Chapter Text
Chapter One
How paranoid can one woman be?
Jean stared impassively at the lit-up screen of his phone buzzing away in his palm, his mother’s number flashing at him impatiently as he swiped the unlock button and pressed the answer button.
“I appreciate the concern, Mom, but calling three days in a row is a bit excessive, even for you.”
“Jean, don’t be ridiculous,” His mother’s voice came through sharp and abrupt. “It’s not excessive, I’m worried about you, and I want to make sure you know what you’re doing- you’ve put ‘undecided’ on all of your college course application forms so far, I’m worried sick you’re going to do something stupid.”
“And what does ‘something stupid’ constitute of, huh?” Jean asked dryly, rolling over onto his stomach and propping himself up on his elbows.
“You know what I mean! You need to pick something sensible- something that you can follow up on after you graduate. Not something stupid, like…”
“Like what?”
“Like art!” His mother snapped before she stopped herself short, drawing in a soft breath that crackled on the line. “Look, Jean, I understand you like to draw and all…but let’s be realistic, it’s never going to be anything more than a hobby, it’s far too difficult to make it in a field like that. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Yeah yeah,” Jean cast a glance at the dishevelled mess his duvet made spread haphazardly over his bed. His sketchbook rested on top of it, surrounded by multiple scattered pencils dipping in and out of the creases of the duvet cover.
“Take this seriously, Jean.”
“I am taking it seriously. I understand that art’s just a stupid waste of time in your eyes and I shouldn’t make any effort towards it regardless of whether or not I enjoy it.”
“There’s no need to get all arsey with me, young man. All I’m doing is making sure you pursue something you can get an actual career out of. Now, what course are you going to enrol in tomorrow?”
“Mom…”
“Jean.”
Jean sighed, shoulders drooping in resolve. “Business.” He muttered darkly to his cell phone, reaching out and taking hold of the corner of his sketchbook, dragging it towards him before brushing away some excess eraser dust from the smooth lines on the page.
“Good boy,” His mother said primly, sounding extremely self-satisfied.
“I’m not a dog y’know,”
“If only. At least dogs do what they’re told without arguing.”
“That’s it, I’m hanging up on you. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Jean, wait! I wanted to ask you about the house and rent and jobs and-”
Beep.
Jean jabbed at the ‘end call’ icon a little more harshly than he intended to before chucking his phone to the other end of his bed. Was it so hard for one woman to let her son make his own decisions? He’d assume the bickering and hovering and constant fussing would end as soon as he moved out, but no, thanks to the convenience of modern telecommunications his mother had found a whole new way to bother him as often as she liked without having to do much more than press his contact icon and persist until Jean finally answered his phone. At this point, it would probably be a whole lot less stressful for them both if he just blocked her number.
Jean pulled his sketchbook on to his lap, rubbing his finger along one shaded patch and watching as the pencil strokes blurred and merged beneath his fingertip. He’d been attempting to draw the long, lithe figure of a pin-up girl but without a reference it was proving difficult. Her limbs kept extending far too long and wouldn’t bend in the right places, making her look like some kind of noodle woman. Discouraged after his mother’s phone call, instead of bothering to correct the drawing he ripped the page out, crumpling it into a tight little ball in his fist before tossing it over his shoulder. It hit the wall behind him with a soft little thunk before disappearing somewhere in the gap between his bed and the desk.
Jean had moved out just over two weeks ago, at the start of the summer holidays to adjust to living away from home before college officially started two months later, at the beginning of October. He’d initially suggested the idea to his mother himself, under the guise of ‘independence’ and ‘once he started college it would be harder to settle in’ to conceal what he really wanted- some actual freedom from his mother’s extremely short leash that she held him on with a vice-like grip. Freedom that he had never quite got throughout his earlier teenage life. Although, judging by that phone call, she wasn’t going to let him run free without a fight.
He shifted his sketchbook into a better position onto his knees, scrabbling in the duvet for his pencil, before holding it above the page, its tip a fraction of an inch away from the paper, hesitant where to start. The blank page sprawling before him almost seemed to be mocking, practically laughing at his distinct lack of inspiration with its plain white emptiness.
Artwork had been his greatest passion ever since he was a kid. The moment he’d figured out how to grip a wax crayon aged three, he’d been scribbling over scraps of paper, corners of his picture-books, and, much to his mother’s disgruntlement, the walls. The back covers of his primary school exercise books and the margins of his high school notes were all decorated lavishly with biro and felt tip and ball point. Jean wasn’t really the type of person to have such a strong emotional bond to a hobby, but when it came to art, it was really something else. There was something calming about the way he could arrange the lines on a page or canvas however he wanted, because he wanted to. There was something intoxicating about that level of control over creation. It was like being a god over charcoal and HB pencils.
Jean tapped his pencil against the side of his sketchbook, trying to come up with a vague idea of what to attempt to sketch that would, hopefully, go a lot better than his failed wonky pin-up noodle. He’d assumed the combination of finishing high school and moving out- with all this newfound freedom, and, most valuable of all, time- would set his creative juices flowing like a proverbial river. Apparently, that hadn’t been the case. Drawing had become something of a chore, an obligation to himself, almost. Was he compelled to do it because he felt that’s what he owed to the boy sat in stuffy high school classrooms only a few months prior? The boy who spent his time idly doodling on the corners of his maths tests already graciously embellished by his teacher’s red pen- harsh edges of spiky handwriting that read, ‘See me after the lesson!’ and ‘This will be on the exam!!’. The boy who wished for nothing more than all the time in the world to draw it and everything in it in his own interpretation, without a narky middle-aged teacher circling and captioning it with ‘time wasting!’.
Well, here he was with more than enough time on his hands and he couldn’t muster any of his former passion for shit.
Jean snapped his sketchbook shut and arched his arms over his head, stretching out the cramp in his upper body as a yawn filled his mouth. The digital alarm clock on the side of his desk shone a bright red 14:02 into the room. As if in response to this, Jean’s stomach growled in protest, indicating he hadn’t bother to get up off his lazy backside to go outside his room since he’d first woken up at twelve, not even for food.
Disentangling his lanky limbs from the duvet clinging to him like thick oil, he kicked it away from him, scooped up his sketchbook and pencil and rescued his phone from the crevice between the mattress and wall, then crossed the small room in two strides and pulled the door open with such force it rebounded off the opposite wall with a distinct crack.
He’d scarcely gone two steps down the stairs when he heard,
“If you fuck up the plaster in the walls by slamming doors I’m going to murder your ass, Kirschtein,”
Jean rolled his eyes as he reached the bottom. The ground floor sprawled out into one whole room with the living area lining the adjoining wall to the stairs and the kitchen set into the opposite wall, separating itself from the rest of the space with a worktop. The front door sat between the two halves of the house with a tiny alcove in the wall that was currently overflowing with all the shoes in the house.
“I appreciate the offer, Eren, but honestly I don’t swing that way,”
Jean’s housemate glared at him from where he was sat on one of the two sofas arranged into a right angle around the TV in the corner towards the back window, looking over their miniscule garden.
“You know what I mean you asshole.” He snapped in response. Eren was sat on the couch with his knees up to his chest, upon which rested a videogame controller. The TV screen flickered with pixelated warfare as he threw Jean a dirty look.
Jean had known Eren ever since he was a kid. Or rather, his mother had known Eren’s parents since before they were born, and they’d grown up together, going through preschool and primary school and high school. Throughout their lives they sort of retained a love-to-hate relationship, based on similarities of character rather than how mutual their interests were, or how much they liked each other. Regardless, when Jean had considered moving out and found he couldn’t afford it on his own, Eren had followed suit, and they decided to rent a place together.
“Good morning to you too,” Jean stifled another yawn before crossing the room and falling onto the opposite sofa.
“Good afternoon more like.”
“Whatever.” Jean’s gaze fell upon the low table standing between them. Upon it stood a rack of still-warm toast, wafting curls of steam into the air. “Hey, you never make breakfast for yourself. Is Mikasa here?”
Eren picked his controller back up and turned his attention back to the TV. “Yep.”
As if on cue, footsteps resounded on the stairs, and a moment later, Mikasa appeared, holding one of Eren’s hoodies.
“Found it,” she announced, walking over to the sofa and tossing the jacket at Eren. “It was behind your bed- you need to look for things when you lose them you know. Good afternoon, Jean.”
“Afternoon,” Jean mumbled in response, suddenly keenly aware he was sat in broad daylight still in his pyjamas. He pulled his sketchbook back onto his knee and flipped it open once again.
