but I don't have anything on me to write with.""Oh." You gasp. "It's okay. Yeah, I do. Um..." You pull your bag onto your lap and open the front pocket. Quickly you shift through the different things you have stuffed away inside until you find your desired items. "You're in luck. I have both." You look back over at her. "Do you care which one?"Rapidly, she shakes her head. "You're saving my @ss right now, so anything you give me will be great." She sighs heavily in disappointment toward herself, wrapped up tightly in guilt. "I'm sorry about all this again. I'm usually more on top of my stuff than this, or you know, at least I try to be."You laugh softly, pulling out a black G-2 pen missing half its ink from previous use. "Don't worry about it. I get it," you extend your arm, holding the writing utensil out to her. "It happens to the best of us."Chewing at her lip, she takes it from you, her cold hands briefly touching yours. "You'd think with this being my second year in college, I'd have my sh@t together by now," she laughs, shaking her head again, this time at herself. "But look at me bothering someone I don't know, asking them for favors.""No college student has their sh@t together." You zip up the front pocket of your bag and set it on the tile near your feet. "And whoever says they do is most likely lying."She giggles, causing her cheeks to rise. "Yeah. I guess that's true. Thank you.""Of course," you reposition your legs under your desk, crossing your right over your left. "Don't look at it as a favor. I'm just happy I could help you out."Her glistening green eyes show her level of appreciation, her smile lighting up the room, that same dimple pushing through her skin again. "I'm Blake, by the way." She greets her as she sets the pen down at an angle on her closed notebook."Y/N," you say to her in return."Pretty name." She fluffs out her hair, the length of her fingers getting lost inside the thickness of it. "I love it.""Thank you." You smile. "I like yours too.""You're sweet." Blake drops her hands away from her head and taps the tan-colored acrylics of her left hand on her desk in a rhythm. "Did you finish the discussion post for cl@ss last night?"You figured she would have left the conversation short and sweet once receiving what she needed, but she's keeping it going. You can't find it in yourself to mind it. She has an inviting personality."Yeah. I did. It sucked, but at least they were easy points compared to the b@llsh@t some cl@ss@s give you," you say with a shrug as you think briefly of Levi Ackerman's statistics class and how you'll be more than lucky if you survive that course at all. "What about you?""Me too!" She nods, her fiery hair bouncing, even with minor movements, as she picks the pen back up. "I almost pushed my luck on the submission time, though. I think I got it in with like two minutes to spare or something. I got too caught up trying to find Peer Reviewed articles for my upcoming research paper."Your nose scrunches in disgust at the mere sound of her assignment, your mouth turning sour. "Oh, that sucks. Finding peer-reviewed articles is always such a pain in the ass. Any luck?"She clicks the pen with her thumb at a slow tempo. "Three down. I just have to try and find two more. Then I can actually start working on the sh@tty ass assignment instead of just sitting in the stress of it.""What class is it for?" You question as you take your bag off the center of your lap and place it on the floor near your feet."Bio psych. Ten pages not including cover, abstract or sources." Blakes's freckled face twists with annoyance, most of it gathering at the lines on her forehead. You can tell she dreads the work that needs to be done. "I already had to submit my topic last week so the Professor could approve it. Only a few weeks into the semester, and I already feel like I wanna die. I sometimes wish the bus would just up and hit me.""I don't blame you. I find myself wishing the same. Professors never ease you into anything, I swear. It's all a sink or swim kinda deal, and it's even more f@ck@d up because we're paying for the struggle," You reply to her, half joking, mostly serious. "You know, I would be nice and tell you that I would trade places with you if I could, but I can't bring myself to lie to you like that. So I'll send you my condolences instead if that's okay.""That's way better than nothing." She laughs as she flips her notebook open and finds a blank page. "Thank you. I really appreciate your empathy toward my struggles and want for death." She jots the date down on the top line in the right corner in black ink.
  She's sarcastic. You like it.
"Anytime." You pull the sleeves of your sweater down further toward your hands. "Just promise me that you won't let this paper be the thing that takes you out.""I can't make any promises, but I'll try to do my best." Blake gathers her thick hair in both hands and pulls it all to the right, letting it hang neatly over her shoulder, right on top of the strap of her black corduroy overalls, a white turtleneck underneath. "Plus, you're the first friend I've made in this dumb class since the person I was planning to take it with dropped out and decided to take something else literally the day before classes started. So, I can't just abandon you now, can I? Plus, who else will I ask to borrow pens from?""I'm honored." You uncross your legs, set both feet back on the floor, and press your spine deeper into your seat. "Borrow my pens all you want."Blake's nose scrunches up. "Now I'm the one who's honored."The two of you continue to make small talk for a few more minutes about your majors, future goals, and the class loads you're both facing this semester before Professor Erwin steps forward and takes his class underway for the next hour and a half.Once the class is dismissed, you and Blake walk out of the building together."What class do you have next?" Blake asks as you walk through the same wooden door you entered earlier.You follow at the heels of her black Hunter boots that meet only at her ankles. "Anatomy. I'm heading there now. What about you?""Criminal Justice 301." She yanks the thin strap of her brown Madewell bag up higher on her shoulder, securing it into a more comfortable position. "Is Anatomy your last class for the day?""No. I wish." Your tone comes dreadfully. "I have stats after my lab, then I'll be done for the day, but I think I'm gonna go to the library to study for a little and to try and get some of my homework done before my shift tonight.""Oh, cool. Where do you work?" Blake asks, her head tilted to the side."The Garrison," you say. "It's a bookstore."She nods, tight-lipped, hiding the color pink away. "I've never heard of it. But I also only recently moved here, so I feel like there's a lot that I still don't know about this place. I'm trying to do the whole 'learn as I go' thing or whatever it is that optimistic people like to call it."You scratch your shoulder under the strap of your backpack. "You're a transfer student too?"She steps out of the crowd of students to look at you, nearing the wall of the building, and stands underneath the covered area keeping out of the rain. "Yeah, I'm out of state. It's my first semester." Her eyes widen with realization. "Wait... 'too'? Does that mean you recently moved here?"You nod, taking a step to the left next to her. "Yeah. It's my first semester too. I'm not from out of state, though, just a sh@t place called Stohess. It's a few hours away."She looks defeated. "I haven't heard of that place either."You shrug. "Most haven't. It's not really a place people wanna go.""Noted to stay away." Blake nods softly. "At least it looks like we can be in crazy college sh@t together then. It's totally different than community college, huh?""Yeah. Night and day. I'm so much happier here," you proclaim with eyes of light. "What about you? Do you work, or are you only going to school?""I recently started working at this small diner called Dok's," she tells you. "I don't know if you've heard of it. It's a waitressing job to help get me through the rest of my undergrad.""Oh, no way." Your cheeks meet your eyes as you smile. "I love Dok's." Your lips settle back down. "How do you like working there?""I like it so far." She shrugs with indifference as she runs her finger through the ends of her hair. "There are rude customers sometimes and an annoying amount of wasted college students late at night, but the tips are really good, and Nile is a super chill manager and works around my schedule, so I guess I'd consider myself pretty lucky.""That's good. It's hard to find managers willing to do that sometimes," you tell her as students pass by, going to and from classes. "My friends like to go there a lot, so maybe I'll see you.""I hope so," she gleams."Alright, well, I should get going. I'll see you Thursday," you speak. "Good luck with your paper. Don't die.""I'll do whatever I can to prevent it. Good luck in Anatomy," she says before turning away. The two of you step out into the drizzling rain and part ways continuing with the rest of your day.After some walking, with fallen leaves crushing against your feet and your hands tucked into your parka to help keep them warm, the hood pulled over your head again to prevent the rain from messing up your hair, you arrive at the tall five-story science building.You step through that same hallway where you first met Eren and walk through the sea of students weaving in and out.The nerves of seeing him again for the first time since you kissed him begin to swarm you like a storm you aren't ready for.It's crazy how quickly things can change and by how much.Only a few weeks ago, you had no clue who Eren was. He was nothing but a handsome stranger who you happened to run into by chance alone and was kind enough to help you out with directions, seeing that you had lost your way.Now, you're walking the same hallways all alone, thinking in your head how to talk to him about the moment you shared last week and how to let him down easily for the sake of Mikasa without risking the loss of his friendship you feel more value for now than you realized before.
  Who would have ever thought?
Pulling at the metal handle of the heavy door to the lab, you yank it open and step through. Your focus immediately falls to the table that has become yours and Eren's unofficially assigned seats to see the pair of black round lab stools empty, both his and yours.A wave of relief washes onto the shore of your heart over the simple fact that Eren hasn't arrived at class yet. Typically, you look forward to spending this time with him because of how much you enjoy his company and how well you get along when you spend time together.He always makes the class enjoyable, causing it to pass much faster than any of your other courses, but you aren't feeling anything other than stress right now.Your mind is currently thinking of all the possibilities, none of them good, because that seems to be the only way your mind likes to work.
  The overthinker in you never does like to rest, especially right now.
After having that conversation with Mikasa two nights ago in the bathroom of your apartment when she shared with you her makeup right alongside her heart full of worry and what she believes firmly is the start of unrequited love, facing Eren again has you a little bit on edge.Especially knowing what you know now and seeing the amount of emotion that surged into Mikasa's grey eyes when she told you of everything she's never even been able to come to terms with before now.All you want is to help her feel more comfortable in the things she hasn't quite figured out, and in order to do that, you have to start by telling Eren you are no longer interested in him, all while keeping Mikasa's entrusted secret housed inside your heart where no one else can see.Bertholdt said once in the basement that not all guys take rejection well, and your only experience with men has never been good, leading you to lean more toward the worst-case scenarios, which is what's happening here.Students begin to pour in around you from both sets of doors at the front and the back of the classroom. With your hands still tucked into your jacket, you push them in as far as the material will allow and stroll over to your seat.Sitting down, you take off your bag, unzip it in one quick movement and begin to pull out your class materials. Your laptop, notebooks, pen, and book so you can read and kill time since you got here a little earlier than usual.This morning before you left your apartment for class, you decided to bring Perks of the Wallflower with you. The urge to flip it back over and reread it is a desire you've faced since last night, and it hasn't let you go.You want to give the heart what it wants and what it wants is to be able to experience this book again for the first time. But knowing that's a nonviable wish, you have to settle for reading it for a second time and hope it will be satisfying enough even though you know it won't be.You planned to start rereading it in History, but meeting Blake changed that, taking up all of your time with her welcoming presence. Now you have the time to spare, and it will play as a great distraction before Eren arrives.Running your hand down the green cover, your fingers find their way between the pages, and you rip them apart, revealing to yourself the pieces of your heart you left behind in ink and tabs placed in and out of the margins.With your nose deeper into the world of the main characters than in the actual world of your own, you begin to lose touch with all of your surroundings, getting lost somewhere beyond the four walls of this classroom.The volume of the ruckus from moving and conversing students is as loud as ever, but the words of the pages are even louder, causing everything around you to become quieter, and your heart and mind grow a little more at peace.Minutes pass as the pages flip between your fingertips faster than your heart as it beats when you feel a warm hand on your shoulder startling you, long fingers curling into your shoulder, nearing your collar bone.Your body jolts in unexpectedness. Immediately, you tear your face away from the pages, and you look to see Eren standing to your right, peering down at you.Eren begins to chuckle at your surprised reaction. "Ah, F@ck, Y/N. That's my bad. I didn't mean to scare you." His hand drops away from you and tucks itself into the front pocket of his black joggers, a black Nike lanyard hanging from his right pocket.Shaking your head, you close your book and stuff it away into your bag on top of all your other packed items. "No, it's," you falter. "It's fine."God. All Eren is doing is standing here next to you, and your anxiety has skyrocketed to a place further than space, making it even worse than before. How are you supposed to sit and have this needed conversation with him when your mind is full of so much dread?Over the last year spent working on yourself, you've grown more comfortable with addressing issues when they arise. But what's different here is what's at stake. What if Eren gets mad or isn't understanding? What if you're unable to return to being the kind of friends you were before?That worries you and makes you want to crawl back into your old bad habits of letting things you never say eat you alive.Eren's eyebrows furrow. He looks at you with curious eyes resting beneath the few fallen strands of his brown hair that are always there when his hair is tied in a knot with a rubber band. "How have you been? I haven't seen you since the other night." He sits on the empty stool to your left, keeping the conversation light, but it doesn't add any ease to you. You're too much in your head.You adjust yourself around your seat. "I've been okay," you say, the bottoms of your boots pressing into the lower metal bar of the stool.His focus stays where it is, assessing you, traveling to your chin, up to your forehead, until it lands right in the middle, looking at you as though he knows something's not quite right. The lines on his face have grown in tension, indenting the corners of his bright yet concerned eyes as they shape themselves thin behind his long thick eyelashes.You realize that Eren can sense something in the air is off. It's obvious. Potent. And you both are sitting in the closest quarters, feeling all of it.You're trying to fake it as much as possible, your comfortability, your levelheadedness, but it's near impossible to control the energy that surrounds you, and what's happening to it right now is entirely different compared to how it typically is when you're together.Eren takes his backpack off and places it on the lab table, the black buckles of his straps clicking against the hard surface. "I'm sorry I haven't texted you," he says apologetically as he unzips his bag to access his messily stuffed materials. "Trust me, I meant to, but I knew you were gonna be busy tutoring Jean, and then I heard you went back to Stohess for personal stuff and I didn't want to bother you when you were gone. I didn't think trying to pry small talk out of you would do you any favors."Your spine stretches, but you don't look at him. Your focus stays forward. "Who told you I was going back to Stohess?"Eren zips his bag back up and pushes it to the side of the tabletop, "Connie did."A small sigh of relief spirals from your lungs, knowing Jean wasn't the one telling of your life. "Figures."He breathes out of his nose. "Yeah. You know how much that stupid f@ck@r loves to run his loud ass mouth.""Yeah," you return, still looking ahead, avoiding his eyes, afraid yours might speak for you.A few moments of the silent fleet by until you hear Eren sigh. "Look. I know it sounds like I just gave you super sh@t excuses for not talking to you, Y/N, and I'm sorry. Just know that it wasn't because I wasn't thinking about you because, trust me, I was. A lot. How the hell could I not?"You rip your focus from the whiteboard and look at him. Your stomach knots a little, right at the top nearest to your sternum. You can tell in his eyes that he genuinely does feel sorry about it. "It's okay. Don't worry about it. I had a lot of stuff on my mind anyways."He blinks. "Yeah? Anything you wanna talk about?"Your stomach knots more. "No," you decline, fast with your response. You appreciate his offer, but you need to keep that wall up for your sake of yourself for the time being. "It's fine."His eyes twitch, unconvinced. "Alright." He nods but not without hesitance. You know he doesn't believe you, but he doesn't ask anything else about it.You go quiet again as your mind begins to scream, this time about things Eren might have heard through the pipeline.You know Eren saw Jean when he went home the other night after he dropped you off, meaning he is more than likely aware of Jean's condition, the wounds on his face, and the bandage on his hand to help keep his cracked knuckles safe.It would have been impossible for Jean to hide the injuries he endured even if he tried, and if Connie ran his mouth about you going back to Stohess, then it is more than likely, he ran his mouth about Jean tagging along with you too.If that's the case, what exactly did Jean say to them? Because while Eren seems to know something, he also seems not to know enough. If there's one thing, it's that he's missing parts of the complete picture, and he doesn't know where to start in piecing it together with whatever information he does or doesn't have.All of that makes you wonder how that conversation went down and how Jean answered the pile of questions you know he was cornered with by both of his friends.The silence stays as your mind goes full force, taking detours through wondrous paths filled with different possibilities and scenarios, none of which have definitive answers.You try your best to put your mind elsewhere, to focus on the loud sounds that are spilling into the air around you, attempting to hear what words you can actually pick out in the storm of voices.You need some form of diversion because the silence between the two of you makes you want to crawl out of your skin, and you don't want to sit in your mind for longer than you have to. That's never a beneficial game, but one you always seem to play.Your ears finally catch on to a conversation between two classmates sitting directly behind you. You focus on their voices to try to quiet the thoughts making you swell.Noticing the silence that seems to be missing its end, Eren takes the matter of fixing the apparent awkwardness held at your fault with his own hands. "Hey. Are you good?" He asks, tapping the outside of your thigh closest to him with the back of his hand. "You've been sitting here acting like you barely know me since I got here. I feel like I'm prying conversation out of you."Meeting his bright-colored eyes again, you attempt to give him a convincing smile, but with how it feels on your lips, you know it's nothing of that sort. The corners of your mouth barely lift at all. "Really. I'm fine."
  Great. Feeding your friend a load of b@llsh@t out of fear brought on by overthinking. What a good start to your day, Y/N.
Eren sees through all of this clearly, as though he is looking at you through transparent glass. "Liar. I can tell something's off." He runs his tongue inside the bottom of his lip, nudging you in the side of your thigh again. "You were more talkative when you bumped into me in the hallway on the first day of class than you are right now. What the hell is up with you?"You take a sharp breath and exhale it slowly to center yourself. Your lips part, but the loud noise of someone busting through the classroom door cuts into the conversation, making everything you don't know how to say fly straight out the window.Yours and Eren's heads shoot toward the front of the class, where you see your Professor, Hange, holding a stack of books and lab materials that goes from their lower stomach all the way to meet their chin, fighting to keep all the poorly piled items balanced in their arms while also having a large 32 oz cup of hot coffee in their right hand.The white lid of the cup is colored light brown from the overspills coming from the drinking hole, showing that they struggle their entire way over.Hange sings songs the minute they enter the lab, the door slamming shut behind them. "Good morning! Good morning! Good morning my magnificent, spectacular, and every other word in the dictionary defines something, good students!" Their eyes are lit up, and their smile is vast; you swear it strains your own cheeks just by looking.They make their way behind the long desk setin front of the whiteboard and continue with their song of greeting. "Ah! My precious Sawney and Beans'! I hope you all had a fantastic weekend and had some well-deserved time to rest, eat, and pamper those brilliant little brains of yours. Taking care of yourselves is the very most important thing!"The class greets Hange in return with different words at different times, calling for a big commotion. Still, none of it, even combined, comes close to meeting your Professor's contagious energy that never empties."I honestly doubt they need to be drinking that coffee," Eren mumbles under his breath as the two of you watch them continue to struggle to keep hold of all of the items.You try to ignore your nerves still sitting beneath your skin as best you can, not wanting them to keep the unsettling awkwardness between you any longer if you can help it. You can't keep giving him the cold shoulder.You swallow, your thick, feeling tongue. "They're who I aspire to be," you whisper back."Yeah? Why? You're better." Eren taps his black pen lightly at the top corner of your opened notebook. "Always will be."You glance at him. "You're being cheesy, Jaeger. You know that, right?"He shrugs his shoulders and pulls his hood up, hiding away his hair. "I'm just trying to help cheer you up," Eren admits, voice still low. Your heart twists at his care for you.Professor Hange roughly drops their books and papers onto the desk, causing the pile to spill all over the hard surface, making a mess. Their cup of coffee is safe, and you can tell by the relief that is on their face it's all that matters to them.They leave their items strewn across the tabletop, not bothering to arrange them. "Whew. Now that I'm all settled in, let's get this show on the road, shall we? For today's lesson, we will discuss the anatomy of the eyes!" They pull down the projector screen from the scroll hanging from the ceiling, and they clap their hands together in excitement. "This is one of my very favorite topics to teach. Buckle up, my friends. There's a lot to learn!"Wasting no time, they dive into their lecture. The PowerPoint full of information is so bright in color and outrageous in fonts it almost burns when you look.Thirty minutes pass of Hange's enthusiastic subject of the parts of the human eye and its functions when an unevenly folded piece of paper lands in front of you on the table with one fellow swoop of Eren's large hand.With a crane of your neck, your gaze meets his, and he scrunches his nose at you the way he always does. Chewing at your cheek, you grab the piece of paper and unfold it.Eren's handwriting is bold in blue ink in all capitalizations. The uneven sloppiness is written on the top line of the creased college-ruled notebook paper.
  Prof. Hange might have saved your ass in answering my question by busting through the door, but I think you forgot how our relationship started...

