Chapter Text
The bright morning of the first April Monday fiercely jerked Jean awake.
A sour smell had quickly made its way up to his nostrils, the corner of his lips twitching at the uncomfortable weight on his arm and leg. His thigh was supported by a pillow, helping him sleep quite tolerably at night at least, but it had grown stiffer over the weeks. Even his arm had slowly become coiled inside the cement, his fingers aching to be busy with something else, like drawing or writing.
He huffed, squeezing his eyes shut. A schedule his mother prepared for him today was eat, get out of bed, do a bit of arm exercise for reasons god knows what, and be tutored by Armin—a routine the boy was getting paid by Mr Smith to accomplish since Jean’s accident.
As much as Jean absolutely despised the treatment he’d been getting from the teachers, he couldn’t do anything about it. He had to finish the semester, whether he liked it or not, and Armin was a great tutor, his notes organized and informative for Jean to not actually miss schooling while staying at home.
With a grunt, he pushed himself up on his butt, his bruised palms keeping the same pace to grab the crutches leaning against his bedside drawer. Jean debated staying in bed all day.
He hated getting up, hated thinking his friends were at school and living normal fucking lives, while he’s here paralyzed like a fucking vegetable. Did he fucking deserve this?
God. He didn’t deserve this. Nor did… Eren. Yeah, even after everything, he was concerned about Eren.
Yet, he hadn’t gotten the courage to open Facebook or Instagram, ask Eren how he was doing. Or see if he’d stopped by Discord and play Minecraft and mess up the cottage house they’ve built over the years. How were their pixelated dogs doing, Jean wondered—maybe they’d been waiting for their parents to come home, only to realize that they’d cut all ties, not even a friendship to make up for it. Ah, did Eren think about mundane things like these too?
Consequently, there were more offers from Carla Jaeger to pay for Jean’s therapy—physical, or counselling; it didn’t matter as long as Jean accepted any kind of help. But he didn’t, despite the assurance that Grisha’s position in the hospital would cover it. He’d never ask for that bastard’s assistance.
It took Jean quite a while to finish showering and eating the bowl of chicken noodle soup his mom had left in his room. It wasn’t as lukewarm when he took the first sip, granted she probably already left for work hours ago.
And, Jean didn’t need to go downstairs as Armin had the keys to their house anyway, if he came over after school. But hell, Jean had to go somewhere other than bed or he’d rot. He couldn’t just exercise in his room because it suffocated him, made him feel like he’s a prisoner in his own home, and if he was left alone in his thoughts, he might actually go crazy.
Exhausted eyes narrowed on the flight of stairs awaiting him. He took a deep breath, his strength poured on the railings, his knuckles turning white as he gripped it. Leading with the injured leg, he settled with a scrunched face, breathing twice as fast through his teeth, before following his good thigh on the same step. He heaved a sigh. Great. He just had to do this twelve more times.
Every stride he took, irritation shook his entire body. Not because it was inconvenient and hurt like hell, but because this should have been a normal task. Going down the stairs was something a sixteen-year old boy should do, he could even be in two steps at a time, but he wasn’t, frustrating him very much so. Much indignantly, when he’d recall Eren’s pained reaction when Jean told him they couldn’t be together anymore.
Thinking about Eren at that time, of all places, as he climbed down the wooden floors, was ridiculous. He had a whole month to think about it. It must have been a mistake, breaking the heart of the person he’d known most of his life; that one guy who knew about his sweetest spots, nudged the parts of him that troubled him the most, and even if Eren had done more damage than expected, Jean loved him. Loved him easily as he breathed air, like it was the only thing he’d been taught to do.
It was strangely addicting to recall his most favorite moments with Eren: cuddling in bed, sweeping the hair off his cheeks, running a thumb over his jaw, kissing sweet and mint lips. And when he’d close his eyes, all he could see was Eren lying bare on the bed, his hot skin free from bruises, sweating from the feverish bitemarks Jean had gifted him, his mouth slightly parted to account for the breaths he’d lost after succumbing into Jean’s lovemaking.
Along with that mesmerizing view, was Eren struggling to carry himself, begging Jean to kiss him, because they were over.
In that memory, Jean chose to open his eyes, his face crushed upon the recognition that he managed to accomplish the task of going down the stairs.
“See, these two percentages should be multiplied for an accurate probability,” Armin muttered gently, his pointer finger outlining the numbers that Jean had gotten wrong. “I think I noted this on the papers, though, did you forget?”
Jean tried his hardest not to scowl, as the other teen had done miracles to pull him out of an academic slump one after another. If anything, Armin should be the one pissed at him for getting the same type of question wrong thrice in a row.
“Yeah, sorry, man.” Jean rubbed his neck, trying to stretch it from the strain. It's a good thing the brace was off for over a week, now. “I just—it’s kinda difficult to analyze. Or maybe I'm just too stupid for it, I don't know.”
“I had a hard time too, when I first encountered this,” Armin said, deliberately closing the draft notebook with a smile. He sat across the coffee table, his fingers curtly tucked under his blue sweater, his demeanor welcoming enough for Jean not to feel dumber than he should. Armin often radiated that energy: calming, empathetic. He never made anyone assume that he was above them, despite his unique intelligence. “Maybe we should switch things around. Literature. I know it's one of your favorites.”