“Sure, sure whatever.” Eren brushed the hoodie off his face, still almost entirely focused on his game as Mikasa took a seat next to him, curling up and resting her head against his shoulder. It was almost pitiful how little reaction Eren gave to her display of affection, merely grunting that she was going to put him off.
Fucking hell, Eren, at least give her the time of day! Jean wanted to scream.
Eren and Mikasa had been friends since forever, and from the first day that Eren finally introduced Mikasa to him, Jean had fallen for her. Hard.
The second he’d first laid eyes upon her he’d wanted more than anything to be able to muster up the guts to ask her out. Everything about her was beautiful and flawless, from her appearance to her faultless grades- no, there wasn’t anything out of place about Mikasa Ackerman. She was perfect, in every single way…
Except, of course, for the fact she had fallen in love with Eren.
They’d been friends ever since they were kids. Whilst Jean didn’t quite know the details of the incident that brought them together, he had picked up on the vague mentions of something involving Eren saving her from a group of muggers when they were younger (although, it was doubtful that he did anything more than grab her hand and run in the opposite direction) but clearly it made a lasting impression on Mikasa because they’d been inseparable ever since. It was only in the last three years of high school that they properly got together. It was inevitable really, looking back at it now. In retrospect, Mikasa had always been hung up over Eren- almost to a disturbing extent- and it was only a matter of time before Eren decided to stop kidding himself and returned her feelings. They certainly weren’t a flawless couple, not by a long shot. They’d had their fair share of ups and downs, arguments and even a brief break up at some point in their last year- but ultimately, they were always together. Mikasa was the logic to Eren’s impulsiveness; Eren was the driving force behind her lack of ambition; she was stoic, he was raw; he was brash, she was diffident. They counteracted each other almost flawlessly to the testament of opposites attract. It was foolish and shallow to think Mikasa would ever turn away from the person she was so clearly devoted to in favour of someone like…well, someone like Jean.
Even though he’d come to accept the fact it was highly likely his feelings would never be returned and were probably eternally doomed to remain unrequited, it didn’t change the fact his heart still began to beat a little faster every time she turned those smoky, platinum eyes framed by such delicate, thick lashes upon him. It didn’t mean his words didn’t catch in his throat when her voice fell from her enticingly dainty, (and what he hoped to be) soft lips. His face still heated up like she’d just thrown a mug of coffee straight into his cheeks instead of merely touching him as she brushed past.
Hiding his increasingly warm face behind his sketchbook, Jean glanced up at Mikasa and finally put his pencil to paper, beginning to sketch out the silhouette of her head and the sloping curve of her spine against the sofa. It certainly wasn’t the greatest situation to be in- hopelessly head over heels for someone else’s girlfriend; that someone else just happening to be your roommate- but at the very least, Mikasa made a great muse, especially where his artwork was concerned.
Several minutes passed in relative quiet, the silence punctuated only by the rattling of artificial gun fire from Eren’s game and the soft scratchings of Jean’s pencil before Mikasa finally spoke.
“So, have you two thought about enrolment for tomorrow?”
Jean and Eren groaned in unison.
“Mikasa, I’ve heard enough of this from my dad,” Eren hit the pause button on his controller with a sharp click as he shifted around to face his girlfriend. “You don’t have to start getting on my case too.”
“So far all you’ve done is be vague about what you want, and unfortunately you don’t have that luxury, starting tomorrow,” Mikasa said smoothly. “You need to pick a course, like it or not.”
“I told you, I want to go into law enforcement and justice systems.”
“And I’ve told you that you wouldn’t be suited to that kind of thing.”
“Hah? And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“She means you’re too much of an arrogant close-minded prick with an extremely close-minded perception of justice,” Jean said, glance darting up from his sketchbook to raise a condescending eyebrow across to the opposite sofa. He smirked as Eren flipped him off. “Hey, just ask the guy who’s brains you just blew out the back of his skull with a bazooka.” He nodded towards the screen, frozen in a scene of blood spraying over the imaginary camera lens. “He’d probably say that’s a pretty warped sense of right and wrong,”
“No.” Mikasa cast a scathing glance over at Jean who immediately sought refuge behind his sketchbook once more. “What I mean is you’re too impulsive and hot headed for any kind of job in that sort of field. That, and, I highly doubt it’ll be anything like what you’re hoping it to be.”
“What about Jean? Pick on him instead. All he wants to do is spend his time scribbling in that stupid sketchbook of his, I’m pretty sure that’s less prospective than a career in law enforcement.” Eren retorted as Mikasa slid off his shoulder and sat up properly with a wearisome look on her face.
“At least Jean knows what he wants. You, on the other hand…I’m not so convinced that it’s justice you want,” Mikasa said dryly.
“And for your information, Jaeger, I’m not enrolling in the art course, I’m going to take business.” Jean added, peering over the top of his knees to see both Eren and Mikasa turn and look at him simultaneously in surprise.
“You’re doing what now?” Eren put his feet on the floor and leant forwards, resting one elbow on his knee in Jean’s general direction. “You’re taking business? But art’s been your whole thing since…since you know, you were a kid! What’s with the change of heart?”
Jean shrugged, eyes drifting back down to his drawing. He’d been trying to catch the way the light coming through the back window reflected off Mikasa’s beautiful dark hair, but considering Eren had moved, she was no longer in direct sunlight and he couldn’t draw that from memory.
“It’s like you said, there’s no prospective career that comes from it,” He muttered, pencil beginning to trace the curve of Mikasa’s neck bowing into the swell of her chest. “It’s no big deal really.”
“Huh. That’s…huh.” Eren leant back into the sofa. His gaze flickered back to the TV but he didn’t pick up the controller again.
“That’s unexpected,” Mikasa finished for him. “But if that’s what Jean wants to do, that’s Jean’s problem. What you need to do is focus on yourself and what you’re going to do, Eren.”
The corners of Jean’s mouth twitched in half a humourless smirk. “Problem? What do you mean it’s Jean’s problem?”
Mikasa ignored him and continued to watch Eren carefully, her gaze cool and steadfast. “I know you better than you think, Eren. Trust me on this one.”
“Alright then, if you know me so well, what do you think I should study?”
“Maybe you should go into performing arts or something.” Jean grunted under his breath. “Gives you the perfect opportunity to show off after all.”
Either Mikasa didn’t hear him or chose to completely ignore him. “I think you’d do well in theatre.”
“Theatre?!” Eren spluttered, the controller clattering to the floor. “Alright now you’re being ridiculous! That’s even less useful than Jean’s art!”
“Hey!”
“Not really, if you think about it. You stand to learn a lot of valuable skills from drama and performing. People skills, for instance, and empathy.” Mikasa reasoned. She tucked a stray hair behind her ear as she spoke and Jean quickly copied the soft little coil onto paper, trying to focus on recreating every last strand of hair instead of how insanely attractive he found her profile. “Besides, you’d be good at it- you’re driven and passionate and…well, loud.”
Eren snorted. “Tact isn’t your strong point, is it?” All the same, he appeared to be mulling it over. “So…drama?”
“Theatre studies,” she corrected. “If you wait here I’ve got the course booklet in my car, you can look at it properly and see what you think.” At this, Mikasa stood up and weaved her way between the two sofas and headed towards the front door and disappeared outside with the click of the latch.
Damn. Now Jean had no reference for his half-finished sketch. He’d been in the process of trying to draw every single individual eyelash but now he looked at it properly the lines crisscrossed and jumbled into a thick black line over his drawing’s woefully insignificant eye in comparison. Fuck, he hadn’t even had the foresight to bring the eraser downstairs with him.
Jean had assumed Eren had gone back to his game but the TV still wasn’t making any sound. He looked up from the page to see his roommate watching him with a strange expression mingled with what looked like a combination of intense dislike and suspicion.
“Dude, what the hell?” Jean scowled in response. “What’s with the look?”
Eren’s gaze narrowed even further. “I swear to God, Jean, if you don’t stop making bedroom eyes at Mikasa every time you think I’m not looking I’m going to cut your balls off myself.”
“Bedroom eyes? Jesus Christ, you’ve got a problem with how I look at people? I’m sorry, that’s just how my face is. Chill the fuck out, I’m not interested in your girlfriend.”
“Funny, I didn’t know you blush every time any old person looks you in the eye or got a boner when they try to talk to you.”
Jean seized hold of the cushion next to him and threw it over at him.
