Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jean was currently in the worst possible situation in the world. He was tied to a chair, the rope ripping the skin around his wrists while he was dressed up as the stupid suicidal maniac who for some reason could turn into a titan by biting his dirty hand. 

When Jean first saw Eren as a titan, he was terrified. Humans turning into titans was something no one had heard of before, and here he was, carrying that big ass rock and blocking the hole in the wall. 

Ever since that day, many things had changed in Jean’s life, the most noticeable one was the amount of friends he had. 

As a kid, back in Trost, Jean got bullied for years. Whether it was for the way he looked, or for being a mama’s boy, Jean got picked on. His father used to tell him to ‘grow up’ and ‘be a man’. That's mainly why he joined the military. He was doing it to make his father proud and to get his mother a nice life inside of wall Sina. 

During his time in the cadet corps, he lied to everybody. Made them think he was some selfish jerk who was spoiled and unfriendly. It was an accident though, because originally he just planned to be this mysterious and scary guy so people wouldn’t pick on him, but of course he fucked that up too. 

So for three years, his only real friend was Marco, a freckled guy that was way too nice in Jean’s opinion. He didn’t know why Marco chose to spend most of his time with him, but he did, and he was grateful for that.

In Jean’s opinion, Marco was the most perfect human being on earth, and if Marco was a girl, he would no doubt marry him. 

When it came to other people in the cadet corps, Jean knew that they hated him, or at least disliked him. He knew that the only reason people talked to him was because he was friends with Marco. So when Marco died (stupid him for getting out of this horrible world and leaving Jean alone), he was angry. For the first week or so, Jean didn’t talk to anyone, and no talked to him either. He was alone. Everybody knew how much Marco meant to him, but no one really cared enough to check up on him, so when he found that his mother was also eaten by a titan during the attack on trost, he decided not to tell anyone. Jean decided to just suck it up and eventually people started talking to him again, and this time it wasn’t because of Marco. Jean had finally made some new friends. And now he was kidnapped with one of them, both of them tied to separate chairs, face to face, in a cold building.

At first everything was ok. The man keeping an eye on them was scary and smelled like sweat and dirt, but the mission was going as planned, so everything was ok. But just like anything else in Jean’s life, nothing ended well, so when the man walked over to Armin, Jean tensed up, fearing what was coming next. 

“Yeah? You like that? Let me hear you moan” 

The man's voice was deep and nauseating, the creepiness you only heard from perverts who touched little girls. Jean watched with agony as the man slid his hand onto Armin’s cheek, touching him in the same place a mother would caress her baby. He wanted to look away, ignore it as much as he could so the mission could keep going smoothly, but he couldn’t. 

Armin was being touched.

During their days in the cadet corps, Armin had been Marco’s closest friend after Jean. It did bother Jean at times, scared that Marco would one day realize that Jean was a horribly annoying person and leave him for Armin, but he never did. After Marco died, Armin was the first to ask him if he was ok and even when Jean pushed him away, Armin kept checking up on him. If Jean hadn’t known better, it was like Armin had promised Marco to take care of him; because on a few occasions when Jean had forgotten to eat, Armin somehow always snuck a piece of bread with him for later. 

“Well, how’s that? Doesn't it feel good?” 

Jean couldn’t take it anymore. Seeing the man slide his hand over Armin’s chest made him want to physically gag and beat the man up until the only thing left of him was a dead body. He felt disgusted with the man for touching Armin that way, but also disgusted with himself for not doing anything. He knew that if he said something, not only would the man beat him up until he bled out, but captain Levi would kill him for ruining the mission, so he just sat and watched as Armin was violated, any ounce of dignity he might have had left, now disappearing. 

“Don’t touch her!”. The man stopped moving, slowly tilting his head towards the angered Jean.

“What did you just say?”It was a question, but Jean felt it more as a threat. He didn’t know what to say, his throat closing up on itself as the realization of what he just did, sunk into him.  

The man let go of Armin and glared at Jean, his eyes cold and tense. He slowly walked over to Jean and swiftly dug his knife into Jean’s jaw, making a small cut. Jean felt the Adrenaline in his body, the blood rushing out and sliding down his throat. He wanted to say that he was sorry, he wanted to go down on his knees and beg for forgiveness. 

“You heal, don’t you? I’ve heard rumors of that, do you want me to see if they're true?”

The knife dug deeper into Jean’s jaw as he dug his nails into his palms. He tried to stay composed and not show any fear. Had he actually been Eren, he would probably yell at the man and somehow get out of the ropes before pushing him down to the floor and beating him up; but Jean wasn’t Eren, he was scared, and all he wanted was his mom to come and hug him. 

Chapter Text

Jean looked over to Armin and for a short second, he was ok, because Armin was now safe and the man wouldn’t hurt him again. He didn’t regret ruining the mission, he didn’t care about the knife slicing the skin on his throat. He couldn’t save Marco and his mom, so he would now save the next best thing. Armin.

“You’re a pretty boy… aren't you titan boy?” 

Shivers went down Jean's body as the man whispered into his ear, his dry lips touching the skin of his ear. Jean’s eyes widened, holding his breath, as the man moved his thick body closer to his. From the other side of the room, Armin was shaking his head, trying to hold back his tears. 

“Are you ok?” Armin had walked over Jean who was sitting alone in the scouts mess hall. Only yesterday had he gotten the letter from his father that said that his mother had died during the attack on Trost. He hadn’t sent a letter back yet, and he knew he wouldn't send one in the future either.

Jean used to write letters to his mom every week, and she would always reply with her own letters, more detailed than his own. He would tell her about Marco and the training they went through, he would complain about Eren and Commandant Shadis. He even told her about Bertholdt’s weird sleeping positions, sometimes leaving drawings at the end of the letters so she could laugh too. He would tell her everything; except for the way people didn't actually like him, of course. No mother wants to hear that. So for the week that Marco was sick and Jean wandered around the barracks hopelessly and alone, he decided not to write her anything. 

“Yeah, I’m fine”.

Liar, fucking pathetic liar. Jean hated himself for pushing Armin away for the fifth time this week; it wasn’t even Wednesday yet. 

“Are you sure? You look sad”. Armin’s voice was sweet and gentle, his concern very visible. Jean was sitting alone on a table in the corner of the mess hall, his back turned to all of the other scouts. He hadn’t touched his food yet so it was probably all just cold by now. The potato girl would probably just come by him in a few minutes to ask for his food, and he would hand it to her like he always did. It was the only times she would talk to him ever since Marco had died.

“Jean?”

“I’m fine. Go away”

And so Armin did, he walked away. He sat back down with his friends and Jean was once again alone.

Jean could hear them start whispering once Armin sat back down, and he heard Connie say his name; sucks for him to be the loudest whisperer in the world. 

Jean wanted to die. He wanted to hug his mother again and fall asleep counting Marco’s freckles. The last time he counted them, he came to 47, but the time before that it was only 43. Marco never knew that Jean counted his freckles and now he never would know.

Jean missed Marco a lot.

“You trying to protect that little girlfriend of yours?” 

Jean shook his head, doing everything in his power to not start crying and begging the man to leave him alone. He felt violated and disgusting.

The man’s clammy and rough hands grabbed his chin, tilting Jean’s head to the side, right in front of his own face. The man’s breath reeked of alcohol and now Jean saw the drops of sweat trailing down his forehead. The man was horribly ugly. 

ew.

“Say something you motherfucker!” the man raised his voice. Assertive and stiff. 

“I… I’m sorry”. Jean whispered, his voice was trembling with fear. The man’s eyes were a dark shade of brown, the same as Marco's. The difference was that Marco’s were warm and loving, the ones he was looking into now, were cold and hollow. Jean wondered if this man had any kids waiting at home for him. Was he their dad or was he just their father? 

“Oh, no. no no. You can't be sorry now, that’s not how this works, pretty boy”.

Jean felt a rough hand on his chest and sliding down his waist. He held his breath, finally looking away from Armin’s horrified gaze. He didn’t want Armin to see him like this. Jean knew that Armin would probably just blame himself for this, and thinking that made him feel ten times worse. 

“You’re gonna be a good boy now, aren’t you?”

The man walked behind Jean, still keeping his hand on Jean’s waist and the knife on his throat. 

Suddenly the man started to slide his hand under Jean’s shirt and near the waistband of his pants. The rough and sweaty hand played with the buckle of his pants, trying to get it open. The pressure on the knife was released and replaced with a choking hand around Jean's throat. The sound of the knife hitting the ground broke the eerie silence of the assault.  

Jean closed his eyes as his heart started beating faster and faster. Jean felt the heartbeat all around his body. He felt like his heart was trying to escape, trying to kill him before the man could. 

“Just stay still”. It was a warning, a threat. Jean knew that the man wouldn’t try to kill him, because the man thought he was Eren; a valuable guy who could heal himself. But the man could kill his soul, and he was beginning to do so. The slowest death Jean has ever faced. 

Jean could hear Armin crying, beginning the man to stop. But the man didn’t listen. He was having fun. 

The button on Jean’s pants opened up as the zipper slid down and the rough hand entered without permission. The man’s other hand grabbed Jean’s bloodied jaw and pushed his head to the side, now facing the perverted smile that was touching him. 

Jean wanted to scream, to push the man away and cry. He felt the blood escape his body, weakening him and taking up all his energy to fight back and say something witty like he usually would. Jean didn’t even have the energy to spit on the man's face like he would his bullies when he was a child. And to be honest, Jean wouldn’t do it even if he had the energy to, because he was terrified of what the man could do to him. 

Without a warning, his lips were taken in by the storm of the assault, and dry lips grabbed his, kissing him. 

“Have you ever kissed someone?” 

Marco and Jean were sitting alone in the boys sleeping barracks, their beds right next to each other. On the first day of the cadet corps, Jean had started packing out his things as the freckled boy walked up to him and asked if they could be bunk mates. Jean didn’t know that answering with a nonchalant ‘sure’ would lead to him befriending the most perfect person in the universe. 

“No, I’m saving it for the right person”, Jean had dreamt of his first kiss ever since he learnt what love was. He had imagined it under the stars, next to a lake, the moonlight hitting the water and the owls howling with glee.

“Me too… I want it to be romantic and sweet”. Marco smiled at Jean, wishing he would stop being so obliviously stupid and just understand all the signals Marco was sending him. He didn’t know if Jean liked boys too, they never had this conversation, but by the way Jean was around him, he hoped he was. Marco had never said out loud to Jean that he liked boys, but he had hinted at it and he thought that Jean got it. But he didn't. Of course he didn't. 

Jean wasn’t stupid or anything, he was actually quite smart if you ignored his hot temper, but Marco knew that Jean was completely oblivious to anyone liking him; it was like Jean was the only person in the whole world who couldn’t see how incredible he was, and Marco hated that. 

The kiss was rough and one sided, the man’s tight grip not letting Jean move his head away. Jean’s eyes were wide open, and for the first time in years, he let himself cry. 

The man had taken away Jean’s first kiss.

Chapter Text

Armin was screaming and begging the man to stop, begging him to take his hand out of Jean’s pants and his tongue out of his mouth. But it seemed as if the yells only aroused the man’s actions more, since he then trailed his fingers lower down; and for the first time, Jean let out a yelp. 

The man grasped onto Jean’s cheekbones, leaving behind burning red marks that would bruise by tomorrow morning. He let go of the kiss, their spit intertwined and salvia sticking around Jean’s sore lips and chin. From the rough kiss, blood had piled up at the edges of his mouth. 

At the sight of Jean’s disheveled form, Armin’s shouts haltered to silence, the air stuck in his throat. The room was chillingly quiet except for the rapid breaths coming from both teens. Armin wondered how Jean hadn’t broken down yet, sobbing and begging the man to stop, since the rough hand had now grabbed onto the most private part in a man’s body. He wanted Jean to fight against it, to defend himself and do something; just like he used to do while fighting with Eren, but Jean was frozen on the chair, his eyes wide with fear. 

The man leaned in even closer, as if that was even possible. He brushed his nose against Jean’s cheek, almost like he was trying to smell and touch every part of him. The unshaved mustache poked Jean, uncomfortably stiff and for some reason that Jean didn't want to know, sticky. The grip on Jean’s jaw tightened, nails digging hard into the red skin.

All of a sudden, Jean felt a wet tongue slide over his cheek and into his ear. Shivers went down his body as the screams from Armin sounded distant and faint. Jean tried to move his head away but the man wouldn’t let go of him, gripping him harder until his knuckles went white. The movement of the tongue was uncomfortably slick, dancing around the earlobe. The man moved lower down, sliding his tongue over Jean's bruised Jaw before he started to suck too. The sight of it was horrifying and Armin felt sick to his stomach, unable to help his friend. 

“You like this, don’t you?” the man mocked, letting go of Jean’s jaw before grabbing his messy hair into his fist. He tugged Jean’s hair back, making him yelp once again with a sharp exhalation of breath. “What a fag. Disgusting”. The humid breath flew into Jean’s ear, his back arched sharp as the chill ran down his spine. Disgusting. 

Jean felt the wooden chair move back with him, now standing on only two legs, unstable on the floor. “I bet that I can make you finish. Do you want to see?” The whisper was low, quieter than the ones before.

The man finally let go of the rough grasp, his hands sliding out of Jean’s pants. 

“You’re a quiet one”. The chair was pushed down on the ground, Jean’s head hitting the floor as he gasped in shock. The man towered over Jean’s collapsed figure as Armin finally found his voice again. “Stop it! Let go of him! Stop! Please!”. Armin knew that his words meant nothing to the man but he kept yelling, screaming in agony as the man started to unclasp the buckle of his own belt. Armin could see the rapid rise and fall of Jean’s chest. “Get away from him!” Armin continued begging to no avail. "Don't touch him!". 

The man ignored Armin’s panicked screams as he kicked Jean’s torso, making the young boy cough dryly. He held onto his belt as he kicked again, and again, and again. One time the cheek and another time the waist. The kicks becoming stronger and faster, knocking Jean into an unconscious state. Armin was relieved to see Jean lose consciousness, praying that once he woke up, he would remember nothing.  

The man grunted as he landed his last kick onto Jean’s torso and let go of his grip on the belt buckle. The room went quiet, the echoing sounds of thick boots hitting skin and bones now gone; Armin had stopped screaming too. As the man took off his belt, Jean started to regain consciousness, his gaze blurry; it was pretty evident that Jean was completely exhausted. “Good morning, pretty boy”. The man stepped over the weakened body and kneeled down, Jean’s body pressed between his rough legs. The man looked down into Jean’s eyes with lust and possession.

Armin couldn’t see Jean’s face anymore, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was quite relieved. For a few seconds, the man did nothing, only staring into Jean’s eyes, but the stillness of the moment was cut short by the man unbuttoning his pants. The body under him stiffened, “no”, he whispered, barely audible. As quiet as the single word was, the emotions around it haunted Armin. The denial, fear, embarrassment and pain was so evident that it filled up the room, hitting each corner with a shiver. 

The man leaned down, running his tongue over Jean’s Jawline, where the knife had previously dug into the skin. The blood got on his tongue and the man swallowed; loudly. Fingers trailed down into Jean’s pants once again, and for the first time, the man moaned.

The man’s free hand trailed into his own pants, and they now moved in harmony, both hands moving in the same pace and rhythm; moving in the same way, in different pants. Jean felt his body heat up, electricity rushing through his veins. “I can feel it.” whispered the evil voice as Jean felt everything and anything at the same time. The ghost of the kiss that already felt like it happened ages ago, the sharp knife and the blood rushing out, running down his jaw and neck. He felt the now dried blood and saliva on his chin and lips, and every kick he had gotten from before. After a rough 37 seconds, Jean had counted, the man finally slipped his hands out of the pants, both Jean’s and his own. 

Jean felt the weight of the man get off him as he heard the clasp of a belt close. The man had put his pants back on. He moved away from Jean and lifted his chair back up, Armin finally seeing Jean’s face again. The man fixed his clothes as he stared straight into Jean's eyes, daring him to say anything. His eyes were cold; hateful. His movements were slow and calm, as if nothing had happened. Jean's blood on his fingers and lips didn't seem to bother him. The tension in the room was so sharp, all three men quiet. One out of control, one out of fear and the third out of pure exhaustion, shame and vulnerability.

Armin continued trying to get his hands out of the ropes, quietly cursing everyone in his head. Cursing himself for not doing something more, cursing the man for what he did, Captain Levi for letting this happen, his friends for not hearing his screams... cursing Jean for going against the mission and not just staying quiet. Armin was brought out of his thoughts when he heard the man talking once again, his tone scarier than anything else he had ever heard. 

“You made me do it, it’s your fault you disgusting little fa-”

Boom

The man was on the floor, knocked out by Mikasa, unconscious; and for the first time since the man had first laid his hands on Armin, Jean let himself relax, slumping his shoulders and lowering his head.

Chapter Text

“I think I like you, Jean”.

It was four days before the 104th cadet corps were finally going to graduate after 3 long years as trainees in the military. Marco and Jean had snuck up to the roof of the boys sleeping barracks; something they had discovered they could do during their first month of cadet training. It was their secret hideout where they could relax and watch the stars. 

“I like you too”.

Marco’s blush grew even redder.

“You’re a good friend”.

oh.

“No… Jean… I mean as more than friends”.

shit.

They were sitting at the edge of the roof, their feet dangling down the building. 

“Excuse me?”.

Jean tilted his head towards Marco’s shameful yet hopeful face. Marco tried to read Jean’s expression, something he had become good at over the years, but this time it was impossible. The freckled boy opened and closed his mouth, trying to find the strength to admit his feelings once again. Marco knew the risks of confessing his feelings to someone he considered a friend. ‘It will ruin the friendship and you’ll just lose him completely’. Marco had said  to himself time after time, but he couldn’t keep it in anymore; he needed to tell Jean how he really felt.

“I like you… romantically…”, Marco choked out. 

“I don’t know what to say”.

“You don’t have to say anything, I know that you like Mikasa”.

Jean turned back around to look out to the horizon, the sun long gone and the stars shining brightly. It was a full moon tonight; Marco’s favourite, as Jean remembered.

“I don’t like her anymore. I haven’t liked her in a long time”.

Marco’s eyes widened in surprise, he was so sure that Jean still liked her. He would constantly talk about her and bring her up, talking about how strong and brave she was.

Maybe he just admired her?

“oh”. 

If the freckled boy knew what else to say, he would, but Marco was out of words, too nervous and overwhelmed to say anything else.

“do you… do you really like me?”

Jean couldn’t understand why Marco was still his friend. Couldn’t he see how much of an asshole he was? Everybody hated him for constantly picking fights with Eren, so why didn’t Marco? What did Marco see in him that made him stay?

Marco nodded, trying his best to smile, but failing miserably. His palms were drenched in sweat, the skin around his nails getting anxiously picked at. Marco felt so terribly stupid, regretting that he just confessed his true feelings towards Jean. 

Earlier that day, Marco had decided that today was the day. It felt like the perfect timing, considering the fact that they were to graduate in just a few days. Marco knew that Jean would go to the military police since he for sure entered the top ten, but Marco however, wasn’t so sure about himself. This could be the last few days he would ever spend with Jean, and he couldn’t say goodbye to him without telling him how he truly felt. If it went well, and Jean felt the same way towards him, they could get together and live happily ever after. But if Jean started hating him and feeling disgusted by him, then they could just stop talking for good and never see each other again.

Marco hoped for the former.

“How do you know?” Jean asked, his voice soft and vulnerable, a voice only to be heard by Marco. It was reserved for him.

“Well… um, i just…” Marco didn’t know how to explain it to him, because frankly, he didn’t really understand it himself.

“I just want to be with you, all the time. Hold your hand and just look at you. When I’m with you it’s like we’re the only people on earth, and I like that”.

“You want to hold my hand?” Jean blushed as Marco once again nodded to his question. If someone else would have confessed their feelings to Jean, he would either faint or run away, but somehow this felt safe. It wasn’t scary or awkward. While it was new and confusing, and without a doubt, embarrassing, he still felt as if this was something he was meant to hear. It felt right. Comforting.

Without a second thought, Jean moved his hand over to Marco’s, which was gripping the edge of the roof. The boys looked down at the interaction as if they weren’t the ones controlling the hands. Marco flipped his hand slowly, letting Jean’s hand find comfort in his. Their fingers intertwined, the skin brushing against each other, shooting sparks of electricity through their bodies. The grip hardened as if they were protecting each other's hands. The warmth radiated through them and all the overwhelming amount of feelings they felt prior had now disappeared, leaving them calm and comforted. The touch they shared had stopped the world from spinning and all the worry they previously had was now gone into oblivion.

“I like you too”, Jean whispered, just enough for Marco to hear. The two boys looked up from their hands and over to each other, their eyes meeting once again. 

“You should be able to remove the rope from your hands”. Jean felt the tension from the rope disappear as Mikasa’s soft hands brushed against his arms. Jean couldn’t take his eyes off of the unconscious man on the floor, his face finally giving hints of humanity as he scrunched his face up in pain. From the other side of the room, Armin tried to get his attention, whispering his name in case the other men would barge in. Mikasa and the other’s had spread around the warehouse to get ready to attack the boss who would soon enter. 

The world was spinning again.

Jean missed Marco.

“Why does Jean look like that?” Sasha was concerned, she noticed the shriveled state her friend was in. They had heard muffled screams from Armin earlier but they couldn’t hear exactly what he said. Connie and Sasha had begged Mikasa (who was left in charge since Captain Levi had gone to follow the cart Eren and Historia were in) to enter the warehouse and see what was going on, but she wouldn’t let them, knowing that it was too early to move on with the mission. They got mad at her, but she didn’t  care, she knew that she did it to save them from the scarring image of Jean getting assaulted. She did it to protect his privacy and not take away the last amount of dignity he would have left. Sasha and Connie were his closest friends since Marco had died and she couldn’t ruin the friendship between them with traumatic experiences. Connie, Sasha and Jean were the fun and joy of the scout regiment. They lit up every room they walked into, and the world shined brighter when they were together. 

Mikasa knew that Jean was now changed for life, but she couldn’t tell that to the others. It wasn’t her place to reveal the horrors Jean was facing; especially because she only saw a few seconds of it.

“He’s bleeding from the neck, so the man probably threatened him with something. I’m sure that he’ll be fine”, Mikasa had seen the man kiss Jean for a brief second before she had to look away. Had she looked at the situation any longer, she would ruin the mission. 

“I hope you’re right”.

Mikasa hoped she was right too. She felt guilty and at fault for not stopping things earlier, but then again, the mission was still going according to plan, and that was what mattered the most right now.

They waited several minutes for Dimo Reeves to enter the warehouse. As each second passed, the silent room felt more and more hollow, a chill running down everyone’s spines. The tension was haunting. Jean hadn’t moved, his eyes still lingering on where the guard had laid unconscious on the cold floor earlier, before Mikasa dragged him away to hide his body. 

“Jean?” 

Armin tried to get Jean’s attention, tried to see if maybe, just maybe, he was okay. He needed to see his friend's face, the guilt eating him alive. 

The minutes went by and the only things that could be heard were the birds singing to each other from outside. ‘At least someone out there is okay.’ Armin thought to himself.

Suddenly the doors to the warehouse opened up, the rust on the door making an uncomfortably annoying squeaking sound. “You’re sure, without a doubt, it’s Christa and Eren?”. The deep voice of Dimo Reeves asked as several different footsteps were heard, four to be exact. The thick boots hitting the hard floor where Jean had previously bled onto as he was getting violated by the guard. 

“Yes, they match the description” one of the men answered.

They passed Mikasa, not noticing her presence. “Huh? Where’s the guard?”.

Before they could take another step, Mikasa jumped out of her hiding spot and kicked down one of the men. The tallest of the bunch. The other three men had no time to react before she leaped herself onto the man behind them and forced him down to the ground, knocking him unconscious. 

One of the men, Flegel Reeves, pulled out his gun, “What the-“. 

The loud thumps that were heard as the two men hit the ground seemed to bring Jean back to reality since he was finally able to react. Armin jumped out of the chair, making it fall to the ground, as Jean stood up shakingly and finally closed the buttons of his pants and the clasp of his belt. 

Mikasa attacked Flegel Reeves to the ground, making the gun hit the floor and slide away. 

With the ropes previously used to tie Armin and Jean’s hands, they now tied down the two men Mikasa had earlier thrown to the ground. As much as Jean tried to hide it, Armin could see his hands shaking. He saw that Jean wasn’t really there, moving around naturally without really knowing what he was doing. His body had disconnected from his brain and consciousness. 

As the two boys tied the men together, Mikasa was able to pull Dimo Reeves to the floor and get on top of him. “Connie! Is it really just the four of them?”. 

“Yeah, that’s it!” Connie confirmed from his hiding place on the roof. “Nobody else in the area!”. 

Suddenly, without anyone noticing, a bow hit the ground near Dimo Reeves. No, not the ground. The bow had hit his gun. 

“If you move again, who knows where I’ll hit?” Sasha threatened from the top of one the wooden boxes.

“All right! First, we tie these guys up, then we meet up with the captain”. Mikasa had seemed to take over the role graciously, her tone firm and demanding. “What do you mean?” Armin, who was still sitting on top of the tied down man, asked, confused, still not aware of the new plans.

“Captain’s orders, and he sends a message, too”.

Chapter Text

“Jean?”. They had left the warehouse a few minutes ago in search of Captain Levi. They had to continue the mission and Armin had wished for nothing more but for time to stop. He couldn’t keep himself from looking over at Jean every other second. The numb teen hadn't said a single word ever since the quiet ‘no’ he had let out before the guard had run his tongue over Jean’s Jawline. The blond teen wanted to beg the other’s to stop and just let them both breathe, but the mission had to go on and there was no time to sulk. They could do that later. 

“Jean?”.

No answer.

Jean who was usually flying in front of everyone when they used their ODM gear was now sulking behind, his feet almost dragging themself on the rooftops. For the first time, Armin wasn't the furthest behind. 

“You're good”. Jean landed perfectly on both feet, barely making a sound. They had just finished training with their ODM gear and it was no doubt that Jean was the best out of all of them. Whenever Armin saw Jean swing himself from tree to tree, he was amazed by the technology of the omni-dimensional maneuvering gear, but he was more amazed by the way Jean moved. While Mikasa was almost as good as him, she moved more stiffly, like she was fueled by determination and anger. Jean on the other hand, moved like the wind. He was one with the gear and in Armin’s opinion, it was magical to watch. 

Armin had observed Jean from afar ever since he had his first argument with Eren. He liked the way Jean said whatever came to his mind, even if it often came out as rude. Eren would always complain about how Jean was being selfish for choosing the military police when tens and thousands of people had died when wall Maria fell. In Eren’s opinion, the military police was filled with selfish, alcoholic men and they were a waste of money. Armin wasn't the biggest fan of the military police either, but he knew that Jean wasn’t selfish; at least he hoped so. 

“I know”. Jean answered with his regular arrogant tone. 

“Ow”, he mumbled, annoyed, as Marco hit the back of his head. Armin never really understood why a nice and friendly guy like Marco had chosen to hang out with Jean of all people, they always seemed like an odd pair in his opinion, and from what he had heard, most of the 104th cadet corps agreed with him; even Keith Shadis had once said that he found their friendship weird and confusing. Armin noted to himself to ask Marco one day. He wanted to know what the freckled teen saw in his best friend. 

“Thank you”, he corrected himself as Marco’s smile grew, clearly very proud of Jean for being nice to Armin. Or at least trying to. “You’re not bad yourself”, he mumbled as Armin noticed the quick look Marco gave Jean, trying to get him to be more friendly. It had been 7 months since they enlisted in the cadet corps and Jean had still only befriended Marco. Armin had seen him talk to Connie and Sasha a few times but it was only if Marco was around as well. 

“Not as good as you”, the blonde teen laughed awkwardly as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t be so hard on yourself Armin, you’ll get there”, as much as Armin had hoped that the encouragement had come from Jean, it came from the other teen. There was nothing wrong with Marco of course, but he was always so supportive and positive that after a while his words started to mean nothing. “Yeah, about that”. Armin took a deep breath, preparing himself to ask a question he already knew the answer to. During their first week of ODM training, Eren had failed to balance himself, and when he asked Jean and Connie for help, they laughed in his face. Armin didn’t have high hopes. 

“Could you… maybe, um… help me?”, the blonde boy could feel his face grow red as he felt himself start to sweat nervously, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. The negative answer was basically inevitable at this point. Armin could practically see the wheels turn in Jean’s brain, probably thinking of the rudest and most creative insult yet. Armin had never been at the end of one of his sassy insults, but he had heard plenty, and they could be harsh. At least the ones Eren got.

“He would love to help you!”. Before Jean could say anything, Marco had pushed him slightly forward, gleefully answering Armin’s question. The blonde teen could see Jean stiffen, clearly annoyed at Marco for selling him short. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to”. Armin had to admit that Jean was a tad bit scary, it wasn't hard to feel inferior around him, feel like a helpless child again. It wasn't like Jean reminded him of his childhood bullies or anything, but Armin didn’t like that he made him feel just as weak. 

“No, it’s okay, I’ll help you”. 

“I hear shooting”. The squad landed on top of one of the rooftops to rest, as Sasha’s anxious voice broke through the silence. “From there!”, she pointed towards the inner part of the district. “I heard close to a dozen shots!”. Sasha was known to have great senses, her hearing as good as a dog’s. She had always talked about how she grew up in the forest and how she loved to go hunting with her father. As she grew up, they would go deeper and deeper into the forest. When Sasha was six years old, she had first declared her love to the woods, and she dreamt of one day exploring every forest inside the walls, and hopefully the ones outside too. She wanted to wander around the biggest woods that she could find. 

Sasha’s first love was her parents, her second love was meat, and her third, was the feeling she got when she lost herself in the woods. She could wander in the forest for hours and feel like the most alive person in the world. 

“Do you think that they ran into some trouble?” Armin asked Mikasa as he walked towards her.

“It seems likely”.

Armin didn’t want to think of what the trouble could be.

“The captain gave me a message,” Mikasa continued. “As of now, it’s not just titans. We’re fighting humans, too”. As if on command, Jean finally seemed to snap out of the haze he had been stuck in. Armin had noticed how much Jean had started to value human lives after the attack on Trost district. If Jean had once said that the scouts were suicidal blockheads who wasted their lives, he definitely didn’t think so now. “Huh? You don’t mean…” his voice cracked as he finally opened his mouth to talk. Before Jean could even finish his sentence, Mikasa jumped off the roof and flew away, probably to avoid answering the horrific answer. “Hey!” Connie yelled after her. 

“Look! There They Are!” Connie pointed out as they flew over the wagon where Historia and Eren were held hostage, and both were unconscious. “Captain Levi!”. Armin saw their captain swing around the corner as he followed the wagon. “The hell is that?”, and criminals seemed to be following him. 