Except Jean couldn’t retain the answers Armin corrected him with. The latter had offered him alternatives to remember shit better, but it’s like Jean was a five-year old and he was so pissed as he tried and tried over again, only for Armin to give him an apologetic grin and shake his head.
“Why don’t we take a break?” Armin said, walking over to the kitchen to get refreshments.
This made Jean sink to himself, ignoring how much Armin was helping him even to get a drink, and Jean was useless in all of this. Armin clearly wasn’t getting paid enough.
“Mr Smith should find another tutor for me,” Jean murmured, fidgeting with the edge of the cast to scratch the itch he couldn’t remove in his skin.
Armin stilled by the counter, the pitcher handle hanging in his palm. “I’m sorry I’m not much of help—”
“What, no, that’s not what I meant…” Jean quickly backtracked, his ears red and burning. “I just feel really embarrassed that you’ve been teaching me all this time, and I still suck at it. I get failing marks on my assignments, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m held back this year.”
“You’re doing great. Give yourself some credit.” The blond boy forwarded the empty glasses on the table, watching Jean’s pupils shake at the slow way the orange juice poured. Armin sat meekly on the opposite couch, sighing solemnly. “You might not believe me, but I was the last person who could read in primary school.”
“No way.” Jean’s eyes widened.
Armin shrugged, tucking a strand behind his ear. “I had speech problems as a kid, my grandpa brought me to different therapists to aid me. I was supposed to go to special education instead, but I knew I could do it, you know? Read, read, and read… because I love to learn, and I didn’t want to take the chance for other kids who deserved a spot in special education… it was free in the previous town I lived in, a part of the government’s program, that’s why.”
Jean could only nod, in disbelief as he couldn’t imagine someone as brilliant as Armin had trouble with reading.
“So Grandpa got me secondhand DVDs of nursery rhymes. I’d read the subtitles on the TV, imitating the way people speak. I read so many books, I barely even remember what most of them were about, except marine biology which I have plenty of interest in. Anyway, I practiced a lot, mastered it, and here I am—working part-time as a tutor. It’s… not an amazing story, is it?”
“You’re a fucking inspiration, dude,” Jean said, his jaw wide open. “Though I think you could do it all because it was you. You’re Armin Arlert, like… I don’t know anyone smarter than you…”
Armin giggled, more of an amused one rather than arrogance. “I didn’t tell you that ‘cause I wanted to brag. I just want to cheer you up; you’ve been down for weeks now, if you couldn’t feel it yourself. I hope you know that you’re still recovering, and your brain might have been fuzzy from the traumatic injury. It’s normal to forget stuff during this stage.”
“Yeah, I guess… My doctor did tell me that.” He scratched his nape.
“Retention should be helpful,” Armin said with a nod. “It’s important you keep track of the topics you do and don’t know. If you still forget them from time to time, better write it down, or say the concepts out loud like you’re the teacher, and students are right in front of you. That works for me—and oh, I could lend you my old whiteboard and a few markers for math equations, that also helps, personally.”
“Jeez, I—I don’t know if I can accept all that stuff,” Jean uttered quietly, the pit in his stomach echoing the longer Armin stared at him empathetically.
“It’s alright. We’re friends.” He smiled then, and Jean also smiled.
“Thank you. I don’t know how to repay you, though.”
“Well I am getting paid.” They both laughed. “Mr Smith is quite generous, hm?”
“Yeah. I don’t know what his deal is. At least, for me.” Jean sighed, his eyes directed on his lap. “College applications are coming up. My portfolio isn’t enough, and I don’t know, he might not send a recommendation letter for me, seeing that me and Eren are—” He caught himself, instantly zipping his mouth shut. Armin didn’t say anything, but they shared a knowing stare. “...Anyway, I don’t think I should apply to Mitras, now. There’s no reason to.”
“But Mitras is a good university. You could have connections, employment. Art is a competitive field.”
“It’s… far. I don’t want to leave my mom alone here. She’ll be so worried.”
“That wasn’t a problem when you were still with Eren.”
Jean couldn't answer him back, as much of it was true.
Armin pressed his lips into a thin line. “Do you want to go to Mitras, though? Like, in all honesty.”
“It is a good opportunity—”
“Do you want to?” He repeated, firmly.
And Jean couldn't help nodding. “It's like you said. I could have a decent job during and after schooling. I mean, it's not like I'm fond of Mr Smith helping both of us in exchange of Eren joining track competitions, but it's the only way I could thrive. If it could help my mom and support my dreams, then… I'll take what I can get.”
“You don't have to be ashamed of using connections,” Armin agreed, “it's why I convinced Eren to transfer to this school, after all.”
Jean blinked. “Wait, what?”
“Just…” He shrugged with a shy smile. “Before we transferred here, Eren already had pretty bad records at our previous school. But he had potential; he was smart if he tried hard enough, he got decent grades despite not studying. The problem was, he was getting bullied often. He wasn't afraid to fight back… so I researched about this school, found that Mr Smith was an accomplished man, who graduated from Mitras and is good friends with the Reiss family.”
“The director of Mitras uni?” Jean had read about the status of the Reiss on Wikipedia, as well as the accolades of Rod Reiss and his brother, Uri.