“Fuck off.”
“Gladly,” Eren said, batting the cushion away so it bounced harmlessly onto the floor. “As soon as you stop fantasizing about my girlfr…wait, were you drawing her?”
Jean scoffed as disbelievingly as he knew how. “No,” he lied, turning the page nonchalantly. “But maybe you need to learn to back down. Not every guy in this world wants to steal Mikasa from you.”
“Not every guy, yeah, I get that. But then there’s you.”
Jean opened his mouth to retaliate but was cut off by the noise of the front door opening once more indicating Mikasa’s return. He fell silent, closed his sketchbook and watched sullenly as she passed him once more and went to sit back down next to Eren, with the booklet listing all the available courses for them to enrol into at Rose District College tomorrow.
“See- there, theatre studies.” Mikasa flipped through the pamphlet until she located the right page and held it out to Eren. “Have a read and see what you think.”
A couple moments of silence passed as Eren began to scan down the page before he spoke.
“So what course are you taking then, Mikasa?”
“You should know by now.” Mikasa wound her arms around Eren’s shoulders, bringing him closer to her, before planting a soft kiss on his forehead. “I’ll follow you wherever you go.”
Jean retched inwardly, not in the mood to stick around whilst Mikasa tried to sort the resident idiot’s tangled ambitions out, and stood up himself to get himself something to eat. He’d scarcely opened the kitchen cupboard and started rummaging for some form of sustenance when he felt a harsh buzzing against his thigh. He dug in his pocket and caught hold of his phone, half-expecting to see his mother’s number back to taunt him again, but no- the number blinking at him this time wasn’t in his contacts.
He swiped the ‘answer’ icon and held the phone up to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Hey Jean, it’s me, Connie!”
“Connie? You’re not in my contact list, man. Did you get a new phone or something?”
“Yep!” Came the over-enthusiastic response. So much energy almost made Jean wince at the sheer effort of imagining such zealousness. “My parents bought me some new stuff to congratulate me on getting into college,”
Jean smiled to himself, returning to his search through the cupboards. “Yeah, knowing your grades, that’s a miracle in itself.”
“Nice to know you’re still the same old ass that you were in high school.”
“Wouldn’t change it for the world and you know it,” Jean pulled out a package of dry crackers he didn’t remember buying. “So? What’s up? Why’d you call?”
“Well I WAS going to ask if you’d be interested in coming over to mine and Sasha’s place this evening for a sort-of-party thing but if you’re bringing your shitty attitude I won’t bother.” Connie’s tone was laced with sarcasm that Jean could practically taste.
“Ha-ha, I’ll be nice, how about that. What was that about a party? You understand that we’ve all just moved into our own places and are all about as broke as you are dense?”
“You may call me stupid, but that doesn’t sound like you being ‘nice’ at all, you buzzkill.” Connie said in a mockingly wounded tone. “But it’s nothing big or fancy, so you don’t have to worry about spending a bomb. All we ask is you chip in some cash for drinks.”
The date on these crackers really didn’t align with when Jean and Eren moved in. “I don’t know about that, sounds borderline expensive.”
“Come on dude,” Connie whined into his ear. “All of our friends’ll start getting jobs and stuff in the next couple of months before college and then once college starts we’ll hardly see each other. This is, like, our last chance to get together and see everyone properly!”
“Connie, Connie, don’t whinge at me, I was kidding. We’re not so broke we can cough up for some drinks. Hang on,” he pulled the phone from his ear and twisted around from where he was facing the cupboard to look over at Mikasa and Eren behind him. “Are you two interested in going over to Connie and Sasha’s new place tonight?”
“Connie and Sasha’s?” Eren’s head appeared over the back of the sofa, his face creasing into a frown. “What for?”
“He wants to see everyone before we all go our separate ways for college.”
“Who else will be there?” Mikasa asked.
Jean put the phone back to his ear.
“Who else have you invited, Connie?”
“Uh…everyone?!” he said as if it were obvious and Jean was an idiot for not realising. “You know, Armin and Reiner and Bertolt and Ymir and Krista and Mina and Annie and Thomas and Nac and Mylius and Samuel and-”
Jean took the phone away from his ear before he’d finished. His voice continued to babble dimly in the speaker. “Everyone, he says.”
“Sounds like it could be fun.” Eren mused, stretching his arms over his head disinterestedly before a wicked grin lit up his features. “Excellent, actually, I could do with an excuse to get shit faced.”
“That means I need to go with you to make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”
“Mikasa, will you quit fussing?”
Jean shook his head before speaking back into the phone. “Safe to say I think we’re all coming. Uh, me and Eren and Mikasa, that is.”
“Awesome!” Connie sounded delighted. “See you at- I don’t know, like six or something tonight?”
“Six sounds good?” Jean raised an eyebrow over at Eren and Mikasa who nodded in affirmation.
“Cool, see you then! Don’t forget to bring money- oh, and don’t forget to not bring your attitude Jean!”
“Little shit,” Jean hung up and threw his phone down onto the counter with a resounding clatter, turning back to further investigate the cupboards for something vaguely edible that weren’t crackers probably left by the previous resident. He and Eren had both severely underestimated just how much food two teenage boys could go through in the short space of time they’d been living here, and the lack of food in the kitchen pretty much summarised it. Mikasa must’ve used the rest of the bread to make Eren’s toast. If well-expired crackers were the kind of diet Jean could expect from now on as a college student, he certainly wasn’t looking forward to the experience as a whole.
Oh well. Maybe Eren wasn’t wrong. Getting shit faced seemed like a pretty good idea for tonight.
…
Mikasa ended up staying the whole day, watching as Jean and Eren played match after match in Eren’s game before she made Eren go upstairs and put on a clean shirt and pants that didn’t belong to one half of a tracksuit. Jean took this as a sign he should probably change out of his pyjamas and get a shower too, and by the time he was clean and in real people clothes, it was time to leave for Connie and Sasha’s party.
Mikasa drove them over to the other side of town. Whilst Eren, Jean and people like Connie and Sasha had chosen to spend the money their parents had given them for college as well as the scraps of savings they’d managed to scrape together throughout high school doing part-time jobs on their houses; Mikasa had instead spent hers on a car, considering she, out of all of them lived closest to the college and didn’t need to move away from her parent’s house to make the daily commute to and from college as short as possible. That, and the car made the journey even shorter.
They had all lived around and about a single large town, Rose, which was surrounded by their own smaller towns and districts. Rose was the only substantial town around for miles, meaning there was only one high school, which was where Jean had met all of these other people from the surrounding villages. Now that college was looming ominously just around the corner for all of them, it seemed like the most logical step to just move away from home and as close to the college as possible, which, there was only one of, unless you made the long, long trip to the nearest city, Sina.
“So everyone at this party’s all going to Rose District College, right?” Jean asked as Mikasa turned into the cul de sac that Connie had specified. “I mean, I’m all for the party aspect, but if we’re all going to be seeing each other once term starts Connie’s excuse of wanting to see everyone is a bit void.”
“No, not everyone.” Mikasa replied, peering over the steering wheel as she checked the house numbers one by one. “Armin’s going to a university out of town.”
“And I’m pretty sure Annie wants to go to Stohess University College in Sina.” Eren added from the passenger seat besides Mikasa. Jean watched him curl his upper lip into a disapproving sneer. “Apparently, a District College wasn’t good enough.”
“That, and, correct me if I’m wrong, but a few people are probably going into apprenticeships and the like.” She twisted the wheel in her sharply, pulling the car smoothly into park on the curb, wheels softly bumping up then coming down to rest on the road as she killed the engine. “This is the one,”
Jean looked out from the backseat window at Connie and Sasha’s house. They, too, had been renting for the past couple of weeks, but he hadn’t anticipated the house to look so…well, like a home. In such a cosy little neighbourhood curving around into one solid little community. The house was big and bright and stood alone, separate from any others around it. The walls were white washed, but not stark or cold, if anything it made the house look endearing, like the idea of a picket fence. Jean and Eren’s place was at the end of a row of grim little terraced houses and certainly didn’t feel like a home. It felt like exactly what it was- student accommodation. A grey, gloomy building that was much- much smaller than Connie’s place.