The tall guy behind Captain Levi shot something that looked like a gun, almost hitting the Captain who was able to avoid the bullet by mere centimeters. And only five seconds later, the guy was killed by none other than Captain Levi himself. All five teens looked at the situation in pure shock… Well, four of them did, Mikasa seemed as stoic as usual. Armin looked over at Jean to see how he was doing, and as expected, he seemed to be the most horrified of the bunch. 

Over the years, Armin had noticed how much Jean had changed. When he first introduced himself three years ago, he was an arrogant boy who wanted nothing more than to live an easy life in the interior. Jean was the biggest and most pathetic jerk in the universe; at least in Eren’s opinion. But now, even though Eren’s opinion hadn't changed much, Armin had started to notice that Jean was becoming nicer and friendlier. The change started after his cooking competition against Sasha. It was the first time Armin had spent so much alone time with Jean; well they weren’t actually alone, since Annie was with them too, but she barely talked so it was easy to ignore her. After the competition, Jean had opened up a bit to Sasha, Connie and Armin, and a few weeks later he called them his friends; the first and only time he ever did that. 

“Follow the wagon!” Levi commanded as he tried to catch his breath, hanging from the side of the building. “Right!” Mikasa answered, following the Captain's orders. 

“Listen up! These soldiers were trained to fight other people. They've already taken out three of ours. If you hesitate for as much as a second, you'll be dead. The moment you see an opening, go for the kill.”

“Yes sir.” Mikasa was apparently the only person who was fully on board with the new mission, stopping at nothing to save Eren. 

It wasn't what any of them had signed up for. The scouts were trained to kill titans, and only that. They were never told under any contract or law that they would one day kill humans. That they would one day become murderers. 

Armin had noticed the slight change in Captain Levi’s expression when he had glances at Jean. Armin hoped that the captain would notice the dire mental state that Jean was in, and from the slight change of demeanor, he probably did. It was almost impossible to miss the fact that Jean was clearly not okay. His eyes were hazy, not really focused on anything, and his shirt and neck was still covered in his now dry blood. Jean’s usually neat hair was now a complete mess, both from the guard’s grip and from the wind. The teens shirt was untucked and his lowest button had fallen off, probably still in the warehouse, lying on the cold and hard floor. Jean’s vest was open and slightly ripped. All the signs were there. 

Better a button than Jean’s dead body. Armin thought to himself.

Levi had his last glance over Jean before he moved on and continued to his next victim.

Over his years in the scout regiment, Levi had seen a lot of different mental states after missions. A few were completely gone, not showing any signs of livelihood, their souls dead and gone; those were either killed in the next mission or killed by their own hands. Most soldiers came back tired and numb, but they usually got better by the next mission, and their will to live got bigger. As Levi looked at Jean, he saw a face he hadn't seen in a very long time. It was a face he hadn't seen since his days in the underground. All the signs were there. 

Levi remembered how neat Jean was, how he was the closest to being as insane as him when it came to cleaning, the only difference was that Jean focused more on himself than his surroundings. Jean always took the longest to get ready, but it never made him late to practice, he just woke up earlier. Levi admired that. He had noticed how Jean always fixed his hair and clothes, how he checked himself in every reflection he could find. It was pretty ridiculous but it was better than hange who never once seemed to care what she looked like. Jean was an organized and clean guy, so when Levi saw his messy clothes and hair, he knew immediately what had happened. 

Levi hoped and prayed that he was wrong, but he had seen that state on many girls before. He had grown up around women who went through that on the daily. He knew the signs and he knew that he had to talk to Jean later. The kid was under his responsibility when this had happened and Levi had never felt worse about sending out one of his squad members on a mission.

Levi was going to have a long day ahead of him. 

“Armin! Secure the wagon with Jean!”. The wagon was going to be the safest place for Jean at the moment, and if Levi’s theories were correct, Jean was going to feel the safest around Armin. “We’ll keep you two covered!”. Levi wasn't going to let anything else happen to Jean, not if he could stop it. “Uh- Sir!” Armin answered, very clearly uncertain and scared. 

“He killed him”.

Levi heard Jean mumble in complete shock and Levi suddenly felt even worse. The look on Jean’s face, the complete horror of the crimes that Levi was commiting made his toes curl. Levi knew that he had now lost the Jean he had grown to tolerate. Jean was never coming back home. 

If Jean would survive today, he wouldn’t survive the next mission.

If he would make it until then. 

“Come on!” Levi was thankful that Armin distracted Jean and brought him back to reality. Levi knew that Jean was going to be in good hands.

The teens landed on the wagon as Mikasa took out the woman in front, knocking her down to lie on her back. In less than a second, Jean pointed his sword at her face, scaring both the woman and himself. 

“Don’t move!” Jean ordered, but Levi could hear the begging behind the boy's words. Jean started to shake, unable to keep calm. In only a few seconds, the boy lost the upper hand in the situation and the woman gained control, moving away from his sword. “Stop” Jean begged, gripping the weapon with both hands to stop his shaking. Then, she kicked the sword out of his hands and Jean fell on his butt. Levi turned around when he heard the thump on the wagon and saw the woman pointing her gun at Jean. He had hesitated and he was now paying the price. 

“Jean!” Mikasa came flying from behind at full speed, her swords stretched out and ready to kill the woman in front of her when suddenly, boom, a gunshot was fired and Jean was covered in blood. The blood of the dead woman in front of him. 

Chapter Text

Armin had killed her. He had taken the gun and shot her in the head. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. One single gunshot and her head exploded. Blood everywhere, running out from the hole in her head onto the wooden floor of the wagon. Jean crawled backwards as the blood got closer to his feet, tinting the wood in maroon.

With the speed that they were going, the woman flew out of the moving cart and onto the street, Her body more damaged by the hit she made with the cobblestones. Her dark blood trailing behind her. 

Jean was frozen in place, his mouth slightly agape. The way he looked at Armin was blood curling, and for the first time in years, Armin felt like he was looking at a stranger. Jean was gone. 

Next to the traumatized teen, Historia and Eren were lying down, unconscious, completely unaware of the things going on around them. They both seemed so calm, like they were dreaming of the happiest place in the world. 

Armin was jealous. 

He noticed Jean's quick and sudden move to grab onto the back of Historia’s shirt, his fist closed so tight that his knuckles turned white. It was like Jean was trying to grab onto a lifeline to keep himself alive. The boy had held his breath ever since the eerie sound of the gunshot erupted, and Armin saw the color on his face drain. His usually tan skin, now completely pale.  

Jean’s nails dug into his palm as he closed his fist even more, almost ripping the top layer of skin. The tip of his fingers turned red under the pressure. Armin still hadn’t lowered the gun, pointing it at Jean, the weapon stable in his hand. The look that Armin received from the boy in front of him was haunting, as if he was now staring at a murderer. And Armin couldn’t blame Jean; He was a murderer. But he had done it to save Jean. He couldn’t do so back in the warehouse so he was doing it now. Protecting Jean just like he had promised Marco a few months ago. 

“What do you see in Jean?” Armin asked bluntly, something he wasn’t a big fan of doing. He would always analyze his words, make sure that he said the right thing at the right time to the right person, but for once he didn’t care. Armin wanted… No… Armin needed to know what Marco saw in Jean. His curiosity got the best of him. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Marco asked defensively as he picked apart the ODM gear. The boys had connected over their shared interest in the military’s technology, both fascinated by the way the gear worked. 

They had been lucky enough to get some old gear that wasn’t working anymore by Keith Shadis, and they inspected it every time they got a few free hours from training. They would pick it apart then build it back up, sometimes building it differently to see if they could find new ways to make them. 

“Sorry, that came off as mean”.

“It did.”

Marco seemed to be very defensive and protective when it came to Jean, not letting anyone insult him. When Marco was like that he had the same look in his eyes that Mikasa had whenever someone was mean towards Eren. 

“I was just curious, since I don’t know him that well and he isn’t the nicest whenever I see him… since I’m with Eren all the time… you know?”

Armin tried to explain himself, not wanting to offend Marco even more. The freckled boy was the only one who seemed to be as smart as him and he didn’t want to lose the new friend he had gained recently, his first friend outside of Eren and Mikasa. He loved them a lot but whenever they talked he felt like he had to dumb himself down, which could get exhausting at times. 

“Right. Well, I know it’s hard to believe since he hides it all the time, but Jean is a good person. And he cares a lot. ”

It was hard to believe. Jean was known as the residential Jerk between the cadets. Even though he fought Eren the most, he often ended up in fights with others too; most oftenly with Sasha who would steal his food, but then he was in the right at least. 

The most surprising one was when he started arguing with Bertholdt, since no one had ever gotten mad at him. Armin couldn’t remember what the argument was about but he remembered it being pretty one sided, since Bertholdt only seemed to say a few words before randomly getting yelled at by an angry Jean. When he later asked Bertholdt what the argument was about, he just got a shrug in response. 

Later that day, Reiner kicked Jean in the groin. 

“Oh.” What could he say to that? That he disagrees? That Marco is way too naive? He couldn’t say that, he didn’t actually know Jean, even if it felt like he did since Jean always said what he thought and felt. He was obnoxiously loud at times. 

“You just don’t get him, Armin.”

Marco was right, he didn’t get Jean, but he hoped that one day he would because Jean was way smarter than people gave him credit for, and Armin liked to talk to smart people. 

Armin gave himself a mission for the next two years: Befriend Jean Kirstein.

“Shit! Armin! Jean!” 

Captain Levi was able to snap Armin out of his thoughts and remind him where he was. Jean however, was still stuck in place, still gripping onto Historia’s shirt and holding his breath. He looked like a petrified child. 

Three armed people flew after the wagon, pointing their guns directly at Jean and Armin. The blond teen continued holding onto the horse’s reins, trying his best to get away from them as fast as possible.

Seconds before the guns were shot, Sasha had grabbed Armin from behind and escaped with him in her arms. Levi did the same, grabbing onto the stiff Jean. He felt a slight resistance and noticed the grip Jean had on Historia’s shirt, almost ripping it when they flew away. Jean was strong, that’s for sure.

Levi felt the boy flinch under his touch, finally being brought back to reality and breathing. Even though the reasons for Jean’s movement was a horrifying one, Levi was glad to see hints of Life form from him. 

When he landed on one of the rooftops, Jean pushed Levi away as fast as he could, escaping his grip and crawling away with wide eyes. The Captain wanted to stay with Jean and get him to calm down but Mikasa had decided to be a pain in the ass again and follow Eren even if it was a bad idea, just like she had when they fought the female titan. 

“fuck her” Levi cursed under his breath as he followed Mikasa to stop her, promising to himself to talk to Jean later. 

“Jean? Are you ok?” Sasha approached her friend, noticing the panicked look on his face. She wasn’t stupid, she could see that something was bothering him. Ever since the warehouse he had been acting weird. At first she thought that it was because of some threat he might have gotten from the guard. That’s what Mikasa believed at least. But he should’ve been over it by now, he was safe and the guard was dead. Whatever the guard had threatened Jean with back then wasn’t relevant anymore.

Sure, seeing Armin kill someone wasn't easy, but it saved Jean’s life, it shouldn’t have affected him like this. “Jean?”.

Sasha bent down to the same level as Jean to look him in the eyes and try to get an answer out of him, but it was like he couldn’t even see her. He looked right through her, not even taking in what she was saying. Jean’s chest moved rapidly with heavy panting and Sasha understood that it was no use trying to get through him, so she moved next to him and sat down, leaving a bit of space between them.

As they waited for Levi and Mikasa to come back, Connie and Armin joined them on the roof, sitting down in silence, being there for their friend. Armin, being the only one who knew why Jean was acting the way he was, smiled to himself, thankful that Jean had befriended Sasha and Connie all those years ago. 

Jean was lucky to have such great friends. 

They were all sitting in a circle around the lantern, dimly lighting up the cold building that they were sitting in. It had been an hour since they had lost the wagon with Eren and Historia, and they were now eating some rations and drinking disgustingly bitter tea that only Levi seemed to like. 

“What’s wrong? Did all this filth kill your appetite?” Captain Levi asked a bit insensitively, at least in Armin’s opinion. 

Jean had been able to calm down ever since they got to the hideout. He was still pretty quiet and distant but his breathing was normal again and the haze in his eyes was gone. Armin hoped that Jean would only get better from here but he knew that he was asking for too much; at least for the near future. 

“No”.

Armin wasn’t lying. He was somehow still fine, still okay with what he had done. He had already cried to Mikasa about it earlier so he had let his actions sink in, but was surprised by how well he seemed to take it; at least for now. Armin knew this would probably haunt him for nights to come. 

“Jean”, what was he doing? he couldn’t ask that. Jean was going through enough, so why was he bothering him with stupid questions? 

Armin couldn’t stop himself from talking. He had to know. He had to know what made it so easy for him to kill.

“There’s something I don’t understand”.

Stop talking. He told himself.

“When I turned around to try to save you, that woman already had her gun to your head”. Jean looked at him horrified, probably hating him for bringing it up. But Armin didn’t care, he needed to know, he needed to know how he was able to kill the woman before she did anything. He was okay with the killing, he was just horrified by how easy it was for him. 

“It’s… funny. How could I have shot before she did?”.

It was what Armin had wondered for the past hour. Asking himself the same question over and over again. How could he? Why didn’t he hesitate? Was he a bad person? Was he born to kill? Was it in his blood?

Was Armin now a murderer? A killer?

He knew the answer to the last one, but he didn’t want to admit that.

Jean looked away, closing his eyes as if reliving the moment. He curled up at the question, trying to make himself smaller. “I don’t know,” He whispered. 

“You shot first because she hesitated. It’s simple.” Captain Levi assured, trying to lighten the horrifying situation. 

“I’m sorry, Armin. You wouldn’t have had to save me if I’d just done my job,” Jean cussed quietly, very clearly mad at himself for hesitating. For slipping up and not doing what he was supposed to do. Just like what had happened in the warehouse a few hours ago. Jean had slipped up and let his emotions control him. Twice.

Armin didn’t want Jean to feel guilty, to blame himself, he didn’t want him to have another burden on him. 

The blond boy noticed the way Jean tightened his grip around the cup of tea, holding onto it as if to stabilize himself. Ground himself and stay sane. 

Armin wanted to stop talking. He wanted to shut up and just stay quiet. He felt so guilty pouring his heart out in front of Jean. He had no right to be so emotional. Jean was the one who got hurt during this mission, he was the one who needed comfort. Why was Armin so weak? 

“I know what it is. The woman I shot back there. I bet she was a really kind person. She must’ve had a lot more human empathy than I ever did. I pulled that trigger so easily. Without a thought. I’m…”

“A killer.” Levi finished the sentence for him. “And now that your hands have been soaked in blood, the person you once were is gone for good.” Levi looked at Armin as he said this, knowing very well that the same could be said to Jean. His hands were still clean, not yet dirtied by someone else’s blood, but Jean was gone for good. The boy he had said ‘good morning’ to less than 12 hours ago, was now a whole different person. 

Levi missed the boy he used to know.

“Why would you say that?” Mikasa hissed, angry at her Captain for saying something so insensitive. She still held a grudge at him for some bizarre reason that Levi couldn’t understand. 

Bratty teens.

“And you shouldn’t regret it for one second.” He ignored her. “Because if you’d chosen to keep your hands clean, Jean would be a corpse on a cart right now.” 

Or in a warehouse. Armin didn’t dare to say out loud. 

The silence in the room was deafening, uncomfortably loud. Had Sasha been here instead of keeping guard, the situation would be more tolerable. 

“I’ll tell you why you pulled the trigger.” Levi declared, breaking the silence. “Because your comrade was about to die. Armin, Everyone on our squad survived today because you got blood on your hands. Thank you.” 

Everyone on our squad survived today because you got blood on your hands. What a shitty sentence.

Armin had pulled that trigger, relieved that he could save Jean for once. He couldn’t in the warehouse so he did it now instead. But he killed someone in the process. Armin was glad that Jean wasn’t a dead corpse, of course he was, but he felt so disgusting. He was responsible for taking someone’s life. She was a daughter, a friend. She could be a lover or a mother. She was a person and Armin played with her life. He was the one who chose that it was her time to leave earth. He had played god and he had become the devil.

“Captain Levi, I, uh, I thought it was wrong for us to fight other humans, sir. I thought it was wrong that you ordered us to do it. I mean, we became soldiers to protect people. But now, I see that I was in the wrong, sir. Next time, I swear I’ll shoot.” 

Jean said what he thought, he said what he felt with no shame. Maybe Jean would be ok in the end. Armin hoped so at least. 

He had, however, not noticed the way Jean’s monologue was lifeless. There wasn’t any emotion behind those words. It felt scripted, unnatural. 

It was the first time Armin had missed something. The first time he hadn’t observed the things around him.

“I never said anything about what was right or wrong. My moral high ground’s shot to hell. I have no idea who’s in the right at this point.”

Levi had to talk to Jean as soon as possible. The kid needed help. Fast.

Chapter Text

It had been two hours since the scouts had lost Eren and Historia. They had seen them drive away in the wagon, unconscious, while getting kidnapped by the interior military police. Levi had already sent out an update of the mission to Hange who would then pass on the message to Commander Erwin. 

Ever since the mission went south, Mikasa had been on her own, walking back and forth in the abandoned building they had decided to stay at for the time being. She had already punched and kicked the wall several times, unable to keep her calm. 

Armin had tried to talk to her, tried to get her to calm down, but it was no use. Mikasa was too worried about Eren to care what anyone had to say. So instead, Armin walked over to one of the wooden boxes, sat down on the floor and leaned back on the box, letting himself breathe for just a little while. 

Connie had walked out to keep Sasha some company while she was guarding the place, handing her some tea and food in the process.  

The building they were staying at was creepily big, once used to store refugees from wall Maria, who were now either dead from being sent out to fight with the scouts all those years ago, or living in cluttered apartments that were being sold for insane prices. The lantern in the middle of the room was failing at lighting up the place to the fullest, the corners still shadowed by darkness. 

Ever since the conversation they had about what was right and wrong, Jean had only shut off more, the haze in his eyes back. Captain Levi had given him a cloak to shield himself with and Jean did just that. The teen sat in the corner furthest away from the entrance, curled up with his knees to his chest. His hands were covering his ears, blocking out any sounds. Armin had shifted his attention from Mikasa to Jean, and then from Jean to Mikasa, and then back again to Jean. 

The blond boy couldn't see the expression on Jean’s face, since the light didn’t make it all the way there, but he could guess it pretty well. Eyes wide open, eyebrows furrowed and the mouth slightly agape. 

The exact face he had when the guard first touched him. 

He wanted to go talk to Jean, already failing with his attempt to talk to his other friend, but Armin knew that it wouldn't work this time either; because Connie’s failed attempt had already proven that.

Before Connie had joined Sasha outside, he had tried to get Jean to join her as well. When Jean disagreed, Connie tried to argue with him, but to no avail, Jean stayed stubborn. That was when Connie did the same thing he had done several times before, something they had done as good friends for the past three years. 

Connie laid his hand on top of Jean’s head, playfully ruffling the hair and lightly shaking him. 

Then, he snapped. 

Jean pushed Connie’s hand away and flinched backwards, almost losing balance. His eyes widened in fear and his body stiffened.

“Don't touch me!”

“What the hell-”.

Connie didn’t know what was going on with Jean, why something so simple as a ruffle had startled him. He had noticed Jean acting weird ever since they had gotten out of the warehouse, and he knew that Jean was probably just a bit shaken up from a threat that the guard might have given him. That's what Sasha told him at least; she said that Mikasa told her. 

Connie was worried about Jean, never seeing his friend be so out of it before. Even his hair was messy.

The bald teen continuously apologized to Jean as Captain Levi just pushed him further away. Connie felt awful for making his friend panic like that, not actually understanding what triggered it. That was when he grabbed the cup of tea and the two ration bars that were left and joined Sasha outside. 

Jean crawled into the corner, yelling at Captain Levi to leave him alone.

It was the first time someone from Levi’s squad had ever yelled at him.

All that had happened just over twenty minutes ago, and since then, the only sounds to be heard around the building were the mumbles coming from the conversation Sasha and Connie had outside and the anxious steps coming from Mikasa.

Armin sat quietly, letting himself drown in his own thoughts. He picked at the skin around his nails, ripping up some dead skin and tinting the tips maroon. 

But Armin didn't care, he was too occupied with worrying about Jean.

He couldn't get the memories out of his head and it was eating him alive. It was like he was still in that warehouse, tied to the chair, screaming at the guard to not touch Jean. Everything was so clear in his head, everything remembered down to the very last detail. 

Armin could still feel the guards hands on him. They were so rough and cold, the dry skin uncomfortably poking into his skin. He remembered the dirt under the nails and the long scar he had on his right hand. The red line lay horizontally on the back of his hand, stretching down from the index finger and over to the wrist. 

Armin had wondered where someone could get such a deep scar. 

‘Probably from assaulting someone stronger’. 

Armin wondered if Jean had noticed the same thing.

He probably did… 

…If he wasn't too busy with trying to keep himself alive. 

Armin felt like puking. Again. 

“You feeling any better?” Armin had been training with Jean every day for the past week. Ever since Jean had agreed to help him out with the ODM gear, Armin had gotten to know him better; for one, he was an incredible teacher. 

The pair had taken an hour out of their day to practice for the past week, and Armin actually seemed to get better. ‘Slowly but surely’ as Jean had said. 

Every day the training got a little more intense, Armin already gaining several new bruises; both from the harness and from falling.

The first time he fell, he expected Jean to laugh at him and leave, telling him that ‘he was on his own now’, but to Armin’s pleasant surprise, nothing even close to that had happened. 

Jean had ran over to Armin and stretched out his hand to help him get up, a genuinely worried expression on his face. Ever since that day, the boys had gotten closer to each other and training went smoother. 

“Yeah” Armin lowered the metal canteen bottle to the grass. 

Jean had made Armin do some spins with the ODM gear which had made him puke. Twice. “Sorry ‘bout that” Jean apologized which made Armin shake his head in protest, “it’s not your fault.”

“Whatever you say blondie.” 

Armin was joined on the ground by Jean, who sat down next to him, leaving barely any space between them. Armin wondered if the other boy even noticed, wondered if he maybe did it on purpose. 

For the next thirty minutes, the boys sat next to each other without saying a word. Practice had been long overdue in time and they were supposed to head back down to the mess hall since dinner was being served, but they didn't budge. The silence wasn't awkward or uncomfortable, instead, Armin found it to be rather warm and soothing. It was a nice change of pace from what he was used to; Eren being the loud boy he was.

That evening, as the sun went down behind wall Rose, Armin finally understood what Marco saw in Jean. When the sun disappeared and the weather turned cold, Armin could feel the heat radiating from the boy next to him. 

They sat like that until the sky turned pitch black, the clouds blocking the stars and moon from shining. The only light came from the barrack down the hill. “We should head back” Jean suddenly interrupted the silence, slightly startling Armin.

“Right”. 

That night, Armin fell asleep smiling, knowing he had gained another friend.

“Arlert.” 

Levi stood next to him. Armin had swore that he just saw his captain on the other side of the building a few seconds ago. The way he hadn't even noticed the man approach him bothered Armin for some weird reasons he couldn’t quite understand. Captain Levi was as quiet as a mouse, his movement completely unnoticed. 

“Did that guard do anything inappropriate with kirstein?”

“Excuse me?”

Levi didn't answer, his eyes still on Jean who hadn't moved the slightest since he first crawled over to the corner. Armin knew that he had to be honest with his Captain, since he already knew the answer. The captain just wanted the teen to confirm his suspicions. Still, it didn’t feel right to tell him.

What had happened in the warehouse was such a vulnerable situation for both the boys. If Armin couldn't even say out loud what the guard had done to him, how could he do that to Jean. It wasn’t for him to share. He wanted to respect Jean’s privacy, protect his dignity and not violate him. 

“I’m sorry, sir, but I don't think that it’s my place to share that information”.

Armin expected to get hissed at, to be yelled at and to get the information tortured out of him, but all the captain did was hum in reply and walk away. His tense muscles relaxed in an instant, happy to not be interrogated by his intimidating Captain. 

The blond boy watched as his Captain walked away. His steps were calculated and firm. What was he planning to do?

He walked, and walked, and walked, and…

Oh. 

Oh.

He walked up to Jean.

Armin watched as Jean’s body tensed up, his head slightly raised to look up at Captain Levi. For exactly 7 seconds, none of them moved or said anything, Jean noticeably holding his breath. 

Then, Armin could see his captain saying something, his head moving with the words. But Armin couldn't hear anything, the distance between them blocking him from hearing what was being said. Then, Jean nodded and Captain Levi reached out his hand, which Jean ignored as he stood up by himself. Armin watched as the two walked out of the building quietly, Jean following behind as if he was being punished for something. 

Seconds later, Connie and Sasha walked back into the building, looking behind them with concerned expressions.

“Talk”. Levi stood against the wall, his left foot pressed against the brickwall and his arms crossed over his chest. He had dragged Jean outside with him to prevent the others from snooping into the conversation they were going to have. Levi felt a bit guilty for trapping Jean in this situation, but he did it for his own good; Jean needed to tell him what had happened. 

“What?” Jean asked surprised, his voice cracking from the lack of confidence he currently held. 

Levi knew that there was a gentler way to approach the situation, a way to not risk hurting Jean even more and possibly shutting him off more. But they were in the middle of a mission and he couldn’t take all the time in the world to have this conversation. 

He could of course have waited for the mission to be over but he had no way of knowing when that would be, which could damage Jean more if his trauma was just ignored like that. 

So Levi pushed down his guilt and approached Jean in the best way he could.  

“In the warehouse. What happened?” Levi pretty much knew what had happened, but he needed the confirmation, he needed the details. 

“Nothing, sir”. Bullshit.

“Kirstein, I’m your captain, lying to me is a bad idea.” Maybe using the Captain card was a bit mean, but Levi didn’t care, this was urgent and Levi needed the answers. 

“I’m not lying, sir.” Jean lied straight to his Captain’s face. 

“Don’t bullshit me, Arlert already told me what that man did to you.” And Levi lied in response. 

This made the teen tense up. He looked over at his captain in complete shock, a hint of betrayal in his eyes. Jean took a step backwards, distancing himself from Captain Levi.

It was now completely dark outside and they had to leave in four hours. Time was running out. 

How he wished for Erwin to be in his place right now. 

Then, Jean took another step back, and another, and another. His palms pressed up against his ears as he blocked out the sounds of Levi calling his name. 

“Mikasa Ackerman, Armin Arlert, Sasha Braus, Connie Springer, Krista Lenz and Jean Kirstein.” Levi was sitting in Erwin’s office, getting the list of the soldiers that would form his new special operations squad. After the 57th scouting expedition, his whole squad except for the titan brat had gotten killed by the monstrous female titan; and now they were being replaced like broken pieces in a functioning system.

They were all pawns in a game, Levi knew that.

When you signed up for the scout regiment, you signed a deal with the devil. You sold your soul for humanity and befriended an early death; cut your life short.

He had tried his best to remove any sentimental value that he had towards people, but even he couldn't shut off his humanity. Levi loved, deeply. 

“What can you tell me about those last four?” Levi had already gotten to know Ackerman and Arlert, one exceptionally strong and protective, and the other, while not as strong, was brilliantly smart and passionate. He knew that having them in his squad was the best choice, even if he dreaded having to deal with more emotional teenagers like Yeager.

“Sasha Braus, she’s from Dauper Village, ranked in 9th place. Keith Shadis described her as an excellent sniper with exceptional instincts, however, she’s rather wild… childish, if I may”. 

The 104th cadet corps had already fought titans before they even had the time to graduate. Erwin had great respect for the few of them who had the guts to become scouts and face those titans once again, and so did Levi. 

“Connie Springer, born and raised in Ragako Village, placed 8th. Keith Shadis described him as agile on the switchbacks, but rather lacking in the intelligence department. Somehow survived the 57th expedition while being on the west flank.” Erwin mumbled that last part, mostly to himself. 

Failed sacrifice. Great. 

“Krista Lenz, ranked in the 10th place, nor her fighting skills or her intelligence stand out, but her bravery and kindness is inspiring. She was close friends with Ymir”

Levi had watched the girls interact with each other, their bond seemed so special and unique. He knew that there was something more between them; he had once overheard Ymir ‘joke’ about marrying the other girl. 

“And lastly, there’s Jean Kirstein. He’s from Trost District and ranked 6th. Keith Shadis complimented him quite a lot. Said he was head of the class in ODM with great leadership skills and wit. However, he also described him as an insufferable smartass with a hair trigger temper”.

Levi sighed. He had heard Yeager complain about the boy under several circumstances, comparing him to a horse and calling him ‘a selfish bastard’. 

Levi never went deep into teen drama, but the boy had intrigued him. Kirstein’s side of the story seemed to spark an interest in him. Levi had seen the boy fight with Yeager a few times and he had noticed the way Kirstein spoke his mind. The boy’s moral ground was very clear, the most humane he had seen in years. 

“During the attack on Trost, he led a group of cadets to headquarters, fiercely taking charge and saving countless of lives without even realizing. Keep an eye on him, Levi. We could use a captain like him one day”.

Erwin showed high respect to all the cadets who dared to join the scout regiment, and he never judged anyone for choosing a safer option inside the walls. 

“Apparently his motivation as a cadet was a safe life inside the interior… I have yet to ask him what made him change his mind”.

And Erwin Smith would never come to find out.

Chapter Text

Jean lowered himself to the ground, trying to find peace within the storm that occupied his head. He covered his ears, putting pressure against his skin as his palms pressed further and further against each other as if they were destined to meet like magnets, being blocked to touch by Jean’s head. 

He felt as if the cobbled ground was moving underneath him, the stones separating from each other, dancing on their own instead of staying in tango. 

The world around him kept spinning, getting faster with every breath he took.

His vision blurred and he no longer saw what direction captain Levi was moving in. Was it closer to him or was he backing away? Jean didn't know, and frankly, he didn't care.

Everything was crumbling down, all the things he was so sure he hid so well from the others. 

He never made Armin vow to keep the things that happened a secret, but he hoped he would. He thought of it as an unspoken pact between friends, an unspoken promise to keep the situation a secret and bury it deep down in the back of their heads, to never see the light of day again. 

However, Armin was in the same boat as him, he was the first victim between them, Jean knew that and he was glad that his friend felt comfortable enough to talk about what happened to him with captain levi, but why did he have to blab about what Jean went through too? Why did he have to spill something that wasn't for him to share?

Jean had thought that Armin would be smarter than that, but maybe he expected too much. 