  #1
  
  Because you're a clumsy girl who doesn't like to watch where you're going in the hallway

  #2
  
  Passing notes during lectures that led to us bonding over our stupid ass trauma

  This means I can write you one now, Y/N. Just because I can't talk to you doesn't mean I'm gonna stop asking you what's going on. That's not the way sh@t goes around here. Get used to it.
You press your lips together, teeth sinking into them as you tuck them between. You can sense the thoughtfulness behind every messy stroke of his pen, naturally making you feel a little more at ease.You run the tips of your fingers along the thin paper. You have the urge to fill the page with everything you want to say and everything you're too anxious to allow to pass through your thickened tongue. But you know that's not a wise decision. An easy one, maybe, but not the best.So instead, you choose to keep your response short. Pushing your tongue into the inside of your cheek, you write beneath the line that holds his writing.
  Later, after class, I'll tell you.
  
  Deal? :)
Folding it up, you slide it back, making the delivery of it to him the same way he did. He is quick to grab it off the table, and he opens it with eagerness. He reads the small message as he chews at his cheek and then puts his pen to paper. A few seconds pass, and he slides the note back.Beneath your writing, his reads:
  Look at you making deals.
  
  You're leaning the way of
  
  the group fast as hell. Give
  
  me something not to like about
  
  you for once. Alright?

  Deal, by the way :)
Folding the paper back up, keeping your privately written messages to each other away from the world, you look over at him to see his focus honed in on the white that Professor Hange is frantically writing on with a bright red expo marker things you can't quite read. Their excitement is ruining its legibility.Sensing you looking, Eren chuckles to himself, keeping his head straight. "Eyes front, Y/N," he mutters under his breath. "Keep looking at me, and you're gonna get me called out by the Professor again. I can't keep letting myself get in trouble because of you, or I'll be screwed all the way to hell."You roll your eyes, fighting off a smile. There are still anxious nerves, but you feel more centered now. His written words of care seem to have gone a long way.Without another word, you choose to put your focus back on Hange while your mind runs in search of the right words to say to Eren once class ends and the time comes to keep your end of the deal.Professor Hange dismisses class about thirty minutes early, simply for the hell of it, and you and Eren head out together, walking side by side."F@ck. I'll never understand how someone has so much energy all of the time," Eren groans as he stretches his arms. "Hange's on the same d@mn level as Connie and Sasha."Your shoulders lift and drop back down. "Beats me. I could sleep for three weeks straight, maybe even hibernate, and I would still be tired.""I feel it," Eren replies, pulling at the dangling straps of his black backpack to tighten it, lifting it a little higher on his backside. "But go ahead and do me a solid. Don't ever do that whole sleep for three weeks straight or hibernation sh@t, alright?""Why not?" You remark, meeting his sarcastic words with some of your own as you step around some students passing by, avoiding knocking into them. "Sounds pretty inviting to me.""Because we'd all miss the sh@t out of you. Why else?" He states, glancing down at you with a smile, and it makes your heart grow warm."Right. And who'd miss me the most?" You jab, a little unconvinced yet hopeful that people would actually miss you when you were gone having spent so long in the mindset that no one would. "You?"His tongue clicks against his teeth. "As much as I wanna say yeah, I'd probably say..." he pauses like he's thinking, but he looks like he already knows."Sasha?" You guess.Eren's head shakes with denial, the front strands of his hair shifting. "Jean."You laugh once, like what he said is just as stupid as it is ridiculous. "Oh, you're so full of sh@t."His eyebrows knit, hands tightening around the straps of his backpack. "Am I?""You are. We hate each other. You know this," you try to argue, but the words sound just as pathetic as they taste."No, you don't," Eren says, unruffled. "Not really."You want to say something, but there is nothing for you to say, leaving you ultimately defeated, with no argument left to stand upon.Reaching the wooden double door with large clean windows, Eren pushes it open and holds it for you. "So where are we going?" He asks, filling in the silence the lack of your response brought on. "Aloha Java?"You step outside, your shoulder accidentally brushing against his chest. The clouds are still resting in the sky, but the rain has stopped completely, leaving only the aftermath. "How'd you know?""It's Aloha Java, Y/N" He lets the door go and catches up with your step. "You're predictable.""No. I'm not," you bite defensively, arms crossing in front of you."No?" Eren tilts his head slightly, gaze narrowing thin as he looks at you. "If you're not, then why was my prediction about you wanting to go there, right?"You shrug your left shoulder. "Luck.""Usually, I'd believe whatever comes out of your mouth, but I actually don't believe in luck," he says casually. "So, therefore, I'm right, and you're a liar.""You don't believe in luck?" You question, and he shakes his head with firmness twice. You turn the corner to the left, and the coffee cart of Aloha Java falls into your line of sight. "What do you believe in, then?"Eren folds his arms over his chest, slightly creasing his black vintage Champion hoodie. "I believe you've been acting weird with me all morning, and don't say you're not, Y/N, because you are. It's after class now, so it's time for you to cut through the b@llsh@t you keep on giving me."He's got you there. You swallow hard, inching closer to the cart, the subtle scent of brewing coffee calling your name. "I just," you stammer. "I just need to talk to you about something kinda important, and I don't really know where to start.""Alright." Eren nods, not at all bothered by your vague response with no given elaboration. "You wanna get some coffee first?"You nod your head steadily. "I think you know my answer."The right side of his mouth lifts at its corner. He grabs your shoulder on top of the strap of your bag and gives it a light squeeze. "See? Just as I said, predictable as hell," he teases, and his arms fall back down to his side.Rolling your eyes, you slap him lightly on the arm with the back of your hand. "Just for that, you owe me a coffee.""Alright. Fine," Eren states cooly, stepping into the small line outside the order window. "But I was planning on getting your sh@t anyways, so it's no sweat off my back." With a slight smile, you tell him okay.The wait in line takes no time at all.Reaching the front of the cart, a young barista greets you. It's not Floch, and that's what you're most thankful for. You couldn't deal with him right now on top of everything else. Eren looks relieved about it too.He orders himself a hot black americano, and you order yourself a hot americano, too but yours with a splash of Oatmilk. Usually, you lean more toward iced, but with today's weather, you didn't even want to bother.Eren goes to grab his wallet, but you use the Apple Pay set up on your phone, beating him to it.He looks down at you; eyes thinned, hand holding his wallet he was too slow to grab. "What the hell, Y/N? You said this was on me.""I know I did, but I changed my mind," you remark with a faint smile.He lets out a defeated sigh. "I'm getting you back for this. You know that, right?""Yeah. We'll see," you shrug, and he shakes his head with a smile tugging at the right side of his mouth.After receiving your coffees, the two of you find an empty table outside that happens to be the same one you sat in before when Eren told you what happened to his parents, and you told him what happened to yours, and you're hit with a subtle feeling of Deja Vu.Sitting across from each other, Eren takes a sip of his americano. "Alright, you got your coffee, so talk to me. What's going on with you?"You take a breath and hold it as you wrap both hands tightly around your hot cup on the table in front of you, the warmness seeping into your hands and traveling up through your arms.Though Eren has made you feel less stressed simply by being himself, you are still dreading this conversation with him, not because of what needs to be said but because you're terrified of losing a friend in the process of it all or not being able to go back to how things were before.The thing that makes his presence in your life so important is that he understands you in the most profound ways.Eren knows how the world works when it's been set on fire by people you once trusted but was then forced to be roughly rebuilt on a pile of bones made of dead moms and sh@t dads.He reconciles with the feeling of being left behind with absolutely nothing but a pulled-apart heart, a pulverized soul, and countless childhood dreams built around a family that was once whole and full of love but is now no longer anything at all.These are things that not everyone can understand. Not unless you've suffered through it, and having that connection with him is comforting.During your time here in Trost, you have quickly come to find that you and Eren live by having moons in your mouths. Both of you, never resting, trying with your best efforts to shine with whatever light you have left, somewhat weak and flickering, onto the running riverbed that's water is solely made of others' who have lost themselves to brokenness and pain, carefully reflecting only the good back unto them to ensure they can see it in the eyes of their own.You see it in the way Eren tries to help Jean despite Jean's habits of trying to pull himself free. You see it in the ways he shows concern for you, even while still knowing little about you. You can see it in the way he keeps his friends and his brother close to his heart, with the will to die for them without having to even think about it at all.You recognize the giver in him sprouting out from his tailbone like a tree made of cypress. An evergreen, whose breathing bark is made of his once grieving heart and its sprawled branches and thick falling leaves made of the love he once had but never received again.You don't want to lose that. You can't lose that. You can't lose him. Not Eren. Not when he understands the heaviness of the things you have experienced, sharing that same heaviness too.Not when he knows what the moon tastes like.Eren is important to you, a friend your heart couldn't help but fully embrace the day you met him. There's no beating around the bush with that. You can only hope that you're important enough to him that he is willing to understand what you're going to say and choose to stay your friend despite your mind changing its course about him.Your never-ending thoughts are making your face grow hot with stress. You can only hope he doesn't notice.He does notice, though. "You're flustered," the words leave him with a statement of firmness. It's not a question he needs an answer to. He already has his own.You snap back into yourself and release all the air you're holding. "No, I'm not," you argue, denying his statement to him and yourself even though you know you are. The heat of stress radiating from your face right now could change the season back to summer. "I'm not," you repeat for the second time to deepen the assurance, but it only leaves you sounding much less believable and much more pathetic.He takes a large swig of his hot coffee, not at all fazed as the temperature of it travels through his mouth and down his throat."Yeah, you are," Eren states, not budging in his argument. "I've seen you get flustered a few times before. I know what you look like. I basically have that sh@t memorized." He crumbles up the small napkin on the table and tosses it at you.It lands directly in your lap, "stop it." Picking it back up, you toss it back.Eren catches it without blinking, as though he reads your movement before you even know what it will be. "I will once you tell me what's going on with you. If not, I'll keep bugging the sh@t out of you until you break. You need to know you can talk to me about anything. You don't have to hold back when you're with me."You pick at the edges of your white coffee lid. It's better late than never. You have to speak now or forever hold your stupid peace.You clear your throat and force yourself toward your truth. "It's about our kiss."Eren blinks, setting the crumpled-up napkin on the center of his coffee lid. "Yeah. I mean, I kinda figured."Your jaw pulses as your teeth push together. "You did?"He shrugs. "You may be a hard-as-sh@t person to read most of the time, but I'm not stupid. I figured it was probably something to do with that. It was the only thing that really made the most sense. We made out, it was really f@ck@ng good, but the next thing I knew, I saw you again in class and could barely bring yourself to look at me." He pushes his coffee cup away from him. "What about our kiss?""I," You chew at the taste buds on your tongue. "I enjoyed our kiss a lot."Eren bites the inside of his cheek, bouncing his leg up and down under the table in anticipation. "But..."You run your tongue across your bottom lip to its corner. "But I don't know." You take a breath and let it out sharply. "I know that we never talked about our intentions or what we wanted out of it or anything like that. It all just sorta happened, but I think it's only fair if I'm honest with you and tell you when something is bothering me because if I'm not, that's not only unfair to me, but it's unfair to you too, and that's not something I'm okay with."Eren's leg continues to move repeatedly, causing the rest of his body to move too. "And what's bothering you exactly?"Resting your forearms and hands on the table, you lean forward slightly. "As much as I enjoyed our kiss and as much I wanted it to happen at the time, I've been thinking for the past couple of days, and I think that it's better if we remain just friends. That this interest in each other stops here, where it is."There's a shift in his face. It's not a change of anger or irritability but one of more concern than anything else.He holds quiet, taking in and processing your words. His leg and the rest of his body have stilled as his lips push together, making them thinner than usual. "Did I do something wrong? Did I make you uncomfortable or anything like that?" There's tension growing in his jaw, in his forehead, and in the rest of his body too. "Tell me if I did. That's the last thing in this whole d@mn world that I want.""Eren. No." You shake your head profusely, words strong in their meaning of denial. "You didn't do that. If anything, you did the complete opposite. I felt comfortable with you."Air packed with relief spirals out of his lungs as his tight muscles relax. "F@ck." He whispers under his breath, then speaks up, eyes locking into yours. "You had me scared sh@tless for a second, thinking I did something to make you feel unsafe."Your heart is in your words as you speak them to him. "It's not that at all. I just," you sigh, your mouth moving faster than your mind. "Your friendship means a lot to me, more than I think I even realized up until now, and because of that, I think it's best if I tell you what I'm feeling, which is what I'm trying to do here."He nods as you continue. "Look, Eren. You are one of the few people who understand and can relate to the things I've been through because you've been through similar things too, and after taking time to process what happened with us, I realized I don't want to jeopardize what we have. I'm grateful for our friendship, and I'm grateful for you, and I don't want to risk losing you or making things awkward between us by me coming to you and telling you this."It's silent for some time. You aren't exactly sure how long, but it feels like it lasts longer than forever. It's not an awkward silence, but it's a tense one, and you know it won't crack until you hear his voice and he tells you whatever it is that he's thinking, but his words never come. "Eren? Say something. You're making me anxious.""I'm p@ss@d," Eren says blatantly.Your stomach turns sick, a bitter taste sitting on the back of your tongue. "Why?" Your voice is hesitant, unsure if you even want to know the answer.He's quiet for a few seconds more, face sitting in an expression you can no longer read, and then he speaks again, the voice of stone melting to pure liquid. "I'm p@ss@d that you would think for even a f@ck@ng minute that you are at risk of losing me."Relief rushes through you, your stomach and heart relaxing. "Oh."Eren takes a deep breath. "Y/N. You are never going to lose me as a friend. I don't care what." Lifting a hand, he rakes his fingers through the top of his scalp. "You're right, you know. We get each other on a different level compared to other people. That's a f@ck@ng fact. So, it doesn't mean sh@t to me if you change your mind and decide you don't want to keep on with whatever this is. What means sh@t to me is you." There's a brief pause, but his eyes don't part from you. "I mean, yeah, I'll be honest, I'm a little disappointed, but I'll suck that sh@t up and get over it because you're not the only one who values this friendship. You gotta understand that."Not only do you hear the care he has toward you, but you can see it too. It is visibly sitting in his eyes, almost like his pupils have been replaced with his heart."You're not mad?" You ask, searching for more assurance though everything he is saying to you is sitting well in your chest, much sweeter than you anticipated.He pulls off his hood, exposing his man-bun. "Of course, I'm not mad. I get it—mind's change. I didn't try to pursue this whole thing in the first place for the hell of it. I did it because you are the f@ck@ng coolest person I've ever met, and I'll be d@mned if I let myself lose you or our friendship over something like this. You mean more to me than that.""Thank you." Lifting your coffee with both hands, you take a sip, the warm liquid spilling down your throat into your chest, more grateful for his understanding than you can express aloud. "Thank you for listening to me and hearing what I have to say. It means a lot, and I'm sorry... about all of this.""Don't be sorry." Eren leans back in his seat. "As I said, you can talk to me about anything. I know we're still getting to know each other, but that doesn't really make a difference to me. I see you the same as I see Armin or Mikasa, or Jean. How long I've known you doesn't play any part in the value I have for our relationship. You just have to promise me you're not gonna be awkward around me again like you were back in anatomy. I couldn't stand that sh@t."You laugh softly, taking another sip of your drink. You feel warmer inside. You can't tell if it's the hot coffee or Eren's words. You're pretty sure it's a mix of the two. "I won't, I promise.""Good. I'll take your word," he breathes. "Anything else you wanna talk to me about?""No. That's it." You shake your head. "I gotta get going. I have stats."Eren stands, the legs of the chair scraping against the concrete as he pushes the weight of it back with the back of his legs. "Come on. I'll walk you." Taking his offer, you oblige.You walk the shoulder with Eren all the way to the lecture hall, where your stats class is held. He shares small talk with you along the way, and it feels like nothing has changed, making you extremely relieved.Arriving at your building, you step out of the crowd of passing students, nearing your body to the built brick. You look up at Eren. "Thanks for walking to me.""No problem," He steps forward to you. Wrapping his arms around you, he pulls you into a hug, arms wrapping around your neck, and yours warp around his stomach. "I'm not going anywhere. Remember that." His low voice seeps into your ear, filling your heart before it does your mind.You push the side of your head into his chest. "You better not." You pull away from each other. Your hands fall to your side and his to his pockets. "Oh, by the way, I was thinking about going to the library after stats to get some Anatomy homework out of the way if you wanna come. It might get it done faster with two people. Probably around 3:30."He tugs at the collar of his sweatshirt, adjusting it. "Yeah. I'm down. I'll meet you there.""Okay," You turn toward the building. "Bye, Eren.""Bye, Y/N." and you part ways.Stepping into Professor Ackerman's class with your coffee in hand that has lost some of its heat, you scan the large room to see your classmates scattered here and there. Some are standing, some are sitting, some are conversing loudly, and some are not saying a single word.Pushing the soles of your boots into the small rectangular mat of black carpet set at the entrance, you drag them back against the course material to help get rid of any access water from the damp ground living in its deepened ridges.You begin walking down the steps to find an empty seat closer to the whiteboard and podium where Professor Levi is standing, wiping down the campus computer with a disinfectant wipe. He is wearing an all-black button-up and black dress pants, with no wrinkle or crease on a single part of him."Y/N." Your name is called from a distance. It almost gets lost in the ocean of conversations happening at once, but the unknown voice is so enthusiastic and kind that your mind can pick it out amidst all the other sounds bouncing off the walls.Immediately, you halt your step and quickly turn your head toward the voice. Blinking your eyes, you see Colt sitting at an end seat four rows down from where you are standing. With a warm smile, he waves an eager signaling hand in the air with the inaudible want for you to come over to him.His blue eyes glow against his fair skin, and the curve of his lips lift high, both working as a team, making his entire presence inviting.Lifting your free hand, you wave back to him and stride down a couple more steps to make your way to him."Hi, Colt." You say when you approach, now standing to his left."Hi," Colt greets in return with a crisp smile, his straight teeth almost white enough to reflect underneath the fluorescent lights. "Wanna sit?" Moving his black and grey North Face backpack out of the light grey cushioned seat next to him, he tilts the top of his head toward it. "I kinda saved it for you.""Oh." You nod and smile in appreciation as your step forward and cross in front of him to gain access to the open seat on his right. "That was nice of you. Thank you." Swinging your bag full of books off, you plop yourself down into the seat next to him, placing it in the center of your lap and setting your coffee near your feet.Leaning his body forward, Colt places his heavy bag on the floor near his feet. "Don't mention it." Slumping back into his chair, his arms crossed in front of him. "You know, I was going to text you to let you know I was keeping a seat open for you, but then I realized you never shot me a text." He c@cks a bow, analyzing eyes flickering across your face. "Be honest. Did you toss my number?"Oh, f@ck. That's right. The number he gave you that you stuffed away in a random page of If We Were Villains. It's still in there, collecting dust. You completely forgot about it."What gave it away?" You ask, teasing him with the hopes of being able to play this entire thing off with grace. "Don't tell me you can read my mind that easily, Colt. We've only just met.""Oh, no, no. Don't worry. It's nothing like that." His shoulders roll back, pressing deeper into the cushioned seat. "I sort of felt it was a long shot that a cute girl like you would even text me when I gave you my number.""Oh, really? What was your guesstimated percentage of success of me actually texting you then?" You wrap your arms loosely around your bag, your head still tilted curiously. "Like Fifty-fifty?""That's a little generous, to be completely honest with you." Colt shakes his head and chuckles. "I was guessing more around the range of ninety-ten or something like that?" You laugh, appreciative of his effort to go along with your sense of humor.He grabs his phone set in the center on his lap on top of his dark-washed jeans. Unlocking it, he types on it. His wrist twists, and he hands it to you. The screen shines, showing empty lines of contact information. "How do you feel about making sure these odds work in my favor this time? Or would you rather I write my number down so that you can do me the honors of tossing it again?"You glance down at the phone and then back up at him. "Look at you. Smooth talker or what?""Hm. That depends," Colt says, seeming to be almost nervous. "Did it work?"You blink. "Oh yeah. You're definitely giving people a run for their money.""Wait, really?" His eyes widen. "I can't tell if you're joking or not," he mutters with uncertainty, his white cheeks turning bright red.You shrug your left shoulder. "Why do you sound so surprised?"He laughs the nervous kind. "This isn't really something I do a lot. I'm kinda out of practice."You smile. "Could have fooled me." You chew at the inside of your lip in the inner corner. You grab his phone from him. "For studying purposes, right?""Oh, yeah. Of course. For studying purposes." Colt says, arm falling on the armrest of his seat. "This class is hard, and I gotta keep my grades up. I can't risk them slipping."You quickly type in your name and number into the correct lines. "Why? Are you trying to get into grad school, or are you just an academic validation kinda guy?" You hold his phone back to him, and it shifts back into his possession."No, neither." He hits the save button, the screen locking your information tight, and stuffs it in his front pocket. "I need to make sure that I keep them up for —"Levi's harsh voice erodes through the classroom as he steps out from behind the podium, bringing your attention away from each other and toward the front towards him."Attention, class." Levi greets not so welcoming, rather sharp and cold, much like his appearance. "I need all of you to put your cellphones away. Another word from a single one of you and I will move the exam up by a week. Understood?"His gray eyes scan the entire class, face scowling as he ensures everyone abides by his request. The volume of the surrounding students falls silent at rapid speed, no one wanting to get on his bad side and risk the exam getting moved.Everyone here knows Professor Levi Ackerman doesn't joke around, and you're bold if you even dare.He waits a few seconds, then nods, satisfied that his class has fallen quiet, but he doesn't dare smile. His lips stay as tight and unmoving as the rest of his face. "Good. Now, let's get started." He turns swiftly on the heels of his black dress shoes and paces back toward the podium. "Today, we will continue our lesson on cat and whisker plots alongside stem and leaf. Pay attention and keep quiet. I've had a rough morning, do not make it worse. I am not in the mood."The PowerPoint loads onto the screen. It's standard, to the point, and so uniform it looks like it could be fifty years old, utterly different than Hange's.As the class begins, you and Colt keep your full attention on the projector. Levi lectures and you take as many notes as possible, sipping your coffee throughout, knowing that this content will be on the upcoming test and also knowing that if you don't study, you will be royally f@ck@d.After the lesson ends, you're dismissed gruffly by Levi, and you and Colt gather your things. You head out of the lecture hall together. Arriving at the outside door that leads outside, Colt holds it open for you."Thank you," you mutter as you step by him, making your way outside and tossing your empty coffee cup into the nearest trash bin."Of course," he says, letting them go door following right behind. "What class do you have next?"The smell of wet earth fills your nose. The rain has started again, but only in sprinkles. "I'm actually done for the day. But I'm going to study for a bit. Where are you headed?""Econ," his face shows the dread within him. "It's kicking my ass." He takes a step out of the way of the walking student and sets his backpack down near his feet. Unzipping it, he pulls out a thick sweatshirt he has stuffed inside.You stop in place and tilt your head. "As bad as stats?""No way. Not even close," Colt returns with a large sigh. "Everything Professor Ackerman said in the lecture today was completely foreign language to me. But at least we can work together through the rest of this semester." He straightens his back and quickly pulls on his black hoodie.Reading the front of it, you realize it's the identical baseball sweatshirt that Jean let you borrow the other night."Right?" You blink up at him, trying not to focus on it. "After everything we went over in class? I think I'm gonna have to take you up on your studying offer after all."Colt pulls the hood onto his head, covering his short blonde hair. His smile is etched, looking satisfied. "Good. I was hoping you would say that because if you said no, I would have been screwed, especially with the exam coming up. What'd he say it was? Thirty questions?""Sixty-five," you correct him, making a sour face. "But at least now we don't have to suffer alone."He zips up his bag and swings it only on his right shoulder. "Sounds like a deal to me." He glances at the crowds of passing students and then back to you. "Alright, well, I should go. My class is in the business building across campus. If I wait, I'll be late, and my Professor is a lot like Ackerman.""Short?" you tease.Colt's lips twitch. "I was going to say strict, but yeah. Short works." You laugh, and he does too. "I'll text you sometime later if that's okay?" He says, laughter settling down. "We'll plan a day to study for the exam."Your laughter burns out, but you keep your smile. "Okay. Sounds good. Bye, Colt," He waves, and you watch as he walks away.With his back to you, you read the back of his sweatshirt shirt, peeking out from behind the backpack he didn't put on completely.
  Grice
  