And the little prick had the nerve to go on at me complaining about being broke, he thought sullenly as he hurriedly combed his fingers through his fringe, patting it into place as he checked his reflection in the car window. Satisfied, he clambered out of the back seat, nearly tripping over his own feet as he straightened up and slammed the car door behind him. Puberty certainly hadn’t done him any favours over the past five years. He’d shot up like a weed two years in, and, thankfully, whilst he’d lost his child-like puppy fat, he’d remained a bean pole ever since, awkward and long and lanky. He’d never quite outgrown the awkward stage of having poor coordination either and evidently now he had the grace of a newborn baby giraffe.
They could hear music throbbing from inside by the time the three scarcely walked up the driveway (which was, mercifully, empty- Jean didn’t think he could handle the gloating if they’d had a car on top of the envy-inducing house as well) when suddenly the front door flew open and rebounded on its hinges, accompanied by a joyous shout of “Hey guys!” before the front door bounced back and smacked the speaker aside.
Jean grinned as they reached the entrance. “Hey Sasha. I see the new place is treating you well.”
“Ha-ha, very funny,” Sasha said gruffly in muted humiliation as she pushed the door open again with a touch more care. Her eyes quickly lit up when she saw Eren and Mikasa standing behind Jean. “Hi Eren! Hi Mikasa! It’s so good to see you again! It feels like it’s been for-ev-er!!” She accentuated this by throwing her arms around Mikasa into a one-sided embrace that wasn’t reciprocated.
“You saw us two weeks ago at graduation,” Eren rolled his eyes before stepping into the hallway, past Sasha clinging to Mikasa, who had gone stiff as a board. “But this is your place? It’s huge! How far are you guys from the college here?”
“It’s not that big,” Sasha snorted. “It’s just…spacious!”
“That makes our place a cupboard,” Jean said under his breath, following Eren into the hallway as Mikasa peeled herself away from Sasha. To their left was the living room- already there were people milling about inside, visible through the glass panes in the door- and dead ahead was the kitchen at the end of a good stretch of twenty feet or so. Everything was white, clean and bright, compared to the dinginess of the place he and Eren were currently calling home. It looked like it belonged to some well off married couple rather than a couple of just-graduated high schoolers.
“The college is about ten minutes down the road, if I remember correctly.” Mikasa said in response to Eren’s question. “It’s not far by any means.”
“Fuck, so how expensive is rent? We looked at flats and stuff closer to the college but we couldn’t afford any of them,” Eren turned on Sasha who shrugged nonchalantly.
“I don’t know, my parents told me not to worry about it, they’ve got it covered.”
Eren and Jean shared a shrewd look at each other, simultaneously recalling the almost identical lectures that both their parents had given them before they both moved out, about responsibility with money and using it wisely because what they’d given them was all they’d be getting from them. If they wanted more, they had to go out and work for it. Speaking of which, that was something else Jean had to look into. If he didn’t start working this summer, he might as well move back into his mother’s house here and now.
But that was another problem for another day. Pushing these thoughts to the back of his head, Jean opened the door to the living room and stepped inside.
The thud of music and the dim chatter mingling amidst a heavy dubstep beat washed over him immediately. As Connie had said, all the people he had come to know throughout high school were here - big, burly Reiner and endlessly tall Bertolt sat on the sofa in the middle of the room watching the music video playing on the screen in silence; tiny, cute Krista stood next to the TV’s blaring speakers with the fierce-faced Ymir’s arm draped over her shoulders as she attempted to make conversation with lily-livered Daz, flinching under Ymir’s unrelenting glare. The token lovesick couple Franz and Hannah were canoodling and crooning into each other towards the back corner of the room, where there were yet another pair of double doors, opening out into a back room which connected to the kitchen. There, he could see Nac and Mylius talking over their drinks and half-watching as Thomas and Connie were arranging cups onto the table for, what Jean assumed would be, a game of beer pong.
Jean made his way past Franz and Hannah, who were completely oblivious to Mina and Samuel stood only a few feet away sharing looks mixed with equal parts amusement and disgust at the blatant display of affection- clearly they just didn’t care, which made an interesting change. Back in high school it was all about secrecy and holding hands under desks and kissing behind the lockers when no one else was around.
Connie looked up from stacking plastic cups- apparently, this was two-tier beer pong- and caught sight of Jean approaching. His face quickly split into a grin as he abandoned Thomas’s side, leaving him to fill the cups by himself, and met Jean halfway.
“Hey, man, good to see you! Although you took your sweet time,” He chuckled as he clasped Jean’s outstretched hand and bumped it against his chest.
“Fuck off, it’s like six thirty. So we missed half an hour. Big deal.” Jean said.
“Well you’ve got better time keeping than a few others.” He rolled his eyes, skimming over the party before raising his hand in greeting as Mikasa and Eren entered the room. “Armin still hasn’t shown up, neither has Annie, or Mylius-”
“Annie’s not coming,” Reiner interrupted from across the room, raising his voice to be heard over the music. He twisted around in his seat to face them from the back of the sofa. “She’s busy with moving to Stohess next week and wasn’t interested.”
“That’s to be expected. She’s always been a wall flower, anyway, a party’s not really her scene. Hey, big guy, what’s she studying?” Jean yelled back.
“Uh…”
“Geology,” Bertolt piped up from beside Reiner. His face quickly coloured when Reiner raised his eyebrow at the speed of his answer as he cleared his throat. “She’s studying…geology…”
“Geology? Like rocks and stuff?” Connie wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Why’s she getting into that? Sounds like a hell of a lot of boring to me.”
Bertolt shrugged, and both he and Reiner turned back around to properly greet Eren as he walked past. It took a split second before Eren sighted the beer pong set up and immediately made a beeline towards them.
“Are you guys about to play? I want to be pissed out of my head before tonight’s over, so I’ll join in. Oh right,” He paused, dug in his pocket and withdrew his house keys. “If I’m too drunk to remember where I put these I’ll need someone to let me into my house so…here.” Eren tossed Connie his keys who caught them, looking bewildered.
“You drove here didn’t you?”
“Mikasa did,” Jean corrected, stifling a yawn at Eren’s zealousness. “I don’t know what he’s on about, if he can’t even see straight by the time he gets home she’ll deal with it. Speaking of alcohol, I’d like to complain that my hand is currently empty and my throat is well and truly dry.”
Connie shook his head, grinning as he held his hand out and made a beckoning motion. “Nope, money first, then you can drink to your heart’s content.”
“Cheap bastard.” Jean stuck his hand into his back pocket and retrieved a bank note bunched up into a crumpled mass. He hastily smoothed it out in his hand before dropping it into Connie’s open palm, who looked at the meagre note with an almost disappointed expression. Jean frowned. “What?”
“You call me cheap?” Connie asked mockingly, raising an eyebrow and laughing as Jean’s face quickly darkened. “I’m kidding, geez, no need to look at me like that. Help yourself to a drink, it’s all over there.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the kitchen counter, overflowing with six-packs and cartons of bottles and cans of various beers and spirits. “Although, you might just want to make it one.”
“Connie, I’m this close to smacking you in the face with this bottle.” Jean plucked a glass bottle off the side and pried the lid off, it’s jagged edges digging harshly into his hand as he flung the little metal cap at Connie laughing his face off.
He opened his mouth to retort but before he had chance, he was cut off by a cry of,
“Connie!! What are you doing?!”
Connie spun on his heel to see Sasha storming across the room with a positively thunderous look on her face. He automatically flinched as she drew level with him and crossed her arms over her chest.
“What do you think this is? This table isn’t for your stupid games; I was going to put food out!” She said testily, still scowling like a menacing puppy. “Hey! Stop that!” She jabbed a finger at Thomas and Eren who were in the process of pouring beer from bottles into the plastic cups, who both jumped instinctively at her sharp tone, very nearly slopping a lot of drink down themselves.
“Food? Oh come on Sasha, no one wants to eat! Tonight’s just an excuse to get hammered and drunkenly reminisce on our high school career before we all disappear from each other’s lives,” Connie sighed in exasperation.
Sasha was having none of it.
“Nope, wrong answer!” She held her arms up in a cross over her chess. “I refuse to hear it! No party is complete without food, and I don’t want to hear otherwise! Besides, I ordered some food specially, just for tonight.”
“Special how?” Eren was wiping beer off various parts of himself. “Special enough to make up for the fact I don’t get to play beer pong?”
Sasha looked positively delighted with herself. “I ordered some pastries and stuff from a bakery that I found not too long ago- when I had to walk to school for exams and stuff, I used to walk past this bakery and it always smelled so good but I never had any money on me, so I figured now was the perfect time to get something!”