“Yeah… surprisingly enough, Mr Levi's uncle is Uri’s—uh… I don't know what to call them.” Armin's face was a bright pink, Jean sensing that whatever he found about his research adventures were far amusing than what one should usually know. “Anyway, it all checks out. Mr Levi and Mr Smith are close, who knows what their relationship really is. It's a good thing they took interest in Eren's capabilities as early as years ago, just not in boxing, but in track, which could be a good thing, though we both know Eren's not into running that much.”
Jean was in awe—how Armin had known about this all along. Scratching the dried wound on his cheek, he dared ask, “This is amazing and all, dude, but how exactly did the principal know about Eren? I've been with him long enough to know his attitude’s a little bonkers. There are other great athletes there, who might be better than Eren. Less stubborn.”
Armin shrugged, the glint in his eyes flashing. “He's charismatic.”
Had Jean still been in a relationship with Eren, he'd probably raging at the way Armin had said that. He couldn't deny there's still jealousy budding from his belly, though.
“That's true.” Jean ducked his head, his lips jutting forward. “Thanks to you, everything's slightly working better for Eren.”
“I didn't do anything special.”
Jean had frowned then, the wheels in his brain turning and cranking the longer he thought to himself. “You… planned all this, didn't you? From transferring here, applying tutorship under Mr Smith, Eren's sport records, to applying to Mitras…”
Armin remained silent. The quiet sip on the cold water, a gesture implying less that he was quenching his thirst, confirmed every hunch in Jean's mind.
“Jesus,” Jean cursed, not knowing if he should be mesmerized or terrified of Armin's strategic capabilities. “You really love him, huh?”
Armin rolled his eyes playfully. “We all do.”
Jean refused to admit it.
Jean’s birthday arrived without his permission. The special occasion of his seventeenth year should have been magical, like how people would often say to him, but it really wasn’t. It was just a normal day of his mom cooking homemade spaghetti, and reminders to keep the house together while she shopped for a small party in the afternoon. The boy’s friends were coming over after school, and he had invited Eren as well, not knowing if he’d actually come.
Of course, his ex’s attendance wasn’t necessary, although they did partially end on good terms. He didn’t want Eren to think that he’d kicked him out of his life completely.
Eren also invited him to his birthday a week ago, after all, though Jean couldn’t come because of his injuries.
It was strange breaking up, yet still keeping contact… Jean wasn’t totally against it. It’s like, they’re together, but not together, and maybe Eren loved him like always, but not that serious anymore for him to say it as often.
Anyway, Jean forced himself inside the shower, his hands tightly clutching the band tied to the curtain rod. His mom installed it for him, the first time that Jean slipped and nearly hit his head on the wall. Although this was a bit dehumanizing—witnessing himself become reliant on someone else to move, even just as simple of a routine such as showering—he had to do it to make his life easier. Bitching about it didn't help.
Struggling to slip on decent clothes, the teen made an effort to look at himself in the mirror. The corner of his lip twitched at the strands that had started to conceal his forehead, so he took the random comb on the desk and carded his hair to the side. God, he really needed a haircut, particularly the shaved dark scalp of his. It's starting to grow obnoxiously sharp against his neck, and of course, he just had to be disheveled when it's his birthday, with Eren potentially coming over to see him.
He jumped to bed right after, mindlessly scrolling on his phone. Connie and Sasha left him happy birthday messages this morning, probably before they went to school. They each sent stupid GIFs of dogs holding cakes. Jean couldn't help but chuckle at their utter stupidity, replying with a short thanks.
Porco, Bert, and Pieck also greeted him in the group chat, the trio explaining they'd quickly leave after basketball training to attend the party.
Armin had sent him a voice mail, just a simple greeting of hope you have a great birthday! and I'm so excited for the party, I'm bringing gifts! with the sweetest tone he could have. Jean couldn't believe, now, how Armin was always optimistic and kind towards him, despite previous issues of the latter crushing on his ex before, and Jean was shamelessly jealous of him. He felt guilty about it all, especially with Armin doing everything to keep him in check with personal and academic sides of things. To be a better friend to Armin should be prioritized on his bucket list.
Mikasa—well, of course she also sent Jean a message: Happy birthday. See you later. Cool, very cool. That's the most Jean could get out of her after all these years.
Jean scrolled on his inbox more, so deep that he had reached the end of his basketball teammates’ wishes for him… and none of it was Eren's.
All that remained was Jean's text yesterday of Hey, having a bday party after school, hope you could come and Eren's short reply of oooh thanks for the invite x
Jean could only glare at the fucking x at the end. He hadn't realized it the first time, but it really was there, and he wasn't hallucinating. Fuck. What did x mean, was it a typographical error? Did Eren mean that? Did Eren even know what it was supposed to mean? Why would he put that on his message? They weren't together anymore, why was Eren so casual about it?
Did he have any idea how much Jean's heart was practically squeezing his chest?
Jean refreshed the app. There still was the x letter, but nothing else.
Oh. Eren must have forgotten about his birthday.
How could he forget? Their birthdays were a week away, and Jean greeted Eren on his birthday. He made sure he remembered, because every time he got a calendar for the new year, he'd encircle the thirtieth of March.
Completely bummed, Jean tossed his phone on the edge of the bed. He propped the pillow against the headboard, staring at the ceiling.