  13

  He's a baseball player?
Watching the number slowly get smaller as Colt walks goes farther into the distance, you feel the gears spinning around in your head as you try to piece together the relationship between him and Jean and why Jean said he doesn't like him. Does baseball play into his dislike for him? Something more? Something less?You start to be more curious about it as you walk to the library to meet Eren, but you keep telling yourself to let it go.If you say it enough, maybe your mind will actually shut the hell up. 
  It doesn't.
Arriving at the tall building, located at the center of campus near Titan Turf, you see Eren sitting on one of the wooden benches in front of it, near the large glass automatic doors, underneath a covered area, holding two coffee cups in hand.You make your way over to him, and he stands, holding the cup in his right hand out to you. "For me?" you ask as you step out of the rain, looking at the cup before your eyes find his face again."You bought the first round." Eren tilts the coffee cup toward you. "This one is on me. Told you I'd get you back.""This is my third cup, you know," you tell him.He raises an eyebrow. "Are you complaining? I mean, I can toss it if you want," He steps to the left toward the nearest trash can.You grab his arm near his elbow, making him freeze. "No. Wait. Don't. I'll take it.""That's what I thought." Eren laughs, anticipating that reaction. "It's what you ordered earlier, americano with oatmilk. I know you have a problem with your coffee intake, and I know that Sasha hates it, but I'm here to help encourage that sh@t."You take the cup from him, the temperature of it breaking through the cup and sinking right into the skin of your hand, awakening your nerves. "What would I do without you?""It's like you told me the week I met you," he tells you cooly. "Crash and burn."You smile at his words, and he smiles right back.The two of you walk side by side into the crowded library. Taking the elevator up, you make it to the fourth floor, where most students go to study either as a group or individually and find a place to sit near the crystal glass window that lines the building.From here, you can see the massive engineering structure of ten stories, with tall windows scattered about and ivy clinging around it, growing up in all different directions, students wandering to and fro on the ground beneath. It's a pretty view.Once settled in your seats, you and Eren waste no time working on your class materials. He pulls up the anatomy power points while you pull out the notes you've carefully taken in the past lectures.After about forty-five minutes of studying, pass. You and Eren have been getting a lot of work done, helping each other out, and challenging each other with jokes that make the time move faster.However, your mind keeps wandering beyond your control, no matter how hard you try to keep it where it's supposed to be.You keep seeing flashing images of the sweatshirt Colt was wearing. Bothered by your unanswered wonderment, you make the abrupt decision to ask Eren about it, knowing that he is bound to know.You finish jotting down the last sentence for your notes and then hold your hand still. No longer attempting to write, you look up to him. "So, I have a super random question."Eren hums, eyes still down at the paper in front of him as he scribbles information down. "Shoot.""Do you know Colt?" You ask blatantly.He stops the moment of his working hand and blinks up at you. "Grice?"Your twist your pen around between your fingers. "Yeah."Eren nods. "Yeah. Why?"Your forehead pinches at the center. "Did he used to play baseball with Jean?"Setting his pen down on top of the table, he looks a little surprised. "Uh, yeah, he did. Why?""I was talking to him in stats today, and he was wearing a TSU baseball sweatshirt, so I was just wondering about it, but I didn't wanna ask him because I thought that would be weird." You admit. "Jean said something about not liking him before, so I was wondering if it's something I should look out for. I don't know.""Of course, Jean said that sh@t." Eren sighs as he grabs his neck and rubs at it. "Nah, Colt's a good guy. Cool as hell. They used to talk when they were on the team together, but after the accident, Jean didn't want to f@ck with him anymore."Your forehead creases. "Why? What happened?"Eren takes a sip out of his coffee; his teeth grit as he swallows it down. "Well, since you know Jean used to play baseball, I'm assuming that also means you know he was the starting pitcher?"Leaning forward into the table, you rest your elbow on the surface and set your chin into the palm of your hand, fingers lightly set on your right cheek. "Yeah, I heard something about that."Eren sets his cup down, hand falling into his lap. "Well, Colt is a pitcher too. He's good as hell, but honestly, he was kind of living in Jean's shadow when they were playing together. Colt has the skill, but Jean was always better. He pitched every game there was. F@ck@r could have woken up sick that same morning or strained some sort of muscle, but it didn't make any difference to him. He was always there, ready to play. I've honestly never seen someone so f@ck@ng passionate about a sport."You chew at the tip of your tongue. "I didn't realize how serious he was about it.""Yeah, well, Colt is super serious about it too. So now that Jean doesn't play, that bumped Colt up, and now he has the position Jean used to have. He's the star of the team now, and I guess Jean grew to resent him for it. Jean has this fear of being second best, and here Colt is playing the position Jean made a name for himself in, so it's made him, like, resist him, I guess. We all like Colt, but Jean has a grudge there, which I get. I would be the same, but his dislike for him isn't because he's a bad guy or anything you need to worry about. It's just over sh@t Jean can't let go."You swallow, hand falling away from your face and meeting your coffee cup. "Oh, okay. I was just wondering."Eren leans back in his seat. "I didn't even realize you knew much about Jean's baseball career. It's not something he talks about it.""Jean only told me a little bit, and I saw some pictures and sticky notes he had when I was tutoring him at his apartment, but I didn't ask. I just kinda put together pieces. Bertholdt was the one who told me a majority. He told me that Jean was the best."There's a pause as Eren leans his upper body back toward the table, palms pressing into his thighs so deep he could crack his bones."When I say Jean was good, Y/N, I mean he was really f@ck@ng good. Whenever you hear people say he was the best, they aren't just saying it to say it. Or to hype him up. It's not some stupid exaggeration. He actually was the f@ck@ng best. The best I've ever seen. The best the whole d@mn university's ever seen. And he knew it too. He used to love the praise he grew up with, but now he can't stand it. At all. Which is why he won't talk about it to anyone." His colored eyes land on you, sinking into yours. It looks like he is trying to tell you something without saying it. "Jean... he was gonna go places.""Go places?" You push your tongue into the roof of your mouth and run it back toward your throat as your stomach tears itself apart, making you feel close to being nauseous. "What are you saying?"Eren sucks his teeth in, muscles in his jaw flexing. "He could have gone pro." There's a shift in his voice, making it grow weaker with every word of truth falling from his tongue. "Jean was gonna go pro."
  There's no way. No. F@ck@ng. Way.
You gasp, almost choking on the air that has suddenly become difficult to breathe. "...what?" Your voice is like a frail ribbon as it extends to him, the split ends of it ridged with sorrow.Eren swallows hard. You watch his Adam's apple press through his skin, sink down, and float back out again. "The pro league, Y/N. They wanted him. His throwing speed, his arm strength, the signature fastball that he's always been known for, his g@dd@mn all-over game. They wanted all of it."| ♬ now playing ... stars will fall ; duster ♬ |He takes a breath like he's trying to prepare for himself. "A scout that had been in contact with the coach here, and he was coming to look at Jean. Marco... when he was still with us... he would tell us all the time that when they were growing up together, there were always eyes on Jean, following him for years. Through high school, through travel ball. These people watched him grow, and then they finally decided they wanted to recruit him. Jean was betting his whole life on it and had been since he was young. I mean, f@ck. You should have seen how he used to talk about it, Y/N, about the game, about his dream. That was all he ever wanted."Eren's face washes as white as a blanket of freshly fallen snow. His bright eyes have dimmed in their color, sinking with heavy dejection. The truth and the pain of what he's telling you, clearing all signs of life away from his porcelain features.The heaviness of this conversation has dropped off his tongue and has slammed into you like a hurricane that has motives to kill. You can feel it in your head, in your mouth, in your stomach, in your lungs. It has spread like a rapid plague of no cure, and you can feel it ripping at the tissue of your heart.Eren takes a few breaths before continuing. Every one of them shows empathy toward the friend that he holds close to his heart."Three days after the accident happened was the day that the scout was supposed to come to look at him. There was a huge game against Marley, the biggest of the season. That was gonna be it for him. Jean was supposed to have it all." Eren says, his voice catching as though he is feeling all of Jean's pain enough to be his own. "But instead, in those three days, he lost everything, and when he decided never to go back to playing ball, he lost his chance completely. The accident ruined what could have been his career. It ruined his life. I never say it to anybody, but that sh@t actually f@ck@ng kills me."Eren's words immediately roll over inside your head, and their heaviness is so chilling it's like nails on a chalkboard shooting chills down your spine.In those three days, Jean lost his very best friend. He lost his chance at going pro. He lost himself to a heavy tide not made of water but instead of suffering, grief, and pain so great it has consumed every inch of his spirit that makes up who he is.In those three days, Jean lost everything. In three days, he was no longer.
  In three days, he drowned.
And he hasn't resurfaced since."So Jean really was the best," you try to speak, but it comes out as nothing but a whisper. Due to its weakness, you can't help but wonder wear the rest of your voice went."Yeah. He was." Eren states factually. "I wish the world could have seen it the way that they were supposed to. And I wish you could have seen it too."Your heart drowns in sadness as it falls quiet between you and Eren as you try to figure out what else to say, but both of you come up empty-handed because what do you say when you learn about the crushing of dreams a person had since they were a child? And what do you say as the friend who watched it all happen while stuck in a straight jacket of powerlessness, unable to move as you witnessed everything catch flame right before your eyes?Eren lifts his focus back to you, and he looks as if he's finally found words to speak, but a voice different than his comes to meet the quiet air of the library."Hi, Eren."You and Eren divert your attention from each other and crane your necks to focus on the mystery.Your eyes blink, clearing themselves free of the way they've been burning. They trace up the stranger's body, and you see a girl chewing a piece of gum. She wears light-washed cuffed jeans paired with a thick dark green oversized sweater that reads Sigma Kappa in the center with white cursive letting, est. 1874 beneath it and white tennis shoes.Eren clears his throat, ridding itself of the sadness that had just consumed the space between you. "Hey. What's up?" He straightens his spine, no longer wanting to feel heavy. "Been a while.""I know. Life's been so crazy lately." She turns her head toward you. "Who's this? You got a girl?""Nah," Eren denies, shaking his head. "She's a really good friend."You offer her a smile, the height of your cheeks lifting to your eyes. "Hi," You greet her enthusiastically, determined to clear your mind of the dreams Jean had that he could no longer catch. "I'm Y/N."She holds your gaze for a few moments. With her tongue, she pops her pink gum loudly, the sharp sound of it sweeping into your ear and traveling straight down your spine. "I'm Pieck." She smiles so big her eyes close briefly before opening back up. "It's so nice to meet you."That name. Where do you know that name —F@ck. Oh, f@ck.The girl. The contactless number that was texting Jean's phone a few nights ago with pictures and invitations for him to come over when you were sitting in his passenger seat trying to find music on his Spotify.A face to her name. And a pretty one at that. Small build. Thick black hair pulled into a low pony—perfect teeth and smile. Perfect everything.There's something else about her too. Something almost familiar but you can't quite put your finger on what it is.Great. Another thing to rack your brain until you want to claw it out with your own hands, one piece at a time. This is exactly what you need today.You take a breath, and a smile cracks, a smile so convincing it was as though it had never been missing. "It's nice to meet you too.""So, what's up, Pieck?" Eren asks, his eyebrows pulled together by his wonderment. "We're kinda in the middle of studying."Pieck reluctantly pulls her eyes away from you. Shifting the weight on her feet pressed into the wooded floor, she faces Eren head-on. "Sorry. I don't mean to interrupt, but I was actually going to ask if you've seen Jean around today?"The air you're breathing gets caught in your throat at her question. You swallow a couple of times in a row to eliminate the dryness and fight off the powerful urge to cough.What the hell is wrong with you? All she's asking about is Jean's location. Who cares what he's doing? Who cares why she's asking? He's his own person. So is she.
  Get a grip, Y/N, d@mn.
Eren shakes her head, and then he says to her. "He's not on campus today. He skipped, so I have no clue where he is." Your head shoots in Eren's direction, pulled by curiosity, but he doesn't look at you. He keeps his unmoving gaze stuck on her, and his lips pressed firmly together.Pieck's dark eyebrows pull together as disappointment rings out and leaks across her face. "Oh, okay. Well, whenever you see him, can you tell him I'm looking for him? Or at least tell him to answer my texts."Eren pauses for a moment, letting out a sharp sigh. "Yeah. Sure. I'll let him know."Pieck pops her pink gum again, less loud this time. "Thanks. See you later, Eren. Bye, Y/N." Pieck smiles at you with no teeth and walks away without anything else.Eren presses the top of his pen into his notebook and lets it click a few times against his paper making random markings of irritation on it. "Always looking for him. Can't get a hint." He remarks under his breath. You can tell by his lack of eye contact that he's talking to himself and not directly to you."Jean skipped today?" You ask. You keep your tone level, with no rising or falling in its sound. You're curious, but you absolutely refuse to seem eager for his answer.Eren straightens his neck, your voice grabbing him by the throat and yanking him back to his world with you. "No. The f@ck@rs here, but she doesn't need to know that.""Why lie?" You query."Why not?" Eren shrugs, spinning the pen around between his long fingers. "They sorta have history, I guess, or whatever you wanna call that stupid sh@t, but he hasn't talked to her for a minute, and I honestly don't think he intends to again. I don't know what happened, but pretty sure some sh@t went down. His annoying ass won't tell me what, though."Your right eyebrow lifts. "History?"Eren nods, tossing the pen on top of his notebook. "Pieck's a Sports Medicine major, like Annie, which is how they know each other. They work with different sports teams for their clinical sh@t, so Pieck and Jean met one night after one of his baseball practices when she was treating him for some injury."Something uncomfortable spills into your stomach as he continues. "They were friends at first, and then it progressed into a friends-with-benefits deal, I guess. That was their agreement from the start. Jean isn't the type to do something like that unless he's straight up with his intentions. If it's a hook-up, he's sure to say that beforehand. If they want more, he won't even f@ck with it.""Don't most guys usually not care?" You utter. "From my experience, most of them usually only care about getting whatever they want."Eren sighs, tilting back on the back legs of his chair. "Jean might be a f@ck@ng d@ck most of the time, but he's not gonna b@llsh@t a girl into thinking there's something more there so that he can get what he wants. He couldn't be that kind of guy even if he tried. He just doesn't have it in him, no matter how much he wants to walk around this place pretending he does. But... Jesus, man... I don't know. Pieck knew what it was going to be when she was going into it. But now it's like she always wants to know what he's doing, where he is, and b@llsh@t like that."You stretch your back, sitting up taller. "So he doesn't wanna f@ck with her anymore?"Eren drops the chair back down. "Nah." He reaches out and turns his coffee against the wooded surface, his long fingers wrapped around the lid, eyes focused on it as it moves. "At least from what he's told me."Your tongue pushes into the back of your lower lip. "He should tell her that then."He stops the movement of his coffee cup and blinks up to you, hand dropping down onto the table. "He did. But she doesn't really seem to give a f@ck about what he wants." He picks his pen back up, ready to get back to work.You do the same, not having much else to say about it. Most of your questions, Eren answered with far more than you thought he would be willing to provide about Jean. There is, however, one thing that's still racking your brain.What is it that's so d@mn familiar about Pieck? Or maybe there's nothing. Perhaps you're just too in your head. It has been one of those days.You force yourself to swallow your wonderment like a meal and get back to work.After your relatively short study session in the library, you go back home to change and touch up your makeup before heading to work. It's grown worn for your hours spent on campus.It is predicted not to rain anymore, so you have decided to wear black tights, a thick black sweater, black docs with white gathered socks, and a black and white plaid skirt with a white ribbon tied in your hair at the back of your head to match.All refreshed, you head for your short four-hour shift at The Garrison.___You've been at the bookstore working away with Armin for the past two and a half hours.Your seemingly never-ending tasks have consisted of answering phone calls, putting books on hold at people's requests, restocking shelves, rearranging things that have been put out of place, and helping customers when needed.Your manager, Miche, left about an hour ago, so it is only you and Armin. The two of you work as a tag team exceptionally well, which makes your shift seem to fly with ease as you both hold down the fort as best as possible.Armin has been extremely friendly and upbeat to you today. He usually is, but even more so than usual. He's asked you if you were doing okay multiple times throughout your shift, but you aren't quite sure why. There seemed to be a different concern there rather than simply checking up. You've just left it alone, though, no questions asked."Hey, Y/N. I'm going to work on some of these online pickups. I want to ensure they're all labeled correctly before the customers drop by to pick them up." Armin informs you, making his way behind the checkout counter with several books in his possession, all different genres and sizes.Crumbling up the receipt from the transaction you had completed seconds ago, you throw it into the trash bin nearest you. "Sounds good," Picking up the small stack of books that a few customers decided they no longer wanted amidst checking you, you turn to face Armin, standing near the register to your left. "I was about to put back some of these books.""Great." He smiles, blue eyes glistening under the hanging ceiling lights. "This bookstore was pretty much in pieces before you started working here. Thanks for being one of those people I can count on. You have no idea how nice that is. Let me know if you need any help."You return a smile, but you know it will never reach the level of brightness as his. "I will, but only if you agree to do the same.""Of course I will," Armin replies as he begins to type on the bookstore's HP computer, finding all the information he needs.Carrying the books in your arms, you walk away and take the staircase to make your way up to the second story.You stride deep into the aisles of books, searching for the correct placements of the ones in your possession, and begin to return them neatly onto the tightly filled shelves.A couple of minutes have now passed of you working on your task at hand. With your collection of go-backs now almost nonexistent, you crouch down to the lowest shelf on the case deep within the aisle filled with Horror novels and stuff Salem's Lot by Stephan King inside, securing it in its correct location.Of Mice and Men is the last book you have to shelf. Realizing that you need to go downstairs to place it in its accurately sectioned home, you push yourself back up and stand tall again.Your weight shifts and you spin away from the bookcase so you can head back downstairs. With your focus down on the book cover in hand, you can take a step forward, and you are suddenly greeted by the presence of another person causing you to run directly into them. Your left shoulder greeted with their firm chest.With a lack of anticipation, their unexpected company causes the thin book to slip through your hands and hit the floor.You take a couple of paces back, and your head snaps to see Jean in front of you, looking down at your face consumed with nothing you can read, his mullet a little messy but in perfect placement at the same time.He is wearing a light grey vintage Harley Davidson hoodie, the black and orange label a little washout on the center of his chest, a black NorthFace jacket resting overtop paired with light-washed Levi's.The cut on his lip is still there, with less swelling compared to when you left him last, but the bruise on his cheek has deepened in color. His right hand is wrapped tightly in a clean bandage, showing he's been taking care of it, and you feel relieved.He looks good, even amidst his healing injuries.Jean's voice comes to greet you. "Busy?"You release an irritated sigh from your tight lungs. "Jesus, Jean. You scared me."He bends down and picks up the book you dropped off the ground. Standing again, he towers over you. "Why don't you try to be a little more aware of your surroundings, then," he remarks, unfazed by your shocked reaction to his unanticipated presence."Why don't you try not telling me what to do?" You remark as you reach out and attempt to grab the book from him.Jean scoffs, pulling the novel out of your reach.  "You're so d@mn annoying.""Yet you can't stay away." You roll your eyes. "Seriously. What are you doing here? Unless you actually came all the way over here to make my life harder.""Did I make it that obvious? Or are you just really f@ck@ng smart?" He remarks sarcastically, flipping through the book's pages with his thumb."Both," you hold your palm out. "Now give me back the book. I have to get back to work."Hesitantly, he places it into your palm.You mutter, thanks. Stepping around, you begin to pace away."Do your job and help me out," he demands from behind you.You halt your step, glancing over your shoulder. "Help you what?""I told you the other night that I need a book to read. I'm sick of Holden, and you're taking forever to give me your stupid list. Help me out by finding me one." Jean requests."What did you have in mind?" You ask.He paces over to you, reaching your backside so close you can feel heat radiate off of him. "Give me your read last."You glance at his bandaged hand, then back up. "Only if you promise you've been taking care of your injures and cleaning them the way I said.""I have," Jean says, tone and face both set honest. "I promise."You hum, satisfied. "Perks of Being a Wallflower. That was my last read."His response comes in an instant. "That one, then."You smile, careful not to show how satisfied he said he has made you feel. "Good choice." You whip your head away from him. Eyes falling back in front of you, you walk. "Come on. Downstairs.""Anything you wish," he says from behind, and you don't dare turn back to look at him because that smile on your face has done nothing but grow in its patheticness, making it the last thing you want him to see.The wooded stairs creek as it holds the altering weight of you and Jean. Hopping off the bottom stair and landing on the level surfaced group, you travel swiftly through the building.Armin steps out of the backroom while you pass that area, causing your paths to collide."Oh, there you are," Armin says. His greeting pauses the movement of your feet. His focus jumps to Jean, who is standing behind you. His eyes go wide. Just like you, he is genuinely taken aback by his company. You step to the side, not wanting to act like a wall between them."Hey, Arlert," Jean greets, front hands tucked into his pants pockets. His face is completely expressionless, but he sounds kind."Jean? I didn't see you come in. I must have been in the back." Armin can't help but smile. That shock that was written on his face had shifted into something a little more joyous. An expression he can't hide. "Are you..." he hesitates as his eyes flicker. "Are you reading again?"He doesn't blink at Jean's condition. He must have been aware of his condition prior to now. Was he with Connie and Eren the night everything went down too?You hold your tongue as Jean's shoulder lifts. "Sorta. I guess," he speaks casually."Really? Good. I'm so glad to hear that." Armin is about to continue with the conversation, but he sees a customer come up to the checkout counter out of the corner of his eye. "Sorry. Customer. I'm happy you've decided to start coming back, J. We missed you here." He glances down at the book in your hand before passing. "Here, I'm going that way. I'll put it back for you after I help this person out."You give it to him. "Thanks, Armin." He smiles, tells you anytime, and then he parts from you, heading for the counter.You and Jean walk again, this time in line with each other, to the aisle that holds what you need.You stop to adjust a book out of the place you are walking by. "Did Armin already see you?" You ask. "He didn't say anything about....""My injuries?" Jean finishes your sentence, watching you as you work. "Yeah. He was at my place with Connie and Eren the night I got back. Guess he decided to stop by last minute."Hand pulling away from the shelf, you tilt your head up to him, eyes following. "What did you tell them happened?""Don't worry about it." Jean takes his hand wrapped in cloth and runs it back through his hair. "All you need to know is I didn't tell them your business, and I told them not to ask you sh@t about when they saw you, but my bet is Connie will somehow f@ck it up anyways."That must explain Armin's niceness to you throughout your shift. It was his way of showingconcern while beating around the bush. Eren, too, when he asked you if there was anything you wanted to talk about but not daring to push you.You feel relief and gratitude. "Thank