“Kirstein, calm down” the echoing of Levi’s slightly worried voice flew right above Jean’s head as his body started shaking, sweat dripping from the top of his head, his back and his armpits. 

Levi didn’t know how to handle this. He had seen plenty of soldiers go through panic attacks, the area wasn't foreign to him, but the reason behind the panic attack was. The root of the problem was something he never had to deal with before. 

“Kirstein, listen to me,” Levi asserted, not giving Jean any room to disobey him. “Tell me five things you can see”.

Trees, buildings, stones, birds, clouds.  

“Kirstein”. The boy didn't answer, still trying to get his breathing under control. 

Levi knew that the dumbest thing for him to do was to try and get his attention through touch, so he stayed back and kept his hands for himself; something he preferred anyway. 

“B-box” Jean choked out, following Levi’s orders and letting himself get the help he so desperately needed.

“...Flower… uh… Clouds… an uh- an ant… you”.

“Good. Name four things you can hear” 

Birds, horses, arguing, running water.

Levi crouched down to meet Jean at eye level, patiently waiting for him to answer as his breathing slowed down and his hands slid down from his ears to his chest, rubbing over his heart, the beating fast as blood rushed through his body in intense motion. 

“Um… wind… and um birds… C- Connie and um… Sasha”.

Jean visibly relaxed when he mentioned his friends and for the first time since he had met the duo, Levi was thankful for their loudness, praying that they never stopped talking.

They could talk him to his death for all he cared as long as they stayed around for Jean. 

“What three things can you feel?”

Wind, heat, clothes.

Levi watched as the boy in front of him lowered his other hand to the ground, sliding his finger between the gaps of the cobblestones. 

“My heart… s-shirt and uh… um, the uh the ground” Jean listed as he nodded to himself, making sure his words actually came out and didn't get stuck in his throat. 

“What can you smell, Kirstein? Name two things you can smell”.

Horse shit, sweat.

And finally, Jean slightly stopped shaking and his heart slowed down. His breathing was more even and slow. Jean stopped rubbing his chest and stopped to smell the things around him. 

“Fire and… and horse shit”.

“Language”.

“Sorry”.

Levi sighed and stood up, looking down at Jean, who was now back to his usual, calm self. 

“Name one thing you can taste”.

Tea.

“Cement”. 

Levi furrowed his eyebrows, confused at how that was the one thing Jean insisted on being able to taste.

“The ration bars taste like cement” Jean smirked and if Levi was someone else, he would chuckle. 

Jean’s wit never failed to make him laugh. Internally. 

“Be thankful for what you get”.

“Sorry, sir”.

“I’m fine, captain. It really wasn't that serious”. Jean clarified quietly, trying his best to keep his voice from cracking. 

“What did that man do to you, Kirstein?”

Levi looked his soldier in the eyes, not allowing the other to look away. 

Something in Jean’s eyes was different from the rest in his squad, even before the things that happened earlier today. The others were always so easy to read, so easy to understand. Even Mikasa, who was always so preserved and quiet, could be read like an open book. Her eyes were full of determination and they glistened every time she looked at her friends. 

She carried her heart on her sleeve, even if she tried to hide it. 

Sasha and Eren were definitely the easiest to read. Eren was so ambitious and angry, filled with rage towards the world he was born into while Sasha was quite the opposite.

She was always so loving and friendly, and while her eyes were dark brown, they were brighter than anything Levi had ever seen before. He prayed that the light would never go away from the girl's eyes, heart and soul. 

Connie was pretty easy to understand too, you could basically see right through him without trying much. It was always so easy to understand what he was feeling and what he needed. 

Historia was harder to read through, but after she revealed herself to be who she really was, the mask had fallen and Levi understood her rather quickly. Krista was just a shell and Historia was hidden away inside it and once the shell was broken to pieces, she became an open book. 

Whenever Levi tried to read through Armin, he was always reminded of Erwin. The determination and bravery was lacking but Levi knew that once Armin grew up, he would start looking into the eyes of his commander. 

But there was something about Jean, something he couldn't quite figure out. Levi never knew what the boy was feeling or thinking. He was a mystery. 

When Jean first joined the scouts, he was more distant from the other cadets. He seemed unfriendly and mean.

Back then, Hange had compared him to when Levi first joined, saying they had that same energy around them; whatever that meant. 

Later, Levi found out through Eren that Jean had lost his best (and sometimes only) friend back on Trost, his birthplace. Knowing that, Levi started to admire the boy’s bravery. Fighting against titans was one thing, but doing it in the place you grew up and where your family lived, was a different kind of bravery. 

Many people would’ve crumbled with fear and rushed to their families, but Jean didn’t do that. Jean led his fellow cadets through the battle field and was able to do so with a minimal amount of casualties. 

During Jean’s first week in the scouts, Levi didn't pay much attention to him. It wasn't his job to observe the cadets and write down notes about them, so he didn’t care. But no one could miss the fact that the kid was miserable.

 Until one day, he just switched completely like nothing had happened. 

It was like Jean had just woken up one day and a whole different person had taken over his body. 

Everything Levi thought he had noticed about Jean was thrown out the trash and he was back to square one, not understanding the cadet at all. 

“I thought Armin already told you”. One thing Levi knew for sure, was that Jean was witty and smart, his brain worked at extreme speed and he always knew what to answer somebody. If the fights between him and Eren revolved around insults, Jean would have won a long time ago. 

“What did that man do to you, Kirstein?”. Silence. 

Jean lowered his face, his front slightly breaking, unable to look his captain in the eyes. 

For several minutes, no one moved.

The world kept spinning, but between Jean and Levi, the pair had stopped everything but breathing. Levi kept his eyes on Jean while Jean kept his eyes on the ground. 

The silence was deafening. 

“So, how are you dealing with living with a bunch of teenagers?”. Hange had come to visit the hideout they were staying at, bringing them more supplies and a bit more information of what was going on with the mission. 

It had only been a few days since Levi’s new squad had moved into the three bedroom cabin and so far, Yeager and Kirstein had only fought two times; they had, however, argued another additional seven times. 

“They're still scared of me, they haven't caused major problems yet” Levi answered as he took another sip from his steaming tea. 

“Are you starting to like them? Or, tolerate them at least?” Inquired Hange, knowing that Levi wasn't very excited with his new squad members. 

“They're fine”.

“That's better than I expected” sassed Hange as a smirk grew on her face. In response, Levi glared at her.

“They fought the titans back in Trost before they could even graduate from the cadet corps. Matured the brats a little” stated Levi, half heartedly defending his squad members. 

“Ness told me to give you this by the way”, she handed him a small leathered notebook. “It's the notes he wrote about them when they trained with him”.

Ness was always the one to take in new cadets, since he was the friendliest and sanest of the squad leaders. He was also the best at analyzing things and noticing small details about people that most would miss. 

His notes were always extremely detailed and balanced perfectly between critique and compliments. He never left anything out even if they were unnecessary in the long run. 

“Thank you,” Levi nodded. 

Later that day, when the sun had gone down and everyone was already asleep, Levi stayed in the kitchen with a single candle and another steaming cup of tea as he read through all the notes. 

The pages were filled with information, not a single detail brushed over. 

Ness had written down things like physical abilities and how they worked with other people. He had written down their strengths and weaknesses, analyzing the way they thought and moved. 

Some of the things Ness had written down, Levi had already noticed, like the way Connie always rushed through his decision, not putting much thought behind the things he chose to do; Apparently he had crashed into trees quite a lot during training. 

Nevertheless, most of the things Ness wrote was completely new information to him and he studied those parts, trying his best to remember every detail of that notebook.

“Oh, Captain Levi, I- I didn't know you were awake, sir” Jean stood at the first step of the staircase, awkwardly fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “I’ll… I’ll just go um, back to my room, sir. Sorry for disturbing you, captain. Sorry, sir” he saluted clumsily before he turned around and started rushing up the stairs. 

“Do you want some tea?”

 Jean stopped in his tracks, stiffening at Levi’s question. “Excuse me, sir?” faltered Jean as he looked at Levi over his shoulder.  

“Tea, do you want some?” Levi asked again, his tone flat and bored. 

Jean let out a shaky breath and turned around, “Yes?” he hesitated. 

The captain nodded his head, motioning for Jean to sit down at the kitchen table. The anxious teen did as his captain commanded, walking back down the stairs and towards the dimly lit wooden table. 

He held his breath as he sat down, his butt gently sat on the edge of the chair. 

“Kirstein.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Relax.”

“Right, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Levi poured some tea from the tea pot into a new mug and slid it over the table towards Jean. “Be careful, it’s hot”. Jean nodded and picked up the mug, clutching onto the handle as he looked down at the table and thanked Levi for the tea.

He studied the wood as if it was the most interesting thing in the world, his eyes following the spirals.

The once open notebook was now closed and showed to the corner, hiding in plain sight so Jean wouldn't ask about it. 

For several minutes, the two soldiers sat in front of each other in complete silence, the tension only rising as the time went by; the time slower than any of them had ever felt it move before. 

Levi sighed before he finally opted to make some small talk, the thing he hated the most. 

“Why were you awake?”

Jean looked up at him, dumbfounded at the sudden conversation starter. 

“Um… I uh, I had a nightmare, sir,” Jean spluttered and bit his lower lip. Looking down again, cupping the mug in both hands as his cheeks turned a light shade of pink. “And Connie snores very loudly”, he muttered quietly, trying to get the attention away from himself. 

Levi hummed in response. 

He remembered back to the notebook and how Jean was the one with the least amount of information written about him. Ness had analyzed more than enough about his physical abilities and his potentials of leadership, but something emotional was missing; it was like Jean was a flat character who didn’t hold much depth to him. 

He was described by Ness as blunt and determined, quick minded and opinionated. Ness often wrote that Jean could be ‘too honest’. Yet Levi always felt that something wasn't right, like no one, not even someone as emotionally intelligent as Ness, could see through the boy who sat in front of him. 

“Do you have nightmares too, captain?” Jean interrupted his line of thought.

“Can happen” Levi answered trickly, not handing Jean the full answer.

“How do you get rid of them? If you don't mind me asking” Jean grip on the mug softened and he was now less reserved and stiff. 

“You don't, not in this field of work. You learn to live with them”.

Jean didn't seem pleased with the answer, hoping to get a solution for the hell he was experiencing. He sighed and nodded, looking back down as his now empty mug. 

“You should go back to sleep, Kirstein” monotoned Levi, noticing the dark circles that had formed under Jean’s eyes. The teen nodded and stood up, putting the mug in the sink. 

“Thank you for the tea, Captain. Good night” Jean said groggily as he walked towards the stairs, almost slumping down to the floor from the lack of sleep. He clung onto the railing as he climbed up the stairs, mumbling something to himself that Levi couldn't understand.

“Good night, Kirstein”.

“All he did was press his knife against my throat, really. It wasn't anything serious”. Jean tried to convince Levi the best he could, convince him that what had happened in that warehouse really was just child's play.

Levi was ready to argue with him, force the information out of Jean, but before he could even utter a single word, Sasha ran out through the entrance.

 “Captain Levi, I think it’s time for us to leave”. And sure it was.

Jean hurried up to his feet, relieved that the conversation was cut short. He ran past Sasha and back into the building, not wasting a second to get away from his Captain.

Levi sighed and followed Sasha back in, annoyed that he couldn’t get Jean to open up in time and that he would have to try again later. 

Chapter Text

“Are we there?” Djel Sanner, one of the guys from the military police, opened the drapes of the wagon, peeking his head out into the dark of the night; just a second later, a rifle was pointed at his face.

Jean’s grip on the rifle was steady and calm, so different from what Levi had expected.

“Captain Levi, can I be the one to hold the rifle, sir?” 

They had just arrived at the hut where they were going to stay; torturing information out of Sannes. The whole way there, no one had said a word, not even Connie and Sasha. It had been so eerily quiet that even Levi started feeling uneasy, the hairs on his arms standing. 

“No hesitation, Kirstein” warned Levi, not sure if trusting Jean into this position was the right choice at the moment, but Levi knew that the boy needed this. 

Jean needed to feel control. “No hesitation”, repeated the boy in front of him, already holding onto the rifle, gripping at it, his knuckles white. 

Sweat was dripping down his forehead, the cloak heating up Jean’s nervous body even more. Inside he was feeling a turmoil of emotions rush through him. He knew that he wasn't going to shoot, killing Sannes wasn't the point here, but just having his hands on the rifle made him feel as if he was about to shoot any second.

Jean was scared of losing control and pulling the trigger.

Looking someone in the eye while pointing a weapon into their face would make most people feel powerful and unstoppable, but Jean hated every second of it; He never agreed to such a thing. 

When he joined the scouts, it was to kill titans and only them; it was to redeem Marco and make him proud. Marco wouldn't be proud. They had talked about death, even though they knew they weren't going to die young; The only cause of an early death in the military police was alcohol poisoning. 

Unlike with the scout regiment, no one would eat you for fun. No titans would pick you up, kill you, swallow your dead body, and then later throw you up and continue on to the next person; your comrade and friend. Joining the military police was for the sane people who didn't have a death wish. It was safe.

The scouts didn't even get a retirement plan, the government wasn’t going to waste their money on people who wouldn't even make it to their forties. 

The closest Marco had ever gotten to death was when his cat, Nelson, died. 

“I was so young I can barely remember it and once I turn fifty I will probably forget his name too”. Marco had said that once, sadly, suddenly so aware of how living is momentarily and the only way to still be something after death is to rely on others' memories to keep you alive. Marco had told Jean about how scared he was to be forgotten one day; he wanted to be someone special. “I will haunt the people who knew me” promised Marco.

That conversation happened seven months, one week, and four days before Marco was killed. 

And one month, two weeks, and one day later, Marco had still held onto his promise, haunting Jean into every decision he had made and would continue to make. 

Djel Sannes turned around, ready to yell at Dimo Reeves about the bizarre situation he was in. Just then, Jean turned the rifle around and slammed the hard tree right to his head, knocking out the guy unconscious. 

“Put him on the chair”. 

Jean and Mikasa nodded, following their captain's orders, gently pushing the unconscious Sannes onto the wooden chair. The basement was cold and spacescious, the moonlight shining through the two windows on the roof. 

Levi lit up a single candle that was already in the room when they arrived. It sat so beautifully on the side table right next to the torture devices Levi had laid out earlier. He untangled the rope from around his arm and tied it around Sannes, making sure it was tight enough to slightly slow down the bloodstream of his upper body. 

“Hange should be here soon” Levi stated as he finished tying up their hostage. “Tell her to come down here once she arrives”. 

“Yes, sir” answered Jean and Mikasa simultaneously, watching Captain Levi from behind as he put on ridiculously long gloves. 

Soon enough, the two soldiers walked back up the stairs and towards the dining room where the others were waiting around anxiously, wanting to hurry up and just go get Eren and Historia. Connie was sitting on the big, wooden table, swinging his legs. His hands laid impatiently on his knees, making soft noises as he tapped his fingers against the bones in his body.

Sasha was walking around the table in circles, picking at the skin around her nails. She was mumbling to herself about random things that no one understood, the guilt of not being able to save her friends, probably eating her alive. Armin was sitting on one of the chairs, the one closest to the corner of the room, as his head hung low, his hair covering the expression on his face. 

The second Jean and Mikasa entered the room, the three teens snapped out of their haze. “Are we going to get them soon?” asked Connie hopefully. For a few seconds, the room was silent. Mikasa stood at the door frame, Jean right behind her. The room was so incredibly tense, no one daring to relax their shoulders and unclenching their jaws. For a long time no one moved, and Mikasa’s silence was enough of an answer to Connie’s question. 

Eren and Historia were going to have to wait a little longer, wherever they were. 

All of a sudden, the silence was cut short by a painful scream coming from the basement. Levi had started torturing Sannes. The screams could be heard from all around the hut, making it feel as if the building was moving. 

The hairs on Jean’s body shot up, his feet glued to the floor. He wanted to run away and continue living an ignorant life. He hated how fucked up humans were. He hated knowing more than he wanted. He wasn’t supposed to be here. 

Jean had gotten into the top ten, his bright future was right in front of him, the doors open like the gates to heaven. He had achieved his dream and he had left it behind. He was supposed to be in the military police right now, sleeping on a comfortable bed while sharing a room with Marco. He would never have to hear screams like these if he had just followed his plans and went to live his dream life. 

Jean missed something he never even had. 

The screams got louder as punches were faintly heard, overshadowed by the painful sounds. 

Jean missed his mom. 

He felt his knees get weaker, shaking violently as he tried holding up his own weight. He was so scared and hurt. Jean felt as if he was dying, no strength left in him to fight. He looked over Mikasa’s shoulder and into the dining room. The room was big and empty, the only furniture being one table, six chairs, and a coat hanger that was currently being used as a rifle rack. His gaze stayed on the rifles. 

Jean felt the walls closing in on him, everything was blurry except for the three rifles. Would anyone notice if one was gone? Everyone was so distracted at the moment, so surely no one would care. It was right in front of him, an escape, a way out of the mess he was glued into. It was easy. Quick. 

Pull the trigger. ‘No hesitation’.

He would see his mom again, he would see Marco.

The screams from the basement faded away, muffled in the back of his head. His brain was filled with smoke and it felt as if it was dying, covered in mold. The way out was right in front of his nose. The temptation was hard to resist. Nothing bad would come out of it. He wanted his mommy, the woman who loved him more than anyone could imagine. Jean was so desperate to see her again. 

He was so alone. For months he had dealt with the pain of losing a parent all on his own. No one knew. He hadn't even talked to his father since he got the letter which detailed the events of her death. His father had blamed Jean, since she had gone to look for him right before the wall fell. She had woken up two hours earlier that morning to bake him and his friends some cookies, to congratulate them on getting into the top ten and finishing their cadet days. 

She had run off to look for her baby and right before she got to him, the wall fell. She tried to run away but she was still weak from her sickness, she wasn't healthy enough to get away from all the titans. No one knew how her fate ended, but her body was found right behind the building Jean had been standing on, talking to Reiner about how he could finally join the military police and get his parents to live safely inside of wall Sina. 

Her cookies were in perfect condition, still warm from their time in the oven.

Jean felt his body radiate towards the rifles. They were right there in front of him, begging him to take them and use them for their purpose. He didn’t want to die, but he wanted Marco and his mother more, he wanted to see them more than he wanted to see his future. There was no reason for him to live if he didn't have them. 

Mikasa had already walked into the room, taking a seat next to Armin and rubbing circles on his back to comfort him. The path was paved right in front of him, nothing and no one was in the way. Jean took one step into the room, then another, followed by yet another step. The screams from Sannes were still so loud but they fogged out once they reached his ears. The sounds of his heavy boots clunking against the old hardwood floor erupted through the muffled screams, sounding almost louder. 

Only a few more steps and he would make it. He had already started raising his hand, ready to grab one of the rifles and run away. Six… five… four… left and up the stairs. Jean had failed. He had cowered out of it, still fearing death. He started bolting up the stairs, terrified of what he was about to do. 

Jean was losing his mind.

“Jean, can I come in?” Armin asked from the other side of the door, worry evident in his voice. Jean had run off to one of the bedrooms on the second floor, rushing towards the small window and busting it open to get some fresh air. He was shaking in fear, breathing rapidly as his heart reminded him that he was still alive.

“Jean?” Armin asked once again, this time knocking on the door, as his voice echoed through the hall. The blond teen wanted to just walk right in, even without Jean’s permission. He had been so worried about him since the events of this morning. Should he thank Jean for getting the man off of him? No, it didn’t feel right. Could he even talk to him about it? He probably hated Armin, thought of him as a useless coward. 

All of a sudden, his line of thought was interrupted by the door opening up. Jean peaked his head out of the crack and smiled. 

‘He’s smiling? How can he smile?’ Armin thought to himself. 

“Hey Armin” welcomed Jean, his expression and voice so creepily fake that it scared Armin to his core. “Can I uh… Come in?” Armin asked carefully, not recognising the guy in front of him. He knew what Jean was going through, he had seen everything. All the things the guard had done to him that morning were carved into his brain, not a single detail forgotten.

“Uhm, I was actually just about to leave, so-”

“I need to talk to you”.

Jean hesitated before nodding, opening the door more and moving to the side so Armin could come into the room. “Can you sit down?” asked Armin, knowing the conversation was going to be hard, but Jean was too proud and stubborn. “I’d rather stand,” he mumbled monotonically. “Please” pleaded Armin as he sat down on the hard mattress, leaving enough space for Jean to sit next to him. 

“No”.

All of a sudden, Jean visibly stiffened. He clenched his hands against his sides as his face grew cold. Armin sighed, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Was Jean mad at him? Did he say something wrong? Armin didn't understand the sudden change in Jean’s mood, but he couldn’t complain; it was better than the fake glee he had put on. “Did you… uh, did you talk to Captain Levi about it?” The blond boy asked nervously, getting straight to the point as he kept his head low, unable to look his friend in the eyes. “No. You did” Jean replied coldly. 

“What?” Armin snapped his head up and looked at Jean confused. What was he talking about? “Don't play dumb with me, Armin. Captain Levi said that you already told him everything” fumed Jean. 

“What are you talk-”

“How could you do that?!” Jean interrupted, raising his voice carefully so the others wouldn't hear him. Armin could see the frustration so clearly. His brows were slightly furrowed and his eyes watery. His pain was so evident and it was something Armin had never seen before. No one had seen it before; except for Marco.

Whenever Jean would get mad or hurt during their cadet days, he always found comfort in Marco, running to him when his feelings became too much; it took him a whole year to first do so. 

The only times anyone else would see a more emotional side of Jean was when he either fought with Eren, failed at doing something on the first try, or lost at something. It was always frustration and anger, almost like those were the only feelings Jean allowed himself to show publicly. But then there was Marco.

Marco saw every side of Jean, every flaw and weakness. He knew that boy more than he knew himself and his love continued to be unconditional. Marco would have done anything for Jean. He would pull the trigger and take a bullet. No hesitation. 

“Armin! Wait up!” He turned around to see Marco running up to him, waving at him to stop. 

They were all standing on the wall of Trost district, waiting to see if Eren’s titan could lift the rock to close the hole in the wall. Armin was anxiously pacing back and forth, playing with a loose string from his sleeve. “Can I talk to you?” Marco asked desperately. Armin stopped in his tracks, answering with a simple ‘sure’, too stressed to utter anything else. 

“It’s about Jean”.

“Is everything ok?” Armin snapped out of his current worry and focused his mind on Jean. “Yeah, everything is ok, don’t worry”. 

Marco looked over at Jean, who was standing pretty far away, talking to Connie. The two had gotten closer over the past few months, and they had become like their own little group together with Sasha and Marco.

Armin envied them at how easily they laughed and joked around, wishing that he could join them at times, but he had Eren and Mikasa which was enough for him. It wasn't like Armin wasn't friends with them, because he was; with Connie, Sasha and Marco. With Jean, he was just… friendly. He wanted them to talk more than they did, he always admired Jean’s honesty and wanted to befriend him, but it didn’t matter anymore. Jean was joining the military police and Marco, Sasha, and Connie would follow him to it. Armin would never see them again after tomorrow. 

“Can I ask you for a favour?” Marco asked, bringing Armin back to reality. “Yeah, of course. Anything”, smiled the blond boy, always happy to be there for someone else. Armin liked feeling wanted and needed. 

“I trust you, a lot, so if something happens to me today, if by any chance I don't make it out alive, can you please take care of Sasha, Connie and Jean for me?” He pleaded. “Especially Jean,” added Marco quietly. Armin’s eyes grew wide at the utter bullshit Marco was spitting out. Why would he be so negative and think like that? Everyone would make it out alive today. 

“Don't talk like that Marco, you won't die”.

“I know I won’t die, but just in case. I promise to take care of Eren and Mikasa if something happens to you”.

Armin didn’t know what to say. Marco was always so hopeful and positive, it didn't make sense for him to think about the possibility of death, but apparently, Marco was scared of it. “Ok. I promise”.

“I didn’t think that I would have to ask you to promise not to tell anyone!” snapped Jean. he was so mad and hurt, so frustrated at Armin but the blond boy just didn’t understand what he was talking about. “It wasn't right what you did, Armin. It was something that happened to me and you had no right to tell Captain Levi” Jean took a step forward, lowering his voice.

“Who else did you tell? Mikasa? Connie? Did you tell Sasha too? Is that why everyone is acting so weird? You're probably gonna tell Hange too once she arrives here” Jean sounded so dangerous and scary. Armin felt as if daggers stabbed every part of his body. 

He hated it when Jean was mad; he hated when anyone was mad. But Jean was particularly scary. Jean could get violent when he was mad and his words always cut so sharply. Arguing with him was always so hard because he would outsmart you with words and speed alone. Armin was smart, sure, but Jean was witty. He knew what to say and when to say it. He knew how to make you stumble over your own words and how to hurt you just enough to make you lose confidence but not enough to suddenly make you hate yourself and cry. 

Jean was so emotionally intelligent that he noticed everything about you. He noticed the way you held yourself and talked. He would remember every little detail and know exactly how to use them as tools against you. 

“I thought you would be a little smarter than that, Armin” sneered Jean, glaring down at Armin. 

It all went silent. For a good minute, no one talked. The tension was life threatening and Armin wanted to jump in a hole and bury himself alive. Suddenly the silence was interrupted by yet another painful scream from Sannes. Armin noticed how Jean flinched and covered his ears, something you saw little kids do when pots and plates fell on the ground. 

Armin used the few seconds of Sannes’ agony to take a deep breath and try to understand what was going on. He didn't understand what Jean was talking about… he never once said anything about what happened in the warehouse. Just thinking about it made him want to puke. 

Once the screams died down (Armin wondered if the man died with them), he spoke up to defend himself. “Jean, I have no idea what youre talking about. I never told Captain Levi what happened back in the warehouse… I would never break your trust like that”. He said sincerely, putting his hand over his hand to show how honest he was. He wanted to show Jean that he was telling the truth. 

“But… he said… how… how would he know if you didn't say anything it doesn't make any sense he wasn’t there he can't possibly know something happened I don't get it… unless you told him there's no reason for him to know I just, I don't get it how would he know I just I- where would he get that from I never said anything suspicious I acted fine I am fine I don't get it…”

Jean rambled on and on, not letting Armin pipe in and explain the situation. 

“Jean,” Armin tried to get his attention to no avail. “Jean, you hid it terribly”.

Bold, but it worked. Jean snapped out of his little rant and finally Armin could talk to him. “Will you listen to me?” Armin asked firmly, feeling almost as if he was scolding Jean. 

He almost missed it, but with small movement, Jean nodded his head, giving Armin permission to talk and break the silence. 

“Thank you”.

Chapter Text

“What that man did to you, Jean…” 

They sat next to each other on the hardwood floor, their backs against the wall; Armin with his legs crossed and Jean with his legs pressed against his chest. 

“...isn’t ‘nothing’...”

Both boys looked straight ahead, staring at the blank wall in front of them. 

“...and it’s okay for you to not be fine.”

Jean’s vision got blurry as he zoned out, the words said by Armin hanging heavy in the air. 

“The way he touched you…”

Violent arms around his throat. Rough hands on his chin. Sweaty palms on his chest. Clammy fingers on his waist. 

“...and how, how he kissed you…”

Chapped, hate, wet.

Alcohol, cigars, sweat.

Lips on lips. 

Villain and violent. 

“... with his hands in your pants.”

Caressing. Petting. Hurting. Killing. 

“And how he kicked you, over and over again…”

First kick, torso.

Second kick, stomach.

Third kick, chest.

Fourth kick, chin.

Fifth kick, chest.

Sixth kick, torso. 

“...he was pure evil, and you are his victim.”

Jean was tense, his body stiff as he used all his energy to hold the tears in place while trying to push down the stone in his throat. 

“Don’t let the man’s actions silence you. It's dangerous to live like that”

Levi and Hange had finished torturing Sannes (for the meantime at least) and had stepped outside of the hut to talk. Levi knew what he had to do. Someone else needed to know what Jean had gone through and the events would have to be reported to Commander Erwin and Jean’s parents, since he was still a minor. This was a case that couldn't be brushed over as a regular scouting mission; it was so much more complicated than that.

They leaned over the porch fence, clutching the blood stained water out from their gloves. The water fell so elegantly onto the fresh grass, staining the earth’s ground with the blood of a man. 

“I need to talk to you about Jean Kirstein”.

Hange turned her head towards him, smiling. “Didn't he look absolutely ridiculous in that wig?” she chortled, still unaware of what was to come. 

“It’s serious, Hange”.

“Oh, sorry”.

Levi looked away from her, looking down at his hands as the maroon colored water dripped from his fingertips. “Jean was sexually assaulted”.

Hange furrowed her eyebrows at the four simple words. It was like time had stopped. 

Cases of sexual assault weren’t an uncommon thing inside the walls. It was a fairly large problem, especially in wall Sina where it was used as a weapon of control in regards to money and power. Many cases were also reported in the military police and the garrison, but with the scouts, the number of cases reported were fairly small. There wasn't time or energy for such things. 

“Back when he and Arlert were held hostage” Levi continued heavily, his tone deep with sorrow. He looked up to the sky, looking at the moon.

“How- I just… how do you know, Levi? Did he tell you that?” Hange stuttered, feeling her feet sink to the floor, hindering her from running away. 

“No”.

“Then you shouldn’t assume something as serious as that”.

“I’m not assuming, I know it happened”.

“How?”.

Levi sighed. He remembered back to earlier that day, when he had first seen Jean while being chased by Kenny’s people. The way the boy’s shirt was untucked, his hair messy, and his jaw covered in smeared blood. Levi thought back to the way Jean’s eyes were distorted and empty. 

“I grew up in a place where things like that were fairly common. I’ve seen all the different ways that people look after such events and I know all the ways people can cope. Jean was sexually assaulted, I’m sure of that”.

Hange looked at Levi, trying to find any signs of a lie; there were none. Yet, she kept wishing and praying to whatever outer power there was, that Levi was wrong. 

She knew many people who had gone through such things, but she had gotten to know them long after the horrific events had taken place; once they were healed. 

Hange didn’t know how to deal with such a thing, she never had to before.

Especially not with a boy. 

“Did- did Armin tell you that, or-“

“No. He didn’t, but the hints were there. From both Armin and Jean”.

Hange nodded slowly, trying to get the information in, still in utter shock. 

“I tried talking to the both of them, but it didn’t work. I need you to try too, maybe they’ll feel more comfortable talking to you”.

Hange nodded once again.

It had been a good five minutes of silence, neither of the boys saying another word. The room had gotten colder as the eerie sound of silence echoed between the walls. 

Jean didn't want to be there anymore. He wanted to stand up and run away; back to his childhood bedroom with his mom waiting for him at the door with open arms and a warm omelet. 

But none of that would happen.