Maybe he was the only one thinking about him this much. When he told Eren they should still be friends, he got rejected. The boy must have really not wanted anything to do with him, only showing him the courtesy of being invited for his own birthday because it was the right thing to do. And when Jean couldn't come, Eren must have been upset, and ‘oooh thanks for the invite x’ was nothing more but a sarcastic one.
He's so stupid. Why did he think that they'd still be okay after getting into a disastrous accident, and Jean dumping him?
Still, they had been by each other's side for so long… even if they broke up, they knew everything about each other. Soulmates and rivals and comfort spaces, that's what they were. They didn't need to kiss to know that they cared about each other. Was it really that hard to be friends?
Before Jean could spiral even further, he heard something downstairs thud, a couple of knocks following soon after.
His brows furrowed. If it was his mom, she'd have keys, and she knew Jean couldn't climb down in less than ten minutes. It shouldn't be his friends either, they still had school.
Then… a burglar? In the middle of the day?
He reached for his phone, trying to contact his mother, until a text popped on his notifications.
Eren.
Oh, god.
It said: I'm at ur house, is no one home?
Jean's heart could leap out of his chest at that moment. He wished he had the capacity to ignore it, but naturally when it came to Eren, self-respect and sanity was inevitably thrown out the window.
He typed, I am. are you the one knocking?
And Eren replied, yea. can i come in?
Jean stared at his device for quite a long second. Why… why was Eren here?
With a sigh, he chose to call his number. It was easier that way, and he was curious why Eren would come here of all places, at this hour. Shouldn't he be at school? Shouldn't he have forgotten about Jean's birthday?
Jean's voice trembled once Eren had answered the call. “I-I can't go to you.”
Eren seemed quiet, the outside breeze flooding through the mic. “Uh, you can't go to me as in I should leave you alone, or you can't go to me as in you physically can't and I have to force my way in?”
God, Eren was so stupid.
He couldn't suppress a chuckle. “The second one, moron.”
“Oh.” Even his laugh sounded music to Jean's ears, making his heart skip a beat. “Do you have keys here? Like, under a flower pot or something?”
“Not that I know of,” Jean said, “I don't think mom put anything anywhere.”
“Mhm…” the boy hummed. Jean's hair rose on every surface of his body. Damn, that effect Eren had on him was palpable. “Well I can't break the door, can I?”
“Mom will kill you.”
“But I want to see you.”
“You—” Jean rubbed his eye. “You can't say that.”
“I can't?”
“Yeah, you can't.” Because it was striking Jean's face, scorching and red.
“You want me to lie?” A whistle slipped out of his mouth, like a mocking sound.
“Eren.”
“Fine.”
They were both silent. Jean thought he messed up again, looking at the front screen if Eren was still there. He was. Sighing, Jean scratched his head.
“You can go home if you want to. The party doesn't start until four.”
“...I don't think I'm allowed there, honestly,” Eren said.
Jean furrowed his brows. “You are. Mom's okay with it, anyway.”
“Your friends hate me.”
“Connie?” He huffed. “Trust me, that idiot's over it. He was just—protective, that's all. You two are still friends.”
“He doesn't talk to me at school, neither does Sasha. I mean, she talks to me when she needs to, but she doesn't because Connie doesn't want her to.” Eren's tone seemed like a whine, like a child complaining to Jean. Somehow, Jean found it adorable and nostalgic, that Eren could run to him even after everything that happened. “A-and once, when me and Armin were at the bleachers, Porco almost hit me with a fucking ball!”
Jean blinked. “Was it an accident?”
“No it was fucking not. He looked at me, and tossed the ball. I wasn’t even near the ring.”
“Huh. He hates you that much.” He snorted.
“Jean, just… Please, let me in.”
His pleading caressed the hardness of Jean's heart, as though every bit of longing he'd kept hidden had no other choice but to rise. Jean hesitated. What would this mean for both of them? What were they, anyway?
Maybe Jean was the only one overthinking it.
“I don't know how you could enter the house,” he said honestly, “I mean, if you could wait for like, fifteen minutes, I'll be downstairs—”
“No, no. Don't do that.” Eren's raspy voice cut him off, frustration washing over him. “Can I climb through your window?”
“Climb my what?”
“Your window,” he said it like he just told the store clerk his favorite cigarettes.
“Eren, it's fucking dangerous. You still got a cast on.”
“Then what do you want me to do?”
Jean bit his bottom lip. “Go home, or go to school…”
“Jean.”
“You can go to my party later—”
“I told you I can't,” Eren gritted, and Jean could imagine him nibbling on his nails outside the door. “Your friends don't want to see me, okay? I did a horrible thing. I almost killed you, and if I… if I didn't miss you so much, I wouldn't be here. I want to see you. I want to see us. Together. Alone. And… god. God. You're driving me crazy.”
Jean had realized, at that second, that if he himself was in pain, then Eren would be worse at handling it.
The boy was often rash, acting on his own when he couldn't grasp how much his gestures could affect someone. Whatever came out of his lips was raw, real. It could mend and destroy Jean, whether he liked it or not… and, as always, he'd find himself cave into it, because even if he wanted to kick Eren out of his life, he couldn't do it.