you."His tongue traces the inside of his cheek. "Yeah. No problem."You walk again and turn left down the nearest aisle. "Armin was happy to see you stop by here."Jean releases a faint groan. "I don't know why it matters to him if I swing by or not," he says quietly to you."Because he cares about you," you return."You'd figure they'd stop after a while. I've been a d@ck to them lately," he admits. "Pushing them away and sh@t. Who wants to be around that?""People go through a stage of pushing those they care about away. I think what matters is finding those who stick by you even during that time. That's how you know who has your back. Who really loves you." You look up at him. "And you've found yours."Jean is quiet for a few fleeting seconds. "I care about them too, you know," he divulges, voice hesitant but honest. "I just don't know how to say it anymore."You know he does. It's clear, even though he doesn't say it outright. But it fills you with warmth and happiness hearing him say it out loud for the first time since you've met him."Don't worry. I think they know." You smile faintly with only the right side of your mouth. You watch his lips twitch, but he doesn't say anything else, so you choose to change the subject. "The book should be over here," you inform him as you step in front and turn to the right, leading him to the right section.Jean follows you, his eyes tracing the rows of books that never seem to end, reading the spines and pulling them out to look at the cover as you search for Perks of Being a Wallflower.When you come to the right area, you see it is missing in front of the spot it was in earlier today. You let out a sigh of frustration. "I think someone bought the only copy we had left." You spin to face him to see him flipping through The Great Gatsby. "I unpacked some shipments earlier, but I didn't see any, so I think we're sold out. I can order it online for you, or I have my copy with me if you want that instead, but it's filled with all my stupid annotations."The book flips shut, and Jean shoves it back into the tight space where he got it. "I don't care. If it's alright with you, I'll read your annotations. I like seeing the way your mind works. I think it's interesting."Interesting? The single word spreads across your brain, making it turn to mush.You try to fight a smile, but you fail. "Just say you like me. Make it easier on yourself.""Like you?" Jean shakes his head. "You're giving yourself too much credit."Your smile stays where it is, cheekbones lifted high. "And you're not giving me enough."He clicks his tongue as you spin on your heels. "My book is in the backroom. I'll go grab it for you." You tell him, and you start to walk out of the book aisle. You make your way back to the front counter, and Jean follows you at the tail end.When you come out of the backroom with your annotated book in hand, you see Jean leaning over the counter toward Armin, standing on the other side near the register. The two of them indulged in conversation, lips speaking of things you cannot read.You walk over to the two of them, the conversation slowly fizzling when they realize your presence. Whatever they were talking about before shifts entirely so, though, it was never a thing of existence in the first place."Did you see the group chat," Armin asks you as he begins to wipe down the counter, making sure it's spotless.Your group of friends added you to their group chat the night after you returned from going out to Pied Piper Ice Cream Parlor. Everyone talks in it almost every day. It's mostly nonsense and mainly consists of Connie sending stupid memes whenever he gets his hands on them, which is scarily frequent, but it's nice to be involved in something like that.It's nothing you're familiar with, but it's everything you love."I haven't had the chance to check it yet." You lean your right side into the counter, your forearm resting on top of it. "Why? What's up?""Eren wants to go to Dok's tonight around 10ish," Jean says, still leaning toward the counter. He looks as though within the walls of the bookstore is where he belongs. He's comfortable here despite avoiding it all this time.Your eyes widen and shift into ocean excitement. "Oh, cool. Yeah. I'll go." You haven't been with your friends since the basement. You miss them."Awesome. I was hoping you would say that. It'll be great." Armin gleams. "Since my shift is over before you, Y/N, I'm going to grab Annie before heading to the diner. We can come back and pick you up if you want?"You shake your head, feeling appreciation toward his offer, but you urge to decline, not liking favors done for you. "Oh, no. It's okay. After I close, I'll probably catch an Uber or something."Armin's eyes glaze over, almost concerned. "Are you sure?"You nod. "I'm positive.""Okay." Armin sounds hesitant, but he doesn't push. He turns his focus to Jean. "It seems like everyone is going, then, except for Niccolo. Sash said he has a morning shift at the diner, so he doesn't want to be out late. What about you, Jean, are you coming? You haven't answered the chat yet," he asks, sounding almost hopeful."Yeah," Jean shrugs, eyes flickering so quickly over to you that you almost don't see it before returning to Armin. "Whatever, I'll go.""Great." Armin smooths out the blonde hair resting on his forehead."Alright," Jean starts. "I'm going to head out. I have to get back to campus for class."Armin catches waving customers in book-filled aisles asking for help at a small distance. He makes his way around the counter. "Okay. Be safe. See you tonight," he taps Jean on his upper arm before he passes and disappears deep into one of the aisleways."Are you actually gonna show up tonight?" You ask, your fingers flipping quickly through the pages of your book in hand, colored tabs sticking out of its side that hold your mind.Jean's shoulders roll back as he straightens away from the counter. "I was, but I think I'm gonna change my mind since you're going. Running into you here made me remember what a pain in my ass you really are."You slide the thin green novel across the counter and spin the cover to face him. "Shut up and take your stupid book that I'm kind enough to let you borrow."A small smile cracks between his teeth. "Yes, ma'am," he says, picking it up, fingers brushing across yours. It's soft and brisk but still enough to melt the skin right off your bones.You pull your arm back into your body, and the feeling of fire remains. You blatantly ignore it the way you always do; a growing habit within itself. "See you tonight, dumb ass. Try not to miss me too much. I know I'm always on your mind.""You have no d@mn idea how much I wish you weren't," Jean stammers under his breath.It's so quiet and full of more air than it is his actual voice, you aren't entirely sure what he said, but your heart squeezes around itself anyways.Did you hear him right? Or is your mind playing tricks on you? Your eyes thin with curiosity and uncertainty. "What did you say?""Nothing. I'll see you later." Jean turns away and makes his way out the front door without glancing back before you can say anything else. Arguments and unspoken sentences get lodged in your throat. You swallow them down, knowing there is nowhere else for them to go.You turn your head from the entrance to see a customer who has just walked up to the counter, ready to check out. You force your best customer service smile on your face and get back to work.Two hours have passed, and you have finished the last of your closing tasks.It is finally time to lock up and head back to your apartment to change before you meet up with your friends at Dok's Diner.During restocking one of the top shelves of the bookcases, the fabric of your sweater caught on something causing it to rip, forming a large hole on your shoulder that meets halfway to the center of your chest, making it unwearable in public.Stepping out the front door of The Garrison. You are not simply greeted by night so crisp it layers your skin with a blanket of goosebumps or by the air that smells so strongly of wet pavement and earth that it makes your tongue turn sweet, but you are greeted with an unexpected presence too, one that makes your eyes crack open and your body run as still as water when it freezes over in the middle of a winter as bitter as they come.Jean is standing in front of you, a handful of paces away. His lower back pressed against the passenger side door of his blacked-out Mercedes, his hands pushed deep into the fabric of his jeans. His hood is pulled up, shadowing his eyes and the edges of his face.You slowly pull the door to the bookstore shut behind you, the faint click of it grazing your ear. Your peeled eyes don't blink, burning against the air. Your lips are parted enough to breathe but not enough to speak. You remain silent as your hand parts from the knob and falls back into your body."Hey," Jean says, eyes all over you.His voice is deep as it meets you from across the way, yet it's calming all the same.At this point, you don't even have to look to know its owner. The retinas of your eyes aren't doing you any favors here. Their sole purpose of sending signals to your mind so it can process Jean's presence isn't anything that needs to be done.Your eyes could be scooped out of their place of comfort inside your skull and recklessly tossed aside and stomped on, leaving you blind with nothing but two hollowed black holes that lead nowhere, and it wouldn't matter. You could recognize his voice anywhere simply by how it sounds.Your body knows. Your heart knows. You know."Hi." Your muscles remain cramped and tense, still hardened with a thin layer of surprise."Hi," he says again. This time, softness showing in every single part of him. It's as though his mouth and eyes have filled with melancholy by the sound of your voice.You pretend you notice the shift. "What are you doing here? I thought you left a while ago for a class."With his right shoulder, he shrugs. "I did," he states, "but I came back."Eyes narrowing, you finally find it in yourself to move your body again. The feeling of surprise turns into liquid, melting right off your shoulders into the gravel crunching beneath your feet. You spin on your heels away from him, facing the door. Sticking your key into the fob, you twist it, locking it securely for the night."For what?" You ask, not bothering to look at him while you speak. Jean is looking at you, though. You can tell because your back feels like it's gone up in thick foul smoke.Jean pauses for a moment. Two. Three."For you," he finally says.You inhale a sharp, intended breath as your shoulders pull back. The muscles of them flexing as shock annoyingly burrows itself inside your chest. Your hand tightens around the width of the knob, and you can feel the cold surface all the way down to your bones.You yank at the door to make sure that it's locked. When you feel the resistance against your weight, you pull the key out and your hand away.You exhale the breath you stole from the world and turn back to face him. "I told you earlier when you asked earlier that I was gonna take an Uber or something to Dok's since I was closing by myself tonight. I didn't want Armin to have to come back to get me after picking Annie up. I felt too bad.""Yeah. I know," Jean says, his voice shifting to indifference. "But I'm here, so now you don't have to. See how that works?" He pushes his weight forward, away from his car, hands tearing out of his pockets. "I just made your life a hell of a lot easier. No money spent, no risk of a random @ssh@l@ driving you. You should thank me."You hop off the front step and stride to him as you stuff your golden work key away into your purse. "I agree with the whole not spending money part, but I'm kinda iffy on your whole claim of not having an @ssh@l@ drive me. That's kinda a grey area considering you're the driver, and you are a pretty big @ssh@l@ most of the time.""Always gotta count on you saying some stupid sh@t, huh?" His hands pull out of his pockets as he shakes his head, turning away from you and toward his car. "Come on. Let's go for a drive."This isn't an ask. He doesn't care for your opinion or your plans. What it is is an entire demand."Why?" you challenge, not one for being told what to do with no explanation.An eyebrow raises. "Why not?"You point to your sweater. "I was planning to go home to change. My sweater ripped can't really go out tonight dressed like this."He glances at the skin he can see before he forces his eyes away and pulls open the passenger door. "Get in the car," he commands, signaling toward it with the top of his head. "I have something in my car you can wear."You stand still in place, unconvinced. "I—""Jesus. You're so stubborn." He interrupts you again. His voice is far tenser and more demanding this time around. You can feel the harshness of it rush through you. "Get in the d@mn car, Y/N."And without another word, only a sigh of defeat escaping your lungs, you step around him. "Thank you," you mutter, words barely carrying over to him as you slide into the car's dark interior.Jean rests his forearm on top of the door, hand dangling down at the top of the passenger window. "Guess you really do have the ability to be quiet and listen," he remarks, looking down at you. "Who would have thought?"You smile up at him, and you scrunch your nose. "Yeah. Well. Don't get used to it."He laughs sharply through his nose. "I know." He halts for a moment, rubbing his tongue across the soft inner flesh of his cheek. "It's fine, though. I don't mind. You wouldn't be you without running your pretty mouth, would you?""You might wanna be careful with your words there, Kirstein." The crease set at the center of your nose smoothes back out as you relax the muscles in your face. "You're almost making it sound like you like who I am.""Way to read between the lines." His bent arm pulls away from the top of the door and falls back into his body.Your heart expands like a balloon inside your chest, bearing with all its might not to explode. "Really?" You tilt your head at a low angle to almost reach your shoulder. "And what part of me do you like?" You question, eyes remaining locked with his.He scoffs, pulling his hood off. A thick piece of his mullet has fallen right at the center of his forehead between his eyes. The stand moves with the light breeze. "What a stupid ass question.""Stupid?" Your eyebrows are knit. "How?""Because." Jean takes a breath and runs a hand back through his mullet, fixing it back into place. "I like all of you."And before you can say a single word in return, the door slams shut, leaving you with an unspoken response on the tip of your tongue and a feeling inside of you don't want, but one, on the contrary, you hope will claw its nails deep enough inside you to stay because it's starting to get a little lonely whenever it leaves.The driver's door opens. "By the way, Eren called me about twenty minutes ago," Jean informs you as he slides into the driver's seat and pulls the door shut.You pull the seatbelt on, and it clicks, voicing its safety aloud, "Yeah? What'd he say?"He turns on the car and puts on his seatbelt too. "Guess Ymir's job kept her later than expected, so we're pushing the Dok's back to 11."Your eyes bounce to the bright screen on his dashboard. 9:45, it reads in white at the top center.He pulls out of the parking space next to the curb. He begins to drive while he continues with his words by asking. "Wanna kill some time?"Your heart turns so much you're sure it's resting upside down in your chest. "Sure," you say, trying to contain your excitement toward his offer. "Sounds good to me."He nods, fighting a smile, and succeeding in his attempt, not letting you take witness to his joy. "What do you wanna do?"Your head tilts. "I can pick anything?""Anything.""Okay, umm.." Your lips press into each other as you ponder. "Take me to one of your favorite places."He stops the car at the red light. He blinks several times like he's trying to disperse the pain of recollections before looking at you. "Normally, I would say the view, but I haven't been there in over a year, and I honestly don't think I'm ready to go back there yet, or else I would."Your heart saddens slightly, but you don't let it show. "Then take me wherever you're comfortable." You tell him. "You took me to watch airplanes. Now I want you to take me somewhere that's something that you love to do."He taps his thumb on the top of the steering wheel and then turns his head to look at you. "You're getting to know me on pretty deep levels, Y/N."You blink. "You can always tell me if you want me to stop knowing you."Jean shakes his head. "I want you to keep knowing me," he admits, his words making a home for themselves inside your heart.He lines his head to the road. His jaw pulses twice as he thinks, and then it relaxes. "If you want, I can take you to another one of my favorite spots. It's a place where I've been spending a lot of time lately. Question is do you mind getting your hands dirty?"You pull at your tights where they have gathered. "Depends how dirty we're talking." Jean pulls up to the stop light, bringing the car to a stop. He looks at you and smirks. "Really f@ck@ng dirty.""My favorite kind." You rest the back of your head against the cool glass window, stained with dry rain. "Alright, fine, I'll agree to it as long as you tell me where it is first."The car turns green, and he accelerates. "So god d@mn nosy." He hesitates for a few fleeting moments, eyes shifting from both side mirrors to the rearview. He releases a breath, looking back through the front windshield. "It's the batting cages, about ten minutes away."Air sticks itself right in your throat. This must be the reason why he keeps all of his equipment inside his trunk and why it looks like it's so constantly used.
  He does still practice.
Your words come fast; not enough time for your brain to tell you to stop. "Take me."Jean's eyes open wide, clearly surprised by your willingness to go to a place like that. "You're serious?""Yes. I'm serious," you affirm. "I want you to take me."Your words. Your interest. Your willingness. That's all it takes to break down that wall of uncertainty. "Alright." Jean clears his throat with the want to erase any more happiness away from him. "Let's go then."He snaps his head away from you, trying to hide the excitement on his face. He pathetically fails, and the smile tears through the veil of his stubbornness.He takes a right turn toward a direction you do not know, but in one, Jean seems he could drive in completely blind.Ten minutes pass by of music and small talk when he pulls into an open parking lot, where there is not a single car parked outside the large grey-colored building.Your eyes scan the front of it, and you read the sign. It says, Trost Batting Cages above the entrance center of large black bolder lettering.Jean pulls into a parking space near the front doors made of glass. The lights are off inside. It seems to be closed. Odd.He turns his car and overhead lights off, and you hop out of the vehicle. You follow him to the trunk of his car and stand to the right of him as he pops it open. All those items inside you see the other night are still there, kept safe in his little space of privacy.He stands and stares at the inside but doesn't grab anything. "Do me a favor, and don't tell anyone in the group I brought you here," Jean states. He's looking at you now, his face settled firm, the corners of his lips drawn down like they are pulled with the same gravity as his feet. "Or that I told you that I come here a lot, alright? This stays between us."Your brows draw, the space between them thinning. "They don't know you come to the cages, like... at all?"He shakes his head. "No. No one even knows I've picked up a bat or ball in over a year." Jean admits, gaze coasting across your face. The illumination of the tiny fraction of the moon that isn't buried beneath the curtain of clouds shines down on him, revealing the sincerity drenched within his eyes like a burning flame. "No one but you."You chew at the side of your tongue as you feel parts of you that once wouldn't budge, comfortable in their cold solidification that strove off of built-up bitterness and fear, now turning molten. "Why tell me?"His feet shift, facing you more. "Verity?"You nod, grateful this deal you made has yet to burn out. "Verity."Jean closes his eyes to blink. When he opens them back up, the sincerity remains the very same. "Because I trust you," he admits. "I trust you more than I trust anybody else."His tone doesn't waver. His words stay as still as a statue as they glide down your ear, clay made of honesty, sculpted into truth, an art piece only you are granted access to in the museum full of mysteries that make up who he is.A feeling of heartburn devours your chest like a lion, dripping to your lungs and shredding their pink base. "Okay," you nod with no hesitance. "I won't tell anybody."He pushes his tongue deep into his cheek, and the air that leaves his lungs is shaky, with uncertainty. "Even Sasha?"It's leaning more towards a plead than it is a question. Jean knows the bond you share with Sasha is like no other, and you can tell by his face that he knows he's asking a lot of you right now."Yes." You nod once more, heightening your reassurance. "Even Sash."Jean sighs, relieved. "Thanks."You pick at the soft wool of your sleeve. "If you don't tell them you come here, where do they think you are?"Jean sighs again, this time dreadfully. "I usually come up with some b@llsh@t. I normally don't give them a location, but if I wanted to make it more believable, I would tell them I was out with some girl I met or some sh@t like that."This shocks you but yet settles you simultaneously. "But you weren't..." with your lips pressed together, you hesitate, "... out with a girl?"Pausing, he runs his tongue running across his teeth. "Sometimes, yeah, but most of the time, no." He admits. "I hate lying to them. It makes me feel so guilty, but I also want my time, and I don't want them to worry about me. They have wasted so much time doing that I don't want them to waste more. If I tell them I'm out or with some girl, it's easier for them to believe because of what's been said about me, rumors and sh@t, and how my life has been going in general. I've been taking the easy way out with everything I do, even something as stupid as this."You fall silent, taking in every confession he's making to you. His eyes wash over like he's scared you think he's lying to you. "God, I bet I sound like I'm so full of sh@t right now," he mutters. "I swear I'm not.""No. You don't. I believe you," you disclose as you shake your head hard, and his shoulders roll back like your faith in his word has lifted a weight off his back. You keep your gaze on him. "You know I'll always keep your secrets, right? Even ones like this.""I know. That's the I told you this." Jean lets himself smile. It's ever so soft, but it feels laced with a powerful force that almost moves you as your eyes take it in. "I hope you know I'll always keep yours too."Your heart misses a few beats, trying to remember what it's required to do to help you keep on living. "I know."Jean's upper body back toward his trunk, and he grabs his black bat, and a white item of folded clothing kept near where he has the pile of his and Marco's gear. He slams the trunk shut. "Here. Wear this."He tosses you an article of clothing, and you catch it. Your eyes scan the letting, fingers feeling the indentations. Titans read in the front of it, and you realize that you've seen this before, in a photo, in his room, taken standing near Marco.
  Jean has given you his old baseball jersey to wear.
Your finger tights around the fabric as you bring it to your chest. "Thank you."He nods a single time. "Let's go." The lights of his Mercedes flash when he locks it, and he begins to walk away.With no will to resist, you follow in his step to the darkened, locked-up building. Tucking his bat under his arm, he jams the silver key into the lock. He twists it, freeing the door of its security, and pushes it open.He steps into the darkness, and so do you. All you can see is the outline of items your eyes can't quite make out due to lack of light. The door swings shut behind you, and he locks it again.Jean steps around you and flips on the light switch, brightening the place. Pacing to the left toward the alarm set on the wall, you watch in silence as he punches in the combination of numbers that he has memorized. The alarm beeps twice, signaling that it's been shut off. The swiftness of all these actions shows that they are habits to him."You have your own key to this place?" You ask, still standing near the front door, feet pressed into the brown mat on the white tile in front of it."Told you I come here a lot." He glances at you over his shoulder, the rest of his body following after that. "The owner of this place is the University's baseball coach. He gave me a key a long ass time ago and told me to come here whenever I wanted, which usually ends up being after hours when one else is around. I don't even know if he still knows I still come here. He doesn't ask. I don't tell."You pace deeper into the large room and begin looking around now that there's enough light to see what is surrounding you.The walls are made of well-polished light wood, with darkened circles in random places posted of various baseball teams and legends hanging about.There's a checkout desk made of glistening glass to the right of the entrance. Above your head are popcorn ceilings that have three prominent spots scattered about with the color of darker shades of brown, showing signs of leaks from past storms.Directly behind the desks are used helmets hanging on the wall of different colors ranging from black, red, and blue, some worn, some new.To the left are racks of bats hanging upside down by their knobs, different sizes, and brands, none of which you know. On the ground are black buckets filled with b@lls lining the wall. Up high, there are two large black felt letter signs outlined with wood hanging on the wall. The letters are white, showing the cost of hourly rates to participate.Jean steps in front of you and crosses over, passing so swiftly that the air you breathe is now full of only him. "I gotta grab some b@lls in case the machine needs to be reloaded when we're out there. I don't wanna have to come back in." He strides behind the counter and grabs an all-black baseball helmet off the wall and a bucket of b@lls. He places the helmet inside of it.  "I know it's nothing special, but growing up going to batting cages, I've been to a lot, and this is the best I've been to.""It's nice," you say, still taking in the place, eyes jumping from item to item, wall to wall. "You're the expert. If you say it's the best, then it's the best."Jean breathes out of his nose. "Go get changed." He commands as he continues to rustle with the things on display behind the counter. He juts his sharp chin to his left, signaling down the hallway at your backside. "Restroom is the second door on your right."Your mouth falls open, and he reads the words drenching your tongue before they can spill to the ground. "And no, before you say it, I'm not gonna miss you while you're gone."You close your jaw, and your once-opened mouth turns into an upwards smile. "Yeah. We'll see." Turning on your heels, you hear him scoff. The corners of your lips pull up even more at the sound of his irritation toward you.With his jersey in hand, you follow his directions down the hall to get changed as he stays behind and preps all the things of the world of baseball you hope he is planning to teach you.Standing in the single-stall restroom, you unfold his jersey, exposing every inch of it and releasing it to the world. You flip it around to the backside to see the embroidery in thick blue, letting outlines with white stitching hold its place.
  Kirstein
  