Jean could feel his lips twitching into a smile behind the lip of his beer bottle as he raised it to his mouth and took a sip, the acrid bitterness spreading from the tip of his tongue to the back as it washed down his throat. He couldn’t deny that he’d sort of missed this, the friendly banter, the ridiculous antics, Sasha’s stupid fixation on food. It was strange to think it could all disappear in the next few months, even though they were all going to the same college that Autumn. Somehow, he knew, and had a pretty good feeling that everyone else knew, that this was definitely marking the end of an era.
Well, best make the most of it.
He tipped his head back and gulped down as much as he could without spluttering, wiping his mouth on his shirt cuff. “Alright, so Sasha’s got food on the way, but in the meantime, we can still play. Don’t worry,” He cut Sasha off as she opened her mouth to protest. “You can have your table back by the time your bakery order shows up.”
“…Sure.” She didn’t look convinced, but took a step back anyway. “But only until then, OK?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Connie waved her down as he pushed his sleeves up, a wicked glint lighting up his eyes in delight as Thomas finished filling the last cup. “I’ll go grab the balls!”
The next hour or so was full of shouts and cries of both disappoint and joy as Jean and Connie crowed at Eren or Thomas’s lousy aim or groaned as they had to chug a half cup of beer every time they managed to land a hit. Eventually Reiner joined in, knocking multiple cups over in the process, and to even out the teams, Sasha joined up on Jean’s side and proved to be quite adept at aiming and getting the other team extremely well doused in alcohol.
At one point a little later, Armin finally showed up, apologising for being late, and mumbled something about studying for an additional entrance exam he still had to take to secure the place at the university he wanted to go to.
“Armin!” Eren exclaimed, already getting pink in the face as he threw his arms around him, squeezing him tight as he giggled like an idiot with joy. “I’ve missed you buddy!!”
“Hi, Eren, it’s good to see you too,” Armin laughed half-heartedly, unhooking Eren’s arms from pinning his own to his sides. “Hi, everyone, nice to see you’re all having a good time.”
“I can’t believe you’re going to university, Armin.” Connie said thickly, raising his next cup to his lips. He wasn’t quite drunk yet, but certainly teetering on the edge. “Where are you going again?”
“I’m going to start by studying geography and biology at Maria State University, but eventually I’d like to consider doing an extra major in psychology at Paradis City University, near the coast.” Armin seemed to swell with pride and anticipation, his bright blue eyes shining enthusiastically. “I don’t want to stay in one place, feeling confined for the rest of my life. I want to see the world, and I think studying all over the country is a good start, don’t you think?”
“That’s so cool,” Eren wound his arm around Armin’s shoulders, who started in surprise as he hugged him close to himself once again. “But I wish you weren’t going away…I would’ve wanted to housemate with you instead of horse face over there-” At this, he gestured at Jean with his cup, its contents sloshing down the sides. “But I’m still happy for you- look, everyone, look how smart my Armin is. He’s going to university!”
“Yes, we’re all very proud of Armin.” Mikasa appeared behind Armin and rested her arm over his shoulder on the opposite side, patting his back in encouragement before she took hold of Eren’s arm and pried it off him. “But maybe don’t smother him, Eren.”
The group laughed as Eren snatched his arm away from Mikasa, glowering at her for a few seconds before bringing the plastic cup in his hand up to his lips and downing its contents with no reservation. Clearly, he was still intent on following up on his earlier promise to get as nailed as possible.
“I don’t tend to agree with him, but Eren’s right, that’s pretty cool Armin,” Jean added. His own thoughts were starting to turn a bit blurry, but everything felt a little softer, a little fuzzier around the edges and there was a happy warmth sitting in the bottom of his heart right now, so he was, for the most part, feeling good. However, now he was thinking of Armin chasing his dreams, he couldn’t deny he was a little envious. He leant on the table, resting his elbows against the solid surface and balanced his chin in his palm, his tone wistful. “It’s great you know what you want to do with your life.”
“What do you mean, Jean?” Reiner was in the midst of drinking three of Thomas’ beers that he’d lost to Jean’s team. Thomas in question was currently sat crookedly in the corner of the room with his head in his hands, marking himself as the first casualty of the evening, with Krista next to him who was rubbing him on the back and asking if he was OK. “You’ve got dreams too, don’t you? You know, the whole art thing?”
The familiar bitter feeling swirled up from within once more as Jean dropped his gaze, swirling the dregs of his last drink in the bottom of the cup in his free hand.
“Yeah, sort of.” He mumbled, barely audible over the music. “They’re just not very realistic, I suppose.” He straightened up as Eren managed to finally land a ping pong ball into a cup to an accompanying cheer. His next drink was quickly pushed into his hands, and obligingly, he began to drink.
“Speaking of dreams and shit, what’s everyone enrolling in tomorrow?” Connie chipped in as he lined up to take his turn aiming with the ball. “I’m taking a course in public services before getting an apprenticeship at the Royal Police Academy if I pass the first year!”
“I’m taking the catering course!” Sasha drawled, raising her hand as her face split into a wide, sunny grin. The ball that Connie had just thrown clipped the side of a cup and bounced off the side of the table, rolling away onto the floor and halfway across the room. “Just think of all the cooking and the prep and the flavours, ahhhh, it’s going to be so good!”
“Anyone could have guessed that, Sasha.” Reiner smiled and rolled his eyes, downing the last of his drink, shuddering in repulse at the taste. “Is this supposed to be fun? This stuff tastes like cat piss.”
Eren nudged him in the ribs. “Shhhh, just knock it back and don’t ask questions. What course are you enrolling in?”
“Huh? Oh, right. Well, I’m not planning to go to college, actually. I’ve been applying for apprenticeships in engineering and mechanics.”
“Why engineering?”
“I want to work on vehicles and machinery for the armed forces, that’s something that I think would make my parents proud. Bert’s doing the same,” Reiner nodded over at where Bert was stood, stooping so he could make conversation with Armin. “Except he’s going into more reserve stuff. I don’t know, you’ll have to ask him about the details.”
“Krista’s doing an apprenticeship type thing too,” Ymir added. She had come to stand at the edge of the group to watch the game as it progressed, not entirely distancing herself from where Krista was comforting a woozy-looking Thomas, but far enough away to be out of the vicinity of any impromptu vomit. “Well, sort of. She wants to do nursing so she’s obviously got to study medicine, but she’s going to be working in a doctor’s clinic every so often as part of her course.”
“And what’re you doing?” Jean asked her, finishing his drink and placing his empty cup onto the table.
Ymir arched her eyebrow, narrowing her gaze at him as if the answer were obvious. “I’m going with her, of course. A frail little thing like Krista needs someone to keep an eye on her around all that blood and sickness and the like. I have to stick around and make sure she doesn’t cave.”
“Forgive me, but you don’t strike me as the nursing type,” Jean gave her an equally mocking look in return.
Ymir’s expression darkened. “Go fuck yourself with something sharp and pointy, horse face.”
“Case in point,” He smirked, before hastily ducking as she flexed her arm and threw her still-full cup straight at him. Despite his attempt to dodge, it crashed into his chest with a wet slap, its contents splashing and soaking right into his shirt through to his skin, sending a chill running across his torso.
“Ymir!” Krista’s disapproving cry could be heard over the roar of laughter that rose up from almost everyone else around the table as Jean plucked at his drenched shirt, mouth open, unsure of how to retaliate. Ymir stood across from him on the opposite team’s side, a smug grin tugging her lips into a cruel smile.
“You bitch,” He gasped as Connie and Eren slapped him on the back, guffawing at his misfortune. “The hell was that for?!”
“Oh I wonder what,” She said dryly, her tone laced with sarcasm.
Jean quickly felt the heat rising in his cheeks as he looked around, seeking some form of support to fight his corner, but no, everyone was too busy laughing their faces off. Sasha was bent double, Reiner was leaning on the table and covering his mouth with one hand, his shoulders shaking in laughter; Connie and Eren were practically on the floor, Bertolt was chuckling and even Armin had an uncertain but undeniably amused smile curving his lips upwards.
A combination of humiliation and his bruised ego swelled within him for a split second; he took an indefinite step backwards, only to bump into Mikasa.
“Here,” she said quietly, taking hold of his elbow before he even had the chance to start uttering an apology. She turned him around and began to guide him towards the door. “How about you go clean yourself up whilst everyone calms down.”
He didn’t have the time to protest by the time he’d digested what she’d just said; she’d already pushed him right through the living room (Past Franz and Hannah, who had since migrated to the sofa and were still completely oblivious to the rest of the party), and a second later, right through the door which she shut in his face.