Yet, when he’d glance over to his reflection on the mirror, his heart sank. The image of himself being pulled into a stretcher, a couple of policemen and paramedics rounding up the obliterated vehicle, their expressions swirling with empathy and questions of how two boys ended up in such a horrifying state—it dismantled Jean.
He loved Eren more than anything and anyone in this world. And yet… if he kept loving him, Jean could quite literally die. What else would Eren do in the future? Because, fuck, if he told Jean to jump off a bridge just so Eren would stop self-harming or sabotaging his relationships, he’d do it in a heartbeat.
“Just go to school.” Funnily enough, Jean had the nerve to say it without his voice breaking. All he could think of was Eren outside the door, his beautiful eyes pricked with repulsive tears, his teeth chewing on his lips. Then again, he was the same person who had caused this. It didn’t matter anymore how much Jean loved and missed him; this was the least he could do for himself. “It’s not right for you to be here.”
It was quiet. Then, “Mom knows I skipped classes, and dad, he doesn’t really mind—”
“But I mind,” Jean said, “We’re over, remember?”
“I mean, we are, but…” Eren shuffled in the other line, something like he’d thrashed something or kicked the cement. “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday,” he murmured, softly.
“You have a phone for that.”
“Jean, what the fuck?”
Jean swallowed.
“A minute ago, it sounded like you wanted to let me inside your house, and now… you’re pissing me off!”
Jean squeezed his eyes shut, a palm rubbing his cheek. “I said you could attend the party.”
“And I said I can’t!”
“Then it’s a no.” Jean was getting really good at standing his ground. “Weren’t you the one who said we can’t be friends anymore?”
Eren had groaned then. “So is this it? We’re really—we’re just… done? Like done done? I can’t text you anymore, or like your pictures, or ask you how you’re doing? We—you’re fucking kicking me out of your life?”
“Eren, that’s not—”
“No, fuck you!” Eren screamed, the echoes of the call so exasperatingly loud that Jean had to part from his device. “I don’t get why you don’t want me here now. I told you I can’t go to your party because everyone hates me!”
“Because you have no way of getting in, not when you don’t want me to go down the stairs!” Jean yelled back. He swore Eren could probably hear him all the way from the entrance, but at this point, who cares?
“I don’t want you to hurt yourself more, dumbass!”
“Don’t you fucking pity me,” Jean gritted, his knuckles white as he held his phone tightly. “You’re the last person I expected to say something like that.”
There was a split second where Eren stuttered, backtracking as much as he could, but Jean didn’t give him a chance to.
“You know when I got back from the hospital, mom wouldn’t let me shower or put clothes on by myself. She didn’t let me make my own cereal because milk spilled everywhere the first time I tried. I couldn't even draw without her picking up the pencil for me ‘cause I keep dropping it on the floor!”
Anger was rising in Jean’s chest, for once. He’d never have someone to share this with, not Connie and Sasha who would often drop by after school. Shame had always resided in his bones; he abhorred the look in his mother and friends’ eyes when they had to help out Jean with tasks that a teenager would usually do. Even Armin, whose guard was down all the damn time, wasn’t a safe space for Jean to tell him his troubles. He hated outgrowing his friends, only to be the one desperate to be normal, uselessly and quietly begging to be seen. He just wanted to be treated the same.
“I don’t blame you—I’ll never fucking blame you for this. You know that,” Jean said, his lips quivering.
One hand rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t crying because he was sad or anything, just… mad and frustrated at himself. He didn’t mean to lash out at Eren, but he had no idea who else he could vent to. As pathetic as it sounded, Eren was the only one who could understand him.
“But please, I don’t want your pity. I don’t want you to treat me like I’m different. I’m still Jean. I’m getting better. Sooner or later, I could go out of the house, and I’d… I’d go to you, and you don’t have to climb the window like a psycho just to see me. I’m fucking begging you, Ren, you’re—you’re the only one I keep hoping who doesn’t change the way you see me.”
Oh god, he could’ve just said he was still in love with Eren and it would be an easier statement.
It was laughable. Dumping Eren, and he was here, given a heart-to-heart talk because Jean couldn’t afford either of them to drift apart again in a stupid argument.
“Okay. Okay, I get it,” Eren muttered after a long minute, clearing his throat. Instantly, Jean’s face reddened. Alright, what the hell did he say just now, anyway? Did he really just…become emotional in front (technically, it’s in a call) of Eren? “Sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I was, uh, really annoyed if I couldn’t wish you a happy birthday, and I got carried away… if you want, you can open the door for me, but like, I really, really don’t want you to tire yourself out, Jean. Not—not because I don’t think you’d get hurt or fall off the stairs, but I’m just worried that… you know, you’ll—”
“Fuck, shut up.” Jean couldn’t help the grin slipping off his lips, his fingers massaging his forehead at how much Eren had babbled. “You’re actually so stupid. This is why we’re over, you know?”
There was a moment of silence. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”
“Yes. Yes, of course it’s a joke.”
Another quiet second. “Wait, now I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.”
And then, Jean had no way to suppress his laughter, his shoulders shaking at how much he’d found this hilarious and amusing. It was easily the lightest his chest had ever felt, like his troubles had swept away, even though he couldn’t see Eren right now. His voice, albeit clueless and utterly dumbfounded, was enough to stretch Jean’s lips into a smile, his cheeks so warm that he had to rub them to keep himself sane.