  21
Your fingers carefully trace his last name and number that he used to wear with pride and dignity but now doesn't wear at all. He lost his identity somewhere far deep within himself. A betrayal that's impossible to shake.You pull off your damaged sweater and pull your arms through his jersey. You button it up to the top and let it drown you.The size is so large and long that it wears as a dress, only the very end of your plaid skirt showing underneath. Your tights act as a mask to all your scars you're so ashamed of but are forever a part of you. They are safe from the eyes of the world, and there is relief found in that.Now dressed, you go back to meet Jean.You step out of the hallway, the torn sweater you changed out of folded in your hands, where you see Jean with his lower back leaned against the front of the glass counter with every item he gathered placed at his backside on top of the surface.When he hears you approach, his head shoots in your direction. The moment he sees you, his neck and face run tense, his gaze tracing over your entire body. He's completely silent. No words. No movement. Nothing.He's focused on one thing and one thing only, and that's you.Jean's brown eyes look like he's entered another dimension, lost somewhere in a place that hasn't even been discovered yet.This is like the hallway of his apartment all over again, but worse. So much worse.You make the sudden choice to take advantage of this moment that has put him in a pathetically weakened state."What is it, Jean?" You question, eyes stuck on him like they have been stitched into every piece of his rosy-colored flesh with adamantine thread. "You don't like it?" You tug at the bottom of his jersey, the movement ruffling air through the thick white fabric.Chewing at his tongue as if he wants to bite it off and swallow it whole, Jean shakes his head but not once does he audibly speak."No?" You speak to him frail as a mouse. He shakes his head in denial for the second time, still no use of his voice.You blink softly, a smile of only faintness coming to meet your lips. "Use your words and say it to me," you demand. Taking a step to the side, you press your back into the nearest wall.Jean's teeth grit so hard against each other that they almost crack. "What?" His jaw doesn't move when he finally speaks. He places both hands near his sides, the palms pressing into the edge of the counter, his elbows pushing outward, his fingers curling tightly to the surface, trying to grip on.You toss your black sweater over to the leather cushioned seat to your right and cross your arms in front of you, the word Titans creasing beneath your skin.| ♬ now playing ... i feel like i'm drowning ; two feet ♬ |"Say it to me," you repeat, a little more demanding. "You're always telling me how pretty my mouth is. How pretty I am. So, I want you to look at me and tell me I'm not pretty right now. Tell me you don't like it when I wear it like this."Harshly, Jean pushes himself away from the counter and strides over to where you are, determined in each step he takes to reach you as quickly as possible.He is standing in front of you now, taking no time to arrive. "You..." he starts, but he fails, pathetically.If you track how often his words fall short when you're around, you'd have all the money in the world. You wouldn't even need to become a lawyer. All you would need to do is save your earnings from making Jean forget how to use his mouth that he is always so proud of running. You can't help but boast."Cat got your tongue, Kirstein?" You say with a tilt of your head, eyes never leaving his. They are firm in place, and so is the rest of you. "Go ahead. Talk to me. If you don't like it, then look at me and say it."His tight jaw loosens its screws, making it fall open ever so slightly. "I... you..." there's a pause as his words gather heavy on his tongue, causing it to curl in on itself. "I f@ck@ng can't. Alright? I can't."You deepen your spine into the cold wooded wall and make the spur off the moment decision to push him even further, not entirely satisfied."No?" You unfold your arms and lift your hands toward your neck. "Would it be better if I wore your jersey like this, then?" You unbutton the very top button, faintly exposing the skin of the very top of your chest near your neck.Every part of Jean runs still, and you fight back a satisfied smile by biting your cheek. You move your hand slightly, having it fall on the button right below the top, cruelly egging him on. "Or what about like this?"You are about to undo it, but you are stopped against your will before you get the chance. Jean roughly grabs your hands with his right, his fingers tighten around you, holding on firmly, not allowing you any freedom to move. He swallows hard. His breaths are tight. His sharp jaw is even tighter. "Stop. It."The side of his clenched fist of his free hand slams into the wall, landing over your head and locking you in, the vibrations of it dripping down your back. You couldn't move even if you tried.You can almost hear the blood pumping through him as he releases your wrist, leaving it dangling by your side. "Jesus f@ck. Don't do this to me." His left forearm and side of his hand push deep into the hard surface with so much strength you swear he might break through it and the whole building to come crumbling down. "Please. Stop. It."You smirk, unable to fight it off anymore. The satisfaction you feel is far too strong. "Why should I?""Because," Jean fills his lungs with air, temples in his head fighting to stay buried beneath his skin. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into.""Is that supposed to scare me?" You say as you bat your eyes slowly. "Men don't scare me, Jean.""No. You got it wrong. Not scare you." He attempts to shake his head, but it hardly moves at all. "Think of it more as a warning.""A warning?" You breathe. "A warning for what?"He takes a step closer, chest almost touching yours, less than an inch between your bodies. "You tease me all the f@ck@ng time." He slowly lowers his head and lightly touches his forehead to yours, resting it there, his gaze holding yours. "I swear to God, one of these days, I won't hold back anymore."It feels like a thin sharp needle has been inserted into your lungs, puncturing them. Leaving each inhale you try to take is more useless than the last, air exiting you faster than it enters, leaving you the fear you will turn blue in the face.You take a shallow breath of air stuffed with tension and try with all your might not to melt to the ground. "It's a shame I don't believe you."He lifts his head away from yours, and his eyebrows draw. "You don't?" His fist still set above you, clenching even tighter, fingernails on the verge of ripping his palm that you swear to him tell his future. "You have no idea what I'm capable of, Y/N. None."There is a significant emphasis on those words, and it feels like he craved them with a knife into your chest, making them remain forever."Really?" You gape up at him. "Because you always get so close to me, but you never actually do a thing about it. So tell me, how am I supposed to believe you're capable of doing something when you've shown me so many times you're not?"He sucks in a sharp breath, hand falling from the wall and landing by his side. He keeps his feet in place. "Yeah? Like when? Give me an example."Your tongue runs across your lips. "The other night. When you pulled over, ring any bells?"Jean swallows hard. "And what? You think just because I get close to you, that automatically means I want to kiss you?"You take a steading breath as fire is set to your heart. Your eyes go big and soft, forcing innocence into them even though innocence is the last thing that got you in this position in the first place. "Don't you?" You remark tauntingly.His eyes fall on your lips as he licks his wet, in a motion slow enough to taunt. "The other night, I wasn't..." he falters. "I wasn't going to kiss you, I..." he falters again. "I... don't want to kiss you."Your head tilts, the back of it still pressed deep into the cool wall. "What did I tell you about liars?"His eyes pull to yours, full of guilt. He says nothing.You push your palms down at your side into the wall, fighting to keep the grip you feel slipping through your fingers. "You wanna know something, Jean?"His eyes flicker, but you can't quite tell what's inside. "What."The corners of your lips pull upward, your teeth cracking through. "One of these days, you're going to be pleading to kiss me."He scoffs and rolls his eyes as though everything you said is out of this world in its ridiculousness. "Right. And when that day you're so d@mn certain of comes, what will you say?"Your smile grows. "Depends on how well you beg.""D@mn it, Y/N," Jean speaks defensively, teeth gritted so hard his jaw could break apart like annealed glass. "How often do I have to say this sh@t to you for you to understand? I don't beg.""Maybe not." Grabbing him by the center of his sweatshirt, on top of the Harley Davidson logo, you yank at it, pulling the weight of his upper body lower toward you again. Shifting your head, you place your lips near his ear. "But you will for me."He inhales, lips cracking apart, the sharpness of his breath sounding enough to have slit his lungs. You force his weight back by pushing your arm into him where your grip had landed, and he doesn't resist. He's too wrapped up in words you fed to pay any mind to your actions allowing you to break free from him.You spin around to see him standing in the same position you left him in, staring at the wall you were just leaning your back into. "So are you going to show me this place, or are you just going to stand there kicking yourself for missing yet another opportunity?" You ask, buttoning up the top button near your neck you used to your advantage.Clearing his throat, he snaps back into himself. He straightens his spine, rolls his shoulders, and turns away from the wall. "I didn't miss out on anything," he says to you, but it sounds as though he's trying to convince himself of that statement more than he is you. He passes in front of you and grabs the baseball items he left on the glass countertop."Out here." Jean places his hand on the very small of your back and puts a small amount of weight into it, guiding you forward. It shoots like lightning up your spine to your head. His hand hesitantly pulls away from you, and he steps in front, acting as a guide. You trace in his lead a couple of paces behind.You walk through the building and approach the glass door that leads to the back area. Trost Batting Cages is labeled in the center of it in white lettering, an outline of a baseball resting beneath it the words.Jean unlocks it and pushes it open for you. Stepping outside, the two of you make your way down the concrete path to a gate with a large blue number three labeled on the door.The batting cage as a whole is large, surrounded by thick black netting. Between each numbered gate are small dividers of the same netted material separating each section. In the center are the machines protected by an open wooded structure to keep them safe from damage when it rains.Using the universal key he was given to this place, he unlocks the door and pulls it open toward him. He steps to the side for you to enter, and you walk through.The gate slams shut behind him, the sound echoing through the air. "Have you ever been to one of these before?" He asks from behind you."No, never." You point toward the center of the cage. "Is that where the b@lls come from?"Though you've never been to the batting cages before, you know how they work and what is done by those who step inside. But, with the light that has leaked into Jean's eyes since stepping foot into his safe space, you find yourself wanting to ask questions about what you already know just so you can hear him explain it, with the hope that the light won't fizzle or fade.If acting a little clueless is what keeps that flame of light burning, then so be it. You'll let him spell out the basics for you."Yeah," Jean confirms. "You can set them at different speeds depending on age or skill. That way, it's more suitable for whoever's hitting.""What's the highest speed you can set it at?" You ask. This is something you don't know, making you genuinely curious.He sets his bat and bucket on the cement floor near his feet. "It depends on the batting cage you go to. I like this place because it has an automatically fed pitching machine so that I can hit alone, plus the max is 75 miles per hour which is faster than other ones I've been to."You look up at him and tilt your head. "Is that what you pitch?""75?" Jean looks at you, a little staggered. "Uh, Yeah," he stammers. "That's what I pitch. Why?"He's fighting hard, trying to play this off into something believable. It isn't working.This is one of the least convincing statements you have ever heard. "You're lying to me," you nudge him in the arm with your shoulder. "What do you pitch?"A spiral of air leaves him. "I told you, 75." He's careful to try and sound more convincing this time but falls short in his efforts.You let your jaw fall in the act of surprise. "What's this? Is arrogant Jean trying to act humble? I didn't think it was possible," you tease. "Tell me, what's your average pitching speed?""You really wanna know?" He asks."Yeah, I wanna know."He bites at his tongue and then releases it. "97 miles per hour," he says monotonously as though he is naming off what he had for dinner last night. "I pushed 98 a couple of times. I thought there was a chance it would be my new average speed. It was what I had been working toward for years, but I got injured before I got the chance to try again."97 pushing 98? Sh@t. That's f@ck@ng fast. Eren wasn't kidding about what he told you today in the library. Jean's talent is way above average.He holds your gaze for a second, but once he sees your eyes widen, acting beyond your control, he snaps his head and looks away.You keep your eyes on him, but he doesn't return his focus, not even a glance. He keeps it away from you, forward and unreadable.With the sudden change of the gaze, his eyes that were intensely focused on you moments ago now set somewhere in the far distance, you can tell that this isn't a route he wants the conversation to continue heading in. You've hit a fork in the road, and it's on you to decide what to do.Your tongue swells up behind your teeth as it holds all the good and kind things you want to say, none of which are anything he wants to hear or can accept with grace.As Eren said, Jean grew up with people watching him, hearing how good he was and how much talent he held within his body. A mountain of skills that he was born with, adroitness so precise and well crafted by a power far past being humane, making the aptitude he always knew one of those rare things that cannot be learned.Being a star is what Jean's blood was once made of. Yet now, as it runs through him, it's murky and thick. White and red blood cells wrapped up tightly in grudges he holds against the world but mainly himself.From word of mouth, you know that Jean once loved the praise. He would bask in the warm rays of it and take pride in everyone's words like they were vitamins made of motivation and nutrients.He constantly consumed them for nourishment and growth to become better than he was the day before. But sadly, the passing of time and a series of unfortunate events changed everything for him.Now, those compliments and lauds that once rained on Jean like celebratory confetti are nothing but reminders of the bright future he will never be able to live the way he always thought he would.That tall mountain of skills he lived comfortably on the tip of unwillingly turned into a deadly landslide, burying him and his inner child held within that once had stars in his eyes and soared on clouds made of the one dream of making it to the big leagues deep beneath the quicksand, making the world around nothing but gloom so dark he could no longer see through.Those parts of Jean were never seen again. They became too far gone in the bottomless darkness that they were constantly missed by frantically searching the hands of those who surrounded him that ached and cried to pull him to the surface while all he wanted to do was sink beneath the ocean floor.Knowing all of this, you choose to be considerate of his feelings, though they are never spoken of, and decide not to give him praise though you've never been so impressed by something or someone before in your life.Thinking quickly on your feet, you change the subject. "So. How do the machines work?"Your words pull him back into you. That distance set between is no longer. Eyes meeting you again, "want me to show you?" He offers, his tone swimming in relief. You nod, grateful that he seems to want to."Alright," he replies. "You'll have to stand on the other side of the net while I hit. Once I turn on the machine, the b@lls will come fast.""You don't think I'll be able to survive?" you tease."I know you won't." He walks toward you. Removing his North Face jacket, he places it around you, draping it over your shoulders.  "Keep it on. I don't want you getting cold." He paces over to the gated door and pushes it open for you to exit. "Let's go. I'm not risking anything happening to you."Making no argument because you know he won't stop until you listen, you pull your arms through his black jacket over his jersey. You make your way outside the cage, and then the door slams shut, separating you and Jean.He picks up the helmet on the ground and puts it on, his mullet now covered by a stiff black shell of protection. He picks up the bat and walks over to the machine control box that's colored blue, located to his left near the door. He switches it on, setting the speed and height of the pitch to his preference.To the left of where the ball exits the machine in the center, a green light turns on. Jean strides over to the plate and positions himself to the right, raising the bat to his left shoulder, long fingers curbing around the width of it.He's a left-handed batter though he's right-handed when he draws and writes. This impresses you even more, knowing both hands hold skills of their very own.The first ball automatically loads and shoots out at the speed of light. It's so fast you almost flinch, but as soon as it reaches Jean, he hits it, perfect placement, perfect timing, perfect form, perfect everything.The loud crack of the bat hitting the ball ripples through the earth so profusely you sweat it changes the direction in which the world turns.The ball flies in the distance, all the way to the other side of the cages, well past the machines in the center. The only reason it doesn't go even further is because the netting has caught its fast-moving weight.As though the hit took no effort, Jean readies himself again, and within a few seconds, the next ball comes. Without missing a beat, he hits it again with ease. This happens again and again. Each ball was as fast as the last, and not a single one missed.You can't seem to take your eyes off him. Arm and black muscles flexing. Determination is written in the stars of his eyes.Whatever word expands beyond being impressed is the only thing to express you're feeling right now, and even that will fall short in its meaning.As Jean stands at the plate and shifts around on his feet, balancing perfectly with the bat raised to his shoulder, bandaged hands wrapped around the base like in his grip is where it's always meant to be, you can feel the warmth of happiness shoot off of him and ricochet into everything surrounding him, including you.This is his pride. This is his joy. This is him.Or...Or at least it was him.This was once his life, but it is something that no longer is though you know from the truth he told you in the field near John Wayne airport when you were watching a place that he wishes more than anything that it could still be how he lived.What you're witnessing right now in front of you is Jean, full of contentment and happiness, making everything around a little bit brighter. The pull of it is so drastic and forceful that you swear the only gravity of this planet that is keeping your feet on the ground is him.Seeing him like this, with a bat in his hands, hitting baseb@lls, knowing exactly where they will be every single time without even having to think or look or blink, is something you could look at for the rest of your days.You can only imagine what he was like before the tragedy. Who it is that he was before the death and scars and tremors. The kind of life he lived before he gave up and drowned, no longer wanting to tread the waters that took everything away from him, leaving him with nothing, not even the will to truly live again.In this place, doing what he loves, he is bright. Light is cracking through him, like a pasture when it holds dawn.There is no sun or moon or stars hanging from the sky, for the cloud are acting as a wall, but that doesn't matter. They can remain hidden for the rest of your time, written off the face of this planet for all you care.It doesn't matter because Jean is where he loves to be doing what he loves to do, what he was made to do. It is making him golden, and that alone is bright enough.And all you can do is watch, so you do. You watch in silence. You watch in reverence. You watch in awe.After Jean hits the tenth ball thrown powerfully by the machine with precision, he calls it done. Tossing his bat to the ground, he walks to the control box and turns off the device before walking over to you."There. Now you know how it works." He is standing directly before you now; only the net is set between your bodies. He lifts his right arm and grabs onto the net directly over your head."Wanna try?" He asks, looking down at you. You can tell by the smirk he's wearing that he's teasing.You glance at the bat on the ground, then blink back at him, feeling up for a challenge. "Yes."His eyebrows raise, eyes widening with them. "Stop f@ck@ng around with me.""I'm not f@ck@ng around. I mean it." You point at the bat. "I told you I don't mind getting really f@ck@ng dirty. Didn't I? Now stop doubting my honesty and teach me how to hit."Something crashes over Jean that makes every piece of him shift, his presence even brighter than before, and you didn't think that was something that could be achieved, but here he stands, proving you wrong.That smirk he had before has turned into a full-on smile. Striding a couple of paces left, he reaches the gate and opens it. "Alright, Come on," he commands, and you walk inside.Jean goes over to where he threw the bat and picks it up. Walking back to you, he extends his arm, offering it out. "You're gonna need this."You take it from his possession. "Thank you."Lifting both hands toward his face, he pulls the helmet off his head. Swiftly spinning it around in his finger trips, he changes its direction and sets it on your head.