His mom was dead, six feet underground. His house was stripped down to ruins, and since Jean hadn’t visited his father since the attack in Trost, he didn’t even know where his new home was. 

Jean wasn’t an orphan, and he wasn’t homeless, but it sure felt like it. 

After his mom died, he had gotten a letter from his father, explaining the details. He had blamed Jean for not coming to visit more often and making his mom upset. It was Jean’s fault that she had run out that day to congratulate him on graduating in the top ten, so it was his fault the titans had gotten to her that same awful day. 

When Jean didn’t come to the funeral, he got another letter from his father.

Jean, son, it’s your father.

How could you do such a thing? Not arrive to the funeral of your own mother? She loved you, son. 

She wouldn’t be happy knowing you didn’t come to comfort your old man.

You once again disappointed her.

I have moved to a new house, it’s smaller this time, but I still made sure that you have a room to stay at for when you come to visit. If you ever do. 

You should come soon and pick up your things that I left back at our old home. I only took mine. My apologies. 

If you look through the ruins you will find things that belonged to your mother too, you can take those. I only took the wedding ring from her body when I found her. 

I don’t know why you didn’t come to the funeral, and why did you not end up joining the military police? Why, Jean? You know that we need the money.

You made a selfish choice.

I’m quite disappointed in you, and hurt, if I may say so too. It’s like I have no son anymore. I know our relationship was tricky and complicated, but I truly believed that we would grow closer after such tragic events cursed our family. 

You walked out on me, son, you just stood up and disappeared. After everything me and your mother gave you, was it not enough? I asked for one thing, I trained you in my free time to help you get prepared for the cadet corps, yet you still, once again, went against what I asked for.

You are no man for a family.

Your friend, Marco, is his name. Did he follow you to the scouts too? Did you follow him or did he follow you? He is a good guy, I am glad that you got to know him, but if he made you join the scouts, then he is a bad influence and I want you to stay away.

Come home, son, I’m sure that if you talk to the commander of the military police, then he will let you join them. Do what I ask of you. If you can’t convince the commander I’ll go down there myself and yell at him. I’ll help you get back on the right path. 

Please, son, make your father smile again.

Goodbye, Jean.

The letter, unlike all the ones Jean’s mother had ever written to him, was thrown in the trash, buried in garbage to never see the light of day ever again.

“You should tell someone. Captain Levi, your mom, Hange… anyone. You need to tell an adult” Armin advised as he raised his head, looking up at the ceiling. 

Armin wished that he could help Jean all on his own. He wanted to be there for his friend and help him get through this without having to make Jean talk about it ever again, to anyone, but it didn’t work like that. If Jean was ever going to get through something like that, he needed the help of an adult.

“I know” whispered Jean in response.

“If you want to, I can come with you”.

Armin tilted his head towards Jean, waiting to see what the response would be. 

And then, after several seconds of silence, Jean nodded, and whispered as quiet as a mouse. “I’d like that”.

The blond boy smiled as he felt his muscles relax, the tension no longer there. He stood up and walked in front of Jean. He reached out his hand and the boy in front of him took it.

The moment their hands touched, something changed, something happened to Armin and a new feeling appeared, it was something he had never felt before. 

All of a sudden, his stomach clenched in on itself and it felt like a familiar feeling. It was the same feeling of being nervous, but it was so much… warmer? 

Armin wasn’t nervous, or maybe he was… he didn’t understand. He had never read about something like this.

Jean’s hand stayed in his even after Jean had stood up, the grasp still tight. As brown eyes stared into his own blue ones, the time stopped; at least for Armin it did. 

Jean let go of his grip on Armin’s hand and buried it in his pocket.

Nerves.

Armin was simply nervous about what was to come, since he had to be there with Jean while he talked to an adult. 

That’s all.

He had to listen to Jean talk about what had happened which meant that he would probably have to tell the adult what had happened to him first. 

I’m just nervous.

“So, who do you, um, who do you want to tell?”

I’m nervous, that is all.

“Um… I guess that, maybe, um… Captain Levi? Is that okay?”

It’s only nerves.

Armin nodded and gave Jean a comforting smile, “Yes, that’s okay”.

Chapter Text

The tension was high, the air thick and suffocating. Hange and Levi sat on one side of the wooden table, while Jean and Armin sat on the other side; the space between them was far yet so close. Jean’s guard was up, that much was plausible. If you had asked Hange, the walls around him were physically visible. Tall and thick, circled around him with concrete. Five minutes had already passed since the titan lover had asked the two boys to follow Levi and her to the dining room, and in none of the following seconds, had anyone said a word. 

It could be assumed that both parties knew what the conversation was going to be about, both wanting to talk about the same issue. However, none of them knew how to even begin, and none of them knew that the other party had the same intentions in regards to the difficult conversation that was about to be held.

“So…” started Hange, reluctant to talk so forwardly about the situation. Levi nudged her foot from under the table, the patience nearly gone. “Jean, Armin” she continued as she nodded her head towards the people who the called out names belonged to. 

“When we scouts go on a mission, it’s usually against titans. And yes, they’re dangerous, they eat us… but now we go against humans too, and they can often be just as dangerous”.

Jean wanted to cry.

Armin looked at her knowingly, stealing a glance at Levi as he put two and two together, figuring out what Hange wanted to talk about. He was glad that she reached out first. Armin knew deep inside that Jean would change his mind at the last second and ignore anything that had previously been promised between them. 

“We, Levi and I, have our suspicions about something that happened during the mission this morning”, at that, Jean tensed up, his body stiff and face blank. Three pairs of eyes pierced into him, studying him as if they could read the things he thought. 

Jean felt small, so insignificant in a world with greater things than himself. He always knew that his life didn’t mean much. He was just another soldier placed on the field to sacrifice his life towards a bigger movement than his dreams. Jean used to be comfortable with his useless life. He wanted to be a nobody, living his life as a husband and a father; Pleasantly living an ignorant life with money and alcohol. He didn’t care if it made him selfish and arrogant, he deserved a good and long life. Why did he, of all people, have to sacrifice his happiness and safety towards people who couldn’t care less about who he was.

Jean was just like everybody else.

Jean was normal.

He couldn’t shift into a titan, and he didn’t have some insane inhumane super abilities. He wasn’t some incredible genius or a powerful leader. He was a person, simple as that. He was strong enough to make it into the top ten, but not enough for the top five. He was smart enough to think ahead of the near future, but not in the long run. 

Jean was average. 

Marco used to say that normality was what made Jean the great person he was. Bullshit. 

“Not many people are confident enough to admit their weaknesses”.

Marco would always say his wise words so abruptly and carelessly, as if it was normal to be so loving and openly nice. Which technically, it probably was, but Jean hadn’t accepted that yet. “Jean, did that guard violate you in ways other than the knife against your jaw?”.

Oh. Right. They were still there.

His head was exploding, a pounding so rough it affected him psychologically. His beating heart fighting with itself to continue on living, holding by a thread to keep Jean alive. “Jean?”.

No. That’s not for you. You’re not that person anymore. They’re asking for someone else. 

“Jean?”.

Who was Jean?

Who is Jean?

Dirty blonde hair, brown eyes, long face, tall figure. Physically still there, physically still the same.

Selfish, arrogant, cowardly, angry… still the sa- no, no no, that wasn’t right anymore, those characteristics were gone with the recent changes. That was Jean before he joined the scouts. He was new now, or at least he used to be. He was clean and new, but then that thing happened and all of a sudden he wasn’t so clean anymore, and he wasn’t the newest thing around, he had been used. 

There was the Jean his mother had birthed, Jean 1.0. He was sweet and cute, loved his omelette, his wooden horse, and his mother more than anything in the world. In that order too. But then came Jean 2.0, he was 6 when the new Jean came. He had gone to school and the other kids had bullied him. Because of that, his father told him that boys do not, not under any circumstances, cry.

You’re fat. You’re a crybaby. You’re a mommys boy. You’re weak. You’re too soft. You’re weird. You’re not my friend. You’re not invited to play with us. You’re not cool. Boys don’t cry. You’re a girl. UGLY! HORSEBOY! FAT! 

After that, Jean got a bit confused. His mother always said that he was perfect the way he was, but here other kids were standing in front of him, laughing at him and pointing their judgy finger in his face for simply being born that way; For simply being Jean.

A few years later, when Jean joined the cadet corps, his third version came out. Jean 3.0. This Jean was mean and selfish, he was arrogant and rude. The only thing that followed him all the way from the previous Jean, was the fact that he still, once again, lacked friends. However, this time, he didn’t care. It wasn’t what he had planned when he first signed up for the cadet corps and arrived to training, but it ended up that way; he let it happen.

Funny what years of no same age communication can do to a person. 

Jean 3.0 was his least favourite. This was when he had no tears left to cry. He didn’t like fighting all the time, and he didn’t like being alone. He hated everything and everyone, including himself, but Jean didn’t know how to change anything. He was so accustomed to this version of himself that he accepted it as it was and dug the negative feelings deep inside his heart. Subconsciously removing feelings from his day to day life.

It wasn’t until this freckled angel had befriended him that Jean finally started to understand the damage of being alone. He was no longer comfortable in his own misery. Jean had bolted away from problems his whole life. So what if no one liked him? he wouldn’t be here a long time anyway. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have any friends in school, he wasn’t planning on staying in Trost and living there until he died of old age. He was going to have a great future so the past and present meant nothing to him. Fuck everyone and everything, i’ll be better off without you anyway.

Marco had made the most impact on Jean than any of his bullies had ever been able to. 

But then he died, and Jean was once again left alone; his mother no longer around to comfort him and wipe his tears away. So, like other boys, Jean didn’t cry.

Ever since then, he had gotten the fourth change, Jean 4.0. This one was sad, sorrowful, and grieving, yet the world kept cheering for him about his incredible change of spirit and mind. He did feel better after the first month, but he didn’t feel good. Jean had lost his best friend and his mother so it didn’t matter to him what other people thought. He didn’t care that his father hated him now (he did care). And he didn’t care that he had more friends (he did care). Jean 4.0 was good, or better at least.

“Jean?”

No, that was still not the Jean in front of Levi, Hange, and Armin. The Jean in front of them was Jean 5.0, and he didn’t like that one; it didn’t feel like his. Jean wasn’t in control of this one, he didn’t own it. 

“Jean?” Hange called out once again. She didn’t have any superhuman abilities, and she wasn’t hallucinating, but she could see the walls crumble. Each block falling to the floor and breaking into pieces. And with that, the tiniest movement came from the silent boy. His head nodded so weakly it could easily be mistaken by a swift wind, but it was there and it was so significant. 

“Can you tell us what he did?” Pried Hange, trying her best to get more information out of Jean; To no avail, the boy rebuilt his walls.

“Kirstein, did he touch you under your clothes?” Interrogated Levi, harshly begging for the truthful answers. He couldn’t be bothered to remain patient anymore, Levi needed to know the details of the situation as soon as possible; he refused to lose someone once again. 

With one step forward, the conversation progressed as Jean nodded his head once again. Quickly enough, Hange caught up with the patterns and understood the questions needed to be answered silently. Nod or Shake. Yes or no. “Did he get near your face?” she asked carefully, her voice softened as the questions sharpened with venom.

Jean nodded, his head hanging low to avoid eye contact. Hange and Levi wished for it to not be out of shame, but they couldn’t lie to themselves like that. Not now.

“Did he do something sexual to you?” She asked heavily, wanting to close her eyes and not get a confirmation on her question, but there it was, that simple, innocent nod. 

The night would be long.

“Did he kiss you?” Nod.

“On the mouth?” Nod.

“Did he use his tongue?” Nod.

“Did he bite you?” Shake.

“Did he lick you?” Nod.

“Did he go lower?” Nod.

“Did he kiss the rest of your body?” Shake.

“But he touched your body?” Nod.

“Jean, did that man touch you under your boxers?” No answer.

He clearly hesitated, the answer so distantly real, too scary and violent to even fathom the idea of something like that happening to you. Hange started to wonder if Jean had ever even kissed somebody before that, and right next to her, Levi wondered the exact same thing. 

“Jean, did he do such a thing?” Nod.

With that, the room fell silent. For several minutes, no one talked. What could someone say in such a situation, nothing could possibly be said to make things better. 

“Did he do something more?” Nod.

“Can you tell us what he did?” No, he couldn’t. 

“He had his hand in his own pants too” Armin spoke up for the first time, making Hange and Levi snap their heads towards him. 

Everything was so loud, so fucking loud. Jean’s body curled up in itself as he covered his ears like a little kid.

“Why do you do that?” Marco asked, standing on top of the ladder that led to Jean’s top bunk. He and Eren had just gotten into a fight over something stupid once again, and honestly, Marco couldn’t even remember what it was about. He looked over at his friend who sat with his knees to his chest and his hands over his ears; Marco thought it was quite endearing. 

“You’re bothering me”. Ouch.

Marco ignored the closed off response and laughed to himself as he crawled into the bed and sat down next to Jean. “Honestly Jean, you can be so stupidly ridiculous” joked the freckled boy as he forced his friends hand down to his side. “I’m your friend, even if I do bother you, you can’t get rid of me by insulting me”.

Jean’s expression softened, he was happy to have someone like that in his life. “What did you guys even fight about this time?” 

“Don’t know, didn’t even pay attention to what we were saying” admitted Jean shamefully, feeling incredibly childish for fighting with Eren and running off to his room to hide. Marco nodded understandably, knowing that Jean often struggled with things that had to do with softness and kindness. Only a few months ago, had Jean finally opened up to Marco about his childhood and told him about all the bullying he had gone through. It was the first and last time Jean had shared stories from that time to someone other than his mother. 

“Why do you cover your ears all the time?” Marco didn’t care for being too sensitive with his closed off friend, he knew that Jean would eventually tell him anyway; that’s how their friendship worked. In response, Jean shrugged, either not wanting to talk about it, or actually not knowing why he did such a thing either. “Well, I think it’s sweet. You look less scary when you do that, more human-like. All you need to do now is just cry and then you’re officially a real person”. 

The noises got too loud, and no amount of pressure could block out the sounds. His body tensed up even more and for the first time in years, Jean let himself cry. 

Boys don’t cry, but men do.

And with tear after tear, he let himself feel vulnerable, exposing his pain to the world and letting himself be comforted by people who truly cared about him.

Jean didn’t believe in heaven, he believed in a clear ending of rotting in the earth's soil, but now, he could feel the intensity of two people from above. Proudly hugging him for letting himself finally feel and cry.

For the next 20 minutes, Jean cried. 

Chapter Text

“I think we should tell your mom”. 

Hange’s words echoed in his ears as his sobs quieted down; His head hung low, the short bangs shielding his eyes from the people around him. 

At first, Jean had refused any hugs. 

He couldn’t understand why he was crying so much, he was fine; this wasn’t like him. But all he could hear were the haunting voices from the past, criticising him for letting just one single tear drop as he fell to the ground and scratched his knee. Get up, Jean! Stop crying! You’re a big boy! Don’t act like a girl! 

Do you see your good ol’ dad crying? No?! Then you shouldn’t either!

It wasn’t until Hange had asked him for the second time if he wanted a hug, that he finally gave in and accepted it. With shaky breaths and loud, uncontrollable sobs, Jean slowly nodded his head and before he knew it, two hands wrapped around him, the pressure just enough to comfort with safety. Hange laid one of her palms on the back of Jean’s head, slowly caressing the boy's hair as the shrieking sounds of crying filled the room. The motherly act of cradling made Jean cry even more, now smelling the freshly baked sugar cookies his mom used to bake for him as a kid, instead of the same crappy bar of soap all the scouts got from the government, once every fortnight. 

“No”. Jean pushed her away.

“Kirstein, once this mission is over, we’re sending you home for a minimum of one week. We can always lie to your parents and say you got sick or mildly hurt, but at the end of the day, they should know too. It will only help-“

“I said, no,” Interrupted Jean, silencing Levi’s attempt to reason with him. His tone was so cold, that chills danced their way down the spines of the three scouts who had ended up on the receiving end of the harsh refusal. Levi raised his eyebrows, shocked by the sheer rudeness that just left the mouth of the teen in front of him. He knew that Jean was losing his mind, struggling to keep himself sane with all the recent events that had changed his life around. However, Levi believed in tough love. 

“Watch your mouth, Kirstein” as if on commando, Jean straightened his back and raised his head; barley. “You will be sent home and you will tell your parents, that’s an order”. Surprisingly enough, Jean dared to stand his ground. 

“With all due respect, sir, I can’t-”

“-I don’t give a flying fuck” blustered Levi 

The captain carried a lot of respect towards Jean. Ever since he first saw the teen use his ODM gear during the cadets first training with the scout regiment, Jean managed to impress him. He had heard from Keith Shadis about the boy's natural talent with the gear, so Levi wasn’t surprised. But the way Jean managed to carry himself with confidence and elegance made him stick out from the rest; To Levi at least. 

“Who’s that?” The question was quick, with a finger pointed towards the boy who sat alone in the corner of the crowded room. 

Levi and Hange stood at the entrance to the mess hall, silently studying the new cadets who had only arrived at the base less than 24 hours ago. They all seemed like regular teenagers, nothing special about any of them; except for three. The first one, was the black haired girl, whom they had already met back when Eren was put on trial. She was intense and protective, clearly fond of Eren. Levi didn’t understand what she saw so valuable in her friend to make her so desperately protective over him, but she never left his side unless forcefully pulled away. Levi wasn’t the biggest fan of that behaviour but he respected her for that.

The second standout from the group of freshly trained cadets, was the girl with the insane amount of gluttony. She had somehow already gotten to empty out two plates, not counting her own. Her eyes glistened with joy every time someone just as much as mentioned the word ‘meat’. Levi would’ve called her crazy, but he couldn’t be the best judge of her gluttony since he himself grew up in the underground, doing worse stuff than her just to get himself a piece of bread.

The third and last standout was the long faced boy, his sour expression most likely glued to him since the day he was born. He wasn't exactly outstandingly visible, nor the biggest attention stealer, but he was noticed by everyone, for his quiet demeanor. 

“John Kirstein, if I remember correctly” answered Hange. Even with all the new recruits, her focus sat purely on the titan shifter. Understandably. However, Levi couldn't seem to concentrate on anyone except for the dirty blond boy. He furrowed his eyebrows in thought, his head tilting to the side as he studied the teen who sat by himself. Levi couldn’t put his finger on it, but the boy had piqued his interest since the second he had stepped foot in the mess hall. The way he sat far away from the others, in the corner of the room as the heavy table swallowed him whole, brought Levi back to his younger self. Physically, the boy fit perfectly in, but mentally, he didn't. He wasn't supposed to be there, no chance. There was so much grief and sorrow in his eyes, a distance from reality only created after tragic events. 

It was like the boy was staring into the horizon of a graveyard built for a thousand men. 

Sure, the attack on Trost was heavy on everybody, but to this extent? All the cadets who were heavily affected ran to the garrison without a second thought. Yet here he sat, with the doors to the military police open right in front of him, but he dared not walk into them. There was something so deep about those amber eyes, some flicker of light that belonged to someone else. Furlan, perhaps? 

Levi vowed to himself to keep the boy at arms reach, ready to catch him if he fell off the deep end. 

“You’ll do as I say, Kirstein” maintained Levi as he glared at the boy in front of him. “You might be a soldier, but you're still a reckless kid. If you don’t tell them, I will. Is that understood?”.

No, no it isnt fucking understood. 

“Yes, sir. Understood” and with that, Jean rushed out of the room, slamming the door behind him as he mumbled to himself. “Fucking Prick”. 

Jean couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, the rough and controlling hands got closer and closer, multiplying themselves as they touched every part of him. Those same brown eyes, killer instinct and cruelty braided into the pattern of the iris’, stared at him from the top of his head and all the way to the bottom of his feet. Once, only two days ago, the color brown meant peace for Jean. It was his home and his love. But now, it was nothing short of a death sentence. 

When Jean was just a kid, and he would have to introduce himself to the neighborhood kids or his classmates, the same stupid questions repeated themselves over and over again. His favourite animal? Horse. His favourite food? Omelet. His favourite game? The ones where no one talks. His favourite colour? Gre- Pin- Yell- Yeah, there wasn't one like that.

Blue, if he really, really , wanted to befriend the kid he was talking to; His mom used to tell him that blue was a welcoming color, a friendly and comforting one, just like the water on a lake and the big skies. 

Last time, when someone had asked him what his favourite color was, he said brown (Marco’s eyes if you were to be specific). So to his most recent mission, Jean wore a brown vest; which was later stained with his own blood. 

Jean shuffled around the bed, kicking his blanket off from the heat, then regretting it a few seconds later when he got scared of monsters under the bed; not that he believed in that or whatever, but better safe than sorry, no?

He looked around the room, the darkness intimidating him just as much as keeping his eyes closed. Jean couldn't see. He could only hear the pouring rain from outside, and once in a while hear the movements of his sleeping friends or snoring from Connie. Occasionally, Armin would mumble something to himself in his sleep, which didn’t bother Jean as much. 

Marco used to do that too. 

After god knew how long, Jean gave up and stood up from the bed. He tiptoed himself out of the room as quickly as he could, picking up his socks and boots before closing the door behind him. With hurried movements, the socks and boots slipped right on as if destined to tell him to get out of the hut and as far away as possible. He snuck past the girls room, past hange’s room, and past Levi who was sleeping on the couch with a pistol clutched to his chest, his knuckles white from gripping it tightly. 

Without a second thought, he ran out of the hut, thankful that the rain had stopped, hopeful that he would lose his mind (for some bizarre reason). He ran over the tall and damp grass, mushing dandelions to the ground as his feet trampled over earth’s ground.

Weren’t those Marcos favourite flowers? 

Jean could swear that Marco had made him a dandelion crown for his 15th birthday. 

Wind flew through his hair, messing it up. Jean picked up the pace, working himself to the bone running away from a demon who kept following him. “Come here, pretty boy!” Jean swore that he heard something. Something real. He had to be here. It was real. Shut up! “I want to see you cum!” there it was again. That chilling voice, so deep and dangerous. You’re not real! It was real. It’s not real! Jean, come on, it is real. Leave me alone! Stop running away, Jean. He’ll get you either way. Shut up! Let it happen. Get away from me! I can’t do that, you know I can’t. Stop talking! Just shut up! 

Oh, Jean, I can’t do that.

Please, just leave me alone…

Jean, I can’t do that.

Why…

You want me here.

No, I don’t. Please, just go away.

Jean, I'm your conscience. I don't go away, you're stuck with me forever. 

With that, Jean fell to his knees, covering his ears like a kid. Lalalalalalala. He sang to himself.

The moon shone so brightly, lighting up the drops of rainwater that still kept their company with the leaves on the trees. Surrounding the miserable boy, were trees as tall as could be, dancing with the harsh winds of another winter night. Wait… winter? Oh well, Jean could swear it was summer. But again, he was losing his mind so who knew at this point. The crickets sang their songs, either arguing or confessing their love as every sleeping creature was forced to listen to their banter. Just as rain had stopped pouring harshly down from the sky only mere minutes ago, Jean was unlucky enough for it to start up again. It landed on his cheek, then on the grass under him, then on his cheek again, and then his eyes got blurry, and then- Oh.

Jean was crying again. 

Great. Just what he needed. 

He let out a long breath as he let his eyes pour their sadness and pain for the world to see. With no comfort from his mother, mother earth had taken over, wrapping her love around him with the presence of a wild horse who stood in front of him, on the other side of the lake. 

Protection. 

The brown horse lowered his head and drank some water, calmly keeping Jean company in this stressful time. 

When the horse raised his head again, his eyes locked with Jean’s. Everything around them got quiet, the comforting silence so loud. With his full trust, Jean lowered his hands to the ground, setting his ears free from captivity. But then, Jean looked at the horse in more detail. He had seen those eyes before, the brown color so familiar with someone he knew. Marco? No. Mom? No. 

Thae guard? No.

Jean couldn't place it. He knew those eyes very well, but it didn't help. Jean couldn't locate the owners of those amber colored eyes. The color and pattern morphing themselves between friend and foe, a stranger so familiar. 

Boom! 

And with that, the horse’s chest burst open, gaining itself a little friend. The bullet cut through the skin and reached all the way to the heart. That was when Jean recognised those two eyes. With his eyes wide and body tense, the horse mirrored his exact reaction. With a slow fall to the left, blood flowing out of the wound and staining the grass, Jean felt a tear run down his right cheek. And as connections were made, a tear ran down the horse’s right cheek as well. With mirrored expressions, Jean could feel the pain in the chest as if he himself had gotten shot. He looked down at his shirt, making sure the pain wasn’t real. 

When Jean looked up again, he locked eyes with the dying horse. 

When Jean looked up again, he locked eyes with his own dead ones.

Another shot was fired and the left eye of the horse had now disappeared under layers of blood, the target acquired and the victim disbanded. 

Everyone was outside this gloomy night, hunters running outside the pawed paths to find the next victim for their hobby. Men raised their guns and fired without warning shots because what would it be fun if the innocent could get away from a step of advance. Bullets fly through the air as circles of red mark the prey, slowly but surely killing everyone with hearts. 

Making sure to kill the innocent and take away their innocence. 

“I killed you, pretty boy,” the hair-raising voice declared in pride from behind him. The gun was waiting to load its second bullet into Jean himself, so eager to kill its prey. Jean swung from side to side, losing balance from disgust, fear, and exhaustion. He felt dizzy as he tasted his breakfast in his mouth again. “Jean” the voice spoke again, creeping closer and closer towards its victim. “Jean” the voice said softly, a hint of worry etched in it. 

“Jean” said Armin, shaking Jean with worry, urging him to wake up from the nightmare. “Jean, wake up, buddy” added Connie as he raised his hand in the air, ready to slap his friend if necessary. “Jean, come on” Armin spoke again, alarmingly rushing his speech in hopes of getting his friend out of the turmoils of hell. 

Jean’s breathing was uneven and fast, gasps of air coming in before the old ones had time to come out. With only seconds to spare before the gun would be shot, he tried to run away. But his legs became his biggest foes, the fiends protesting against him and praying for his downfall. “Such sorrows for such a pretty boy”. With cruel laughter echoing in the background, the bullet left its cage and spawned its wings into Jean’s back.

Boom!

Jean’s eyes burst open as he sat up on the bed, drowning in a sea of his own sweat. A shrilling scream escaped his mouth, waking up the rest of the scouts who had slept so peacefully up until this very moment. 

As everything went blurry with tears, muffled words of worry could distantly be heard around the room. However, as each word went into one ear and right out the other, Jean felt himself sinking into the bed.

And before he knew it, the candles were lit. Connie had been sent with his blanket and pillow to sleep in the living room, Mikasa and Sasha had been sent back to their room before they could even see who the scream belonged to, and levi and Hange stood in front of a panicked Jean with their hands crossed across their chests, worry and patience mixing with their tired expressions as they waited for Jean to calm down.

Through all the chaos, one thing stood still; Armin’s hand intertwined with Jean’s. 

Chapter Text

Silence. Not a single word had been uttered since Levi and Hange had thrown Connie out of his own room. What could they even say? Jean had a nightmare just like all the scouts had, and often at that. He wasn’t special for having one. 

Usually when scouts had nightmares, something along the lines of ‘we trained three years for this, don’t worry’ would be said as a way to show support. It was easy when everyone had the same type of nightmares; be eaten or watch a loved one be eaten. When everyone ended up with the same events running through their minds as they tried to get just an ounce of sleep, it wasn’t hard to come up with calming words. Soldiers just repeated the same things they were told the night before. Soldiers told their comrades what they wanted to hear themselves. The dreams, no matter how horrifying or bizarre, were a common ground for all the scouts. 

Then there was this, Jean’s nightmare. 

“I’ll be fine, sorry for waking you up” muttered Jean, straightening his back as he tried to show control and bravery. “don’t bullshit us, Kirs-.”

“What Captain Levi is trying to say-“ interrupted Hange as she shot Levi an annoyed glare. “Is that we’re here for you, Jean. You don’t have to worry about bothering us, because you’re not. All we want is to help you get better.”

Armin nodded, agreeing with Hange. 

“Levi was awake anyway. Dropped his tea when he heard- Ow!” yelped Hange as she felt a boot kick her in the ankle.

“Can you please go? I’m fine, really.”

“If you’re fine , Kirstein, you’re welcome to go back to bed. I hope you fall asleep soon since frankly, we have to leave for the mission in four hours. Good luck and good night.”

Levi started walking out of the room, leaving a baffled Jean behind him. Hange sent the boy an apologetic look before turning around and following in Levi’s footsteps. The echoing sounds of the door closing behind them left a deafening silence back in the room. Fire crackled from the candles, dancing of their own accord, illuminating around the shadows of those who haunted these very walls. Many soldiers before Jean had woken up in this exact bed for the same reason; Nightmares. Jean wondered if they survived their next mission or got weakened from the lack of sleep. With his head held high, his spine stretched straight as the one of a newly bought book, Jean moved his hand away from Armin’s. 

With no one to comfort, Armin felt the cold air brush against his palm, laughing at him from failing at the thing he was so sure he excelled at.

“Can you move? I want to sleep.”

“Right, sorry.”

Armin stood up from the bed, the sound of the old wooden floor creaking under his feet. He didn’t dare turn around as he heard Jean shuffling around in the bed, moving the blanket to get its corners to lie perfectly against the edges of the mattress. Only when Armin heard a sigh of relief coming from the boy behind him, did he turn around to the beautiful image of misery.

With his back turned towards Armin, Jean curled up into a ball, his knees pressed against his chest. His usually strong and fierce arms buried themselves close to Jean’s heart, clutching the shirt as if gripping onto a lifeline. His short, dirty blond hair laid perfectly against the pillow like ribbons made of silk. Jean’s eyes were shut close, wrinkles forming between his brows as they furrowed in either frustration or pain. 

Such a beautiful image of misery.

That night, Jean never went back to his slumber; Armin couldn’t sleep either. Two people, one room, laying back to back as neither one of them got the privilege of dreaming their way out of the painful life of a scout. No one uttered a word but every once in a while one of them would shuffle in the bed, turning their head to the other side in hopes of thinking about something else. Anything else. 

The next day, while they were on their way to go rescue Eren and Historia, Jean didn’t say anything unless necessary. He had gone silent, not even snarky remarks commented with a cocky grin every time Connie or Sasha said something ridiculously stupid. When they were ordered to kill Kenny’s men, Jean did so with his eyes closed, trusting his instincts to get the kill on the first try. Once Eren and Historia were saved and everyone hugged, Jean stayed behind, even further away than Levi. 

Throughout the whole day, Jean kept to himself, bringing the scouts back to the young boy’s first two weeks in the scout regiment when he sat alone in the corner of the mess hall. 