Jean watched after her through the glass pane helplessly as Mikasa turned on her heel impassively, her expression unreadable as she walked back towards the back room, disappearing. He was left, alone in the hallway, his shirt sopping wet, thoroughly disgraced, stinking like some horrendous combination of vodka and cider.
He didn’t need this.
The lingering jealousy that had sparked from Armin talking about his goals and pursuing his dreams reignited and something like fury bulged into his chest, sending a sour taste spreading into his mouth. He couldn’t deny it; he was practically spitting with envy. Not just of Eren and his under-appreciated relationship with Mikasa, like usual. But listening to everyone talking about how they were going to be actively following their dreams within a few short months…that struck a very resentful chord within him. It seemed so ridiculously unfair; everyone was out there chasing their passions and looking forward to the future, and Jean had to bend beneath his mother’s iron will and the harsh reality of the world and study something he had practically no interest in.
He had to forsake his dreams for the practicality.
How fucking sad.
Usually he’d feel angry at such loss of control to the circumstances, but instead he felt surprisingly disheartened and strangely hollow. Maybe he’d resigned to this inevitable turn of events long ago. That’s life, after all.
Jean turned away from the door, running a hand through his hair, before self consciously patting it back into place, as his gaze fell onto a box of cigarettes with a lighter resting on top of them placed next to the door. Funny, he didn’t recall either Connie or Sasha ever smoking. Maybe they belonged to someone else.
Whatever, he could do with an excuse to get outside for a while.
He snatched up the box and the lighter and opened the front door, relishing the feeling of the cool evening air that washed over his face as he pulled the door closed behind him. He took two steps forward before sinking down onto his heels and taking a seat on the doorstep.
It took two or three attempts to light the cigarette before the light finally took; instantly billowing a familiar chalky texture of smoke into his mouth. He wasn’t exactly a habitual smoker, but he’d had his fair share of cigarettes on and off throughout high school. It wasn’t something he did often, either, more of something that helped calm him- gave him chance to think things over in a cool, steady process that followed the simple action of raising the cigarette to his lips, taking a drag, and then letting the thick, acrid-smelling cloud out again.
Jean tipped his head back and blew a long stream of smoke skywards. It was late July, so the evenings were still light, but the shards of light were beginning to recede behind clouds dappling the rapidly darkening blue expanse above him, and there was a distinct chill in the air. That much was especially evident when he became keenly aware of just how damp his shirt was. Even from out here, when everything was so much more still and quiet compared to the riot going on inside, he could still hear the thump of music from the TV speakers, feel the thud of a heavy bass reverberate in his chest dimly as the summer evening breeze ruffled the leaves of the trim hedge separating the house’s front garden from the next.
He was tired, to be honest. Just so sick and tired of having everything he’d ever dreamed of put onto the back burner. To have his hopes and dreams pale into insignificance when compared to those of his friends, who, by the current state of affairs, were shaping up to have a better future than him in any light. After all, Armin was considering sciences and Reiner, mechanics; how could his trivial little sketchbook rival that? Krista and Ymir would be going into the medical profession within the next two to three years- well respected, if nothing else. And Sasha was following her lifelong dream. Any idiot could see how irrelevant it was to sit at home all day watching your lifelong crush from afar and wistfully copying her profile onto a sheet of cheap-ass paper with half-assed effort and a talent barely worth considering.
Jean brought the cigarette back up to his lips, his heart dipping in his chest, filled with dark sentiment and bitter acquiescence. He wasn’t special. He knew that. What could he possibly hope to gain from drawing out a fantasy world? What possible career could span from that?
His throat burned and his eyes were beginning to water from the ash curling from the tip of the butt between his fingers as he puffed out another cloud, watching the smoke waft into the air, linger for a second, then dissipate as it was carried away on the wind as he tapped the excess cinders onto the ground.
Maybe it was better this way. He knew, deep down, his mother was coming from a sincere place of love and affection. Business studies would be better for him in the long run. The experience, at the very least, should be enough to see him through the right job interviews to get to the right place and settle into the right way for him. That in itself was a tolerable idea.
It was the knowledge of the sacrifices that he’d have to make that hurt the most.
The dim hum of a vehicle’s engine and the clunk of it drawing to a stop as its engine was killed drew him out of his thoughts, and he looked up from the doorstep with mild interest. A small van had pulled up to the curb and a boy was getting out, rummaging in the passenger seat for something for a few seconds before retrieving a large, white box which he hefted into his arms as he straightened up.
It wasn’t a new van- once upon a time it must’ve been white; now it was stained, discoloured, and clearly old- what, with its rounded hood and perfectly circle headlights. It looked very out of place and of another era, especially when parked next to Mikasa’s relatively new (albeit second hand) Renault. The side of the van bore what looked like hand-painted red script with paint flaking off at the edges, curving into the words
Bodt Family Bakery
Jean raised an eyebrow, wondering for a split second why the hell a bakery was making a delivery at past eight o clock in the evening, before his foggy mind addled with a combination of dolefulness and beer, realised it was probably the bakery order that Sasha had mentioned two hours earlier.
Well he took his sweet time, he thought grimly as he brought the cigarette back to his lips once more.
“Excuse me,” The boy had made his way up the driveway and was now standing over Jean, looking down at him with as pleasant a smile as one could expect someone to give a drunk teenager stinking of alcohol with a huge wet patch down his front. “Does Miss Braus live here?”
Jean looked back up at him, resting his chin in the hand holding his cigarette, the other laying carelessly over his knee. The stranger was tall; not exactly slim, but well-built nonetheless, with broad shoulders, upon one of which he rested the white box he’d brought from the van with one hand. His dark hair was parted in the centre, framing his rather wide forehead and a bright, cheerful expression peering through a smattering of freckles spilt over his cheeks and nose. His cedar coloured eyes remained steady on Jean as he stood above him, with a clearly well-practiced, winning smile.
Jean looked him up and down once more- taking in the light flecks of some dusty substance clinging to the fibres of his checked shirt and streaking down the fronts of the thighs of his jeans, where he clearly must have rubbed his hands off onto. Flour, he supposed.
He put the cigarette into his mouth and jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
“She’s inside with the rest of the party.” He said blankly. The music still thudded on from behind the closed door. “Although if you knock, I don’t think they’ll be able to hear you.”
“Ha ha, I guess not.” The boy looked towards the door as he spoke, shifting the box into his arms. “So this is all for a party. I should’ve known, no single person would order this much for just themselves.”
Jean snorted under his breath. “Guess you don’t know Sasha too well,” He said to himself, looking away from the delivery boy as he inhaled deeply on the cigarette, resisting the instinctive urge to cough and hack up a lung.
“So…if it’s party- if you don’t mind me asking- what are you doing out here all by yourself?”
Jean twisted around to face the stranger once more, eyebrows raised. “Why do you want to know?”
“It just seems a bit lonely to be out here all on your own, when you could be in there, having fun with all your friends.”
He shrugged and turned away once more, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and exhaling a long stream of nicotine vapour into the air. The boy next to him cleared his throat.
“They’ll be fine without me.” Jean muttered savagely. “They’ve got nothing to worry about, least of all about me.”
“That doesn’t sound like you’re having a particularly good time.”
“Sounds like you’re pretty observant, Sherlock Holmes.”
He chuckled at Jean’s retort, before he looked at him with an odd sort of sideways glance as if he was carefully considering something. A moment later, he laid the box in his arms on the porch just in front of the door and slowly sat down next to Jean.
Jean instinctively leaned backwards, away from the guy he’d scarcely just met and had only shared a handful of words with.
“Alright, just what are you doing?” He asked, bewildered, more confused than anything.
The boy looked surprised at Jean’s aversion to his simple act of sitting. “What do you mean?”
“No offense, bud, but I don’t know you. Why are you…you know….” He gestured at him vaguely, motioning how he was seated on the doorstep beside him. “Sitting with me?”
“I hate to see someone by themselves,” He said softly. He shifted a little, drawing his knees closers to his chest as he folded his arms beneath the bends of his legs so they rested against the backs of his thighs. “So, tell me, what’s got you sitting out here all by yourself when there’s a perfectly good party going on back there that I’m sure you’re a part of?”
Jean opened his mouth; then hesitated, closing it- then opened it once more.
“I…I just kind of felt…out of place.”
He nodded understandingly.
“And I…I thought I should just…get away for a bit.”