| ♬ now playing ... golden ; harry styles |"Keep this on," he commands as he puts it on you, the bill of it lowering down toward your eyes. "I don't want you getting hurt."You smile upward at him and melodiously reply. "Are you keeping me safe, Kirstein?"He is still smiling as he gathers all of your hair sticking out of the bottom of the helmet in his bandaged hand, and he brings it to your backside. With his knuckles lightly pressed into the back of your neck, all the strands set into his closed fist, he gives your hair a slight tug. "Always."You let out a small gasp, one that's entirely out of your control. A feeling of warmth crawls up your spine and finds your heart. It sticks like glue. You swallow the saliva that has gathered thickly on your tongue.Jean's hand parts from your hair after being lost in it for what seemed to be ages. "Do you wanna try and use the machine? I can change the speed of it. Or if you want me to toss it to you, I can do that too." Jean adjusts your helmet, lifting it slightly so you can see better. "I want you to do whatever you feel most comfortable with."You clear your throat, trying to push what just happened far out of your mind. "I want you to throw to me. I'll feel safest that way."His entire presence goes soft. "Alright."Wrapping his hand around your wrist, he pulls you to where the plate is on the ground. "You're right-handed, right?"You allow your body to go effortlessly with him. "Yes."Jean places you on the left side of the base. "Stand here then." Standing directly before you, his grip pulls away from your wrist. Both of his hands land on your shoulders. He adjusts your body, your feet dancing beneath you as you move under his guidance. He lines you up perfectly. "There stay like that."Jean's calloused hands fall away, and he steps around you finding his way to your backside. He gathers your hair again to move it out of his way, and you feel yourself go tense, freezing over with anticipation and almost lingering want.Your teeth grind against themselves. "Pull my hair again, Jean, and I'll kill you."You hear him laugh at your comment as you feel the warm air of it rush down your entire back, making chills rise to the surface of your skin.Going against your wishes, he clenches your hair tightly in his fist, and he does exactly what you said not to do. He pulls.It's not as hard or as fast as before, but rather this time, it's slow and soft, with enough underlying strength that guides your head all the way back.Your eyes are greeted by Jean hovering directly over you, a smirk held with pride on his lips."Go ahead and kill me then, Bambi," he whispers, eyes held in the world of yours. He pulls your hair lightly again, tilting your head back, even more, the top of your helmet meeting his hard chest. "I dare you."You fight against yourself as your heart fights to be set free, trying to go anywhere but here without having a fear of its obnoxious beats being heard.You breathe through your nose and bite your tongue, trying to revert yourself from the sensation traveling through your body. "I hate you," you say firmly. It's a pathetic response, but with his grip on you the way it is, you can't come up with anything else."Do you?""I do.""I know. I hate you too." He brings your hair over to your right shoulder and lets it go. "Now, be good. Hold your smart mouth, and let me teach you, alright? Show me how you hold the bat."Hesitantly, knowing that you haven't done this, but a couple of times when you were forced to for P.E. in school, you wrap both hands around the grip of it, the texture firm but comfortable beneath your fingertips.Unsure of yourself, you bring the bat up to your right shoulder and position it, already knowing that whatever you're doing isn't quite right."Your hands are too close together," Jean critiques. He steps forward, pushing the entire front of him into your backside. All the layers of clothing and even the layer of your skin are of no benefit.You can feel him in your chest cavity, your stomach, and the curved bones of your ribs. You can even feel him in your beating heart as though he's crawled inside and is refusing to leave despite the no-trespassing signs you have plastered on every d@mn wall."Try it like this instead." Jean's left arm wraps around your stilled body. The only movements you're making are the breaths your body takes by nature and whatever his hands are telling the rest of you to do.Both his hands meet on top of yours as he moves them for you in a more comfortable, more accurate position. "When you swing, you're gonna wanna make sure your knuckles are lined up." With his thumb, he traces the bones of them. "It'll give you a better rotation, alright?""Okay," is all your brain can think of to say. All the other functioning parts of it are occupied with something else, something far robust."You don't want to swing too soon or too late.And always keep your eye on the ball. No matter what. When you're ready, use the power of your arms, and take it all the way through. Like this."Using his muscles, he guides you in a slow manner, mimicking a swinging motion bringing the bat all the way in front of you to meet the left side of your body."That's good." He whispers lips lined up with your ear. "Again."Jean guides your arms back to their position before and does it again twice, ensuring you get the feel of it for what it should be."There you go. Good girl. Just like that." He praises as he finishes his guidance on the last slow practice swing, hands tightening around yours. "Think you got it?"You hesitate. Uncertainty and lack of confidence, the terror of melting and becoming nothing beneath his touch, getting the best of you. "I think so?"Jean taps you on top of the helmet, the sound echoing into your ears. "You're gonna be fine," he assures, releasing you and stepping away, making you lose all warmth. "Stay right where you are, and I'm gonna try throwing to you, alright?" You nod slowly as you chew on your lip.He grabs the bucket of balls and walks about fifteen paces from where you are, closer than where a pitcher would normally stand but far enough that you can freely swing when needed.Jean leans forward and grabs a ball out of the bucket. "Ready?" He asks, standing straight again.You dig your feet deeper into the dirt beneath you. "Ready."Jean sends you a nod, letting you know he is going to send the ball your way. His eyes assess the distance between you and him and where exactly he needs to throw.He tosses it, but you are too caught up in the thought of watching him pitch the way his arms move and the rest of his sturdy flows that you don't even attempt to make a swing. It flies right by you and hits the ground with a thud.Jean lets out a groan; mouth pulled down. "Y/N. Come on. To hit the ball, you need to swing at that sh@t."You wince.  "Sh@t. I know. I'm sorry."He shakes his head and grabs another ball out of the bucket. "Actually, swing for me this time, okay?"You bring the bat back up to your shoulder. Your fingers tighten around the grip, ensuring your knuckles are exactly placed how he taught you, "okay.""Ready for me?" Jean asks, spinning the new ball between the fingers of his bandaged hand, eyes staying focused on you.Your heels dig into the dirt. "Ready."You adjust yourself, bat lifting to your shoulder as you prepare for his b@tch for the second time around. Jean's bandaged hand eats the width of the ball, elongated fingers curving around it.He preps himself, assessing the distance between you, him, and the place where the ball needs to go.He inhales and is about to throw when suddenly, the ball slips straight through his fingers and collides with the ground. The bat drops to your side as your eyes fall, and you watch the ball roll toward you."D@mn it," he splutters, his teeth grit acting blockage to his pronunciation. "F@ck." It sounds like a pain.Your gaze shoots up, and instantly, you know that it is.| now playing ... the wisp sings ; winter aid ♬ |Jean is in front of you, hands trembling, and you watch as he grabs onto his failing hand with the other one that is failing too.You stand in place, feet where he placed them minutes ago, quiet, still, and powerless, as you watch him begin to pace as his hands go against him for yet another day. There goes your sadness, tearing your heart out of your chest, and it makes your knees lock on themselves so tightly they could snap in half.His once golden presence has gone dim, overtaken by a shadow that has wholly altered him within a matter of seconds. His eyes now sit clouded in their sockets, and his face is strained as anger toward himself rises within him as he tries to get control but isn't finding success anywhere in his reach.
  All the hitting must have gotten to him.
"Jean." You remove your helmet and place it on the ground and the bat near your feet. With your body now aligned, you take a step toward him with the instinct to help him in ways you haven't figured out yet.He takes a step back, his trembling hands still pressing into each other. "I need a minute. Just..." He looks embarrassed. He looks angry. He won't look at you at all. "... give me a minute." He walks around you as you keep your feet in place and turn your body to face him, eyes following him wherever he goes. He steps behind the plate you are still standing at as though you do not exist. Slowly, he lowers himself to the ground near the gated door, his back now pressing into the black netting, and his head lowers in his hands.Unable to stand and watch as this plays out before you, you make your way over to him. You're uncertain if near you is anywhere he wants to be, but you try anyways.Without a word, only your breaths, and your feet cracking the rocks of pavement beneath your weight, you lower yourself next to him and sit, your legs extending in front of you, crossing at the ankles.You don't bother asking if he's okay because you already know he's not, and asking a pointless question such as that will only remind him how far away from the realm of being okay he really feels right now.You look at him and watch as his hands that refuse to stop moving beyond his control tear away from his face. He lowers them and holds them hovering about his lap, palms facing up the night sky that regulate no stars.His neck drops inches, and his eyes fall to the parts of him that have the skills of everything he loves and the habits of everything he hates.His hands are like loaded guns. Their shakiness and pain are the pull of the trigger sending bullets made of shame straight to his heart, making him bleed out all of his brokenness.He breathes and tenses as though he wants to spill the spillage the blood back into himself, making it unseeable to the eye, but his body is coming apart at the seams, making it nothing he can achieve. It counties to pour and pour and pour.He stares at his hands in silence as they tremble with seemingly no end. His back slouches inch by inch, muscles and spine both too tired to bear the heavy weight of disappointment that consistently sits on his shoulder and speaks untruthful things into his ear like an unwanted demon that wins every single time.Taking a breath, one of shallowness and frustration, he holds it a few moments before letting it release, the tightness in his chest going with it, and then he begins to talk to you, eyes still avoiding the unfightable current of yours."Sometimes," pause, "I look at my hands," pause again, "and I don't know who they belong to." Jean's eyes flutter shut, and his hands clench to fists, their unwanted movement remaining in every tendon he has. "I sit here, and I think they can't be mine because if they are, then why are they doing this to me? Why do they keep going against me like this, and why the hell won't they stop."Jean's gaze cracks open, and with a slow turn of his neck, he looks to you, fingernails still digging into both his palms, one bandaged, one exposed.You expect his light brown eyes to be dulled and dried, but instead, they are brimming with building tears, holding seeable emotions like a cradle refusing to let them fall down the hills made of his cheekbones and salmon-colored flesh. Never do they stream, not a single one. He blinks, and suddenly it's like he's begging. "Why don't they ever stop?"You feel your heart drop to your stomach and your tongue falls down your throat, getting trapped inside. You try to swallow it all the way down, but it won't budge; it lodges every letter of every word you have ever known right along with it.Your mouth runs dry as you strenuously search for a million answers while your mind fails to come up with a single one.You know that Jean is asking you this rhetorically, it's a question he knows is one of no answers, but that doesn't change the fact that you wish you could provide the solution to the insolvable equation.You're so d@mn clueless when all you want to be is acquainted, and the failure in that burns so badly it turns your blood to sulled smoke and bitter ash, and it makes you want to scream into the word cursing it to the very end for all its unfairness.You always joke around about knowing everything, maybe more often than you should, but this is a time when you wish you truly did.You wish you knew how to be of aid to him. You wish you knew how to cure him. You wish you knew how to take whatever amount of pain that lives in his cells more than ions and molecules do and force every ounce under your skin, letting it split you in half, causing damage so severe that you can never be put back together again.You would do anything for that. You would even live the rest of your life in a million minuscule shreds if it meant that Jean could live in one piece and be guaranteed the ability to take every breath he needs without having his spine and ribcage puncture his lungs with bones and the calcium of them drenched in acid made out of miseries that makes him burn.He breathes in pain. He breathes out pain. It swarms him like an angry hive that wants for death and nothing less, and you want to know how to make it less lamentable for him so he can consume air with relief rather than with dread.And his heart. His heart too. You want to know how to stitch his heart back together that keeps coming apart at the scalding hands of incessant reminders and unforgiving trauma, without having to worry about the string of care you so carefully placed in all the needed places coming undone, making it crack open all over again.But you don't. You are standing here looking at him, and nothing is known by you. No solution or theory is coming out from the shadows with the will to help you in any way. There is only your heart full of the want to do something and your mind full of doubts that whatever you do won't be enough.Your heart wins the battle of you against yourself, canceling out the thoughts of your mind, and you start to move. Extending your left arm, you place your hand on top of his left. "Do you feel this?" you ask as you trace the heart line knit into the course palm of your hand with your pointer finger.Jean hesitates. "Yes.""And what about this?" You move your hand over, placing it on top of his right hand, and slowly trace his pointer finger with your thumb from the very top down to where the wrapped bandage meets a little above his knuckles, blocking the lines of his hands for you to be able to see or touch. "Do you feel this?"He doesn't hesitate this time. This time it was like he was waiting for it. Anticipating it. Wanting for it. "Yes." Keeping his focus down, shoulders still hunched with heaviness, Jean watches as his wrapped handshakes beneath yours. "I feel it. I feel you."Lining your hand up to match his, palms and fingers aligned, you take in how much bigger his is than yours. You felt it back in Stohess when he held it to convince your father you were together, but you can see it in real-time now, just how much the length and width of his devour yours.You keep your hand there as you feel the tenor slightly less beneath your bones as you try your best to support and distract him the way you know he needs. Your crane your neck and look at him. "Then these hands are yours. They belong to you. Even if it doesn't anyways seem like it."Finally, Jean meets you with eyes of his own those tears they were swimming in have dried, but the sadness is there all the same, and it sends a sharp pain through you, the feeling landing everywhere but especially in your soul. "I f@ck@ng hate them, Y/N. They are one of the worst parts of me. I can't escape it. They always fail me, no matter what I do, no matter what I don't do, it doesn't matter, and I'm so d@mn paranoid that they always will."Jean takes a large breath before continuing, his truths spiraling out of his lungs rather than carbon dioxide. "You don't understand. That was my biggest fear back in Stohess, you know, failing you. I could have cared less what your dad or Porco was capable of or what they might do to me, but I was f@ck@ng terrified that my hands were going to go against me and I wasn't going to be able to protect you the way you needed, the way you deserved ." He shakes his head like it's heavy. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I failed to protect you."Slowly, he curls his elongated fingers up and in, entertaining with yours. His hand, still shaky, wrapped in thick material, holds yours, bracing on your existence as he waits for this turmoil to pass.You swallow as you curl your inward too. The tips of your fingers set onto his bandaged knuckles that hold evidence of the lengths he went for you."But you did protect me, and your hands didn't fail me. They saved me. You saved me." You admit to him as you feel your appreciation for him pump through your veins. "You fought for me when I needed it the most. If it weren't for you... if you didn't offer to come with me and didn't do what you did when all hell broke loose, I can honestly look at you and say that I don't think I would be sitting here next to you right now."His shoulders soften into relief, knowing that you've made a valid point. "That's all I wanted," he admits, eyes spilling even more honesty than his already truthful words. "To make sure that you were okay and safe.""I am," you say. "I am both of those things because of you."Jean's breathing goes missing as his hands slowly lessen in their movement until they are finally still. He's quiet in the night for some time, hand still holding yours until he clears his throat. "I appreciate you not ever saying anything.""About what?" You whisper."About my hands." His fingers release you, and he pulls his hand away from yours, but you take notice of his hesitance in that action. "And about my scars."You shake your head, placing your hands back into your lap, the skin going cold since it is now missing its blanket of warmth, "it's not my place."His hands run down his thighs as they stretch out in front of him. "I wish more people had that kind of mindset. You've seen my hands and almost all my scars, but you don't even react. You don't know how f@ck@ng rare that is for me. For a person to see these parts of me and have them not even blink."He isn't looking at you anymore, but you know there is vulnerability sitting in his iris' simply by the way he's talking and the things he is saying.You inhale his admittance and hold it there for a few moments before breathing out your own words. "From my experience, most people with scars don't want to be asked about them or want to tell the story about where they come from."He nods because he knows it's true. "You have no idea how many stares I've gotten. It's annoying because so many of them try to pretend they're not looking when I know d@mn well they are. It's why I wear long sleeves all the time. I can't stand it. This last year I've become so convinced that most people, when they look at me, they only see the wounds on my body or what happened to me, but they don't actually see me." he speaks to you defeatedly, now meeting your face. "And it's one of the most dehumanizing things in the world.""Well, I'm not most people."Your eyes lock as your soul burns for him, knowing what he's gone through. "You see me, I see you.""There isn't anyone like you." Slowly, he lowers his head and rests it on your shoulder, the top of his head falling into the crane of your neck. "I have a question."Your heart jumps as you force the rest of your body still, "I might have an answer."He pauses with uncertainty. "What do you see when you look at me?"You rest your head on top of his, eyes widening as you peer forward, taken back by his question but knowing your answer without having to roll it over in your mind."Everything good." You say, and you feel his body soften against you. "What about you? What do you see when you look at me?"Jean's head deepens into you, the feeling of his soft hair settling into your cheek and his cheek settling into the bone of your shoulder in which he rests. "Everything I want to be."Your solidified heart melts and warms the rest of you. You expect his closeness to be brief, but he doesn't move. Not even a muscle. You and Jean stay in the comfortable silence you have built on the back of each other for quite some time, neither moving from your current position.There are no questions. No judgment. Just two people who are resting in an unspoken understanding they have with one another. It is something that was never purposely created but rather something that always has been ever since your worlds messily collided.And it works. It works so well that you find yourself hoping that its existence is something that always will be.