“Jean Kirstein” Erwin called out. They had just defeated Rod Reiss and Historia had declared herself as the true queen of the walls. As all the scouts patched themselves up, cleaning their wounds and bandaging up the cuts, Jean sat alone on the edge of the wall, his feet dangling down to the open city of Orvud District. As several pairs of eyes pointed their attention towards him, worry etched in them, Jean slumped over, his head buried in invisible ground. 

“Jean Kirstein” Erwin called out his name once more, trying to get the boy’s attention. In a quick motion, Jean snapped his head up, turned around, and looked at the voice from behind. Erwin noticed the dark circles under his eyes that stained his face like bruises of black and blue. The mentally wounded soldier stood up, the lack of sleep almost making him fall down the edge. Jean put his right fist over his heart, the other hand behind him, and straightened his back. “Yes, sir!”

“Come to my office once we get back to headquarters.”

“Yes, sir!”

Erwin still remembers the first time he saw Jean. He had previously heard Eren talk (complain) about him once or twice, but now it all felt like a ridiculous hoax Eren had decided to tell as a tale. Sure, the boy could be cocky and annoyingly sarcastic, but he was exceptionally intelligent. His emotional understanding of humanity was refreshing in the world Erwin had grown to know. Jean was a talented kid who excelled as a soldier, both in the physical department and the intelligence department. He was a soft guy who did an excellent job at hiding that.

“Oooh! My man’s in trouble!” teased Connie, playfully slapping his friend's upper back. The flinch didn’t go unnoticed, but Connie decided to gloss over it. “What’d you do to get in trouble?”

“Nothing.”

“Well you must’ve done something Jean-boy.”

“Stop calling me that!”

Jean tugged at the neckline of Connie’s shirt, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the fabric even tighter. “Woah dude, calm down. I’m just joking with you.”

“Don’t ever call me that again.” Jean threatened through gritted teeth.

With that, Jean let go of Connie’s shirts, pushing him away. The bald boy stumbled backwards, his friends who stood close by shooting him confused and worried looks. “What the hell is wrong with you, man?”

“What?”  

“You’ve been acting all weird, and just… off.”

Jean scoffed “Just leave me the fuck alone, Connie.”

The taller boy of the two walked away, ignoring the concerned looks from his friends and the soft voice of Armin calling his name from behind. Jean didn’t have the energy for this. Nothing was wrong with him. Sure, he’d been acting a bit more angry than usual or whatever, but he always had periods like these. They’d known him for three years, so why did they expect anything from him?

Should’ve just bullied him and left him alone.

Knock, knock, knock. 

“Come in.” Erwin’s authoritative voice came from the other side of the door. 

Jean slowly opened it, revealing a grand office. “Sir, you wanted to talk to me.” He took one step into the office and did the military salute; dedicating his heart.  

The floor was covered in a beautiful crimson colored carpet, the pattern simple. On the far end of the room, the velvet curtains of green opened to the sides, letting the sunset shine through, painting the room in a deep shade of orange. “I did. Close the door and sit down” commanded Erwin, pointing towards the regular chair in front of him. The teen did as he was told and took eight cautious steps towards Erwin’s desk. 

The intimidating stare from Erwin himself didn’t help calming down his nerves.

As he walked towards his commander, he batted his eyes in every direction. Mostly to avoid Erwin’s glare but also out of curiosity. Maybe he could learn a thing or two about his commander’s interest and hobbies; if he had any. The desk, made out of walnut wood, was big and heavy, looking like a block of tree from Jean’s direction. On one side of it, was a single inkwell with its quill right beside it, while on the other side of the desk, was a single book and a simple, gold colored, three armed candlestick, decorating the desk neatly. On the left side of the room, was the longest and tallest bookshelf Jean had ever seen, with all the books Armin would probably kill someone for, just to be able to read them, if he knew they existed so close to him. The right side of the room was simple, with a single, green couch made of the same material as the curtains, accompanied by two arm chairs that looked to be a part of a set with the sofa. In between the arm chairs and the couch was a coffee table which resembled a smaller version of Erwin’s desk. 

Jean took a deep breath and pulled out the chair, feeling so out of place. He sat down and waited for the man in front of him to initiate the conversation.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine” lied Jean, a smile plastered on his face; unmistakably fake.

“I can see that.”

Jean gulped, worried of an incoming interrogation. 

“I want to say thank you,” Jean furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “You were good during the mission.”

“Everyone was.”

Erwin nodded. “That’s true.”

For a few seconds, no one spoke, but only one of them was stuck with no words. Erwin knew exactly where this conversation was going to go. His words were calculated, already five steps ahead of Jean if he would try to change the subject. “You wanted to join the military police.”

Jean tensed up, the ‘want’ no longer a part of who he was. “I did.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“I- I had a friend, Marco. He died in Trost and I just couldn’t live with myself if I let something like that happen again… I guess.”

“That’s very noble of you, Jean.”

I wouldn’t say noble.  

Jean nodded slowly, looking down at the desk in front of him, studying the patterns of the wood. 

“I called you in here to hear about your experience with the mission. You were a big part of it and since Captain Levi left at some point, he doesn’t have all the details of what happened in the warehouse.”

Jean’s body went stiff. His breath hitched as the mission was mentioned. 

“What happened in the warehouse, Jean?”

He knows.

Jean tried to stay composed as his mouth dried up and his eyes widened. Slightly. 

He knows.

Erwin raised an eyebrow, patiently waiting for the teen in front of him to elaborate. He didn’t make a single sound, hoping that the silence would pressure Jean to speak. 

It didn’t. 

For several minutes, no one spoke. 

“Jean?” Erwin finally tried to push the boy to speak.

“Oh- uh, it um, the man, he just- he just pushed his knife against my jaw-“ Jean pointed towards the healing cut. “and kicked me a bit before Mikasa and the others came in and all that.”

He can’t know.

He won’t know.

Erwin nodded as he opened the drawer next to him, took out a stack of papers, dipped the quill in the ink, and started writing down Jean’s simple explanation. “What did the man look like?”

“What? why’s that important, sir?”

“Everything is important when it comes to risking the life of a soldier.”

Erwin stared into Jean’s soul, his blue eyes analysing the teen down to his every breath. “What did he look like, Jean?”

“Light brown hair and brown eyes. He had wrinkles and was very sweaty. Nothing special.” mumbled Jean as fast as he could, trying to get the guards face out of his head. He didn’t want to think about this anymore, he didn’t want to think about that man ever again. This wasn’t fair, it had to be some kind of torture method. 

“And he touched you?”

Jean was back in that warehouse, back in that chair with ropes tied around him as his head was held in place by the man’s tight grip. Jean could feel the kiss again. He could feel the tongue exploring his mouth, the taste of alcohol and cigarettes strong and bitter. Down between his legs, Jean felt the rough hand grab and squeeze, sliding it up and down against Jean’s most private area. “What?” Jean’s voice cracked as he tried to ignore the sensation of touch. 

“You said that he kicked you.”

“He did.”

“That means he touched you.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess. I just, I thought you meant- it was, just like, not like that“

“Not like that?”

Jean was sweating, his breathing heavy. His head was pounding, unwelcome words flowing through his mind. Pretty boy… You can’t be sorry now… You’re gonna be a good boy… Just. Stay. Still.

You like this, don’t you?

Jean hated this. He wanted to run away and never come back here. 

But here wasn’t Erwin’s office, and here wasn’t the scouts headquarters. Here was that stupid warehouse and Jean wasn’t there anymore, he never would have to go back there. But Jean was in jail, serving the sentence that the guard was supposed to suffer. 

He was jealous, so incredibly jealous. The guard got to die and here Jean had to live with that for the rest of his life. Those clammy hands were buried somewhere, probably being nibbled on by crows and rats all the way down to the bones. Physically the hands were long gone, but the ghosts of them kept haunting him. 

“Not like what, Jean?”

“Nothing.”

“Right.”

Jean took a deep breath, not letting go and holding it in. He pressed his lips together into a thin line as he started picking at the skin around his nails. Once Erwin looked down at the stack of papers and started writing something, Jean relaxed his face and let out a soft gasp of air, sighing. He dug his nails deeper into his skin as he puckered his lips and bit the inner part of his cheeks. “Where did he touch you?”

“He didn’t touch me.”

“You said he kicked you.”

“He did.”

“So he touched you.”

Erwin was playing mind tricks with Jean, trying to get the boy to open up.

“Just the stomach area.”

“Did he go any lower?” Erwin asked sharply, letting go of the quill and giving Jean his full attention.

“What?”

“Did he touch you any lower than that?” 

“No.”

Erwin sighed. He figured that this would take time and that Jean wouldn’t straight out say what happened to him, but a small part of him hoped that the boy would. He prayed that Jean would be so desperate to tell someone that just the first question would push him over the edge. Erwin wasn’t surprised when it didn’t work, he was just very, very disappointed.

“I see that you’ve taken a shower. That’s good.”

Jean just nodded.

“You’re doing well.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“You were doing much worse when we met up in Orvud.”

Erwin remembered back to the way Jean acted and looked just a few hours ago. He was constantly zoning off and didn’t even notice that they had gotten to Orvud District until they had defeated Rod Reiss. Jean’s hair was a mess and all the life had been drained out of him, making the boy scarily pale. His shirt was roughly tucked into his pants, still stained with his own blood as one button was missing. His eyes were dull and lifeless as the eyebags under them got as dark as coal. 

“I was just tired, sir.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t sleep much.”

“Why?”

“I had a nightmare.”

“About?”

Erwin felt like a little kid again, asking his father to tell him more about his theories of the outside world. Oh, how Erwin wished he was doing that right now instead of trying to get a teenage boy to open up about something so traumatically disturbing.

“Titans.”

The lie came out so naturally, so perfectly told with no emotions behind the word. Jean was being annoyingly stubborn and luckily enough (depends on who you asked), Erwin was just as bad. 

“It’s good to know that the mission didn’t mess with your head.”

“Why?”

“Because that means we can use you as a disguise more often. Maybe that beast titan will fall for it and think that you’re Eren.” Erwin wondered to himself, exaggerating his dreamfull expression to trick Jean. 

“What do you say, Jean? Are you on board with that?”

Jean was frozen in place so Erwin continued talking. “You might get kidnapped again but we will save you, don't worry. You will be touched a bit before we get to you, but the beast titan will probably just do the exact same thing that the guard did to you, so you’ll be fine.”

Jean started panicking.

“Unless Reiner and Bertholdt are still with him and recognize you. Then it will probably be worse… more touching, you know?”

Crack. Erwin had broken the boy.

“No! please, sir, please don’t make me dress up as Eren again, please don’t make me put that wig on. Please.” Jean was sitting on the edge of the chair, his pleading desperate. His palms were pressed together, begging in front of Erwin as if he was a god.

Erwin just looked at him with raised eyebrows, patiently waiting for the boy to continue. “I can’t- I can’t go through that again. Please, sir. Please don’t make me go through that again!” Jean’s eyes were wide, looking like a deer in danger as his breathing was heavy, gasping for air between every word. 

When Erwin didn’t answer, Jean begged even more, almost going down on his knees as his eyes filled with tears, piling up in his lower eyelid. “Please, sir.” his voice cracked.

“You can’t take a light beating? You’re a soldier, Jean. You will get beaten up many more times throughout your life.” Erwin acted clueless, praying to the gods above that this would make Jean tell him absolutely everything.

“It wasn’t just that.” 

Luckily for him, the gods listened to his prayers - the prayers of the incredible Erwin Smith. 

“He- he did much worse than just kick me! He was disgusting and- and he kissed me and he licked me and I didn’t- I didn’t like that, sir! I promise that I didn’t! And I asked him to stop, I did! but he just wouldn’t listen because his hand was in my pants and I- I was tied to the chair so I couldn’t push him away!”

Erwin just sat and listened, already knowing parts of the story from Levi and Hange, but now he heard it first hand from the victim himself. Jean sat before him, rambling on about what the guard did to him as his tears ran down his cheeks, accompanied by a runny nose as he sniffled between every sentence. His voice cracked as he held back sobs. 

“And he liked it! I didn’t like it but he did… So he just continued doing it and he squeezed my penis and he rubbed it and his hand just didn’t let go! He just- he kept rubbing me and then he did it to himself too and he got so violent, and it hurt- it hurt so much I could barely breathe and I was so scared! I counted because I didn't know what else to do, and he did it for 37 seconds but I didn’t like a single second of it, I promise, Sir! I promise!”

Jean wanted to stand up. He wanted to stand up and beg his commander to understand him, but he was too emotional and tired to move out of the chair. Jean needed Erwin to know that he didn’t mean for that to happen. That it happened out of his control and that he in no way initiated it, enjoyed it, or asked for it.

“Please don’t make me live through that again! Please, sir! He was so violent and I was scared! I was so scared I couldn’t even move or stand up for myself. But I promise that I would’ve kicked him if my legs weren’t tied to the chair! I didn’t mean for it to happen, sir! It’s- It’s not my fault… or, like, maybe- maybe it is because I did yell at him but I only did it so he would get away from Armin! I knew that it would ruin the mission but I just, I couldn’t see him touching Armin like that so I yelled at him and I really am sorry, sir! I am! But I didn't want him to touch me, I never meant for that to happen!”

Jean was a wreck, a complete mess. He kept crying as he wiped his snot away with his sleeve. His eyes were aching for understanding and sympathy, begging the adult in front of him to go easy on him. 

If maybe Marco was here, Jean wouldn’t be such a wuss. If maybe his mother was here, he wouldn’t be such a baby.

“Jean, I want you to pack your things and go home.”

“What-?”

Jean held his breath. Erwin was mad at him. He saw how weak his soldier was and was now kicking him off the scouts and sending him home to become a failed farmer. 

“I want you to take a break and heal. Once you feel better, you can come back if you want to.”

Or maybe not. Did Erwin really understand him? 

“No, sir, I can’t- I can’t go back home.”

“This isn’t up for debate, Jean. You’re going home and you’re telling your parents what you told me. Whether it be your mom or your dad, or maybe both, I don’t care, but you’re telling someone”

Jean buried his face in his hands and started sobbing uncontrollably. 

The next few minutes were just that. Jean crying like a baby in front of his commander, and Erwin trying his best to push his parental instincts away. Eventually, Erwin stood up and left his office, locking the door behind him so Jean couldn’t run away. The muffled cries from inside the room echoed in the hallway and for the first time in his life, Erwin was thankful to see the halls of the scouts headquarters empty. He walked down towards the Captains’ common room where he found Hange and Levi drinking tea and discussing the new queen of the walls.

“Levi, Hange, follow me to my office.”

They did and when they stepped through the door to the office, the room was eerily quiet. Jean sat with his back facing them, his feet up on the chair and knees against his chest. And right there it was again, the one gesture Jean did every time he felt scared or sad. His hands were covering his ears, trying their best to block out any sounds from outside, while constantly failing to block away the loud sounds from inside his head.

Levi and Hange each grabbed one of the armchairs and followed Erwin back to his seat, sitting in a line in front of Jean who reluctantly lowered his hands to his side, still keeping his head hanging low.

“Jean. Levi, Hange, and I, decided together to send you home. You need to get better and-”

“No.” Jean interrupted Erwin. “I can’t go home.” He whispered.

“Why not?” asked Hange, softening her voice as if talking to a wild animal. 

“I don’t know where it is,” Jean admitted, confusing the three adults in front of him. This time, Levi spoke up. “What do you mean by that?”

“My father moved away and I don’t know where.”

“How do you not know where your parents moved to?” Asked Erwin.

“He never told me.”

Erwin furrowed his eyebrows. “Did they kick you out?” 

“No. Yes. Kind of… I don’t know.”

“Jean, you need to be more specific.” pushed Hange.

“My mom is dead and my father moved away without telling me where.”

Silence. No one knew what to say as another tragedy fell upon Jean. 

“Your documents said that your mother is alive.” reminded Levi who was brought back to when he first met Eren, and how the titan shifter had told him about the horse face’s ‘super nice’ mother.

“She died during the attack on Trost.” Jean choked back a sob, not wanting to cry even more than he already did. But the admission hit him like a rock, since for the first time ever, Jean had said those words out loud. Finally admitting to the world that his mother was gone for good and would never come back to him. 

Maybe Jean could finally grieve.

Maybe Jean could finally grieve with people around him to show support and be there for him.

Chapter Text

When does a child become a killer? And when does his father become a stranger?

“You have two options.”

When does a guard become a monster? And when does his prisoner become his pleasure? 

“Option number one is that we do everything in our power to find your father so that you can go live with him for a while.”

When does a child become a prisoner? And what happened to make him become a stranger to his father?

“And option two is that you stay here, don’t do any military duty for a few weeks, and you talk about how you feel with either Hange, Levi, or me. You will tell one of us every time you feel bad again, every time you have nightmares, flashbacks, or panic attacks. We will help you get through it so you won’t be on your own.”

His world was ablaze, burning between heaven and hell. He couldn’t face his father, Jean was sure of that. What good would it do to him anyway? Jean couldn’t let his father know what happened, what made the military send him home; He would never live that down… or worse, he’d just get kicked out again and this time it would be said with a beating instead of a letter. 

If Jean went to live with his father, his comrades would bother him day and night, wondering what could possibly make Jean take a break from the scouts and return home. He wouldn’t be able to handle all the questions, especially not Eren’s ones. Jean couldn’t make Eren think that he was the better one. 

For Jean, the  best option would be to stay with the scouts, but even that was a horrible idea.

What if he had more nightmares? 

What if Jean never got better?

What if his friends started wondering why he didn’t help out with the chores? 

Or what if Armin broke down one day and spilled everything?

Staying with the scouts was a risk, and frankly, Jean wasn’t willing to take it. 

“I’ll stay here.”

“That’s fine,” Erwin nodded in approval. “But can you promise me that you’ll talk to one of us?”

“I promise” Jean lied through gritted teeth, his words flowing softly out as if it was the natural truth.

“Good. Thank you, Jean.”

Erwin didn’t know the boy in front of him as well as he wished he did, yet, for some unsettling reason, he knew the boy's deepest and darkest secrets. Before even getting to know whether or not Jean Kirstein had a middle name, Erwin knew about the harsh realities the boy had faced before he was even able to reach adulthood; They hadn’t even had the chance to share a cup of tea yet.

The commander felt the insides of his stomach curl up, the taste of his breakfast lingering in the back of his throat with only a matter of seconds before it reached the tip of his tongue. He wanted to hurl. Knowing so much yet so little about one of his soldiers wasn’t something he was used to, especially not in the case of something so personal. In front of him was a kid, who he himself had sent to fight a war with no survivors. Over the years Erwin had learnt to let go of his humanity, but he could never ask Jean to do so too. At many times, he felt himself regressing into a monster, the former man he used to be no longer at arms reach. 

Erwin’s father would probably not be so fond of what his son had become; Man into a monster.

His nickname was ‘The Devil’ after all.

“From now on, you will be excused from cleaning the stables and the base, and you won’t have to help in the kitchen unless you choose to. However, your bed should always be made and your closet tidy. I won’t tolerate this break as an opportunity to behave badly and recklessly. I still demand your utmost respect. Is that understood?”

“Understood, Commander. Thank you sir.”

Jean admired the devil in front of him. Shook his hand and gave his life away to the hornless demon. His life was sold for humanity and with that, his body. 

Once the sun had travelled its way to the other side of the planet and the moon had appeared with its silver shine on the starry night sky, the military base had quieted down, most soldiers deep in sleep, dreaming blissfully. The main streets of Trost were still as could be, not a single footstep to be heard. 

Inside of the scouts headquarters, three knocks on the door of Erwin’s office were echoing through the halls, three knocks too many for the time of day… or night, now that the moonlight was shining through the cracks of the curtains in the room. 

“Come in.” The commander’s groggy and tired voice could be heard all the way out in the hall before the door opened up to a distressed Armin. His right fist was planted firmly against the left side of his chest, and his left hand was placed against his lower back. “Sorry for the late hour, Commander” apologised the blond boy as the church bells rang twelve times, signalling the late hour of the night. 

“What can I help you with, Arlert?”

“Sir, did you send Jean Kirstein home?” 

Erwin raised an eyebrow, surprised by the question. “No?”

“Then I think he ran away, sir. He’s not in his room and I haven’t seen him since dinner.” Armin anxiously rushed through the words breathlessly. 

And time stopped. 

“I searched for him everywhere, sir, but I couldn't find him.”

Erwin felt his stomach flip. With the state of mind that Jean was currently in, the boy was possibly a danger to himself. Erwin didn’t know what the fragile teen could suddenly decide to do and for the first time in a very long time, the incredible Erwin Smith, felt helpless.

“Go back to bed, Arlert. I’ll send out a search party for him.”

Armin was uncertain by his commander’s promise. It wasn’t that Armin doubted Erwin or anything. He trusted that man with every bone in his body. But this was different, now it wasn’t about defeating titans or finding a basement, now it was about Jean. The same Jean who only two days ago, had sacrificed something so personal of his to protect Armin.

It would be an understatement that Armin felt immense guilt. 

If he had only been a little bit stronger or yelled a little louder, maybe Jean would’ve been okay. Maybe Jean wouldn’t have been violated in such a cruel manner. 

Armin still hadn’t been able to thank the boy who saved his life, but honestly, what would he even say? ‘Thank you for getting sexually assaulted instead of me’? 

There was nothing to ‘thank’ about. Only apologise.

Armin was sorry that he wasn’t patient enough to let the guard continue with him. He was sorry that he didn’t yell loud enough to make him stop his attack on Jean. He was sorry that he wasn’t strong enough to get out of the ropes and kill the guard. Armin was sorry for being so freaking useless. Sorry for just sitting there and watching, letting himself cry as if he was the one going through it. 

Sorry.

“Please sir, please let me come with them.” begged Armin, ready to go down on two knees if necessary. 

Sorry for letting you out of my sight.

“No.”

Sorry for sounding so pathetic.

“Please, sir. I know him well, maybe I could figure out where he went to.”

Sorry for not being there for you.

“I said no, Arlert. That’s final.”

Sorry for breaking my promise, Marco.

Without another word, Armin left the office, not even bothering to hide his anger and frustration.

Erwin sighed. 

He didn’t know much about Armin’s relationship with Jean, but they were together in that warehouse. They were together during the traumatic event even if they didn’t experience it the same way. They were both damaged from the mission and now Erwin understood that he had failed to realise that. He had completely forgotten about the other victim, forgetting that another teen got hurt that unfortunate day. There in his office, stood a young boy who was worried about his friend who had ran off and Erwin had completely dismissed him. 

With the guilt and shame eating at him, he stood up and hurried out of his office, trying his best to put the worries about the blond boy to the side so he could focus on Jean.

Erwin rushed through the empty hallways of the scout regiment, the clean floors glittering under the moonlight; Levi had made the scouts scrub the floors before bed. 

Erwin was always thankful for that.

With swift movements left and right, Erwin eventually made it to the mess hall. He looked towards the single lit candle on the far away table. There, with all his might, sat Levi, drinking his midnight herbal tea. 

“Here to get yourself some warm milk?” Levi deadpanned, taking another sip from his tea. 

“Jean Kirstein has disappeared.” 

With only four words, the room went stiff. Levi hoped that he heard wrong, that whatever Erwin was saying was pure bullshit. That it was some shitty prank to get Levi worked up. But Erwin didn’t budge, his face flat serious. His lips pressed together in a flat line and his thick eyebrows furrowed in deep worry. 

“He’s not in the building?” asked Levi flatly, still hesitant to accept the declared news. 

“No.”

With only a second to spare, Levi stood up in a hurry, not caring that the bench flipped over. While Levi usually cleaned after himself to not leave a sign of what he had been doing during the night, he didn’t bother this time. The captain left the mess hall with quick steps, leaving the steaming tea to cool down by itself. 

As both men rushed towards the stables, not caring whether their loud steps woke up the other soldier, Armin was busy debating himself. Under the covers the blond boy sat with his legs crossed, trying to force himself to stay behind. He trusted his commander, he knew that Erwin could handle this, but something didn’t feel right. 

It wasn’t fair that while Jean could be lying in some ditch, maybe covered in blood and bruises, Armin stayed in the safety of the base. 

After much thinking and several points of arguments, Armin decided against his better judgement to get up, put on his boots, and run out of the room to find Jean.

If Erwin ended up punishing him, he didn’t care. His mind focused on one thing only. Jean.

‘I trust you, a lot, so if something happens to me today, if by any chance I don’t make it out alive, can you please take care of Sasha, Connie, and Jean for me? Especially Jean.’

With Marco’s wish shouting at him in the back of his mind, Armin snuck out of the military base, ready to find the person he had promised to protect. 

I’ll take care of him for you, Marco, I promise.

Not so far away from the scouts headquarters, down in the deepest slums of Trost, Jean found himself in a bar, two bottles of the cheapest beer empty in his hands. The shouted curse words of drunk men chilled down his spine and Jean knew that this was no place for someone like him.

He didn’t even know what he was doing there. 

He had left the base, wandered through the city that he knew so well. Memories of old times, back when he was just a helpless little kid, rushed through his mind. He felt dizzy with the overstimulation. Jean had covered his ears with both his hands, pressing so hard his head could explode. 

What was he doing here?

He was tired, he wanted to sleep, and Jean wanted to go back home.

Whatever home was.

The wandering teen walked through dark alleyways and blocks of poorly kept buildings. He looked through people’s windows, watching as the families blew out the fire on the melting candles, ready to go to bed and sleep as they waited for the next day to arrive. 

The lingering smells of home cooked meals flew out the open cracks of the windows. Jean tried to deny it, his delusions high in the air, but he swore on his life that from the fourth window to the furthest left, he could smell the comfort of his mothers omelette. 

As the smell stuck to his clothes like perfume, he continued his helpless steps deeper down to the poorer parts of Trost, unconsciously walking down to the street where his childhood home was still standing. 

The white paint had already started to chip on the walls back when he was a kid, so now, there was barely any white left. The broken corner of the picket fence fit the size of Jean’s head, back when he was only 8, perfectly. He crunched down to his knees, studying the pine wood fence and right there on the stick that was damaged the most, Jean could see the remains of his blood, stained deeply into the cracks of the wood. 

The teen was hypnotised by the look of it, once again feeling the rush of blood that he felt all those years ago. He felt the fierce hands of the teens who bullied him sucking their grip on Jean's head. He felt the hands push him down against the picket fence, swiftly moving against the wind before a crack was heard back in the hollows of his head. 

It’s not happening. It’s not real.

He kept repeating to himself as he stood up, this time hearing the actual sounds of his knees cracking under the pressure of quick movements. Jean’s hands flew to his ears, covering them protectively. 

He shot one more glance towards the broken fence before lifting his head all the way to the second floor, staring at the unknown curtains of his childhood bedroom. 

Jean had picked the curtains out himself for his third birthday and he had picked brown.

Today, at this very moment, they were blue.

Levi, Erwin, and Hange, who had been awake doing some titan experiments when she heard them rushing down the hallways, were now riding down the empty streets of Trost, looking for Jean. The starry night sky had been covered by thick clouds, with a fog covering the cobblestone ground. The three vets were in a hurry, knowing well enough that this was going to be a rough night with heavy rain.

“Jean!” shouted Hange, calling out in a worried tone. “Jean! This isn’t funny!” she wanted to cry. Trost was usually known for being a calm place, but every district, even Stohess, had its bad and dangerous streets. Hange knew that Jean grew up here, she wasn’t worried that he would get lost, but even in your own home, there are people who hunt you. 

Hange hadn’t had a lot of conversations with Jean, but something about the boy made her feel soft towards him. Even before he got hurt, she had felt the need to get to know him. Jean was the type of person to constantly share small and unimportant details about his life, just enough to make you think that you knew him well, when you actually didn’t know him at all. All the things you knew about Jean, were the things he had calculated for you to know. The boy had hidden his mothers death for months, he had been abandoned by his father and no one knew. 

No one knew.

She often wondered whether there was someone out there who knew Jean down to the smallest details, someone who knew his deepest and darkest secrets, his most shameful truths. 

Hange had heard him mention someone who went by the name Marco, but other than that, he had never mentioned another name except for the people in his squad. 

Hange really wanted to know who this mysterious Marco person was. 

At the end of the street, Jean encountered another familiar building. 

The Wagner family lived there and with that, so did their son. 

Thomas Wagner. Childhood friend.

But he was no friend of Jean’s.

Only their mothers were friends.

Thomas Wagner was a bystander. He would watch as kids and teens tormented Jean. Even though Thomas had known the bullied kid since before they could walk, he didn’t seem to have a single ounce of love towards Jean. The lack of remorse spawned out of Thomas once the older kids had decided that Thomas was one of them, and that from now on, Thomas Wagner was cool. 

He and Jean used to play together and up until they were six, they were best friends. 

But things change and people grow.

Too bad that Thomas Wagner grew upside down, all the way down to the deepest depths of hell. 

Armin was smart, a genius even, but he had forgotten to take a horse. 

Stupid idiot.

He was even stupider now because he had forgotten his cloak too, and lucky for him, it had started to rain. 

Stupid freaking idiot.

Armin ran down the wet streets as quietly as possible to not get caught by Erwin’s search squad, whoever those were. He didn’t know Trost at all, not having the time yet to go explore the district because of the scouts intense training and several missions. 

He was getting cold, shivers running down his body from that, and from fear. 

He really, really didn’t want to be kidnapped again. 

Jean sat at the corner of the bar, miserable enough to drown two bottles of beer (all he could afford) and two vodka shots that one of the older women had sent to him. 

He stared at the bartender as the drinks were made on the counter, with each pour of alcohol falling perfectly into the heavy glasses, not a single drop wasted. Jean could feel the substances rushing through his body and all the way to his head. 

“You ok, son?” asked the bartender, looking down at the slumped over teen in front him. 

Son. 

Jean hadn’t been called that in a very long time so with a single word, the bar stopped spinning. 

“Son, you okay there?” the question was repeated. 

He wanted to tell the truth to the bald man in front of him, he wanted to spill all his secrets to the world so everyone could know how shitty his life was.

But he couldn’t. Or maybe he could? Maybe the bartender actually cared about him? Did the bartender want Jean to break his silence? 

Without thinking much about it, Jean nodded his head. 

“You ok there, son?” asked the bartender once again and now Jean was confused because he remembered answering the question. He even remembered the aching pain he felt when his head bounced up and down. Jean looked at the wrinkled face in front of him, trying to gauge what the bartenders wanted from him but with only a single look, Jean understood.

The bartender wasn’t looking at him anymore. The bartender had moved on.

The man, old enough to be Jean’s father, was talking to someone else who seemed to be just as drunk as Jean, maybe even more. The bartender had called the young man next to him ‘son’ in the exact same way he had called Jean ‘son’.