“You done?” Eren asked once Jean’s chuckles faded. There was something in the boy’s tone that told Jean he’d been smiling widely, too. “For the record, I know it’s a joke.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re such an idiot.”
“Mhm, just wanted to make you laugh.”
Jean stilled then, frowning at the sudden warmth surging through his face. “Well, it didn’t work.”
“Yeah? After exactly twenty seconds of you laughing your ass off?” Eren snorted.
“Yup.” Did he really take note of the seconds?
“Why don’t you open the door for me so I can see if you’re laughing or not?”
And Jean almost threw his phone on the wall. Oh, he should really calm the roars of his chest. “Eren, you should remember we’re not boyfriends anymore. Okay?”
“I remember. Do you?”
“Yeah.” Jean facepalmed. “So don’t try anything funny once I let you inside.”
“If that makes you sleep at night, then okay. Can you just get the door?” Eren said, a fake irritation masking his voice that earned a roll of eyes from Jean.
Jean didn’t know what he was expecting, but it was surprisingly less awkward and… normal with Eren around.
He was still the same Eren, someone who rolled his eyes and screamed easily, a past that Jean missed achingly so. As the boy laid out the cookies he brought, obviously from a nearby bakery, his green eyes sparkled with delight as Jean ate them with him.
Jean couldn’t stop looking at him—the way Eren would bite on his lips when he’d pause and think about some random shit in his mind, his uninjured leg bouncing wildly on the floor as he poured Jean a drink, or the constant tucks of Eren’s longer hair behind his ears. It’s quite clear that Eren was uneasy around him, now, which earned a pinch in Jean’s chest.
How effortless it was to be all over someone one second, and be forbidden to hold his hand the next. Years of pining and trying to be the best version of yourself was futile, apparently, when the other half of your heart chose to be engulfed by his own monsters.
More than that, the dark bags under Eren’s lashes were concerning. Had he been taking care of himself, sleeping at least six hours a day? He knew Eren had troubles with sleeping sometimes, but he looked more downcasted, now.
“And then Armin signed up for that nerd-ass math quiz competition, y’know, the thing that Ms. Ral’s been geeking about… remember Ms. Ral? She used to be our teacher in, like, sixth grade, and well, Armin’s always been her fave, so of course Armin couldn’t say no,” Eren continued blabbing, but his eyes were directed on the cookie between his fingers, as though that was the person he’d been speaking to.
“But I don’t know if I could watch the comp. Zeke's been catching up on work. I mean, he drives me to school and stuff, he’s actually been sleeping on our couch… I don’t know if mom’s okay with him being there, but well, he’s been my chauffeur or something, and it’s not like I’m forcing him. He’s just—worried about me, because of what I said before…”
Jean blinked. “What did you even say?”
Eren shrugged, biting the last of his cookie, the crumbs spilling on his lap. “That I could’ve died in the car crash.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s true?” Eren finally faced him, a crooked smile before he stood up clumsily, neglecting his crutches and picking up his backpack from the floor. “Enough about me though, how have you been?”
Jean watched Eren rummage through his bag, unable to get past the thing with him and Zeke. Of course Zeke would be extra worried about Eren… that was insensitive to say, after almost literally dying. Even Jean would be mad if Eren, who’d been sinking in and out of depression throughout the years, viewed death indifferently. To him, it didn’t matter, but for people who cared about him, it’s hell.
“I'm fine. Armin's been helping me catch up on school,” Jean answered, deciding against staring at Eren too much, instead ducking his head and focusing on the glass table. “I might start attending classes again in two weeks. The cast on my arm will be removed by then, so…”
“Cool. My leg is scheduled on the weekends, actually.” Eren sat on the couch again, now holding a couple of dried… lilies? “I got this for you a month ago. When we—you know, broke up. But I kinda forgot about it.”
Jean forced out a chuckle. “...okay?”
“Floch gave them to me.”
“Right.” Jean bit his bottom lip.
“I stopped being friends with him. He's taking it well, I guess. I just felt like I was taking advantage of him, and it didn't feel right. He also was pretty aggressive about it, said some mean things to me.”
“Why… are you telling me this?”
Eren looked at him with disdainful eyes, sparkling from the probing tears, his fingernails digging on the fabric of his jeans. “Look, I've been meaning to tell you this, to be honest to you for once. But I—” He rubbed his eyes, squeezing them shut before gazing at Jean with the bravest face he could muster. In Jean's mind, Eren was probably over everything by now, and he was not wrong when he thought that this was the closure they both needed. “I was lying to you at some point. I kept hanging out with Floch even though you told me you hate it. He taught me how to smoke weed, because I let him. Sometimes—when… when you had basketball practice and dad had hit me the day before, I'd call him instead of you, so he could help bandage me up.”
Maybe there were moments when Jean had already known. He'd suspect it. Eren had more secrets, and worse, lies, so it'd keep them together for years. At least, Jean didn't want to say anything, didn't even want to think that Eren would have the capability to do this. Floch and Eren were the past that Jean didn't have the access to; Jean wasn't a saint, however. There was rage inside him, like all the other rage Eren possessed, because why couldn't Eren just be honest with him? Even after breaking up, now was the only time he could tell him?