___Pulling into the parking lot of Dok's, Jean backs into an empty parking space. The nose of his Mercedes faces toward the diner, the tail end meeting the thick dark green bushes that line the curb. The car shifts into the park.Looking out the windshield of his car, you peer through the large window of the diner, and inside you see your group of friends sitting at one of the tables.Sasha, Mikasa, and Historia are all laughing while Ymir sits with her arms crossed in front of her, having eyes only on her girlfriend. Bertholdt and Reiner are focused on a conversation with each other. Reiner, of course, is more talkative than his dark-haired friend. Armin is running his fingers through Annie's hair. Connie has his arm around Eren, and Eren quickly shrugs him off aggressively. His lips move as he peers at Connie, words you can't hear but words you know are probably full of cuss words and annoyance. Connie finds it as amusing as ever.A smile sets on your lips as you watch all of them interact. This past weekend was so dark, with all the demons of the night coming back to haunt you, with the effort to tear out your flesh and make you less human. But today, right now, it is nothing but pure light.Even with it being so gloomy out, lacking in the sun and warmth, it's as though the sun has never parted, bringing brightness to all parts of your life that are becoming good in areas your thought were forever dried and dead.Jean takes immediate notice. "What are you smiling at?" He asks you as he turns off the engine and lights of his car."Nothing." You shake your head, your smile never fading as you embrace the feeling of gratefulness growing within you to have been placed into a world like this, a world much different than the one you once knew. "I just can't believe it.""Believe what?" Jean begins. "That you're gonna have to deal with a table full of f@ck@ng idiots in the next two minutes?""No." you decline, voice small. "Not that.""Then what?" He asks again, curious about your honest answer."My turn for Verity?"Jean nods eyes on you, ready for your truth. "Finally. I've been waiting all d@mn day for yours.""I honestly can't believe that this is my life." With a turn of your head, you meet his face, eyes locking in with his with so much ease it's almost desperate. It's as though both sets are always searching, never fully settling until they find each other. "I can't believe that I am finally happy enough that I can actually feel it."Those words are loaded just enough to make Jean's rare smile spread to his lips all the way up to his rosy cheeks. He doesn't even attempt to fight it off this time. It cracks, though. It comes with ease, like a scant dose of serotonin is maybe something that's okay for him to allow himself to feel.It's okay, Jean. You want to tell him. Feel it all you want. You bite your tongue instead."You're happy?" His voice has gone soft, words carefully wrapped up in protective bubble wrap as they get shipped over to you, delivered to the doorstep of your heart."Yeah. I am." You press your lips together and give a small smile, one of no teeth, only the lift of the corners of your lips.He doesn't respond right away. Instead, his eyes peeled, the white of his eyes being shown more than usual. He's at a battle with his words.Finally, he finds the right ones to say. "You deserve to be happy."You blink, but your eyes never move. "So do you."All the color in Jean's skin turns pale. The natural pink and red undertones are washed away clean, as though all blood has left his body and his veins have been replaced with those three words.He closes his lips and opens them only to close them once again. There are things he wants to say, sentences he wants to form. You can tell. Conjunctions he intends to place in the middle of the confessions that he's locked away with an airtight seal made of all his pain he never speaks of. But there is only silence.Clearing his throat, he snaps his head away from you and pushes the door open. "Let's go. I hate answering questions, and there's going to be a sh@t done since we're late."You swallow hard, knowing you pushed him and recalling how you've heard your friends talk about before how much he hates being pushed. You get out of the car, regretting your words, and follow him inside the diner.It's silent until Jean speaks. "Are you excited to finally see your boyfriend, Connie? I know it's been a minute, he remarks coolly as he opens the diner door wide for you, the bells of it ringing at its movement. "His annoying ass never stops talking about you."Vulnerable Jean is long gone. Snarky arrogant Jean has found his way back to earth, and it is time to meet him at the center."You're right." You coo, your shoulder bushing against his chest as you pass by. "These past couple of days without him have been complete agony for me. I don't know how I've even survived."Your body is instantly warmed the second you step foot inside the familiar place full of food and people you have come to love so fast and hard."Try not to kiss him, alright?" Jean retorts behind you, feeling the cool breeze from outside as it shifts through the still-open door. "Do us all a solid and keep it in your pants.""We'll see how it goes," you taunt. "He's a tempting guy. If sh@t happens, it happens."The front door swings shut behind him, the familiar ringing of the bells filling your ears again. "What the hell is so temping about a bald f@ck@r who doesn't know how to shut up?" He asks, stepping next to you."I don't know." Your eyes travel up Jean's body, always full of many things you wish you could read with a glance but never can. "I think it's because he seems like the type to go through with kissing me when he's lucky enough to get close to it instead of continually chickening out and lying through his teeth about it afterward."Jean's face twists, but before he can say anything, you walk away from him toward the table filled with your friends with your head held high.The group roars in excitement when they see you and greet you in their own way."You guys are late," Ymir remarks, full of accusations. It's her take on a sweet greeting."Our bad," Jean says, expressionless as he walks around the table to an empty seat across from Eren."Hey, Y/N," Reiner greets with a quick lift of his chin."Hey, Reiner," you return, smiling faintly."Gonna ask her where your hug is at again?" Ymir taunts coolly, causing Reiner to wince."Reiner," Annie groans. "Are you serious? You actually said that gross sh@t to her before?""Only once, alright?" Reiner defends, large chest deflating."Once too many, bro," Bertholdt looks and sounds disappointed when he turns to face you is when his smile comes. "Hi, Y/N."You smile back. "Hi, Bert."Connie glances at the jersey you are wearing then his eyes jump from you to Jean. He grins stupidly. "Hey. If you guys needed some privacy, you should have just said so.""Oh, Jesus f@ck man," Jean speaks under his breath. "You're starting already?"Sasha throws a balled-up piece of paper from her straw over Connie. "Oh shut up, you idiot. They've been here for five seconds."Connie tosses two defensive hands into the air, palms facing outward. "Hey. I'm just sayin'. She's wearing his baseball jersey, for f@cks sake. I'm just putting the pieces of the puzzle together like the genius I am.""F@ck@ng dumb ass. Her sweater ripped at work. The jersey was all I had for her to wear when I picked her up," Jean states monotonously.Your eyes narrow toward Connie. "I needed a change of clothes. Plus, Jean could barely survive the closet with me. You think he'd be able to survive anything else?" The group laughs at your comment. Jean, however, fails to find amusement in it.Jean looks at you. Eyes slit thin. "I'll kill you," he threatens as he plops down into the diner chair."I dare you." You smile, still standing, mimicking his words from earlier. His lips twitch. But he wins the fight this time around; no smile comes through to meet you."First, you're running late, then you're gonna leave your two girlfriends hanging like that," Sasha calls out from the other side of the table, arms crossed in front of her print sweater, her bottom lip pushed out dramatically."Are you going to stand there or do something about it?" Mikasa says, pulling at the collar of her black and grey sweater.You laugh softly. "Sorry," you mutter. Scurrying over to Sasha and you kiss her on the top of the head. Taking a few steps to your right, you do the same to Mikasa, sitting right next to her."Me next," Connie shouts, throwing a voluntary hand in the air obnoxiously. In a few strides, you reach Connie, who is sitting on Sasha's left side. He points to his cheek and taps on it four times rapidly. "I want mine right here. It's overdue. Been a long time since I've seen my girl.""Anything you want, my love." Leaning forward, you land a quick one right where he requested. Under your lips, even with how fast the action was, you could feel his cheeks rise, signifying a smile. "Nice beanie, by the way. Looks good."Connie places both hands on top of the colored material resting on his head, proudly wearing the beanie you got him the other day from Target, pulling it down a little more toward his eyes. "Favorite gift from my favorite girl. I'd wear it every d@mn day if I could." And you smile, scrunching your nose before walking around the table and taking a seat in the empty chair next to Jean."Let's address the real sh@t here," Ymir remarks, looking directly at Jean. "What the hell happened to you?""What are you talking about?" Jean plays stupid.With her elbow resting on the table, she throws a hand toward him. She points, flicking her wrist up and down. "You look like literal sh@t."That's right. This is the first time a majority have seen him since everything went down in Stohess."Ymir!" Historia gasps, tapping her girlfriend lightly on the shoulder.Ymir shrugs, not caring about the insult she gave or her girlfriend's disapproval of it. "What? He does."Jean narrows his eyes, keeping them on Ymir. "D@mn. You have such a f@ck@ng way with words, don't you? No wonder Historia can't get enough of you.""Don't listen to her, Jean." Historia sighs defeatedly. "You don't look bad. I promise. But really. What happened? Are you okay? It looks like you got injured pretty badly."You and Jean stay quiet as the group bounces off the words of each other, trying to find the truth. The only ones that know the truth, as far as you know, are Mikasa and Sasha, and they made a promise to you not to say anything to anyone until you found yourself ready. You know that's why they're staying quiet too. The same goes for Eren, Connie, and Armin, keeping whatever story Jean told them that night to themselves.Ymir puts an arm around Historia. "Well, Eren's in one piece, so it sure is hell, wasn't that.""Shocker." Annie comments, running the knuckle of her pointer finger down the bridge of her nose. You hear Jean's tongue click next to you.Ymir scoffs at the sound snapping in Jean's mouth, redirecting her attention to him. "What? You're going to sit with your arms all quiet and act like you don't know that you look like literal dog sh@t?"Jean adjusts himself anxiously in his seat. "What the hell difference does it make?""Because you're f@ck@d up, and we're trying to figure out who we're gonna need to return the favor to," Annie states sharply. "That's what."Ymir throws a hand up in Annie's direction across the table. "See? Blondie gets it."Jean rolls his eyes. "You guys don't need to do anything to anyone, alright?" He slumps in his seat, legs spread apart, the outside of his knee touching yours. "I already took care of it.""He told Eren, Armin, and me that some drunk dude was harassing Y/N at the restaurant they were at when he went back with her to Stohess," Connie tells the group, not missing a beat in opening a can of worms.Annie's blue eyes peel. Her head snapping over to you. "He did what to you?""Springer, for the love of god, shut the hell up," Eren threatens, smacking him in the back of his head, causing Connie to flinch.Armin looks disappointed but lacking in surprise. "Connie... come on. Seriously? After what we talked about?" He sounds disappointed too.Jean's teeth grit. "You mother f@ck@r. I told you to keep your mouth shut."Connie sinks in his seat, shoulder hunching with guilt. "Fuuuuck, man. I'm sorry. I was blasted when you told me. I forgot, alright? Don't be mad. You need to stop telling me things when I'm high."Historia reaches her arm out and places it on top of the table, reaching for you but falling short because of the distance. "Oh my god, Y/N. I can't believe that happened to you. Are you okay?" Care is carefully wrapped into every word spoken.You nod. "Yeah. I'm okay." She smiles softly, her arm pulling back into her body, her hand falling onto Ymir's thigh."What's wrong with people?" Bertholdt replies, face saddened as he looks at you. "I can't believe someone would harass you like that."And everyone at once begins to chime in, commenting on how it's wrong and giving you apologies for your experience with this stranger that you know doesn't even exist. The ones to stay quiet are Jean, Mikasa, and Sasha because they know the truth, but they also know not to say a word.It feels wrong. Being at this table with these people you consider to be your friends and your family and lie to them about something you shouldn't have to lie about. It's not sitting right with you.You decide to come forward with the truth of what happened because what do you have to lose? Lies never get you anywhere good.As the exchanged words between your friends continue. You take a deliberate breath and let it out slowly to pace yourself.You turn your head to look at Jean. His eyes have already found you what seems to be quite a while ago. It's like he can already tell what you're thinking, and because of that, he gives you a slight assuring nod.You take one more breath before beginning. "That's not...," you finally speak, words faltering. "A random guy harassing me and Jean coming to my defense isn't the full truth."The table falls silent as they take in what you said.Connie sits up tall. Chin raised, eyebrows drawn. "What?"Armin pulls at the sleeves of his blue cardigan, concern engulfing his face. "Wait, what do you mean it's not the full truth?"Ymir looks at Jean accusingly. "Don't tell me you did something stupid again. We talked about this sh@t before.""Y/N..." Mikasa says. Your focus jumps across the table and lands on her and Sasha, who both look at you with worry."Let's just stop talking about it?" Sasha says, determined to help take attention off of you. "Okay?""You guys. No. It's okay," you say to them and watch as their faces relax a little bit.Sasha's eyes soften. "You're sure?" And you give them the same nod Jean gave you, assuring them that this is what you want to do."If it's not the truth, then why'd you say all that when you got home the other night, Kirstein," Eren challenges, looking directly at Jean's eyes and facing both built-in tensions, unwilling to let anything go.Jean presses his back into his chair. "Because it's not my story to tell. It's Y/N's, and it's up to her if she wants to share it or not.""I—" you begin, but you're quickly cut off by the approach of the waitress coming up from behind you."Hi, I'm so sorry for the delay. We are super short-staffed tonight. One of our waitresses called out sick, so it's only me tonight." The waitress says, a warm, inviting tone to her voice. "My name is Blake, and I'll be taking care of you guys tonight."You turn your head left and up to see Blake from History, standing at your backside with her apron on and pen and paper in hand. Her head little down to look at you. "Oh, hi, Y/N!" She chants. "You should have told me you were coming in tonight.""Hi. We didn't decide until later, or else I would have," you say."Oh, that's okay," she taps her pen on top of her order pad. "How are you guys feeling? Are you ready?" The group agrees to order, and she jots down all the orders as quickly as they're spoken.The order consists of various appetizers everyone can share, mozzarella sticks, tater tots, nachos, onion rings, regular fries, cheese fries, individual shakes and sodas, and water.Reiner is the odd one out tonight, only consuming water, grilled chicken, and a side of rice. He said something about cutting season for the gym.Blake repeats everything confirming she got it all correct. When everyone agrees, she smiles. "Okay. Everything will be out shortly. I'll be around. Call for me if you need me." And she parts from the table."Who was that?" Connie asks, looking at you. "She's fine as f@ck."You soften your eyes, the corners of your lips pulling down. "You being attracted to another woman in front of me hurts me, Connie.""I'm sorry. I'll kiss it better," Connie smirks. "As long as you tell me who she is."You roll your eyes. "Her name is Blake. She's a friend I made in History class."He raises an eyebrow. "Number?"You shake your head. "Ask her yourself.""Can't." Connie comments. "Gotta stay loyal to my girl," he winks, and you laugh softly.Ymir sighs heavily, obviously over watching you and Connie interact. "Isn't there a story you're supposed to tell us or something, Y/N?"You swallow hard, bringing your attention back to the center of the table. "Oh, right." You take a moment to gather yourself. "Okay, well, it started because I got this random text from my dad saying he needed to talk to me about my brother, Lucas, which was weird since he passed away a little bit ago..." you watch your friends' faces change. Still, they don't say anything, allowing you to continue without hardship. "I went for my brother's sake, but it turns out my dad was lying to me. There was nothing about my brother he had to talk to me about. He only wanted me to come so he could try and get me to move back. He even went to the lengths of bringing my ex-boyfriend, Porco, like that was going to be something that would seal the deal for me to agree to move back."Connie jaw falls to the ground. "Holy sh@t. What.""Nah. What the actual f@ck?" Eren fumes, already livid, and he's only heard the beginning.The loud sound of a metal utensil dropping on the black-and-white tile stops your words. Your eyes immediately shoot to the noise, as well as everybody else's, to see Annie flinch, knowing she caused the disruption."Sh@t," she sighs, pushing her chair back to access the fallen utensil, but Blake passes by at the same time. "Oh, no. Don't worry about it." Your waitress friend assures her. "I got it. Don't worry." She quickly leans down to pick it up, and she tosses it into the bus boy's tub full of dirty dishes who is working on clearing the table close by."You okay?" Armin asks Annie's, touching her arm."Yeah. I'm fine." Annie tells him convincingly, pulling her chain back in toward the table. "I wasn't paying attention." She looks at you, as do the rest of your friends, waiting for you to finish your story.You run your tongue across the roof of your mouth. "So because of everything he pulled, a lot of bad sh@t ended up going down, and the only reason I could even get out of there is because of Jean." All eyes fall onto him the second you speak his name."You better have beat the living f@ck@ng sh@t out of them," Connie says, voice deeper in anger than you've ever heard."Nah. F@ck that," Eren speaks through a jaw so tight it doesn't move. "He better have f@ck@ng almost killed them. Put them in the hospital, some sh@t."Armin chimes in. "I know I'm not one to condone this kinda stuff. I can't stand violence and killing, but for once, I agree. I'll make an exception with this.""Just... Jesus. Let her finish her story," Jean says under the table, he brushes the side of your thigh near your knee several times, but he doesn't keep it there for long. Only enough for you to use as fuel to keep going, and that's precisely what you do.You continue on. You let them know to some extent of your father's alcoholic and abusive tendencies and how he changed when your mom died. You tell them about some of what Porco did to you. You don't go into great detail, but you say enough for them to know he was a toxic boyfriend during your time with him, and you can tell by their faces that they could gather he was probably even more than that, but they don't question it or you.You go on to say how things escalated when you tried to stick up for yourself at the restaurant, how you slapped Porco, how he followed you out, how all things led one to another, and how Jean's injuries were the result but are nothing close to what he did to them."So technically, I didn't lie," Jean speaks when you have finally reached the end. "Those f@ck@rs were harassing her, and one of them was drunk. She just happened to know both @ssh@l@s. I did what I had to do to make sure she got out of there okay, and I would do it all over again if I had to."Eren's fist clenches on top of the smooth, large table, the veins of his hand popping through. "F@ck this sh@t," he yanks out his phone from his pant pocket, unlocks it, and begins to type."What are you doing?" Historia asks with concern.Eren doesn't look up from his phone. "I'm figuring out where the f@ck Stohess is so I can go pay them a nice little visit.""What are you gonna do?" Sasha begins. "Go beat the sh@t out of them? Jean clearly already took care of that.""No," he denies sharply.Mikasa's head tilts. "What are you gonna do then, Eren?"Eren answers with no hesitation. "Kill them."Jean's chin lifts. "That's fine. I'll come with you. I've been f@ck@ng itching to finish the job anyways after what they did to her."Ymir perks up. "Oh f@ck yeah. Count me in. Let me at her dad. I can't stand piece of sh@t fathers like that."Your eyes pull to her, almost able to taste her rage from across the table. "You hate yours too?"Ymir blinks, and her eyes turn almost red with anger. "Hate doesn't even begin to cover it.""I'm coming too," Reiner's jaw is locked, arms flexing with muscles of anger through his white button-up shirt. "Your dad