His heart sank to the pits of his body, weighing him down. 

Jean felt ridiculously stupid and naive. He didn’t even know the name of the man who called him ‘son’ and here he sat, hopeful enough to think someone would act like his father.

This was pure shit.

Without asking for the tab and just throwing some cash at the bowl of nuts in front of him, Jean stood up, almost falling flat on his face from all the alcohol. 

His father always told him that if he was going to go to a bar, he had to be responsible. He had to go with another friend, he had to not be emotional, and to eat before.

Jean had done none of that.

As he slammed the doors of the bar behind him, he chuckled to himself, thinking about how he was able to disappoint his father without even talking to him.

His head was pounding painfully as heavy drops of rain landed on his head and body. This was exactly what he needed, rain. As if his life wasn’t depressing enough as it was, he now had to walk through the city like a wet dog. 

“Hey there, sexy,” flirted a young woman. Her long raven colored hair fell beautifully against her shoulders. Her tight dress and corset pressed against her boobs, creating the illusion that they were bigger than they actually were. The woman’s piercing blue eyes stared into his as her long fingers slid their way under his shirt. “Let’s have some fun.”

Jean flinched and jumped away from her touch. 

The woman wasn’t much shorter than him, only a centimetre or two, but her confidence made her seem so much bigger than Jean. 

“What? Do you not want me? I’ll give you anything you ask for.” persuaded the raven haired woman, clearly doing whatever she could to make Jean pay her. “Anything.” she whispered as she took a step closer, once again moving her hand towards him and sliding it over his chest. 

“N-No. No, thank you.” stuttered Jean, freezing in place as bad memories came rushing back to him. 

Suddenly the slender hand on his chest turned into a thick and clammy one, belonging to a dead guard.

“Oh, come on, sexy. I know you want it” tried the woman once more, already unbuttoning one of the buttons on his shirt. In response, all Jean was able to do was stiffen up and hold his breath. This wasn’t the guard back at the warehouse, he wasn’t tied up this time and had his life threatened with a knife. Why wasn’t he doing anything?

Do something!

He yelled at himself. Jean was most definitely stronger than her but here she was, grabbing his wrist and dragging him into the brothel. 

Once inside, he felt completely powerless. “Please, ma’am. I don’t, I don’t want this” he begged her to let him go but the woman, desperate for money, wouldn’t listen. She dragged him through the crowded room; it was clearly a busy night.

“I don’t have any money on me.”

In an instant stop, the lady turned around to face him, letting go of the weak wrist. “What?” she muttered angrily.

“I used up all my money in the bar, I’m sorry.”

“Fucking pussy.”

With a blink of an eye, Jean was kicked out of the brothel and he could finally breathe again. He let out a sigh of relief as his body was pushed into the muddy road. Jean sat up on his knees, his face and shirt covered in mud and what he hoped wasn’t horse shit. 

He definitely needed some more alcohol.

The three vets and their horses had made it to the slums of Trost, the area known well for its crimes; Murder, drugs, sex work, and so on. Levi hated places like these, he hated anything that reminded him of the underground. He hated watching all the prostitutes who fell to the same fate as his mother. 

He prayed to whatever being was out there, that they wouldn’t find Jean here. 

The horses continued walking, getting cursed at by the people around them. Glass bottles and empty pill bottles were all over the ground, every once and a while rolling down the cobblestones and hitting the hooves of the horses. 

They passed by bars and pubs, brothels and abandoned buildings. 

Unconsciousness seemed to be the most popular state to be in at the moment. 

As the three adults passed by the second brothel of the night, a drunk person was thrown out to the street, his face landing in a puddle of mud and rain. His body laid flat out in front of them, the horses flinching backwards as he landed and mud went everywhere. “Next time I ask you, you better have some fucking money!” a raven haired lady yelled after him, slamming the door to the brothel as a man in a black suit snuck in with her, already reaching for some money in his pocket. 

The person on the ground sat up on his knees, clearly not sober enough to wipe off the mud. 

“It’s Jean” announced Erwin in shock and relief as he got off his horse and walked towards the young boy. He marched towards Jean, dreading the moment he would have to face the broken teen and lecture him. 

Jean tilted his head up just enough to meet eye to eye with his commander.

“I’m sorry” whispered Jean miserably, tears rolling down his mud-covered face. With a sudden flash of memory, Erwin was brought back to all those years ago when he had ‘captured’ Levi down in the underground. 

Jean was so similar to Levi, yet so different. Just the way a man was so similar to a monster, yet the furthest thing away from it. 

Chapter Text

Right in front of him was a face Levi had seen so many times before. 

“I’m sorry.”

An expression pained with shame, guilt, and misery.

Brothels were a common thing down in the underground, and with that, sex work. Women, men, and children were all exploited for a piece of bread; if they were lucky, an egg.

Most people, no matter how much they wanted, didn’t have the blessing of feeding only themselves. With at least one more mouth waiting hungrily back at home, the workers had to destroy their dignity and bodies. Levi held so much respect towards them, knowing that while his stomach was rumbling, his fragile body sitting against the locked door to his room in the basement of the brothel with a rusty pipe in hand in case a robber would try to find his way in, his mother was doing everything she could to fend for her son’s future. When Kuchel would come back to their shared room early in the morning, she kissed her son’s forehead with the same lips she kissed several customers, but Levi didn’t care, no one else got kissed with love from his mother.

Down in the slums of Trost, the conditions were less ‘severe’. The women wore makeup and corsets while children and men didn’t have to resolve to such a profession just to get by the next day. 

“I’m sorry,” mumbled Jean, once again asking for remorse and understating, ashamed of himself for the state he was found in. This wasn’t like him, sitting in the middle of a puddle, down on his knees that would unfortunately bruise. Hurried rainwater hit the small pool with growing circles, blending themselves together with Jean’s tears. Oh, how lucky he was that no one could see those. His voice wavered as he apologized for his ignoble behaviour. “I’m sorry.”

With the whispered words, Jean felt as if he was singing out a prayer to god. 

“Stop apologising and get up,” commanded Erwin, his tone leaving no room for argument as he refused to reach out a helping hand. Usually, Erwin knew exactly what to do and how, that was what made him such a great commander. But this was new, never before having to face a situation involving a teenage boy and sexual assault. He wished restlessly for a step to step guide, drawings and simple sentences being the main form of giving information, just like the school books for primary students.

Rivulets of tears were tracing a path down Jean’s cheeks, washing away the mud as he stood up with a shaking body. The rain had gotten stronger, matching the turmoil inside of him. He didn’t dare look his commander in the eyes, his gaze flickering to the stream of rainwater running between the cobblestones. Jean was drenched in water, his hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat, mud, and rain. His clothes clung to his body, the wind making him even colder than he should’ve been. 

Jean could feel three pairs of eyes boring into him like a hawk did its prey, proving that someone out there was disgusted by him just as much as he was, and maybe even more. A rough hand cupped his shoulder, guiding him towards one of the horses.

“…throws up… my horse… kill…” said the disoriented voice beside him. Jean’s dissociative mind allowed the three adults to lead him wherever they pleased.

Jean was sure that he was losing his mind. At the end of the street he saw someone who resembled Armin down to the point. The vibrant, blond bob turning around and running behind the crack house, into the unknown.

“Jean, get on the horse,” said one of the voices with demand.

As he climbed on the mighty horse, feeling the strength of the creature under him, Jean felt like a sinner. 

Lust.

Jean had done things he never wanted. He had committed atrocious crimes with his own two hands, acting in shameful ways. With Marco, everything was pure and new, never doing more than holding hands and giving each other kisses on the cheeks. They shared a sacred promise that once they finally got a day off from cadet training, the two lovebirds would go on their first official date, already anticipating the magical kiss that would happen between them. Marco and Jean weren’t official, but it didn’t bother Jean, he didn’t care what they were as long as he had Marco. 

Until he didn’t. 

Over the past few days, Jean had gotten himself dirty, doing much more than he was ever ready for. His mouth was filled with so much infecting spit that he felt the need to wash his tongue with soap and bleach. He had touched someone in such an intimate way, letting the other feel him up and moan out loud his pleasures. Jean had given his body away to someone else, someone that wasn't Marco. 

His Marco. 

For the first time, and while feeling guilty to admit so, Jean was happy that Marco wasn't here anymore. Had the freckled boy heard what Jean had done, what Jean had done without him, all hell would break loose. Even if Marco was still breathing, still alive and smiling, Jean would be punished by watching the bond between them burn to ashes. Marco loved Jean for all his flaws, he had said so himself, and even when Marco put Jean in his place, he never hated him. He was always patient and understanding. But this was something no one could forgive. Not even Marco.  

Gluttony.

Jean had taken more than he deserved all because he wanted to. He had drowned himself in alcohol, scared to admit that if he had had more money on him he’d buy enough of it to kill him. Jean wanted more but he didn’t need it. He wanted more of everything, consuming the things he didn’t feel like he deserved. When he was a kid, Jean ate way more than he needed, binging on the food his mother had made and sneaking out of his room at night to steal a few cookies. And now, at the age of fifteen, Jean was gluttonous over alcohol, drinking more than he should’ve and only getting stopped because he couldn’t afford the desired amount. 

They’d always joke about Sasha being a gluttonous monster, fighting everything and everyone that stood in her way of getting her food. Sure, they’d usually take it out of proportion, limiting Sasha to only being one thing while in reality, she was so much more than that. 

Jean was the real Glutton. 

Who the hell was he kidding?

His desire to bury himself inside the bottle made him the ultimate sinner.

Greed.

Back when Jean was a cadet, he wanted to join the military police for safety, money, and a good life. He still wanted that, he still dreamt at night of a comfortable life in the city with a wife and kids. Deep inside, it made him feel evil. His dream life got used against him, getting called selfish and ignorant for wanting more than he already had. His privileged life in Trost wasn’t enough for him and in the end, he got punished by whatever outer power there was, because his greed had gotten Marco killed. 

If Jean hadn’t been so greedy over a good life, Marco wouldn’t have befriended him over their same ultimate goals. If Marco hadn’t befriended him, the freckled teen wouldn’t have assigned Jean as his leader, and if Jean hadn’t been assigned as Marco’s leader, he wouldn’t have died. While titans were greedy over people, eating them only to throw them up later, Jean was greedy for a better life. 

If he had been confident in what he already had, thankful for the life his parents provided him, Marco and Jean wouldn’t be friends, but at least Marco would still be alive and that was good enough for him.

Sloth.

Jean hated to admit that a part of him craved the quiet life in the interior just so he wouldn’t have to work too hard. The military police had the easiest jobs for the largest amount of pay. As Marco had said, Jean was a great leader, and in the military police, the rules were that the higher the rank, the less you worked and more you got paid. He was ashamed of his laziness so he hid it with wiser words like “safety” and “family”, but every sin would eventually be exposed and when Jean was in the warehouse, his sin of sloth stabbed him in the back. 

Had he been more focused on perseverance instead of fear, maybe he could’ve fought off the guard and saved himself the humility.

Wrath.

Jean had been angry. Angry at Eren for always being able to prove that he was better, angry at Commander Erwin for forcing him to dress up as his rival, angry at Captain Levi for even mentioning that Jean resembled Eren more than Connie did. Jean was angry at everyone, and mostly at himself. His anger fueled his everyday life, bursting with adrenaline he didn’t really want. When Armin was getting brutalised and humiliated, Jean hated everyone even more. He wanted to kill the guard in front of him and watch as life left his body. 

Every time Jean was angry, hateful, or filled with rage, it ended up attacking him back. Wrath wasn’t something Jean handled well, so when his desire for revenge on the guard came back full circle, he was terrified. 

Somewhere out there in the world, someone’s hatred was more dangerous than Jean’s or Eren’s. Somewhere out there, someone’s vengeance was more vile than death, and Jean had been the victim of that someone. 

Envy.

Jean envied Eren, even though his life seemed to be perfect, and everyone told him to be thankful for what he had, he wasn’t. Eren had everything. He had childhood friends who loved him more than anything, who knew everything about him. He had Mikasa. He had real passion. He had a purpose. He was a titan (even though it was ridiculously creepy, Jean envied him). Eren’s dad was dead, yet he loved Eren more than Jean’s father loved Jean. He wanted everything Eren had and would continue to get. 

When the titan shifter was sad or scared, he showed it to the world and people comforted him. Everyone loved Eren. At many times, Jean felt the need to exaggerate his emotions, felt the need to over dramatize his feelings just so someone would see that he could be sad too, that even he could be ‘not okay’. He would trash around in his bed at night, faking sniffles, just so someone would show that they cared about him and ask if everything was okay. But no one ever did, because Jean wasn’t Eren. 

At one point during their cadet training, the time back when Historia, Ymir, and Daz had gone missing in the snowy mountains, Jean realised that if it was him up there, Marco would be the only person to sneak out and look for him. But had it been Eren, a minimum of ten people would search for him until the early morning. 

Jean envied Eren, and he was desperate to be like him. Jean hated Eren, and he was desperate to become more than him.

Pride.

Jean was selfish and arrogant. He didn't have many friends and he never seemed to get along with people. He often bragged about his achievements and made others feel inferior to him. But no one got him, no one knew why he acted like that. Jean was confident, what was so wrong about that? 

He didn’t get along with people because he was bullied. He didn't know how to be a good friend or hold small talk long enough for it to become deep. Jean bragged about his achievements because there was no one out there that was proud of him enough to acknowledge the fact that he was good. 

Only Marco noticed the fake pride. Only he saw it as a way for Jean to hide his insecurity and protect himself. Marco was always there to put him in his place and remind him to stay humble. Without him, Jean was lost in the sin of pride, drowning himself into the deep end of people’s hatred. 

The only person who could save him, grab his hand and show the world the wonders of Jean Kirstein, was Marco. But Marco was gone, and Jean was left sinking deeper and deeper into the punishments of sinful pride. 

Always the fool with the biggest heart. 

Armin ran as fast as he possibly could to the scouts military base, his boots hitting the floor of stone with loud thumps; The water dripping behind him left evidence of his crime. 

Somehow, the blond miraculously made it back before Commander Erwin, Hange, and Captain Levi did. He sprinted up the stairs to his shared room with Eren on the second floor, sneaking in quietly to not wake up his friend. The squeak of the heavy door opening up made his heart jump double the amount it already was. The rush of adrenaline, tangled with the worry towards his friend made his whole body shake uncontrollably. Armin walked to the end of the tiny room and towards the window. He opened the brown curtains, looking out towards the courtyard of the military base, letting out a breath of relief when he finally saw Jean getting pulled down from Levi’s horse. 

The rain had gracefully stopped, the clouds shedding their last tears once Jean was back and safe. The stars were hidden behind grey clouds, accompanied by the moon who he himself had been shoved away by the heavy fog in the sky. 

Jean hunched over, throwing up right next to Captain Levi’s feet onto the soggy grass. 

His little adventure had taken him to a horrible place, and all Armin wanted to do was yell at him and cuss at how stupid someone could possibly be, drunk or not. Armin had swore to Marco to take care of their shared friend yet the blond couldn't shake the feeling that his promise was broken, failing the death wish of someone who couldn't get mad at him with disappointment. Armin, with all that he was, couldn't keep a promise to a friend. What did it help to be smart if Jean was suffering? Armin was just a man. That’s all I am. 

“I’m sorry,” cried Jean, letting out a small burp. “I’on’t feel so good.” The drunk teen covered his mouth — lips cracked and peeling — with both hands, trying his best to keep it closed. Failing miserably, he threw up into them. 

“Wonder why,” Levi didn’t even try to hide his disgust. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Spat Levi, “Getting drunk? Going to a brothel? You had a mother, did she teach you nothing?” Continued the man, not caring that he was being insensitive.

“Levi-“

“Shut it, four eyes. I get it, Kirstein, you’re miserable and sad, and you’ve had an awful time lately, but you disrespected not only your Commander, but also yourself.” Erwin felt that the lecture was a harsh, but necessary. It could’ve been done tomorrow once the boy wasn’t so drunk and emotional, sure, but it probably had more impact now. Probably. 

“Do you know that those women, those women that you were so willing to buy, have a life? Do you know that, Kirstein? That those women aren’t your toys to play with.”

“I didn’t-“ Jean tried to defend himself but Levi was filled with rage and had absolutely no interest in hearing him out. With a quick kick in the stomach, Jean was thrown onto his back, clutching his stomach and gripping his shirt in pain, using the same pair of hands that had previously held onto the vomit. His knuckles turned white with anguish as he shut his eyes, blocking the tears from falling freely.

“Go to bed.”

His tone was cold, cracks of ice whispering between each word. With perfect timing, a bolt of lightning struck behind the man who was scarier than any titan Jean had ever seen. Levi didn’t want to hear any more excuses, any more words that would ask for redemption. He didn’t pity the teen in front of him. Jean had crossed a line, and had he not been such an asset for the squad, Levi would’ve sacrificed him on the next mission.

The disappointed Captain bolted away, heavy boots hitting the wet grass as drops of water flew in every direction just like parts of a body would after being bitten in half by a titan. Erwin and Hange casted each other looks of concern, both of them knowing exactly what riled up their friend. 

“Come on, Jean. Let’s get you to bed.” Hange’s comforting words of care were beautifully displayed by her soft voice. The sudden feeling of maternal affection erupted through her body, her heart warming up as she looked down at the pitiful sight in front of her. 

Hange helped Jean up on his feet, wrapping her right arm around his shoulders. It didn't bother her to get close to him, not caring that the vomit and mud would get on her. With trembling feet, Jean was led towards the dark building and through the heavy doors. The candles on the brick walls had burnt out long ago and for some reason, puddles of water lined up all the way to the second floor. With every step of the stairs that Jean climbed up, he felt his Captain’s punishment right in the gut. 

Somewhere along the way, Erwin had left the two alone and the teen couldn't shake the worried feeling that this was his last day in the scouts. All he could think of was the commander sitting in his luxurious office, writing a letter of dismay, firing him on the spot. 

Jean and Hange eventually reached his shared room with Connie. The room was parted symmetrically between two soldiers. One side was a complete mess with clothes hanging everywhere except the closet. Boxers were thrown on the bed’s railing while socks were only seen in singles. Just like a broken bone parted in two, the other side of the room was clean as could be. Once Jean reached the foot of his bed, he slumped down on the neatly made sheets, burying his face in the white pillow and not caring that everything was getting dirty. Hange walked towards the window, opening it up and letting cold, fresh air fly into the room. She looked towards the other boy, his bald head snoring where the feet would usually be. 

She looked back at Jean, happy to see that he was already asleep. She walked over to him and took off his boots, hoping his dreams would be good. Hange moved him to the side, pushing him towards the wall, and sliding the blanket out from under his body before draping it over him.

“Good night, Jean.”

Rays of sunshine broke their way through the window, elegantly shining on Jean’s sleeping form. The weather was a stark contrast from the night before.

The sun blinded his closed eyes, making the boy shift in his bed. Jean groaned tiredly in the quiet room, rubbing his eyes before opening them up and looking over at Connie’s bed. To his surprise, it was empty. He sat up in slight panic, the pounding in his head hitting him like lightning. Jean had no idea what the time was but he would usually wake up way before Connie did, eventually having to drag his friend out of bed so the bald teen would make it in time for breakfast. If Connie was awake, Jean was late. Very late. 

He stood up from the bed, feeling nauseous and tired, wanting to throw up but having nothing left in his stomach. The teen looked down at his clothes, his face crunching up in disgust as he saw the dry stains of vomit, mud, and alcohol. A sudden rush of memories flashed through his mind, reminding Jean of the utter horror of events that happened last night. The walk through Trost, the alcohol in the bar, the brothel, almost throwing up at Captain Levi, the scolding from Captain Levi, the anger from Captain Levi, the kick from Captain Levi, the look of disgust from Captain Levi.

Fuck.

Captain Levi hated him.

Captain Levi hated him a lot.

Jean walked over to his closet, grabbing a change of clothes and a towel before heading out of his room and into the empty hallways of the military base. The eerie silence scared him — shivers ran down his spine as his skin felt the breeze of tranquility. What was usually a safe space for Jean now felt dangerous. 

In the life of a scout, silence was a bad thing; silence was danger. It meant that horrible things were looming right around the corner. Silence meant that someone had died. Silence meant that a Titan was smart. Silence meant that you were the only soldier left standing. If the base was quiet, no one was there. If no one was there, everyone was dead. 

With a hasty walk, his fingers found their way back to his cracked lips, picking at the dry skin. He had done so ever since his lips crashed against another’s. The constant feeling of lips against lips sickened him to his core. Jean picked at his lips like a snake shedding its skin, hoping for an untouched layer beneath. 

Once Jean made it to the communal showers, he didn’t waste any time to get in and turn the water on, not caring that it still hadn’t got time to heat up. A harsh drizzle of cold water came out of the shower head, falling on top of Jean and sliding down his unbrushed hair. Without even noticing, he had stepped into the same stall he had used just four days ago to scrub every part of his body an unsettling number of times. 

With every drop of water landing on his naked body, Jean was brought back to the same crappy day he thought about every time he stepped into the shower. The hands, the touch, the kiss, his breath — It never left, and Jean feared it never would. 

He slammed his palms against the damp wall, curling them up into fists, frustration and anger rushing through his veins as the heavy panting grew by the second, only letting him breathe in polluted smoke. His head bowed down, not daring to show his face to the angels above. The knuckles turned white as his nails dug into his skin, the water now blending with the blood as it ran down his forearms. Jean didn’t know whether the water that was sliding down his cheeks were tears or not, but they were there, and he was weak. 

Oh, how he needed Marco.

Marco.

How he needed that damned boy.

“Jean, come in!” Ophelia, what a kind mother. Marco sure was a lucky guy.

“Why aren’t you with your parents? You’re from Trost, is your house okay? Are they okay?” She was so clearly worried about the boy in front of her. 

Ophelia was a beautiful woman, her radiant black hair like oil and ink, shone under the rays of sun. Just like her son, the lady was blessed with friendly freckles like the constellations of stars that would appear every twilight. She was always dressed according to the places she was in. Now, at the comfort of her home, Opehlia was dressed in a grey maxi dress, the neckline a defined square. Around her curvy waist was a stained apron in the color of maroon. 

“Where’s Marco? He didn’t get hurt did he?” Jean couldn’t answer. No one could deliver such tragic news in a cozy home like this. “Jean?”

She must know now, know that Jean is here to break her heart. 

“My- My parents are fine, I think… I- I don’t know I haven’t had the chance to meet them yet,” Jean rambled, not even thinking about his words. “They’re fine.”

Jean was in clear denial, not wanting to think about anyone else’s state since his Marco wasn’t okay. His Marco was dead.

His Marco?

He couldn’t say that. Marco was Opehila’s, not his. 

“That’s good to hear, sweetie.” Ophelia smiled softly, worry painted in her brown irises; just like the one’s Marco had. Jean had run away from cleaning duty the second he saw Marco’s dead body. 

Half his face. Gone.

The military nurse had yelled after him, calling him ‘cadet’ since she didn’t know his name. 

“Jean, where is Marco?” she asked again, her high pitched voice seeping through the air. 

“Gone,” whispered Jean. “He’s dead.”

Everything froze. 

The clock stopped turning, birds halting in the middle of the sky. 

“No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No.”

Her voice quivered as she held back tears. She didn’t want to believe what she was hearing. 

Her Marco. Dead. 

In what world did a mother need to bury her son.

Only fifteen years old.

Forever young.

She hadn’t seen Marco in so long, and now she never would. 

Ophelia had sent him away to fight for the king, something the family valued a lot. She was so proud of him whenever he would come home and tell her about the past month. She was so happy to hear how loved he was, and how great he was doing academically and physically. 

But now, her little soldier boy was dead. 

And she would never hear his voice again.

Jean furrowed his eyebrows, eyes shut closed as hard as he possibly could. He didn’t want any of the monsters that kept haunting him. He missed the fresh air of peace, the smoke of pain and grief choking him. The water kept dripping its way down to the floor, circling around the drain like the end of a tornado. Jean’s heart was beating rapidly, his breathing fast and unstable. 

Jean just stood there, letting the stream of water do all the work. Who knew that it could get so bad? So bad that someone wouldn’t be able to touch oneself.

It was all so incredibly tragic. 

Pathetic, If you asked Jean.

The disheveled teen stepped out of the shower stall, grabbing the soft towel and wrapping it around his waist. He didn’t wait for his body to dry off before putting his newly washed clothes on. With a pair of khaki linen pants and a forest green knitted sweater, Jean started to head down towards the mess hall, hoping that breakfast would still be served. The building was eerily quiet as if Jean had been left behind. right, down two floors, left, and down the seemingly never ending hallway. But as Jean got closer and closer to his desired location, sounds of words and laughter got louder. 

It definitely felt more dramatic than it actually was, but Jean swore that the second he stepped foot into that room, everyone got quiet and stared at him. Jean wanted to swallow himself whole and never be seen again by anybody. In the military, gossip spread like wildfire and Jean had been a victim to those several times throughout the past three years. Whether it was about his crush on Mikasa, his relationship with Marco, or something that had nothing to do with love, Jean was always on the receiving end of hurtful rumors.

He looked around the mess hall, every seat taken except for one. Right in the middle of the room, sat his friends, and right between Connie and Sasha was an empty seat, glowing under nonexistent light. The girl smiled at him brightly as the boy clapped his palm against the bench, signalling for their friend to sit down. 

“Jean!” Connie called out his name in excitement. 

In an instant, everyone else started talking and things felt like they had gotten back to normal. After Jean had gotten himself a bowl of cooked potatoes (the only thing left), he walked over to his friends and sat down, Sasha to his left and Connie to his right. But right in front of him, sitting face to face, was Eren Jaeger, and he looked pissed. 

“What?” mumbled Jean, grabbing a spoonful of food, stuffing his mouth. 

“You overslept.”

“So?” hissed Jean as he glared at Eren, not wanting a lecture and definitely not wanting to be mocked. 

“It’s lunch,” Jean’s eyes widened slightly, immediately lowering his head to hide his surprise. “You’re not wearing your uniform and for some reason Captain Levi wasn’t mad when you ditched cleaning duty this morning.” Continued Eren, raising an eyebrow in suspicion as his tone grew with annoyance.

Jean was too tired and hungover to think of a witty response, too exhausted to defend himself, so all the boy did was shrug as he tightened his grip on the fork, his knuckles turning white once again. It was a common occurrence at this point.

“Come on, answer me.” demanded Eren through gritted teeth. 

“Stop it, Eren.” Mikasa tried to calm him down, but like usual, it didn’t work.

“What’s up with you lately? Huh?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” hissed Jean, letting go of the fork, his knuckles getting their color back.

“You’re acting weird and for some reason, no one cares except for me!”

“Maybe no one cares because it’s none of their business!”

Jean was getting mad, bothered greatly by Eren’s curious nature.

“It is my business because it’s messing up the dynamics of our squad, horse-face!”

“Don’t fucking call me that!” Jean stood up in swift motion, making Connie and Sasha carefully move to the edge of the bench in worry. 

“Jean, calm down.” Connie said quietly from the side as Armin did the same to his friend. “Eren, please calm down.”

The brunette shot daggers at the blond. “Shut up, Armin. You’re just as bothered by it as I am, everyone is. I’m just the only one who actually says something about it instead of walking on eggshells around him.” No one dared to reply, deep inside knowing that Eren was speaking the truth. Everyone did care, everyone was curious on why Jean had been acting so distant and off. He had been in Commander Erwin’s office for several hours the evening before and once he finally came out, he ignored and went straight to sleep. 

“Eren, leave him alone.” Armin’s soft voice intertwined with Eren’s harsh words as he put a hand on his friend's shoulder. The blond didn't want Jean to rile up too, constantly hearing Marco’s wish in the back of his head. I’m trying, Marco. 

“Why are you defending him?!” Eren pushed Armin’s hand away, standing up to gain more power. 

“I’m not defe-“

“What’s up with you, Jean?! Why wasn’t Captain Levi mad?!” interrupted Eren, not caring about what the others had to say. All that he cared about was an explanation from Jean, who was currently walking away, leaving behind the bowl of lukewarm potatoes. “Don’t walk away from me!” Eren continued as he chased after his frenemy. The brunette grabbed Jean’s sleeve, livid for being ignored.

“Don’t touch me!” Jean turned around quickly, ripping his sweater away from Eren’s grip as he backed away. The mess hall went quiet except for the rapid breathing coming from the two boys. Everyone turned around to look at the commotion, butting in on something that had nothing to do with them.

Only Armin noticed the pang of panic coming from Jean.

Eren’s eyes burned red, his blood rushing with rage, heating up his body.

“If you’re gonna act like such a dick, go home to your mommy instead of taking it out on us, Jean-boy!” With the blink of an eye, Jean’s fist found itself in the middle of Eren’s face with hot, sharp pain piercing through the initial numbness. The punched boy fell to the floor, his back landing harshly on the tumbled stones. 

“Jean!” yelled one of his friends in worry, but the puncher wasn’t listening. He bent down to the floor, his legs on each side of Eren’s torso as the punches kept coming one after the other. Jean didn’t care for all the bruises he left or all the blood that spread on Eren’s face because right under him was someone who would heal no matter what; unlike him. He took out all his anger on that particular body, even if it wasn’t all targeted towards Eren alone. He couldn’t punch the guard, so he punched Eren three times right in the face. He couldn’t hurt himself, so he punched Eren in the chest five times. 

The two friends (rivals) had fought several times before but it had never gotten this bad. 

With every punch came a cursing scream of pain from the boy on the floor. When he’d had enough, he used the last of his strength to twist around and throw himself on top of Jean. Straddling his hips, Eren got his revenge. He punched as many times as he could, blood dripping from his nose and forehead as Jean tried to fight back.

The fight was fair until it wasn’t. 

With one wrong placement, a single movement of a muscle, Eren was no longer there. The titan shifter had changed his position and moved his hips backwards, sitting on top of Jean’s waistband. 

There he was once again. 

That dirty face with the wide grin of self amusement and pleasure. 

The guard.

Jean could feel his pants unbutton and the hand slide in. He froze in place, the panic numbing his body. The feeling of the sweaty hand rubbing up and down on his cock was real and it was there. Jean could practically see the guard on top of him, remembering the unbuttoned pants and the stain of cum in front. The cruel laughter and words of cursed meanings lingered in the back of his head, screaming out his name in amusement and enjoying the inflicted pain. 

“Jaeger, let go! Now!” A hazy and unrecognisable voice yelled as Eren was kicked away, landing on his side. Everyone in the mess hall had turned around back to their now chilly food. The whispers rang loudly in the room as Captain Levi broke up the one sided fight. 