“I didn't want you to know how shitty I could be,” Eren continued, the tears now overflowing from his eyes down to his cheeks. His face was a deep scarlet, nose as red and swollen. “I'm so fucking ashamed of who I am. I started drinking when I was thirteen, I was smoking way before you told me to stop, I think. And I hurt myself on the barbed wires before I even realized what I was doing—because it's something I think I deserve. It felt good. I used to rip my notebooks, kick my mom’s flower pots, punch my bedroom walls, sometimes break Mikasa’s makeup. I couldn't go on like that, bothering other people… so I thought that if I could take my anger out on something, it had to be on myself. I don't want my dad to control me, so if… if I could be that gay kid whose future is fucked anyway, then I should just fuck it up as early as now. It didn't matter if I kill myself now, it really just—it really wouldn't affect me at all.”
“Eren.” It was scaring Jean the way Eren talked about his traumatic experiences as though it didn't physically and emotionally influence his decisions after all these years. His voice broke as he tried to speak, hands too terrified to reach out. “Look, it's not your fault. Your dad beats you up because he's a stupid piece of shit. You're gay, and guess what? We love you. Mikasa and Armin, they both know since forever, but did that change anything? No. And—Sasha and Connie, they've always been your friends, too. Sometimes you'd piss us all off, but we…” Jean's throat had gotten tight, tone breaking and eyes pricking at seeing Eren stifle his sobs in front of him. “I-I want you to keep living.”
“Dad still doesn't know…” Eren covered his whole face, slowly hyperventilating, his shoulders shaking. “He doesn't think I'm gay, he hits me because I was something he could fix.”
“You know that's not true—”
“I didn't satisfy him, Jean. He said it was a mistake. Had I been a better son, he would've stopped much earlier. I didn't have to fuck everything up, and—”
“Did he tell you that?” Jean wiped his eyes, lips trembling. “Why would he say that?” he asked, softly.
“I don't know… but ever since then I couldn't stop thinking about it. I barely sleep, and it's just… in my dreams. Everyday. I see him everywhere.”
It was an agonizing sight: watching Eren break down like a little child, as though he'd been looking for the comfort of his father. The father who destroyed what was once a beautiful boy—a person whose passion and brightness was extraordinary and mended the hearts of many. Someone who Jean would carry the burden of his sins for, and yet, he couldn't help him. Not now, when Eren was mourning what was never meant to be.
A few seconds had passed before Jean could accompany him on his side of the couch. He pulled Eren towards his arms, cradled his head as he once did, while Eren cried on his chest, wailing and asking for Jean to take the pain away. Jean wished he could, and instead, planted a kiss on the top of Eren's head.
The embrace remained until Eren relaxed eventually, his breathing pacing down. Jean persisted combing the boy's head with his fingers, his arm cast stilled on Eren's spine.
“I'm sorry, this should've been your birthday but I ruined it.” Eren withdrew from him, sniffling quietly.
Jean quickly shook his head. “It's okay. I'm… glad you could come to me for this.”
He was grateful Eren hadn't hurt himself again. Worse, to see his ex boyfriend's face on the newspaper tomorrow morning dead in a ditch or something.
“But is it true? Your dad's not…hitting you anymore?” Jean asked carefully.
Eren shrugged, swallowing. “Yeah. It's normal at our place now. Zeke and Mikasa are concerned, but it's not like I've gotten new bruises, so they've stopped coddling me.”
Jean thought to himself for a while, letting Eren drink water from his bottle.
“What if Mr Jaeger said that to hurt you more?”
Eren glanced at him with furrowed brows. “Hurt me by not touching me?”
“Yes. Maybe he wants you to feel like this,” he said, “It’s not impossible.”
“You've been hanging out with Armin too much to make up such weird theories.”
“What if I'm right? You think your dad will suddenly stop? What if he's just waiting for you to get your cast off, until he could hurt you again?” Jean settled his palm on top of Eren's knuckles, Eren growing slightly bashful and sinking to his shoulders. “Has your mom been extra attentive towards you?”
Eren blinked. “Well, yeah. She helps me with a lot of stuff. Sometimes brings me dinner in my room, or helps me get in the shower. Ugh, I hate her.”
“See? If she sees you bruised up, especially when you haven’t been going to boxing classes, she’ll think something’s off.”
“Alright,” he sighed, “I really don’t want to think about this now. I’m exhausted, I haven’t slept much.” Eren squeezed the wilted lilies between his fingers. “I’m gonna go home.”
When he started picking up his crutches, Jean panicked. “You could take a nap here while our friends aren’t around.”
Eren paused, the backpack strap already on one shoulder. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” Jean frowned.
“You’re my ex,” he replied with a huff, like it was so obvious.
“Eren, I’m not asking you to fuck me.” Jean rolled his eyes, and Eren was so red he could see his ears blush. “I’ll be at the dining table, and work on my assignments. You take the couch. I’m not—not going to touch you or something. Fuck, you think I’m a freak?”
Had their limbs not been cemented, both of them would probably punch each other’s shoulders. “Okay, fine.” Eren jutted his lower lip. “Thanks.”
Jean was grateful that Eren didn’t volunteer to walk him to the table. When he sat down, he contemplated answering the sheets Armin gave him the other day, gazing at Eren who was propping the throw pillow on the arm of the couch.
“Eren?”
“Yeah?”