“What made you feel out of place?” He asked.
Jean shrugged. “I don’t…well. It’s something to do with college and the future and all that stuff.”
“You’re starting college? That’s great!” He sounded almost awed as Jean watched him curiously from the corner of his eyes.
“It’s not that hard to get into college, you know.”
“I know. But not everyone you meet wants to go to college, or can’t get into one. It’s great that you managed to get a place. That’s a good thing, right?”
“Yeah…but that’s not the problem. It’s the courses. It’s just…you know they always say ‘follow your dreams’? Whoever ‘they’ are…but you know that’s a thing? And we’re told all our lives that the only way to go is to follow our dreams and do what we love because that’s the best way to guarantee our success in our futures? And we’re encouraged- as kids, no less- to find things that we love so we can find something to build our future careers on top of. Now that I think about it, that’s kind of sad, actually. Everything we were taught as mindless kids, scarcely forming opinions of our own was to lead up to this moment? That’s so…grim.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “Fuck, I’ve got no idea where that came from. I’m just babbling nonsense.”
“No, no, it’s fine. Carry on.” The stranger coughed once more as discreetly as he could, and Jean looked up to see the faint breeze carrying the smoke from his cigarette straight into the poor kid’s face. He didn’t say anything, but the way his face was pinched in an effort to remain composed and not disgusted at the pungent smell.
“Sorry, I’ll put it out.” He dropped the stub onto the ground and crushed it beneath the heel of his black plimsoll, clearing his own throat in an attempt to get rid of the astringent residue clinging to his taste buds.
“Thanks,” he dipped his head in appreciation. “But you were saying?”
Jean’s gaze dropped to the ground. He traced the outline of the individual concrete slabs laid into the driveway, following the regular, geometric pattern they were laid out in, picking out the tiny clumps of moss and cracks in the concrete that you’d ignore at first glance. “It’s just…have you ever felt like your dreams are just too far out of reach for you? And everyone else around you is finally getting somewhere- but you’re suddenly lagging behind and desperately trying to play catch up, but you just can’t make it?”
“Hmm, can’t say I have,” Jean was dimly aware of him shifting a little besides him. “Why, what’s your dream?”
Jean shook his head. “It’s stupid.”
“I’m sure it isn’t.”
“There’s literally nothing good that can come of it.”
“Don’t say that, you don’t know something like that for sure.”
“I know it, alright, and so does everyone else in my life.” Jean sighed, doing his best to suppress the defiant feelings of injustice surging into his chest. “How far can you honestly get with art? It’s not worth the time and effort put into it, for what little worthlessness you get out of it.”
“Art?” The stranger echoed. “You draw? Or paint- or-”
“I draw, mostly. Or,” Jean’s fingers twitched in obstinate resolution. “I used to. Starting tomorrow, I guess, not anymore.”
“What happened to make you decide to abandon art?”
“Nothing happened. I just realised- I was told that it wouldn’t be a good idea to major in something so useless.”
“That’s not nice of them to call your dream useless.”
“But it is.” Jean twisted around and looked him dead in the eye. “Think about it, when was the last time you heard about a successful artist that wasn’t dead? Or an artist that doesn’t scrape by and spends his weeks working behind the counter at a fast-food place? An artist isn’t a substantial career, is it- it’s a hobby, nothing more, and to be honest, not worth it in the long run.”
“Isn’t there things you can do with art, though? Graphic design, or animation, or illustration…”
“That’s not what I want. I want to make art in my own right, not for anyone else.”
There was a long pause as Jean ran his hands through his hair, no longer caring about keeping it in place as he pressed his palm to his forehead, resting his elbow on his knee. What the hell was up with him? Why was he opening up- completely opening up to a complete stranger, no less, that he’d never spoken to before, about something he didn’t even have the balls to calmly discuss with his own damn mother? Maybe it was alcohol that had loosened his tongue, or maybe it was because he was feeling vulnerable. Maybe it was a combination of both. Maybe he was just so full of self-pity and detriment the first person to come along and show any willing to listen was good enough for him. How appropriately pathetic.
“So, uh,” The other boy was the first to break the long silence, otherwise only penetrated by the tempo of the next song beginning to pound through the walls and resound behind the front door. It was a slower song this time, with an equally heavy bass, but the singer’s voice- although garbled and muffled- sounded mournful and full of longing. “You sound pretty convinced that art isn’t for you.”
“Mm hm,” Jean mumbled, pressing his lips together grimly. No, actually; art’s the only thing for me. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. It’s the fucking idealist in me, who thinks we live in some utopian fantasy world where you don’t have to Grow the Fuck Up.
“For someone so adverse to the idea, you’re horribly hung up over it.”
Jean stared at him. He was looking elsewhere- eyes directed down the driveway to the other side of the street, but his focus was elsewhere. He unfolded his arms from behind his knees and clasped them together, resting his chin on his fingers.
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve done nothing but tell me how terrible this idea of you studying art will be, and that doing so will only bring terrible things your way. But,” He returned Jean’s gaze, far more cool and collected than Jean currently felt. “You wouldn’t be so upset if you weren’t hung up over it. So clearly, you still love it.”
Love.
Now that was a word Jean didn’t use often. Was that true? Did he…love…his artwork? Sure, it was his favourite thing to do in his spare time, but to love something was to show a hell of a lot of commitment. Commitment, he assumed, that didn’t involve abandoning it in favour of something deemed more practical by people that didn’t know him as well as he knew himself.
“Listen, I know you probably don’t want to hear what I’ve got to say, especially if you’ve already your mind up, but I’ve always believed that since we’re only on this earth for a short time, we should spend that time doing what we love, and chase our dreams. Surely there’s no harm in that. If doing art’s your dream, you should pursue that. And you have no idea where that might take you in the future. You don’t know what may come of it until you try.”
“I mean no disrespect, but if you honestly think I can build a substantial career and generate a decent income from drawing pictures every day, I’ll start to think you’re a bit of an idiot.” Jean grinned humourlessly and rubbed at his temple in exasperation. “It’s a cliché saying, isn’t it? ‘Follow your dreams’. And we’re encouraged to live up to that manifesto as soon as we formulate the first vague idea of an interest in our heads. There should be an asterisk, though. ‘Follow your dreams’- ‘only applicable with large amounts of common sense and decent knowledge of the way the world works.’. Is that what you do?” He turned his gaze over onto his companion. “Do you live your dream?”
“Well…sort of.” He drew his knees back up to his chest again and tilted his head to one side, looking thoughtful. “I run my family’s bakery, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted, ever since I was a kid. There was nothing I wanted more as a child than to be just like my parents and capable of making magic with pastry like they did. You never quite understand it as you get older, but when you see things like baking through a child’s eyes- there’s nothing quite like that kind of magic.” As Jean watched his eyes grew brighter, shining with a child-like fascination, similar to that of which he spoke. His voice gathered speed and buoyancy with enthusiasm, and his hands grew animated as he talked. “Creating something so delicate, so beautiful, so intricate, so sweet and so- so delicious- out of the most basic things…that was incredible to watch and it’s all I ever wanted to do.”
“Woah, woah, back up,” Jean shook his head, waving him down and into silence. “Hang on, you said you run your family’s bakery?”
“Yes?”
“How old are you?”
“I just turned nineteen last month.”
“Fuck.” That was a real low blow to the self-esteem. Here was a boy- man- whatever- who thought the most beautiful things in the world were flaky lumps of pastry, and he was running a business? At nineteen? And here Jean was dithering in uncertainty at the crossroads in his life with absolutely no clear idea of his real ‘dream’ or how to achieve it. “You run a bakery all by yourself?”
The gleam in his eyes began to die away quickly as the corners of his mouth drooped in uncertainty. “Yes…? Well, I have been recently. I used to work with my grandfather, but unfortunately he passed away earlier this year.”
“Uh…sorry, man. I didn’t mean to bring it up.”
“It’s fine,” He looked back up, giving Jean a small, sad little smile. “What’s done is done. He was a wonderful grandfather to me when it mattered most- and he taught me a lot. Without him, I probably wouldn’t be able to do what I do today. Not just about baking, either- I never went to school, so he taught me everything I needed to learn at home.”
Jean cleared his throat as a futile attempt to diffuse the tension. Even though this guy talked about his grandfather’s passing with that stupid little smile on his face, there was just something about throwing a relative’s death into conversation that was a mood killer. “So, uh, what about your parents? If your grandfather was your guardian, are they…um…also…?”