Once Jean could no longer feel Eren’s weight on top of him, he crawled away with heavy breath, tears rolling down his cheeks uncontrollably. Jean had never cried in front of any of his comrades before. Sure, he had shown frustration and his voice had cracked several times, but never had he let a tear dance its way down his cheeks.  

“Jean started it!”

“Does it look like I care? Go to your room.”

“But-“

“Now.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Drink the tea, it will help with that stupid decision you made yesterday.” 

Levi was still mad, feeling utter disgust whenever his eyes darted towards Jean. He couldn’t even touch Jean without wanting to rip the boy’s skin off, so when he had told Jean to follow him out of the mess hall, no one was behind him. Jean was still panicking on the blood covered floor with a crowd of murmurs around him. Levi had commanded the unstable soldier to follow him once again but to no avail. After that? Armin had so kindly offered a helping hand, accompanying his Captain out the door as his soft fingers twirled around Jean’s wrist.  

The walk of shame down the hallways of the base was quickly over once they reached the common room. 

The big room that was constantly used as a comforting place for soldiers to let loose, was beautifully decorated by rows of bookshelves. In the middle of the room was a big, maroon carpet, covering over half the floor. On top of the carpet were four couches and four armchairs, half in the color of emerald green and half made from dark brown leather. Between each set of couches was an oak wooden table, big enough for plates of snacks and board games. The blond had led Jean to one of the couches as Levi sat down on the couch in front. The Captain had made Armin go to the infirmary and find a first aid kit so Jean’s bruises could be taken care of.

“Drink it, Kirstein.” 

Jean did as he was told, picking up the metal cup and placing it on his bruised lips, drinking. The two waited for Armin to return, both of them knowing well enough that unless the blond was here, the tense silence would continue its path. The only sounds in the room were the occasional slurps from Jean and Levi’s constant finger tapping on his knee. Time wasn’t moving and Jean felt his hair starting to grey. It wasn’t often that he felt unable to talk; Jean was an honest man, after all. He knew that whatever his brain was begging him to scream was just going to be a useless excuse to defend his honour. Captain Levi didn’t care about what he had to say — Jean knew that. 

The uncomfortable stillness was murderous like a sharp knife against the chest, held by the biggest enemy man could have. Jean, burdened by such a query, wondered why his name was being tampered with. Sure, he’d gone inside that brothel and led that woman on, but that wasn’t his intention — He didn’t approach her and he didn’t pay her. 

Did Captain Levi know that? 

The tense atmosphere in the room was a constant source of anxiety for Jean, and eventually, his fingers started toying with his lips, picking at the scabs of dry skin. Now, after Eren had punched him in the face, his cracked lips were painted with dry blood. He felt the burning sensation of ripping his lips to pieces — it felt good, and Jean couldn’t get enough of it. A fresh batch of blood joined the dried remnants, bringing to life the desert that had been created. 

After god knew how long, Armin finally opened the door to the common room, barging in with a wooden box in his hands. Jean lowered his hand to his lap, letting go of his bruised lips. “Sorry it took so long, one of the nurses asked me to help her carry some boxes of cough drops,” Armin babbled as he closed the door and walked further into the room. “Apparently Sasha snuck in yesterday and stole the last few which is hila- which is not important right now.” He cut himself off, feeling the tension in the air. He mumbled a quick ‘sorry’ before sitting down on the living room table in front of Jean. 

Armin had seen all the things that happened last night, the yelling and the kicking — he knew about Captain Levi’s anger. So instead of picking up a conversation with his Captain or picking up a conversation with Jean, Armin came to terms with the uneasy silence. With plenty of possibilities for conversation starters, none came out. The blond opened up the first aid kit, putting aside the wooden lid and rumming through the contents of the box, looking at the peculiar tools he had gotten to know so well over the years. He had become an expert on the subject of saving one's life, hardened by the rough life of a scout. Injuries were no strangers to the people in the room, blood and gore so casually fitting in their day to day lives. Once Armin found the things necessary to patch up his friend — bandages, alcohol to disinfect, cotton pads, and plasters, the work could begin. 

Jean sat on the old couch in such a pitiful state, making Armin’s nose crunch up in worry and slight disgust. Right above his left brow was a deep cut that had been covered up by dry blood. The throbbing pain made Jean feel as if his brain had gone concussed, the words in his head mocking him for losing such a childish fight. The wounded teen put his cup of peppermint tea aside, catching a quick glimpse of disapproval from his Captain. He sure couldnt be mad at Jean for not finishing it — or could he? 

“It’s gonna sting.” Apologised Armin as he flipped the bottle of alcohol against the cotton pad, watching as the liquid spread against its new home. With dainty movements, Armin brushed away Jean’s ashy bangs that had gotten stuck against the fresh scab. With hesitation after hearing Jean’s hiss, the blond patted the blood with the pad made of cotton, disinfecting the wound. He mumbled a soft ‘sorry’ before continuing his graceful work. “It’s okay.” answered Jean. 

It really was okay. Armin’s soft hands were so comforting against his bruised and burning skin. It was such a nice change from the anguished pain he had been feeling. Jean didn't want this moment to end. He would gladly feel the sting ten times worse if it meant he could get comfort from his friend. When Armin was there, touching him and comforting him, the pain was bearable; he could tolerate the hurt and fixate on something else. 

Armin continued on his work, moving on to disinfect the cut on Jean’s right cheek and then the small scratches that decorated the violet bruise around his left eye. Eren had done one hell of a job. The pad of cotton had been painted red, the blood no longer on Jean’s unusually pale face. The colors of black and blue had circled themselves around his eye and jaw in the shape of one rageful fist. 

“Wow, Eren really busted your lips.” Jean didn’t bother correcting him — neither did Levi. The Captain had noticed the addictive nature of the skin picking, but for now, he chose to remain quiet. If it got worse he would bring it up, of course he would. But for now, the unknowingly shared secret, would remain what it was. 

“Yeah,” Jean chuckled awkwardly. “He did.” 

Armin put aside the old cotton pad and changed it for a new one, this time curling it up to create a thin cylinder before dipping the tip inside the bottle of alcohol. With one hand on top of Jean’s head, firm enough to hold it in place, the blonde gently pressed the alcohol soaked pad against the cracked lips of his friend, wiping away the blood. Jean hisses at the burning sensation, feeling the same thing felt at the age of nine when one of his bullies decided that it would be a good idea to pour salt on an open cut. “I’m so sorry.” apologised Armin once again, momentarily stopping his movements to look Jean in the eyes.

“It’s fine,” responded the boy quietly, his voice husky. “It’s not your fault.”

With a quick nod of agreement, Armin continued cleaning Jean’s lips, the two boys so close to one another that they started sharing the same air. Armin could feel the heavy breaths coming from Jean’s nose and landing on his forehead. He tried to remain as calm as possible, pausing his very much needed breaths just to slow down the pounding heartbeat. Oh how he hoped that Jean couldn’t hear those. He tried to lower his head as much as possible, thankful for his outgrown bangs that were now hiding the pink hue on his cheeks. Jean’s intense eyes, so beautifully colored in honey and wheat, stared right into his soul. His touch on the bloodied lips were as gentle as the paintbrush against its canvas. The movement was so smooth and filled with care as if the muse of the artist was the prettiest of all. 

Armin had long known about his attraction to boys, it was nothing new. He had first realised so when he was in the communal showers at age thirteen, talking with Reiner and Connie about how attractive Christa was. Sure, she was undoubtedly beautiful, anyone could see that an angel had touched her. But for Armin, that was it. He felt no attraction to her and he had no need to kiss her. Rather than that, it was the sight of the trained cadets’ growing abs as they walked out of the showers, towels around their waists and water dripping down their bare bodies, that made Armin feel like a giggling teen. After the realization of his sexual orientation, the first person he told was Mikasa — to no one's surprise, she was completely accepting. When he decided to tell Eren only a few days later, she accompanied him with a hand of support. At first Eren backed away, questioning if this meant that Armin had a crush on him.

He didn’t.

Once that moment of panic had passed, the two boys shared a wholehearted hug, Eren promising his friend that his secret was safe with him. 

Armin had always been on the receiving end of gay jokes. With his feminine looks and lack of physical abilities, the nicknames ‘homo’ and ‘girl’ were given out to him quite a lot. He would always say that it didn’t bother him, he didn’t care what the fragile masculinity of teenage boys had to say about him. But he did. Because over a year later when Marco had come to him and confessed his undying love towards Jean, the midnight conversation had been overheard by some other cadet who Armin couldn’t even remember his name. Luckily enough for Marco, the boy had run off to spread the news before Jean’s name was mentioned. 

Once the news were out about Marco being ‘one of those gays’ the world shined brightly because Marco was just so brave. It was ridiculously unfair. The freckled teen got showered with compliments and support, no one bothered by his attraction towards boys. 

However, the taunting toward Armin, as expected, did not stop. 

“Arlert, hurry it up.”

The commanding words from Captain Levi brought the boy back to reality. Once Armin noticed how he had been drowning in Jean’s irises, too fixated on their beauty to notice his fingers lingering on his friends lips, he inhaled a sharp breath of air, halting his hands in place as he stood up. “Right, sorry. I’m done.” Armin cleared his throat, blushing tremendously. Without looking at Jean, focusing solely on the task ahead just to avoid the boy in front of him, Armin packed up the first aid kit. Had he only been a bit calmer, would the blond have noticed the soft shade of pink on Jean’s cheeks. 

Moments later, the blond was out of the tense room, the chilly feeling gone from his body the second the heavy door closed behind him. He pressed his back against the door, slumping his shoulders as a heavy burden left his heavy heart. With a deep breath to compose himself, Armin strode away from the common room, lying to himself that everything was okay and that Jean did not in any way say see the burning red of his cheeks. This was no time to be a creepy gay who lusted over his straight friend. Especially not that friend. Enough had been going on in Jean’s life and Armin knew that he did not in any way need the frustrating feeling of being desired after.

Focus.

What was he even talking about? Armin wasn't going after Jean. He wasn't.

Sure, Jean was good looking and his features were on the more attractive side, but that was Jean for god's sake. Marco’s Jean. Marco was the one who liked Jean, he was the one who had confessed his undying love and imagined his future with the boy  — not Armin. Get it together. The sharp words kept repeating themselves over and over again as Armin pushed his way through the stream of soldiers that had returned from their not so fine feast in the mess hall. 

“Armin! How’s Jean?” someone called out his name — called out Jean’s name. His steps faltered in the middle of the crowd, people bumping his shoulders from both sides, pushing him off balance. 

“Armin!” the voice called out again, as a bald and familiar head rushed towards him, followed closely by the auburn hair of Sasha. The blond stood frozen, the lingering panic of reminding Jean of the monstrous guard still fresh in his mind. Armin was terrified of becoming like him. His round blue eyes were as wide as could be, his brows furrowed in guilt and fear, his mouth slightly open — the words stuck at the tip of his tongue. 

He couldn't face Connie and Sasha after this. Armin had gone into that room to take care of their friend and make sure his cuts wouldn’t get infected, but instead, he had gone completely off route and ended up being a perv the size of the colossal titan. Jean probably hated him now and rightfully so. “Earth to Armin!”

“Dude, you there?”

“He looks like you, Connie. Always confused and lost.”

“Choke on a potato.”

Armin felt two pairs of hands clutch his biceps, shaking him back and forth, trying to get his attention. With another loud call coming from the girl, screaming his name at the top of her lungs, Armin finally reacted. “Geez Sasha, he’s not dead.” Connie was baffled by the sheer amount of breath his friend could let out without damaging her vocal cords. With a smack to the back of his bald head, Connie straightened up as if the commander was about to arrive. 

Sasha grabbed Armin’s wrist, the boy still frozen in his tracks, before pushing Connie from behind and leading the two of them to her room on the first floor. Usually, boys weren't allowed on that floor, since it was reserved for the female soldiers. But after lunch, for a whole hour, none of the superiors were around, so naturally, the boys would go to the girls, and the girls would go to the boys. Sasha pushed through the herd of sheep, as Captain Levi liked to call it. 

Moments later, as the door slammed behind him, Armin found himself sitting on Sasha’s bed, Connie standing in front of him with a serious expression plastered on his face (something you usually did not see), and Sasha grabbing two chairs from the nearby desks in her shared room with Mikasa. “What happened to Jean?” interrogated Connie as he sat down, his chest pressed against the back of the chair. “You were there, you saw what happened. He had a fight with Eren.” explained Armin casually, hiding his discomfort by not saying Jean’s name. 

“Yeah, no.” Sasha shook her head as she copied Connie’s mannerism and sat down on the wooden chair next to her friend. “We want to know what happened before that and what happened after that.” In her eyes and in her voice was genuine worry. Armin knew that the two didn’t want to question him for gossip, they wanted to know about Jean because he was their friend, and they really did care about him. 

Armin had been in this room many times before, knowing the in’s and out’s of the messy room like the palm of his hand. Mikasa’s side was always clean and Sasha’s side was always the exact opposite. He shifted uncomfortably on the bed, putting his hands down on the sheets in surrender, feeling crumbs of food against his skin. The blond decided to go with their theatrics and answer whatever questions they had — even if the answer wouldn’t be complete truths. 

“I just patched him up.” Armin started with the easy answer.

“Did Captain Levi say something to him?” asked Connie, his curiosity in its peak.

In response, Armin shook his head softly. “Well, I’m sure he did, but just not while I was there.”

Connie and Sasha let out hums of understanding, dramatically nodding as if this was an important meeting between military commanders, talking about a life and death situation. 

“Why wasn’t Jean cleaning with us this morning?” asked Connie as he leaned forwards, pressing his chest further against the chair’s back. “And why wasn’t Captain Levi mad?” added Sasha.

Hesitantly, Armin lowered his head as he spoke. “I don’t- I can’t tell you.” 

“Bro, come on! No one ever tells us anything because they think we’re stupid, but Jean is our friend! We deserve to know.” explained Connie as the irritation was boiling his blood. He had often felt like he was left out of important matters, and he knew Sasha felt the same. They would always share to each other what they were feeling, more often than once finding similarities between themselves and high-fiving once they did. They knew that they were nothing special. They didn’t have crazy abilities like Mikasa or a super-mega-big-criminal-genius-level type of brain like Armin. They were Connie and Sasha, the king and queen of shenanigans. They had tried several times to bite the palms of their hands and the tip of their fingers to hopefully become Titan-shifters. They had also tried to remember all their family's ancestors in hopes of being somehow related to Historia. When she sent them back a letter of denial, a letter that clearly stated that she did not share an ‘Uncle Otto’ with Sasha, their hopes and dreams of luxurious food for the rest of their lives, were crushed. 

Then there was Jean. Sure, he was the best out of everyone in the 104th in ODM, but he was still just ‘Jean’. He was one of them. 

“Please Armin, just tell us.” pleaded Sasha with her eyes like a doe. They bore into his and Armin gave in, knowing that nothing would stop Connie and Sasha from getting the answers. 

“He ran away last night… and, uh, got drunk,” Armin said carefully, his tone soft and his expression cautious. 

“What?!” the two teens in front of him shouted in shock. “Jean got drunk?!” Connie exclaimed, as Sasha slapped her palm over her mouth. 

With a quick nod of his head, Armin confirmed his words. 

“Why’d he run away?!” 

“Why was he drunk?!”

“Is he okay?!”

Connie and Sasha kept throwing worried questions at Armin, not letting the boy answer a single one. “You need to ask Jean, it’s not my place to tell.” was all that the blond could say as he stood up from the bed. 

“What- No. Armin, come on, just tell us.” begged Connie, grabbing the sleeve of Armin’s shirt and forcing him to stay. 

“I’m sorry, but it’s just- I wish I could tell you, Connie, but it’s not my story to tell,” Armin pushed his arm away, Connie’s weakened grip letting the fabric slip right through his fingers. The blond teen let out a sigh of frustration. “Jean is your friend, he’ll tell you when he’s ready” continued Armin as he tried to lessen the tension in the room and comfort his frustrated friends. 

Screaming, shouting, yelling. Punching, hitting, kicking. Connie wanted to do it all. He felt so incredibly left out — calling Jean his best friend, yet not knowing a damn thing about him. His feelings were ablaze, a storm of emotions coursing through his body as he stood up in haste, sending the wooden chair crashing to the floor with a loud thump. “Connie! Wait!” Sasha shouted after him as he rushed out of the room. With an apologetic yet angered look directed at Armin, the girl ran after her rageful friend. Her calls of his names echoed in the crowded hallway, making people turn around and look at the commotion. 

Armin hated being at the center of attention. 

He stayed in the clammed room for the next hour, thinking about everything he didn't want. He didn't want to think about Connie and Sasha, and he definitely didn’t want to think about Jean. Armin needed to get out of this room but he couldn’t move. The guilt and sadness sat on his shoulders like bricks of stone, weighing down his body onto the thin mattress. He felt tears gather in his waterline, blurring his vision and stinging his eyes. Armin didn't want to cry. He sat on the unmade bed so pathetically, his cheeks burning with red as snot started running down his nose. 

To hide his shame, Armin buried his head in his hands — To silence his pain, Armin bit his bottom lip. 

“Armin, is everything okay?” Tomorrow was going to be their first ever expedition outside of the walls and it would be an understatement that Armin was absolutely petrified. He didn't have good memories of people leaving the safety of the walls — first his parents, then his grandpa. So when Armin lifted his head towards the voice behind him and saw Jean, he felt safe enough to shake his head in a simple ‘no’.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” asked the ash haired boy as he sat down on the rooftop next to Armin. This place, the rooftop of the stables, had become a comfort place for the scouts. Behind the short lengthened and white brick wall, was an old ladder that was most definitely not safe to stand on. However, Armin and his friends did not care and therefore adopted the roof into their own hangout spot. “I won’t judge.” humoured Jean, hiding behind his chuckle and honest truth of his care for Armin.

“Aren’t you scared?”

“Of what?”

“Of Titans.” explained Armin.

“I am. But after what happened in Trost, I grew some balls… I guess.”

Jean was brave that day, leading a bunch of cadets who hadn't even graduated yet, to enter the deadly battlefield of a Titan attack. Armin had wondered what toughened up the boy, and when Marco admired Jean from the side, he understood. Jean’s motivation was Marco. His motivation, hopes, and dreams all revolved around Marco. If Jean was the earth, Marco was the sun. 

“Aren’t you scared to end up like Marco?”

Shit. Wrong question.

Stupid frickin’ question. 

Jean’s body tensed up as he looked towards the horizon, the sun going to sleep behind the large field of grass. Armin always used his brain, so why did it have to stop working now? Why.

“Petrified,” Admitted Jean through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to die. I’m scared of it.”

After an undying silence, Jean took a deep breath before continuing his shameful admission. “But I think most people are, even Commander Erwin and Captain Levi.”

Armin always knew that Jean was smart. Whether it was proved by being ranked third place by academic grades in the 104th cadet corps, or by being quick on his feet when it came to witty insults and strategic battlefield plans — Jean was his own kind of genius. Marco was the first to say so. 

“Nothing good comes from dying. Even soldiers like Marco, who to his very last breath fought for humanity, will one day be nothing. And no one wants to be nothing.” Jean said with a heavy tone, his expression pained by the words he was saying. 

“No one wants to be nothing, and while you're alive you can always be something. But when you die, the only thing that keeps your memory, is someone else. And you have to hope that the people who remember you, remember you as someone you can be proud of.” The somber look in Jean’s eyes was haunting, yet somewhere deep inside there was a light of hope shining just like the light that Marco had.

“You have to keep fighting, Armin. Even when you're scared and weak, and all you want to do is lie on your bed, hiding under the covers and cry, you have to keep fighting. You're lucky, because you were born a genius, and you have so much ahead of you with dreams for the future. You want to see the oceam for fucks sake!” Jean exclaimed in a husky chuckle. 

“Ocean.” Armin corrected in a delicate whisper. 

“Right, Ocean.” Jean rubbed the back of his nape awkwardly. “Armin you're gonna be someone, I know that and you know that. Everyone knows that. So I know that you're scared, but you should be because the only person who isn't is Jaeger and you don't want to be like him.” Armin couldn’t help but let out a suppressed laughter. 

“Marco had so much ahead of him, and I was so sure that he would get to fulfill his dreams. But I don't think he was scared enough. I calmed him down and that made him lower his guard.”

Armin didn’t know what to say. The loss was still so new, and Jean was sitting right beside him with a neutral expression, blaming himself for the tragic death of Marco Bott. 

Jean Kirstein’s best friend. 

“Be scared, Armin. It makes you better.”

With a deep sigh, Jean stood up at the edge of the roof, the tip of his boots hanging over the edge.

“Marco told me that.”

Jean always talked about Marco, always quoting him and telling emotion filled tales. Marco was someone because Jean remembered him as such. Jean  remembered his Marco as someone worth mourning. 

Chapter Text

Armin sat on that bed for so long that at some point, he was sure that his body started to decompose. He felt detached to reality, his thoughts like a swamp of thrown out garbage that no human wanted, and inside of that swamp, was he. His silhouette was one of a monster, swallowing all of the thrown out shit that had been burned by acid—the acid, his own spit. 

“Armin?” His name engraved like words on a tombstone, poisoned with animosity as his death was celebrated by the townsmen that couldn't bear to see his face. The blond had imagined their dancing feet stomping on the ground where he’d lay six feet under, playing the songs he hated the most just to make sure he suffered in his endless sleep. 

“Armin?”

The name burnt through the wood, ruining everything in its path. 

“Armin!” 

The name that held no alchemy. 

“Dude! Answer me!” yelled Connie as he clapped his hands together three times right in front of the blond boy’s face, and finally, after several attempts, made the boy wake up from his daydream. 

“Connie…?” questioned Armin hazily. 

“I came to apologise,” admitted the bald teen as he played with his fingers. “I understand that you can’t tell me what happened to Jean.” The blue eyed boy raised his eyebrows in shock.

“I should actually thank you for respecting his privacy and being a good friend to him,” continued Connie. 

“I really think he needs that right now.” As hard as it was for Connie to step back and to not be the needed one, he decided to suck it up for the sake of Jean. He would give his friends the support he needed, even if it was from the side. 

Jean’s leg was bouncing up and down anxiously, the tension in the room becoming unbearable. He had once again gone back to picking on his lips, ripping apart the dry skin and tasting the metallic flavour in his mouth as he licked away the burning feeling of open cuts. With a gaze like daggers shot towards him from his captain, Jean wanted to rip apart more than just his lips. 

He was now being crucified by a pair of dark blue eyes. 

Jean felt the desperate need to dig his fingernails into his skin and rip the flesh all the way until all that remained of him was meat and bones, sitting on the couch like a skeleton with blood hard as stone. Jean was stuck in a body that someone had touched for his own selfish needs and he couldn’t tear himself out of the prison made of skin. The guard would be the saddest part of Jean, a part that would never be his. It was torturous. Everything had become hefty, every little task so difficult to accomplish. Sleeping had become a chore, seeing the haunting face in the endless darkness. Yet when the eyes were open, staring out to the horizon with the stare of a thousand yards, that very same face would crawl its way into reality, building itself on Jean’s path like an ancient mosaic. 

Levi wasn’t like the guard, but the same feelings couldn’t be shaken off of Jean who was digging nails into his skin like the claws of a tiger and biting into his lips like the teeth of a wolf. In the end, it didn’t matter who gazed his way, the guard had become a part of him. He was the oxygen and soul of Jean, slowly decaying and killing him with only a memory. Jean caught a faint whiff of his scent at the tip of his nose, the trace of a wicked man who now lay restfully until the end of day. 

What a cruel world it was for the good to die young yet still breathe.  

But he sure deserved it. Crying on the edge of the bed every night, hanging his limbs down to the floor like a slug. Would the guard feel ashamed like Jean did, if he’d see the state of his toy? Surely there was a reason for the feeling of doom. There had to be. Whatever Jean had done to get this punishment, he apologised for it every moment he got to. He didn’t believe in god, yet he had gotten down on two knees, holding his hands tight together as his fingers intertwined like woven braids, praying for mercy.

Angels would soon enough sing out his name. 

His burial was close, the post mortem had been conducted and the pencil had started working overtime for his written eulogy, scratching harshly at the paper, ripping it enough for the led to end up on the table. However, six feet under ground would still not be enough to protect him from the piercing eyes of captain Levi. Even a blind man behind a closed door would be able to feel the burning eyes of hate. Jean wanted to apologise, say it once again with feeling and go down on his knees and beg for forgiveness. 

The air in the room had frozen, going tight under the howling tension. A whistle would be enough to break the glass and a whisper would be enough to accuse someone of screaming. Jean had lost the game of chance, being punished by the devil as he sat on the couch like he was the one guilty of a murder that had been committed on an innocent child. Say something, the words continued begging Jean as his mouth kept closed; A single word could be the cure of the endless fall through the depths of hell. The anharmonic waves of wind played into one ear and out the other, the instruments out of tune as the music faltered under the pressure. Say something, anything .

Please.

Please, indeed. The begging boy had surely grown fond of that word, such a meaningful combination of letters that often got used for granted. Please was meant for desperation, beautifully begging and kissing one’s feet as a wish was prayed to the mortal gods that walked the very same grounds as the immortal common. Such a deflation of a word that meant nothing to the powerful men that could control just the smallest of mice and the tallest of trees. The bells could ring out with pleads and doves could send letters to the farthest destination, but with an ignorant turn of their heads, the kings of the land closed their eyes and imagined a world where the word wasn’t even there. A civilian so naive for the empathy of a ruler, ignorant of the prejudiced ways of a proud dictator. 

Jean was close to surrendering, raising up a white flag and hoping greatly for a friendly ceasefire. Finally, the death rattle breathing silenced in Jean’s ear as a word was uttered, and then another—forming a sentence.

“Why did you go to that brothel?” The disappointment was wrapped around the five words like a gift, the bow left at home and the paper ripped. The giver making sure it would be enough to show his disliking for the receiver. Levi didn’t know if he wanted to hear the answer, but he knew that he needed to. He had thought about that question ever since they had entered the military base. The raven haired man could find no reason for someone as impressive as Jean to go to such a place. He had tried to find logic in the boy’s action, yet could find none. Levi had faith in Jean, trusting him enough to know what actions fit his character and what actions did not. 

The Captain still held onto the rope, not ready to let go of his trust. His hands had turned red, covered in cuts from the harsh grip. His feet had gotten blisters from burying his toes in the ground, giving himself another way to hold onto Jean and not let go. Levi, with all his anger, still pitied the teen. He was left in a scary world with no parents and no home, yet unlike the other soldiers, no one knew. With constant reminders from his friends, Jean’s family was brought up as a joke, ridiculing the ash haired boy on his behaviour toward his mom and using the nickname he had gotten from her as a way to make him feel inferior. 

“A brothel?” the words were said with much disgust. Instead of being rolled elegantly down his tongue like colorful roses, the letters were spit out with the sharpest of thorns. 

Levi waited for an answer, studying the disheveled boy in front of him. The dark circles under his eyes had grown heavy with the lack of sleep and the coloring of his skin had gotten scarily pale. The cuts and bruises from his fight with Eren were still visibly there, a constant reminder of the brutal life of a soldier. Jean’s ashy hair—now brown—was still wet from the quick shower earlier that day. With that, his skin was accompanied by a moist look of sweat on his face and neck. Levi was looking at a ghost, his movements stiff since the death was still fresh. Jean’s head was spinning, the wheels quick at work, looking for a proper response. It was as if he was walking in circles, lost in unfamiliar territory. Jean was left reeling and Levi—with all his anger—wished for a mother. Whether it was his own or Jean’s? didn’t matter. All Levi wished for was that she would walk down the white stairs from the sky and meet with them there. 

The captain had grown fond of Jean, first seeing him in the scouts uniform and mistaking him for a former friend. Furlan Church, long gone; Deceased. 

“Why, Kirstein?”

When he first met Furlan, the guy had looked the same as Jean did the night before, his ashy hair short and messy as his sharp features had been covered with mud, sitting miserably in front of a brothel. It would be an understatement that Levi had been the one to save Furlan from eternal misery, being forced to sell his body just to survive the Underground’s mentality. It had been a mutual understanding between the two friends that their brotherhood had been the anchor to both of their survival in the place more horrible than the burning hell. 

Jean felt the words linger in his throat, sticking like glue to the blowhole that he desperately needed. He felt his energy drain like the very last drop of an ink pen, watching with his hands tied to his back as the ink slowly became invisible. The letters looked like puzzle pieces, belonging to different jigsaw’s and mocking Jean for not finding the perfect fit. What a ridiculous joke it was to sit on the couch looking lost. His perfect honesty, which was mostly known as a curse, bit him from the back and stayed behind, laughing with a pointed finger as Jean fell to his knees—the cursing pain of bone against floor, making not a single sound.

His mouth opened and closed several times, looking dumbfounded as his widened eyes searched for an answer in Captain Levi’s orbs. The heart had started beating so fast—it felt still. With sweaty palms against his knees, the color of khaki on his pants already a darker shade from the salty liquid, his leg stopped bouncing out of fear. Jean had lost all his previous vigor that he once carried proudly on the tip of his tongue. With much endeavor, the fearful boy was able to find a response.

“It wasn’t my fault.”

With a shaky voice, the sound as quiet as a fly, Jean said the worst thing imaginable. Every word he said came with the expectation of moving him forwards, but as always, he ended up being dragged back through the hardships of stupidity and thoughtless actions. 

Levi closed the gap between his teeth, clenching his jaw as his eyes narrowed with disappointment. He leaned his body forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. “What.” It wasn't a question. It was a firm statement of the utter feeling of dismay that ran through his body, the heated blood rushing through his veins and warming up his build. The Captain buried the fingernails into his palms, the pillowed skin marked with fury as the flesh turned white with traction. “How was it not your fault, Kirstein?” Levi asked bitterly, still giving the teen the benefit of the doubt. 

The interrogation wouldn't be brief—Jean knew that. His brain was running a thousand miles an hour, skimming through the words of a non existent dictionary. He could feel the drops of sweat glide down his forehead and the growing pond on his back and armpits. It wasn't a warm day. The sun had been shielded by the big, white clouds that painted their fluffy edges onto the light blue sky, blending together and forming a never ending cloud. The gleeful attempt of mother nature to make this evening into a peaceful memory of good weather and singing birds had been shot down by man-made bullets. The music of Bluebirds chirping outside the window unknowingly altered their harmonies into a pounding whistle, drilling its way into Jean’s head like the digging done on mines.