“This—what are we doing?” Jean bit his lips. Ah, his brain should really shut up sometimes.
Eren paused then, rubbing his nape. “What do you mean?”
“Besides telling me about your dad.” Even the short distance from the dining area to the living room felt suffocating. “Why did you come here?”
“It’s your birthday, I wanted to be here,” he replied gingerly, “and apologize for the lies.”
“You’re forgiven,” Jean said with a small smile, because there was no space for hatred anymore. He’d never hate Eren nor give him a more difficult time, as he deserved all the it’s okay and you don’t have to say sorry for something you can’t control. As irrational Eren was, he was just a product of an environment he didn’t choose.
Jean was content, flipping his notes open, but Eren’s words flooded his ears again.
“It’d mean a lot if I'm still a part of your life, if you're okay with that.”
Jean nodded, his heart racing and unbelievably overjoyed. “We’re friends now, then.”
“Yeah.”
Eren’s nap came easy, Jean hearing his soft snores a few minutes later. Maybe Eren really needed this conversation, after all, and was the only thing that could put him to sleep.
When Eren woke up an hour later, Jean hadn't finished at least half of his homework. He was dreading letting the boy go.
Deep inside the greediest corners of his heart, there was a voice begging for it to be a second chance, or for Eren to tell Jean that he needed him—they didn't need to break up. Maybe they could work something out.
But as Jean traced back his steps, this was for the better. Eren might not have been experiencing the abuse in the present like he said, but he had a greater turmoil he had yet to overcome.
Jean would be lying if he said he didn't expect it; he'd run out of fingers before he could count all the times he and Eren had been on and off the relationship. Mostly, it was Eren dealing with something. It could be about Grisha or Jean… but unfortunately, Eren had probably believed it was because of himself.
Now, Jean contently leaned against the door at the porch, with Eren next to him as they waited for Zeke's car to arrive. Zeke should be at work now, though of course he'd drive over if his precious brother called.
Jean gazed at the boy by his side. Something inside him shattered seeing Eren's hooded lids. Despite the effort to conceal it, Eren seemed beyond exhausted, as though a hammer was pounding on his spine and shoulders every minute, leaving him overfatigued and breathless.
And then Jean's eyes dropped on his arms, the sleeves of the teen’s blue sweater pulled up just below his elbows to gain a proper grip on the crutches. Beige, circular spots embellished Eren's skin. Some of them as if scooped by a spoon, mushed and battered. A few of them were redder. Jean swallowed. He didn't remember seeing them there before they broke up. They must be new.
Not to include the peeling skin and callouses between Eren's fingers, his cuticles wounded and nails zigzagged.
Jean had gotten used to Eren like this, but since when had he considered this normal?
“Do you remember,” Eren suddenly said, which made the other flinch and pretend he'd been gawking at the daisies his mom was growing in the front yard. “When we used to fight a lot ‘cause you don't tell me why you keep staring at me?”
Jean blinked, the memories vividly crashing through his mind. “Yeah.” He couldn't help but chuckle. “That was a long time ago.”
Eren hummed, a light smile on his lips as he glanced at the blond. “...What about my moles?”
“Your moles?”
His pointer finger rose to the side of his temple, lifting some of the hair strands covering it. Jean grimaced at the faint scars there where he was stitched from the accident, but he could see it. A mole managed to not succumb to the scar, and suddenly, every reminder of why Jean fell in love with Eren came bolting in his mind. And, if that wasn’t enough, the tears were pricking his eyes. Eren must have noticed it, his features softening and the crease on his forehead finally vanishing.
“It’s dumb.” Jean ducked his head, not knowing why he was close to crying. He couldn’t look at Eren. “I read somewhere that the moles in our bodies were where our greatest love kissed us the most in their past life. I—I know it’s not true, it’s just a myth… but I’ve always kissed and tried finding moles on your body because I want to be the one who loves you best… that it wasn’t your past husband or whatever, but me.”
The two boys were silent, the obscure breeze and trees rustling in the yard the only sound between them.
Eren sighed, laughing easily after.
And Jean did, too.
Jean’s heart broke over and over, he could feel it in his bones. Their relationship had to have happened for a reason, had to have ended for a reason.
He loves Eren. He really does.
He could be Eren’s greatest love, but that was a stupid thing to say, because they were just seventeen. Yet, Jean really wished he’d marry Eren someday. All those princess stories he had read—why couldn’t he get the same ending?
Did he do something wrong? Did he commit a sin bound for execution? Why did he have to suffer?
He loved Eren as much as he could. Was it never enough? When would it be enough, until he wasn’t wasting away himself, and received the same amount of affection he deserved? Did he even deserve Eren in the first place? Because if he did, they wouldn’t be in this situation, with Eren still self-harming and mentally destroyed.
Zeke’s car pulled onto the street.
Eren started lifting himself towards the gates.
Jean watched everything in his world crumble.
But Eren turned to him one last time, his cheeks empty of the tears usually slithering there, his face the most peaceful it had been.
“Once you get better, let’s go to the lake,” he said.
Jean nodded, smiling widely now. “Text me.”
The pathetic tears wouldn’t stop coming, even when Jean had entered the house. Upon reaching the living room, he found the coffee table and nearly sobbed. Again.
Eren had left the wilted lilies for him.