“Hm?” He looked surprised. “Also? What? Dead? Oh, no, definitely not! No, no, my dad left when I was nine. I haven’t seen him in a really long time. And my mother is almost always away from home because she writes cookery books and does shows at food festivals and stuff, so she’s all over the place all the time doing tours and book signings and all of that. My grandfather was the only one at home with me for the longest time, so I tend to mention him before my parents. Sorry, I didn’t mean to mislead you like that.” And with that, he flashed Jean another overly bright, happy-go-lucky smile.
“’S fine,” Jean mumbled. He toyed with a loose thread flying away from one of the pre-torn holes in the knees of his jeans, rolling it in between his forefinger and thumb. Well, if his evening hadn’t already been ruined by having all his hopes and dreams crushed by the free roaming spirits of his friends’ ambitions outliving his wasn’t enough, here he was: feeling stupidly insignificant next to a home schooled, eternally optimistic halfwit who genuinely believed Jean could and should sacrifice all hopes of a successful future and pin everything on the extremely- extremely slim chance that he could become an artist. Yet this halfwit was running a business, and successfully, by the sounds of it, and there was only a year’s difference in age between them. There was no way he could achieve what this guy had by his nineteenth birthday. “And…it doesn’t get lonely?”
“Lonely?”
“Well, you’re by yourself all the time. You’ve lost the person who was closest to you, your dad’s dropped off the face of the planet, and your mother’s somewhere halfway round the country- how does that not get lonely?”
“It doesn’t, really,” His answer was a little too quick as he diverted his gaze to his feet, his voice airy and not entirely convincing. “I mean…it certainly helps that I love what I’m doing. It makes me happier than anything that I can do this, and keep up my family’s legacy. The bakery’s been part of us since my great-great-great grandparents, and now it’s mine. That’s something I want to take pride in. I can honestly say there isn’t anything I’d rather do.”
Jean tipped his head back and looked up to the sky. It was beginning to streak with thick dark blue veins of cloud as the night drew closer, a handful of stars beginning to fleck the wide vastness, lightyears apart. “Must be nice,” he said softly.
“Yeah. I…I guess it is.” He looked back up at Jean sat beside him, the same soft smile reappearing on his freckled face. “Do you see what I mean, about doing something you love? It really does make all the difference. It’s not worth trying to do something that you have no interest in. And as far as I can tell, the conflict you’re feeling right now is because you know, deep down, you really don’t want to give up art.”
“I could do without the psychoanalysis, thanks,” Jean snorted. “Look, I appreciate your encouragement and all, but honestly, at this point? I just need to move past it, and onto the next part in my life. I have to build a more stable future for myself, like it or not. The art course would be full of coursework and extra projects, and I still have to get myself a job- fitting all of that in as well as trying to finish a million and one art assignments just isn’t worth it. Not in the long run.”
“A job?”
“Yeah? You know, so I can pay rent and afford living and stuff.”
“Oh. So you don’t live with your parents either?”
“Parent. My dad left my mom and I too, but a bit longer ago than yours did. And no, I don’t. I moved out two weeks ago.”
“That’s good,” He followed Jean’s gaze to the night sky. “The moving out part, I mean. Not your dad leaving.”
“I know, I gathered as much. You don’t seem like the kind of guy who has the balls to make fun of that kind of thing.”
“I feel like that was something of an insult,” he said dryly, raising an eyebrow as Jean grinned maliciously at him. “But I’ll choose to take it as a compliment and that you seem to think I come across as a nice person.”
“Nice, sure, but invasive as fuck, too. It’s not everyday someone starts interrogating you about your hopes and dreams. Speaking of which,” Jean jabbed a thumb over his should at the box laying on the doorstep behind them. “Don’t you have a delivery to make?”
“Huh? Oh! Of course, I completely forgot,” He scrambled to his feet, turning around and hastily scooping up the box as he rapped hurriedly on the door with his knuckles. “Damn you and your distracting mixed up ambitions,”
“Hey you were the one who wanted to talk,” Jean scoffed, a smile still playing on his lips as the latch in the door sounded and it swung open. He turned back around, picking up the box of cigarettes at his side and the lighter, debating whether or not to have another as he heard Sasha’s exclaim of delight when the baker’s boy handed her delivery over and accepted her payment. He was dimly listening as he wrote down the exchange in a notebook tucked into his shirt pocket, handed Sasha her change and bade her a good night, thanking her for her custom, and stepped away from the doorway.
“Hey, Jean?”
Jean twisted around to see Sasha leaning out of the door frame, one hand resting on the solid wood, the other precariously balancing the big white box. She was peering down at him with a mild look of concern knitting her brows together.
“Are you coming back inside? Are you alright? You know, after…” she motioned to the spill down his chest.
Jean plucked at his shirt, surprised to find all the anger in him from earlier almost dissipated. Almost…the next time he saw Ymir he’d be tipping an ice bucket on her head. But not right now. Now, for some reason, he was feeling surprisingly mellow. Resigned, still, especially with the knowledge that come tomorrow he’d be giving up his most precious escape for good, but in his alcohol laced mind, everything was beginning to settle and blur around the edges and for a few brief moments of drunken stupor, things felt alright.
“Yeah, I will do.” He replied. A fresh cigarette slid out in between his fingers- well, looked like he’d have to have one now. “In a bit though. Just give me a few minutes.”
Sasha looked from him to the delivery boy still standing on the step and back again, still looking a little bewildered before the crease between her brows finally smoothed and she gave Jean a sunny little smile.
“Alright then. But hurry back, OK? Eren’s somehow managed to sink nearly a dozen balls and your team’ll probably want help finishing those drinks off. Connie’s having trouble standing as it is.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure.”
With that, the door swung shut with a quiet shush, just audible over the thump of the music still pounding a new, heavy beat and electronic sound. Jean picked up the lighter at the side of him and spent a few seconds clicking at the flint, waiting for a spark to ignite.
“Well, I best be off,” The boy standing next to him said.
“You sure?” Jean lowered the newly lit cigarette and put the lighter down back besides him. “You don’t want to…I don’t know, stay for a bit? You’ve never been to a proper party before, have you? Don’t you want to see what it’s like? I’m sure Connie and Sasha would be more than happy for you to join us.” Jean waved a hand behind him at the door. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was asking him to stay, it was uncharacteristically good of him. Whatever. It was the alcohol, right? All in the alcohol.
His lips spread into a gracious smile. “You’re right about that, I’ve never been to a party before. And although I’m grateful for the invitation, I really can’t stay. I’ve got to go back to the bakery and get the things ready for tomorrow- and be in bed by ten, and it’s already-” He paused to check his watch. “Half past nine. I really need to go.”
Jean nearly choked on his cigarette. “Shit, I’m sorry for keeping you. I completely forgot, bakers like you must be up at like- what, five in the morning?”
“Three, actually. There’s a lot to get done when you’re effectively a one-man band.”
“Jesus, go then, go get your sleep. I’m not about to be the one who ruins a day of business for you by making you oversleep.”
“Haha, I’m going, I’m going. Have a good night, Jean.”
“You too.”
Jean watched his back as he walked all the way down the driveway to his beaten up little van before a thought suddenly occurred to him.
“Hey, wait!”
He jerked suddenly, his dark head nearly colliding with the top of his van as he opened the door, about to get in. He looked up, surprise etched into every freckle dotting his face.
Jean faltered for a split second before calling out once more. “I didn’t get your name,”
“My…name?”
“Yeah. I mean, you know mine. Or overheard it. Whatever.”
There was that saintly little smile that lifted the corners of his lips into his cheeks, rounding the muscles as they were pulled up into his face in amusement before he spoke.
“It’s Marco.”
Marco. Soft, warm, calm, controlled.
And with that, he got into his van, started the engine and reversed out of his parking spot. Within a matter of seconds, the van rolled around the cul de sac and out of sight.
Jean sat on the door step alone, watching the spot where the van had last been for quite some time until he finally jumped- the forgotten cigarette had finally burnt down to a stub whilst he was distracted, burning the tips of his fingers.
He dropped the stub onto the ground, crushing it besides its predecessor, before patting the front of his shirt- mercifully, it was much drier than before. Still smelled foul, but at least he wasn’t damp anymore.
With that, he got up, rubbing his singed fingertips together and went back to the party, resigning himself to one last night of blissful ignorance and copious amounts of alcohol.
Maybe it would take the edge off everything he planned to do, and everything he had to give up.