betrayed you by pulling that sh@t, and I don't f@ck with that.""Me too," Bertholdt adds, he's quiet, but you can tell that even he is angry about this. "I can't stand those kinds of people who lie through their teeth knowing the truth.""If you go, we all go then," Armin says."I call dibs on that Porco kid, then." Connie cracks his knuckles. "I'll wring his neck out. P@ssy ass b@tch.""Nah," Jean says with a sharp shake of his head, jaw barely moving as his voice flows through his lips. That same anger is still there as it was days ago. "That one's mine.""Guys, really. It's fine," you simper, but your heart is packed to the max at their want to protect you. "They're out of my life. All that's in my past now.""As much as I want to drag them straight to hell, Y/N is with us now. She's okay. That's all that matters," Sasha says sweetly.Mikasa nods. "I agree, but if I ever see either one of them, I'll kill them too."Annie touches the bun behind her head and looks at Mikasa. "Tag team?"Mikasa looks satisfied. "Read my mind."You run your palms down your thighs. "I appreciate all of you guys, but I just, I really don't want to talk about it anymore. Can we talk about something else?"Seeing your honest want for it, your friends agree to let it go and move on.Sasha finds a new topic for a conversation with ease when Blake brings over the various foods and drinks to your table. With everyone starving, you all dig right in. Sharing food, laughs, and conversations that weigh a lot less compared to the one you had only moments ago.About half an hour has passed. You have filled yourself with fried food and laughs. The group is talking amongst each other, trying to come up with plans for the weekend, when Ymir throws a balled-up napkin at you, hitting you on the shoulder and pulling all of your attention away from the center of the table. "Psst. Y/N."Your eyes jump to her. "What?""Come with me," she demands.Your eyes widen, your eyebrows pulling upward, completely taken back by her request. "Me?"She rolls her eyes and scoffs. "No, the other Y/N sitting at this f@ck@ng table," her snarky tone comes in full force. "Let's go, dumb ass.""Alright," you reply. You push yourself out of the seat and stand."Thought you didn't like being told what to do," Jean remarks tilting back on the two legs of his seat, his arms crossed directly in front of his stomach.Tilting your head down, you look down at him. "By men," you remark. Lifting a hand, you place it on top of his head and run it through the hair roughly. "Especially one's with mullets.""Jesus f@ck." Jean moves his head out from under your hand and lets the chair fall back on all fours. "Enough, alright?"Ymir laughs. "This sh@t right here is exactly why I like you."Connie slams his right plan into his chest over his heart three times. "Why are you touching Kirstein like that, Y/N? In front of me? You're supposed to be playing with my hair like that instead."You step around your chair, now facing Connie head-on. "You don't really have any, or else I would."Connie's shoulders lift and drop back down heavily. "I still have enough for you to pull."Out of the corner of your eyes, you see Jean's arms flex as he digs his hands further into his biceps. "Shut your d@mn mouth, Connie. I swear to god. Haven't you run your sh@t enough already?""He's just being honest," you reply, dauntingly"She's right. Honest as hell." Connie comments before Jean can, causing the darkness around Jean's eyes to deepen in its prominence. "Me and her happened last night, didn't we, Y/N?"You nod. "How many rounds was it? 2? 5?" You tease with a smile.Connie's smile grows, lifting so high his eyes are about to disappear beneath his cheekbones. "Too many, baby. I lost count.""Is that the sh@t I was hearing," Eren chimes in with a smirk, sounding like he came to some sort of realization. "It all makes sense now."Everyone laughs. Everyone but Jean."You d@mn idiot," Jean seethes, lining his spine against the back of his chair, arms uncrossing and palms pressing deep into the top of his thighs. "Don't f@ck@ng encourage them. That's the last thing they need.""It's because you're jealous, huh, Jean Boy? Do you want me that bad? Come on and sit on my lap then." Scooting his seat back, he pats his thighs. "It's nice and warm. All ready for ya.""Tempting offer, Springer," Eren smirks, "but I hate to break it to you. I don't think it's you that he's wanting."Connie's head snaps in the direction of Eren, patting hands and falling still into his lap. "No? Who then?"Eren's lips part of speaking, but Jean's voice comes plowing through, not giving Eren a chance to answer the given question. "I'm gonna f@ck both of you up.""Leave him alone, you guys... please," Historia says, her voice still soft despite her intense demands. "Other people are eating.""Listen to Historia, or I'll dead ass grab all three of you by your flat asses, drag you outside, and beat you all in the d@mn parking lot of this place," Ymir spits."Yeah? Dok will kill you. You know how clean he likes this place." Eren argues. He glances at Mikasa and watches her intently as she eats the cherry off the stem from the top of her chocolate shake intently, and suddenly it's like the conversation isn't even happening. He's somewhere else entirely.
  Does he...
Ymir scoffs, making your internal thoughts before they can go any further. "Stop staring at Mikasa, E. Why don't you try to make your eyes useful and look around? Dok isn't here, is he?" She bites back harshly, and Eren's eyes immediately land on Ymir as she continues. "Plus, he's getting old. I could easily hand his ass to him if I needed to."Mikasa immediately covers her face with the back of her hand, and her eyes fall to her lap, struggling to swallow the cherry down."Shut your lying ass up, Ymir. You're so full of sh@t." Eren pathetically defends, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed in front of him, trying his best to play it cool though your eyes catch a tinge of pink color on his cheeks. "Get your d@mn eyes checked. I wasn't looking at her."Ymir bitterly laughs, unfazed by Eren's evident anger. "Yeah. Right, and I'm not gay."Eren runs an almost shaking hand through his tied-back hair. "F@ck you.""Sorry, Jaeger. That's Historia's job," she snides, her back lengthening making her inches taller in height and confidence, and a cocky smirk taking up most of the space on her face."If you want someone to f@ck you, Eren, I'll go ahead and call Floch real quick." Jean jabs, returning the energy he was being given only moments ago. "I bet he'll be here in no time.""D@mn. Trigger warning next time you bring up that d@mn name," Connie groans. "Please, I'm about to have a panic attack."You laugh, as does the rest of the group, but Eren doesn't seem to find it funny. With a tense face, he throws Jean the middle finger. "Go to f@ck@ng hell."Jean laughs sharply. "Yeah? Well, I'll see you there, freedom boy.""Can I finish my shake in peace?" Sasha sighs, digging her straw deep into her halfway missing star berry shake. "I always feel like I'm babysitting the three of you, and it's no fun when I'm not getting paid anything. So either give me money or stop whining."'"Seriously, you guys need to stop it," Armin sighs. "We're in public, and you're being disruptive."The bickering between them continues anyways, Armin's argument making not the slightest bit of difference.Ymir walks over and pokes you hard in your shoulder blade, sending a sharp pain through you. "Come on. Let's go. I don't have all d@mn night." Your lips part to reply, but she's already gone, walking across the diner. There is no waiting for you.You look to Sasha and Mikasa to see them both give you faces of confusion. You simply shrug. You push your chair in and quickly catch up to Ymir, who is already halfway out the door, not bothering to hold it open for you.You stay silent as you walk a few paces behind her, not running your mouth with any of the questions you have. You know you finally earned a place on Ymir's good side after her initially giving you the cold shoulder, but that doesn't change the fact that she is still intimidating as all hell.You arrive at her car, a 2004 Nissan Altima in gold, and you stand quietly near the gas cap, arms crossed in front of you. She opens the back door and grabs her sweatshirt from inside.Throwing her sweatshirt over the shoulder, she slams the car door shut and turns to face you, and breaks the skin-crawling silence. "Look. I know we don't talk like this, but there's some sh@t I need to talk to you about.""Okay?" You speak, voice uneven. Her vagueness makes your stomach drop, anxiousness tightening around your throat. "What is it?"Her eyes sink into the back of her head as she begins to shift around on her feet. You can tell this entire thing is way out of her comfort zone.Her lips stay as straight as a line, with no emotion anywhere. "It's about what you were talking about in your past. Your relationship with your dad and your @ssh@l@ ex. About all the sh@t you dealt with. I just wanted to say that I'm glad you got out of it when you did. I know that wasn't easy."You nod reluctantly. "Thank you, Ymir. I appreciate it. It should have happened a long time ago, but I'm happy to be away from all of it now, finally." You glance at the clothing item hanging off her shoulder and then back to her. "Are you ready to go back in?""Idiot," she insults. "I didn't have you come out here with me just to say that."That anxiousness comes right back, settling in you exactly where it was before. "Okay. What do you need to say?"You watch in silence, not overstepping with your words or presence, as she clenches and unclenches her jaw repeatedly. Lifting a hand, she rubs her chin with the palm before crossing her arms in front of her.Then she begins to speak. "My Dad." Two words that hold a thousand ounces of pain, you can tell.Ymir's mouth clamps shut again, molars knocking together. She breathes heavily out of her nose; the air escaping her is full of hot frustration and starts over again."My dad was an extremely mean and abusive person. An avid churchgoer who pushed his religion on other people just to turn around and be the worst person I'd ever know." She's speaking through her teeth as she shakes her head. "I grew up watching my mom be one of the victims who always stayed in a life like that."Her words slice like a knife deep into your heart. You can feel all the sadness it holds leak into the rest of you. You stay quiet. You let her have her time to speak.Ymir forcefully pushes through her vulnerable words of pain, her body going tight. "Over the years, my dad's anger only got worse over, especially when he had too much to drink. One night, when I was ten, sh@t got really bad. I'd never seen something so brutal in my life. He came home wasted and angry, talking nonsense. I took my sister, who was only two at the time and hid in the closet the way I always did, but it didn't matter. I could still hear everything—every disgusting word. Every wall punched. Every cry. Every scream. All of it. I couldn't handle it anymore. I'd had enough, and I decided to call the cops on him even though she always told me not to."You feel your throat grow tight. You swallow hard as her eyes are lost deep in a realm of pain, remembering things that never lose their heaviness no matter how much time has passed."They arrested him that night, with enough evidence to prove what he had been doing to us," Ymir presses her back into the door of her car. She looks up at the sky, eyes far away from you. "My Mom begged me to lie in court about what he had been doing through the years, but there was no f@ck@ng way I was going to do something like that. So I went against her, came clean, and the Jury found him guilty. That's when I thought everything would be fine and that I could live a normal life and be safe, but something inside my mom snapped, and she ended up blaming me for everything. Said I was the one who tore the family apart. Said I left her with nothing. Said god would never forgive me, and I deserved to burn in hell when all I was trying to do was save her."Your stomach rises to your throat as you listen to her come clean. She refuses to look at you for even a fraction of a second. "So, she took my sister..." There's a crack in her voice. It's the only way you know how much she's hurting. Everywhere else is firm as stone. "...and she left me. Gave me up. I spent the rest of my time growing up bouncing around in foster care because no one wants a half-grown girl with pent-up anger, no filter, and a f@ck@d up life. Not even my own mom."Your head falls, her words of truth weighing more than the world, as your eyes fall to the concrete. "God. Ymir." You feel affliction shoot within you, making you want to vomit."Don't." she snaps harshly. Her eyes stay where they are, as does her body. "I don't need your pity.""No. I know. I'm not. I wouldn't." Your neck aligns to look at her. "I can't stand pity, so I'm not gonna turn to you and give you something I can't stand receiving. You're not standing here looking at me any different after what I told you. So, that's what I'm going to do for you too. None of what you told me changes how I see you."Ymir shifts on her feet and clears her throat. "Well, there. Now you know all about my sad, pathetic life. I decided to tell you all this because I've seen what happens when you're in relationships like that. Verbal. Physical. It doesn't matter. People like that don't change." She turns her head, eyes finally meeting you. "You're a survivor, and you should be proud of yourself for not letting those pieces of sh@t, scum of the earth men, control your life anymore. You aren't self-sabotaging by staying or making excuses for the people you love just because of how much you think you love them. Most people don't realize how much that takes out of a person, not even our friends."Your soul grabs hold of her words. She takes a breath and continues. "You own your life. No one else. And I expect nothing less than for you to go out there and make the world and all the other pathetic men that cross your path your b@tch the way I failed to for a long ass time.""Failed?" Your head tilts. "What do you mean?""I let the bad sh@t ruin me. As I got older and my bitterness and resentment grew. I wanted to be numb from all of it, so I just kinda shut down. I stopped caring about anybody or anything. I made stupid choice after stupid choice. And I was so f@ck@ng miserable through all of it.""What changed for you?" You take a breath. "I mean, what helped?""Historia. Who else?" Her answer is immediate, not a single thought crossing her mind. "I met her, and she changed everything for me. I haven't looked back since, and I never want to."You chew at the side of your tongue. "What is it about her?"Ymir runs a hand through her brown hair. "It's everything. She's never lost sight of the person she is. She is true to herself and everyone around her. She's nothing like me, and that's what I like the most about her."The way Ymir talks of Historia makes her eyes light up, making you internally smile. "She's one of the sweetest people I've met.""D@mn straight," Ymir's arms cross in front of her. "Something I could never be."Your head tilts curiously. "So, what are you getting at? You think opposites attract?""I never believed in any of that b@llsh@t until her, but now I know they do. I've found mine." Ymir admits. "I look at it as though everyone has someone that keeps them sane. You can have a couple or several, but there will always be one person who tops them all. That's what Historia is for me. Everything I never believed in.""I'm not sure that person exists for me," you say under your breath to yourself, but your voice carries enough for Ymir to catch onto.Ymir's eyes roll so far with so much annoyance they could get stuck in the back of her head. "F@ck. You really are a d@mn idiot, huh?"Your eyes furrow, almost offended. "What?"She laughs like your question is some funny joke. "Jesus Christ. Nevermind. I've said enough to last me for the rest of my life. I'll go ahead and let your dumb ass figure out that sh@t for yourself."You stay quiet, not knowing what to say. She pulls on her sweatshirt and locks her car. "By the way, everyone knows I'm a foster kid, but no one knows about the bad sh@t except for Historia and now you, so bring this shit up ever again, and I will kill you.""I won't." You state, honest."Good." She nods and walks away from you, back towards the diner, and you stroll behind.Arriving at the entrance, you run into Armin and Annie, who are exiting at the same time."Oh, good timing," Armin says, holding the door wide for Annie. "We were about to look for you. We wanted to say bye.""Bye?" Confusion swarms Ymir. "You guys are out?"Armin glances at Annie before shifting his gaze between you and Ymir. He nods. "She-""I have 8 a.m. chem," Annie finishes. "I'm already out later than I planned."Ymir makes a face of disapproval. "Loser." She snubs. "Who cares? Ditch. We already know you'll not get any sleep since you're going home with Armin."Armin sighs and shakes his head. "Ymir, please."Annie's standard frown deepens. "Shut up and get back to your girlfriend.""Already on my way." Without a proper goodbye, Ymir walks through the doorway and back into the well-lit diner."Are you feeling okay?" You ask Annie, concerned."I'm fine. Just tried." She sighs. "I'll see you later." She begins to walk, and Armin follows after her. "Bye, Y/N. Have a good rest of your night," he says as he passes in front of you."Bye, guys. Get home safe," you wave and head back inside the diner to your table full of friends, now missing two.Sitting back in your seat, Jean looks over at you. "Where'd you go?""Just say you missed me. It's okay." You return his gaze. "I get it. I would, too, if I were you.""I would, but then I'd be a damn liar." You watch his face goes solid, causing you to laugh at his response."What were you guys talking about?" Ymir asks, wrapping her arm around Historia and pulling her arm back in toward her."We were thinking about going to the club on Friday night," Sasha says, eating the last of what is left in the almost empty basket of fries."Sounds good," you say. Pulling your seat in closer to the table. "Does everyone have fakes?""Of course they do," Connie chants. "Gotta give everyone my life's work."Jean ignores Connie. "Zeke knows the owner, so he'll give us whatever. He basically feeds us fake or not.""Hannes," Connie gleams. "I f@ck@ng love that guy.""We should invite Hitch and Marlo," Mikasa suggests. "We haven't hung out with them as a group in a while."Historia claps. "Oh! Yay! I love Hitch."Sasha gasps. "Good idea. I'll text her tonight when we get home.""I haven't seen Marlo in a long ass time. This will be fun. Reiner takes a drink of his water. "Pre-game where?""We have a few bottles back at our place we can bring," Bertholdt informs the group scratching at his chin."For real?" Connie's eyes go bright and wide, "because I'm tryna get f@ck@d up, but I'm broke as a mother f@ck@r."You, Sasha, and Mikasa all look at each other simultaneously as though you are communicating with telepathy."We can pregame at our place," Sasha tells everyone. "We can all Uber there, so don't have to worry about D.D, and you can crash at our place after, too, if you need it. Everyone can get f@ck@d super up, have fun, and not have to worry about anything."The group agrees, and you guys continue to talk, solidifying your plans for this coming Friday.
  Alcohol. Friends. A night out at the club.
It sounds so much better than how you spent this last weekend. Your excitement is already rising as you start counting down the days.After about fifteen minutes, Blake brings the bill, and you all split the check evenly. You stay and converse for another thrifty minute before calling it a night and heading back home.When you arrive at your apartment, you are overtaken with exhaustion. You tell Mikasa and Sasha goodnight and part into your rooms. As soon as the door shuts, you strip out of your day clothes and get ready for bed.Once you're dressed in your all-black matching pajamas with small white flowers pattern across them, you walk over to your bookshelf and grab a new book to start since Jean now has the one you were in the middle of re-reading.Not putting too much thought into it, you grab The Picture of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde off of the second self of your bookcase and walk across your room to your bed.You hop onto the downturn mattress and get yourself situated in a comfortable laying position. With tiny goosebumps on your skin from the cool drafts of air circulating through your apartment, you pull the blankets over your body to help warm yourself up. Once settled in, you pop open the freshly picked book and begin to read.The forecast had lied, the rain has returned and is now hitting your window, the sound of pattering bringing a self of calmness within you as your eyes skim across words of world-building and character development.You have reached page 35 when you find yourself having to reread paragraphs because your mind keeps wandering to other places keeping you from being able to focus enough to know what's going on in the novel.Your mind can't stop thinking about who you met in the library and what is so familiar about her. You think and think, but no answers come.You have hit page fifty of your book when suddenly, everything clicks. Light is shown on all your questions, and the answer is now clear as day.You sit up quickly, blankets falling off your body from your sudden shift of heavy movement.Pieck.You remember where you know her from now. It all comes flooding back like a busted pipe filled with tap water laced with particles of truth.The girl you walked in on. The one Jean was hooking up with after you went upstairs looking for him at Eren's party. Her hands pressed up against the wall, his hands all over her minutes after having them all over you.
  That's exactly who she is.
 
  
  

    
      
        
        
          <3'
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
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