“I didn't want to pay,” slurred words escaped to the open room without a double check from Jean. “I didn’t.” It was logical to him. He’d been there, he went through it, he didn't notice the alarming meaning of his words and what they meant in this very moment. The words so full of meaning being backed up by spiralling emotions of defence, broke the final leg standing of a rusty chair and ripped the final thread of yarn in the once strong rope. Levi felt his heart sink to the ground, bleeding out through the cracks of wood as the last part of his hopeful desires left his soul. He pressed his lips together into a thin line, the words ricocheting through his mind, piercing through the lifeline in his chest. “I'm going to let you rephrase that, Kirstein.” The stern tone sent a shiver down the teen’s spine. Levi grabbed the teacup from the short table, his fingers lining up with the curved edge. There was a dark aura surrounding his tense silhouette, casting invisible shadows around the room that kept growing with every tick of the clock. 

“I-“ never before had Jean felt this powerless; His hands tied and his windpipe circled in a palomar knot. The intense glare from his captain bit into his body like vipers, cursing the teen with deadly poison, tricked by the blinding glints of fake empathy in those deep blue eyes. Jean lowered his head, using his thumb and pointer finger to rub his nose bridge in agony. He clenched his eyes shut, his head clouded with guilt. “I can’t breathe.” A quiet mutter flew out to the open air with broken wings. There were no tears left to cry from the miserable boy, holding Jean back in chains and forcing him to express his pain in mortifying whimpers of humiliation. 

The raven haired man sipped on his tea, slurping away the silence and overpowering the sound of Jean’s piteous whimpers. It was such a sight for sore eyes watching the teen crumble up like paper. “Do you know what they do in a brothel, Kirstein?” The question was asked with clear indication of patience, a rare sight ever since the two entered the common room. With a soft sniff of the nose, the teen answered awkwardly. “They uh… pay money for…” After a loud gulp and an uncomfortable eye contact with his captain, Jean continued. “…You know…”

Levi looked at him flatly. “They pay with money for sex.” 

He knew this world all too well; In the underground, you grew up precocious without the privilege of blissful ignorance. For years, Levi heard soliloquies from grown men about the wonders of money, getting told tales about how the female body worked like a cheap remedy. Thinking of their actions as a form of altruism, those unshaved and burly men walked down the stairs from Mitras with their pockets stuffed—their latest salary used to cheat on their wifes. With leather boots made from the skin of an extraordinary animal, the men marched narcissistically up to young boys on the street, flashing their pearly whites and opening up their mouths for yet another condescending lesson. ‘ Look at my life, kid. Get money so you can grow up and be like me.’

Always so proud as they handed out a single coin.

‘Here’s a head start. In the future you can help other women just like I'm helping your mother.’

An hour later, those men would walk out satisfied, buckling up their belts as the kids with the lowest valued coin in hand, sat on the moist cobblestones with their eyes closed—passed out from hunger. “A brothel is a place where men exploit women, and sometimes men and kids, for their own deranged needs,” Words poisoned with hate and anger were spat out from Levi’s mouth as he shamed the actions of all the cads. “It’s a sick place for sick men.” Levi couldn’t let Jean fall for their hoax and blindly follow the disgusting rituals of wealthy men who dealt with infidelity. It was no secret that the teen had yearned for a lavish life inside the interior, training in the cadet corps only to achieve his dream of getting into the military police. The captain had often feared that Jean would fall for their machiavellian ways and get used to their deceitful habits of swindle. And now, by going to a brothel, he had already adopted one of their characteristics.

“Are you sick in the head, Kirstein?” Jean’s heart stopped and his blood ran cold. The hair-rising question was as sharp as a knife, cutting the air instantaneously with its size, big enough to cut through the moon. “No!” Exclaimed Jean, his eyes wide with surprise. He felt as if he’d been pushed from the precipice, his finger stamped on by the captain’s feet when he tried to cling onto the last chance of making it out alive.

“I’m not sick in the head, sir,” Emphasized Jean. 

Levi kept his mouth shut, leaning his body forward as he put down the once steaming cup of tea onto the harsh surface of the short legged table, the carved out pattern in the wood a beautiful swirl of different sized circles. “I grew up in the underground,” informed Levi with an emotionless face, straightening his back and clasping his hands together, his fingers intertwined, pressing down without a chance of air getting between them. “I- I know that, sir,” stuttered Jean, baffled by the sudden change of topic and the unusual share of the captain’s private life. “My mother worked in a brothel,” Jean was sure that he’d seen the white walls of the common room tarnish as the conversation took a darker turn, the shade now an unpleasant greige marbled with cracks in the paint as his own blood seeped through it, portraying his own decaying feelings in a perfectly executed performance. “she was a sex worker,” Highlighted Levi, making sure that Jean did in no way, shape, or form miss the meaning of his words that harshly lightened up the truth behind the captain’s intentions during the ongoing conversation. 

Jean inhaled sharply, his chest rising simultaneously with his eyebrows as his hands unclenched. The teen opened and closed his mouth over and over again like a fish in freshwater, clueless on how to respond. The respected time to reply with condolences was running out like an hourglass nearing its end—sandstone hitting sandstone in graceful falls. There would soon be nothing left of the two men, the fire on the match burning the tree into ash as every second grew longer with intensity. 

“She had no freedom over her own body. She was getting paid in minimums while constantly being abused and harassed,” Levi described in a bitter tone, remembering how his mother was cattle, her existence equal to a lamb in a world of wolves. His body had grown stiff, his shoulders tense and expression wrinkled up in anger and disgust. The injustice of this cruel world was something Levi had adjusted to over time, learning how to survive with only his hands in a gunfight. “She got really sick when i was still a child, and not long after, she died.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” apologised Jean, finally getting back his ability to speak. The voice was soft and vulnerable, the tone a quiet whisper. It wasn’t often that Levi said something about his private life, his dark past only known by a few details thanks to his inspiring growth from criminal in the underground to humanities stronger soldier. Suddenly hearing about the captain’s mother was an unexpected truth and turn of events for Jean, never imagining that his life would get him here. 

Ignoring what the teen said, Levi continued his memory path to the past. “Kenny the Ripper was her brother.” 

Jean inhaled sharply, his jaw falling to the ground as his eyes widened ridiculously. He held his breath deep inside his lungs, his mouth drying up like a crimson desert. Before another step could be taken to further the gut wrenching conversation, the heavy doors slammed open with a quick whip of wind, barged through by a blonde scout, her pin-straight hair up in a tight ponytail. Her posture was stiff with anxiety, the tense atmosphere boiling the room with unwanted heat. Her expression was serious as her ambition reeked from her aura to complete her given task. Her brown colored eyes, big like a doe, pierced their way to the middle of the room, moving back and forth between the two men. The girl, not much older than eighteen, saluted with a small stomp of her foot against the wooden floor, “Captain Levi, sir!” her fear for the raven haired man was clear. “Commander Erwin wants Jean Kirstein to go to his office, sir!” With a raised and determined tone, the girl stole a glance over Jean’s patched up body. 

Anna Müller—Jean remembered her from the 57th scouting expedition. She was incredible, slaying down two titans all on her own and saving countless lives.

After a firm nod from Captain Levi, his hair bouncing in clean movement, Anna left the room with a sharp exhale of relief. She stole one last glance over her shoulder towards Jean, her expression sympathetic and curious, before disappearing down the hall. The stomping sound of boots hitting hard wood echoed away before the silence returned uninvited. Jean cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the quiet like a gunshot on an empty field at dawn. “Do I… go? Sir?” carefully choosing his words as if walking on eggshells, Jean picked at his already damaged cuticles, digging deeper into the peeling skin and making himself bleed once again. “Yes.”

There was no emotion behind the simple answer, no tone of indication or a hint of emotion. After the solitary word and a low sigh, Levi stood up from his seat, the couch imprinted with a deep pit in the fabric of where the tense body of one man sat mere seconds beforehand. His numb expression soon disappeared from Jean’s eyesight as he briskly turned around towards the door and strode away with an unyielding manner. Left alone in the common room, Jean felt an unpleasant brisk breeze through his clothes as his body subconsciously twitched. The teen lowered his head down to his hands, the movement of his finger halting to a stop once he noticed the dark maroon staining his flesh and gathering around his nails like flocks of sheep. He quickly slid his left thumb into the warmth of his mouth, sucking on the metallic taste of fresh blood. Jean’s vision grew hazy, his brain turning into a fog of worry as all the worst possible scenarios came rushing in and rotting up the place like mold on bread. 

Staring into nothing, Jean sat on the couch letting his bruised body get swallowed whole as he sank into the leather like a child in their parent’s clothes. For several minutes—nothing moved. His eyes burned with lingering tears that didn’t let themselves fall down the discolored cheeks, camping on his lower eyelids. Jean knew that the future held danger, he knew that walking into Commander Erwin’s office would be like stepping on an endless path of broken glass, and Jean knew that he had no choice but to step on the shards barefoot. Shaking his head like a dog getting out of water, he released himself from the daydream and stood up, ignoring the faint motion of sways as his feet tried to keep him stabilised. With every step that Jean took he felt the floor beneath him soften—the same softness of a mattress that only the people of Mitras got to sleep on. The boy was getting dizzy yet his stubborn nature prevented him from looking out for himself and taking a much needed breath. 

The way to Commander Erwin’s office kept Jean in an endless loop of distorted reality, the world around him losing its vibrant colors and sharp edges. The herd of soldiers rushing through the hallways during midday—taking advantage of their hour-long break—conversed between one another in a wide range of different volumes. The voices merged into one loud and probing siren, the words mumbling incoherently into Jean’s ear like a buzzing bee clinging onto an already dying flower. He raised his hands towards his ears, pressing tightly against the sides of his head as the dried up flesh of his palms stung his skin unpleasantly like a cat’s tongue against human cheeks and sandpaper against a carved out wood sculpture. Almost missing the office door on the left, Jean was interrupted by the deep voice of one Erwin Smith, his door open in an eerie gesture of forged welcomeness. The commander calling his name made his blood run cold and with an increase of heartbeats, Jean stepped through the door frame. His vision cleared instantly as his eyes landed on the empty armchair in front of the commander’s desk, the black leather shining under the burning candles like frigid waters under a full moon. “Come, sit.” 

A sophisticated man so adamant about confining a scared teen, the tricks up his sleeve so clever that only the best of the best could keep themselves away from his mousetraps. Erwin was a prodigy in his field of work, constantly outsmarting his enemies and getting what he wanted. As he watched Jean’s rigid steps, his walk hasty with uncertainty, Erwin felt his muscles go tense. The stiff body of the boy in front of him moved around like a porcelain doll, the knees only bending once needed to sit. Every movement was carefully calculated as if his delicate body would break from the rush of wind.

Erwin sighed slowly once Jean finally put all of his weight on the chair’s cushion. “I heard you had a fistfight with Eren.” The disappointment was sewn to every wrinkle on his skin, the needle sliding down the man’s lips and cutting with its point, a brutal frown. Jean knew well enough that he could blame it all on Eren, his vocabulary already accustomed to such behaviour from earlier encounters, but ever since the incident at the warehouse, the teen had figured out a lifelong riddle—he was the architect of his own hell. Before admitting to his childish behaviour, he lowered his head. “I did,” choked Jean as he held back a scoff, thinking about how proud Marco would be.

So ridiculously proud.

“I started it, sir. I’m sorry.” A sinking feeling of dread clung its claws onto Jean's heart, the weight so heavy that his ribs could break from sheer pressure. Jean hated adults, hated everything about them. While kids his age dreamt about growing up and celebrating each birthday like a holy holiday, his feelings were divergent. He hated every part of his adolescence, always nostalgic for his own childhood. He didn’t want to be like them, like those stupid adults always thinking they’re better than everyone else and expecting respect no matter how awful they were. The teen had promised to himself that he’d never end up a crappy old man who cheats on his wife—he couldn’t end up like his joke-of-a-father. While his father thought of himself as a phenomenal man who deserved all the noble titles of the world, Jean spit on the path he strode. No man could be good if his hand always found a way to a child cheek, cursing him with physical pain. Only the mouth of a madman could pray for the death of his offspring, begging the son to finish the job that god couldn’t. 

“Do you understand how stupid you have to be in order to fight someone like him? What if it ended up with Eren transforming? Everyone in that room, including you, would be dead by now,” the pointed finger got closer and closer with each word. “What made you start a fight with him?” Erwin’s persistent curiosity made him wickedly smart and an expert manipulator. He always knew exactly what to say and how to say it, especially if he was angry. “Did Eren say something to set you off?” Erwin slowly felt his body fill up with rage, his thick eyebrows furrowed with frustration.

Jean had no energy to lie, his brain liquified from all the emotions he didn’t even know existed. His brain was now equivalent to a rotten tomato, the outside just as mushy as the inside; The most important organ getting engulfed by mold. “Yes.” It was plain and short, no hidden meanings or mastermind lies. “What did he say?” asked the commander, his tone tight as his eyes narrowed on the teen in front of him. 

“Nothing, it was stupid.” Jean tried to shrug it off, his voice sounding almost bored. However, Erwin noticed the misery tangled between the crevices of his words. There was something blue about Jean, so dark like the night sky naked of stars, the moon hidden behind the clouds and losing its purpose just like a cup-covered candle. Erwin tried once more—“What did Eren say to you?”

Blinking profoundly to hold back unwanted tears, the voice in the back of his mind begging for buttons instead of eyes, and a deep inhale that ended with the hold of a breath, Jean felt himself go mad. His heart was stuck in his throat, clogging his pipeline and forcing the words to stay deep inside. His honey colored eyes had glued their gaze onto the blond in front of him, staring blankly at the perfectly built human. As Jean lowered his jaw, opening his mouth to speak, a solemn silence fell upon him. His vocabulary—once so rich in the wide unknown—had disappeared. Like a baby that just opened his eyes, Jean could only make incomprehensible sounds. He tried to regulate his breathing, finally relaxing his shoulders and exhaling the heavy pack of air. It didn’t make any sense and no one was here to untangle the mess. Why couldn’t he let go of this twisted habit of his? Why couldn’t he open up about the simplest of things? 

“What did Eren say to you?” Erwin tried again.

When Jean didn’t reply, the older man felt a rush of impatience fall upon him. “Answer me, Kirstein.”

“No.”

Erwin’s eyes widened slightly, surprised by the courage of his soldier. “Oh?” Erwin raised an eyebrow, “that’s a bold response.”

“Just give me a punishment and let me go.”

Jean had become desperate for a punishment, already getting sick from the special treatment and crazy amounts of pity. As much as he hated Eren at the moment—he was thankful. The stupid little prick was the only one who made Jean feel normal. “You do not tell me what to do,” Erwin raised his voice, slamming his palms into the wooden desk, making the stack papers fly slightly to the left and the ink pen rattle. “You will tell me word for word what Eren said, and only then will we talk about punishments,” continued the commander assertively.

A part of Erwin knew that what he was doing was wrong. He’d gotten to know Jean quite well over the past few weeks and one thing the teen could never hide about himself was his hard-working nature. Erwin knew that letting Jean take a break was a risky move that could end up with the boy losing his mind but he took it, and now he was starting to regret it.

“Take your time, I have all day.”

Jean closed his fists tightly, pressing his bitten down nails into his palms. He glared up at Commander Erwin as he grinded his teeth together unmannered. It was like staring straight into the eyes of a mother protecting her baby from danger, Jean shielding his secrets like a mendacious magician. The swift change of demeanor—from calm to angry—sent a shiver down the blond’s spine, hitting every part of the bones like a child playing with a xylophone. 

“I don’t want to tell you,” mumbled Jean through gritted teeth, his voice strained from his locked jaw.

“Don’t be cocky.”

“Fuck you,” spat Jean, tired of hearing that word.

The conversation was cut abruptly by the rash wording from the teen, the blatant disrespect, a shocking turn of events. “You’re getting awfully close to a dangerous insubordination,” with a nasty glare, Erwin warned.

Jean’s eyes narrowed, “I don’t give a shit.” He did give a shit. He was always focused on being the perfect soldier—obedient and hardworking—so he'd never been punished for anything, only praised. But ever since his pity-party had started, Jean had become desperate for some normalcy, even if it wasn’t his own. 

“It will be a strike on your record, Jean,” the teen stiffened up, his eyes widening for only a second before hardening once again. “and after five strikes, you can’t climb up the ranks,” continued Erwin.

“Which is disappointing because you have the potential to become a great leader one day,” the words were slow and steady, the commander making sure that Jean heard every syllable. “So, tell me, what did Eren say to make you mad, Jean?”

But Jean didn’t answer. 

Outside, the sun was starting to set. The hue, a beautiful orange like a clementine in season, embroidered together with a shining gold like the king’s crown. The clouds were thin and faded out, the sun rays spiking through the spaces and hitting the green leaves of the elm trees with the same lavish chemistry of cupid’s arrows. The birds were chirping their well known songs, the melodie’s chorusing like religious choirs, the rhythm as old as time, passed down from generations like an heirloom. On the other side of the window, deep inside the commander’s office, it was all gloom. A burning sun would lose its spark like a put-out fire, and the birds would fall to their deaths from their poisonous lullabies. 

Erwin sighed, shifting his body on the respected armchair, his eyes never leaving the dark silhouette of Jean Kirstein. It had become a game, a staring contest so intense that their eyes burned with blue flames. A chess game so insane that the winner would be scored based on who still had a beating heart. “Answer me goddammit!” The oldest of the two slammed his palms down on the desk once again, this time letting the ink pen roll down to the ground and the papers fly off the desk, disturbing the screeching silence. When Jean didn’t answer once more, Erwin let his head drop, admitting defeat. Checkmate.

The dilemma was barbaric, the blond still held so much sympathy for the teen in front of him; A punishment didn’t feel right, but Erwin knew that it was needed. Whether it was to bring some normality back to Jean’s life or whether it was to hide the special treatment from the teen’s comrades, it was necessary. 

“You’ll spend the night imprisoned for disrespecting a superior officer,” Jean’s eyes softened, thankful for the punishment. “Tomorrow morning you’ll be woken up at five to clean the stables.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Jean wholeheartedly, his tone quiet as his calm defrosted.

Erwin sighed, not taking any pleasure in his actions. “Your cleaning duties will last three weeks.”

“Yes, sir,” said Jean as he saluted—dedicating his heart.

“Wait here and a soldier will soon escort you to your cell.” With that, Erwin stood up and left the room, leaving the door slightly agape. 

“Jean is in prison!” Connie sprinted into the communal showers, knowing Eren and Armin were getting ready for bed. He leaned his body over the shower walls that only reached to a person’s stomach, just enough for the needed privacy. “Dude, we're naked!” squealed Eren as he ran his hand under the falling water and slapped it towards Connie, wetting his friend in annoyance. 

“I’ve seen you naked before,” brushed off the bald teen in nonchalance, too invested in Jean’s current situation to even care about the splash of water on his face and clothes. “Besides, Jean’s in prison!” The slight exclamation of excitement was covered nicely with a worried expression. It was only bickering between friends—the excitement, since Connie was mostly shocked for his friend, worry following him like a shadow over the past few days. Ever since Jean and Armin had been kidnapped, the bald teen had noticed the shift in both boys. Everyone had. The thing was that Armin seemed to get better, he was laughing for fucks sake! And Connie got mad. It was infuriating and it wasn’t fair that Mikasa and Eren got their friend back, that they were lucky enough to see him smile while Connie and Sasha had to suffer as Jean got worse by the day. What he hated the most was that he didn’t even know what had happened to his friend since no one would tell him. 

Connie would sue them for psychological torture if he could.

Between him and Sasha, he got the worst of the deal since he had to share a room with Jean; or rather, the ghost of him. He had to see his friend slowly decaying into a state of depression without knowing how to help. Connie didn’t dare to say anything either—what if he said the wrong thing and made everything ten times worse? He tried to act as normal as possible, talking to Jean like nothing had happened, but it wasn’t any easier so eventually Connie started talking less and less and resolved to stare from the sidelines.

The bald teen started hating his room. He hated the smell of Jean’s overly clean body and teeth, he hated the sight of his sulking friend slowly regressing into a zombie, he hated the sounds of the silent sobs at night and the continuous mumbles of the word ‘stop’. Connie hated everything. All the good memories and happy laughter had been dusted off under the rug, pressed into the wooden floor like dying bugs. 

His life was burning to the ground, every good thing frozen in time like Shiganshina as Jean caved into the misery and doom. 

“Why? because of the fight?” asked Armin, his voice slightly higher than usual as he turned off the water and put a white towel around his waist. 

“I guess so,” shrugged Connie.

Eren turned off the water too, grabbing his grey towel and twisting it around his waist. “No way, I’d be in prison too if that was the case.”

“So what do you think he did then?” asked Connie as he ran a hand over his grey buzzcut. 

Eren furrowed his eyebrows in though before coming to a conclusion. “I’m very clearly Captain Levi’s favourite, so he probably went to jail for hurting me,” said Eren cockingly. 

“No, he probably just said something inappropriate,” assured Armin, humbling Eren and his ego.

“What? Like a sex joke?” asked Connie in confusion, raising his eyebrow with a look of disgust.

Armin picked up the comb from the shelf and walked to the nearby mirror. “No, like an insult or just something disrespectful,” explained the blond as he started untangling his wet hair. “It’s Jean, honesty is his biggest enemy.”

“Oh yeah, that makes sense I guess,” said Connie somberly, sitting down on the wooden bench that was usually occupied by military uniforms and towels. Resting his elbows on his knees, the teen let his head drop. He bit into his lower lip and furrowed his eyebrows as a sigh sulked its way out of his mouth. 

“You okay, man?” asked Eren as he studied Connie.

“Yeah,” lied the bald teen as he buried his face in his hands. “Just tired.”

Eren and Armin shared a look through the reflection of the mirror, both of them raising an eyebrow at their friend’s odd behaviour. Interrupting their line of shared thoughts, Connie raised his head as he asked, “how long do you guys think he’ll be there for?”

Connie hated not knowing. Last time he didn’t know something, his mother turned into a titan. For everyone, for every single person inside of the walls, the discovery of his mothers titan was revolutionary, but for him, the world ended. His life shattered into pieces and Connie had become desperate for knowledge about absolutely everything, no matter how insignificant it may seem to a regular man. 

“Armin?” Armin knew everything so Connie often went to him when it came to learning new things, “do you think he’ll be there long?” Sometimes Connie feared that the blond knew Jean better than him.

“No, I don't think so.” If Armin said something, then it was the truth—the right thing.

The bald teen nodded to himself, pursing his lips together as a hard rock found itself stuck in his throat. Swallowing was suddenly a task, a chore that Connie resented the most. He had cried enough in his fifteen years of living, over scraped knees and deaths of his friends; He didn’t want to shed tears anymore, his cheeks already carrying out enough waterfalls to last a lifetime. Once more lowering his head, once more seeing drops of water on the floor, once more that no one noticed. 

Before giving Eren and Armin a chance, not letting them read the thoughts in his head, Connie bolted to his feet and out of the community showers with tears following him like a trail of candy. Hearing his name being called out from behind him didn’t stop his running legs, nothing did. Connie wanted to get away from this cursed building, the agonising feeling in the walls of haunting ghosts that were once his very friends. The floors he stepped on were already engraved by generations before him that fought the titans way better than him, yet fell to the fate of death that his future soon held for him. All the joys he’d spent there with humans alike echoed from corner to corner, pointing fingers and laughing at him, a constant reminder that it was now only a one time thing; So Connie decided to run.

He didn’t know where he was running to, only that he was running away. However, unlike Jean, he didn’t dare to run too far away from the military base—he still had some common sense and sanity in his bones. 

His legs were moving as fast as the speed of light, his hands doing an excellent job of wiping away his unwanted tears. When he eventually slowed down, his feet sinking into the pavement not far away from the fence surrounding the base, his hands fell to his side, too exhausted to continue the damaging job. Like a little kid lost in the woods, Connie froze, and with that, his tears. Completely numb, a soft whisper of misery left his dry lips.

“I think I’m a little depressed.”

He said to absolutely no one.

The cell was small and cold, the stone walls dark grey and chipped with cracks big enough for cockroaches to enter the territory. A single bed was on the left corner, the mattress as thin as paper and the pillow only filled with a single layer of feathers. Opposite the bed, in the right corner of the room, was a white toilet and sink, both smudged with brown and copper colored rust. Jean had been locked behind bars for an unknown amount of hours ago, his lack of windows preventing him from knowing what time it was. All he knew was that at six o’clock sharp, the key to the lock turned around and trapped him behind the thick bars of metal. 

Everything was dark except for the thin hallway on the other side of the bars. The light fixtures were burning with yellow and orange fire, dancing freely and mocking Jean. It was chillingly quiet, the only sounds coming from Jean’s occasional sighs and the single drops of sewage water falling from the damp ceiling onto the cobblestones every few seconds—the natures way of torture.

Jean was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the metal bars as if he had some kind of power that would melt them away with only his eyes. His right leg was bouncing up and down, disrupting the chance of rest that his muscles craved. As his boredom was slowly killing him, Jean realised that being stuck alone in a dark room underground wasn’t as peaceful as he thought it would be. Things he didn’t want to remember kept reappearing like a killing virus, and faces he’d never want to see again started to form in the walls. All that was missing was a monster underneath the bed, crawling its long nails out to the darkness and towards Jean’s ankles, grabbing around the skin with all of its strength and ripping the flesh all the way down to the bone. 

All of a sudden, an echoing sound of steps crawled its way down from the top of the stairs, a crackling fire torch accompanying the spine-chilling tunes. Jean felt his blood run cold as he quickly turned his head towards the stairs, pulling back his shoulders and pushing out his chest. He swallowed loudly as each step got closer, the fire bringing some life into the graveyard for the living.

“Morning, Kirstein,” said the monotone voice of Captain Levi. 

It was morning already? Jean hadn’t slept at all, barely even blinked. Today was going to be a crappy day, Jean realised. The second Levi came into eyesight, looking as clean as ever—dressed in a pair of black dress pants and a white button up—a sudden exhaustion fell upon the teen and the lack of sleep came crashing down on him. 

“Sleep well, I hope.”

Levi walked closer towards the only occupied cell, carrying a burning torch in one hand and a tray of food and water in the other. The tray made of metal carried a wooden cup filled with either tea or water (Jean hoped for the latter), a matching bowl smelling of unsugared oatmeal and cinnamon, and a single piece of bread that Jean knew all too well in its reputation of being incredibly dry. The younger of the two felt his stomach rumble, the sound embarrassingly loud. Levi hung the torch on its designated place in the wall before reaching into his pocket and taking out a single key. As slow as a slug, taunting Jean, the Captain raised his hand to the height of his waist, pushing the key into the silver lock and turning it three times to the right. 

“I hope you had some time to think”. Plenty, thought the teen as Levi took off the lock and opened the cell, giving Jean his freedom back. “I did, sir,” replied Jean, his voice steady as he stood up from the bed and saluted his captain—the left hand resting on his lower back, chest striked out with resolve, and the right hand curled into a fist and glued to the heart’s side of the chest. “Good,” approved Levi, stretching out his hand and handing Jean the tray of food, “eat.”

Once he accepted the tray from the captain, showing his gratitude with a simple thank you , the raven haired man closed the door and leaned against the bars, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his right leg to a forty-five degree angle, resting the flat side of his foot on one of the metal bars. Jean sat back down on the bed, eating the food as fast as Sasha usually did, and thanking god that Levi was still mad at him since it resulted in him getting water instead of tea. 

A few minutes had passed but Jean didn’t know how many. He had finished his food, the meal uncomfortable and stressful since his captain had decided to stare at him with the eyes of a hawk. Swallowing his last bite of oatmeal, Jean put the metal spoon back in the bowl and bravely raised his head to look up at Levi. “Thank you for the meal, sir,” said the full-stomached boy. 

“Take the tray to the kitchen, you have horse shit to pick up,” commanded Captain Levi, kicking the door of the cell open and pointing the way for Jean. “Yes,sir.”

The exhausted teen jolted to the side of freedom, his head welcoming him to the better life with an aching pound and a rush of unstable dizziness. Clutching tightly on the tray to make sure it wouldn’t clumsily fall out of his hands, Jean stumbled forwards, feeling his bones and muscles weaken from the lack of sleep. The state of his body was adequate to the hours he’d spent awake in the cell, thinking and pondering over his sorry life. He was most definitely thankful for the punishment—he wanted it. But it didn’t make it any less awful. 

“Hurry up,” urged Levi, making Jean jump out of his own head and hurry up the stairs.

Several ignored questions from curious soldiers later, the teen finally made it to the stables as the sun woke up from its sleep and awakened nature with it. The horses neighed with his entrance, excited to see someone there to pet and feed them. He started sweeping all the hay from the ground, preparing himself for hours of endless work. 

Jean loved horses.

They were free animals who could run as fast as they wanted—something he wasn't gifted with. Jean felt empty-handed and crestfallen, often feeling like he had nothing on him that made him special, but horses had everything. Their muscles, their speed, their looks, everything about them was so admirable and seeing them run gave him the rushing feeling of freedom and happiness. Sure, Jean hated being called horse-face by his friends, but it had nothing to do with horses, it just had to do with the fact that Eren came up with that stupidly ridiculous nickname and that it was arguably a shitty insult that for Jean at least, didn’t make any sense.

If Jean looked like a horse then Eren looked like a hollow box that had nothing inside of it that for some unimaginable reason, Mikasa loved so much. He couldn’t even understand what she saw in that thing , Jean was much nicer in his humble opinion. If Mikasa was as smart as he knew her to be then she’d fall in love–

“Hey,” said a soft voice behind him, a voice he knew all too well.

Armin.

He turned around quickly, drops of sweat flying away from his forehead. “Hey.”

“I thought you were in prison,” the blond’s eyes softened as he stood his ground near the stable gates.

“I uh- I was, but not anymore,” stuttered Jean as his friend nodded in understanding, studying his hunched over posture that had been the proof of hard work and a restless night. “Only for the night,” continued Jean, feeling the need to over explain himself. 

“Oh, good.”

The silence that came after was murderously awkward, the shorter of the two playing with his fingers as the taller scraped his nails in the wooden broom. They stared everywhere except for at each other, never letting their eyes meet. Jean waited for the question that he knew Armin was dying to ask him—why were you in a cell, anyway?

But it never came. Instead, came a tender question of mutual friendship, “Do you need some help?”

Jean did. “No, it’s okay.”

Armin startles in shock, not expecting the decline for help.

“But thank you,” added the other boy, noticing the blond’s dissipationment. Once again, Jean felt the pressuring need to over-explain himself, “It’s my punishment, so I have to do it alone.”

A wordless answer came from the boy in front of him who nodded his head in understanding. They stood in front of each without knowing what to do or what to say as the horses got impatient for their refill of food. 

“That’s it! Any questions?” Gleamed Armin as he finished explaining the rules of chess to his friend. Usually the game would be played between him and Marco, but the freckled teen had decided to take the weekend off to visit his family, so now Armin was stuck with the other half of the dynamic duo—Jean.

It was annoyingly clear how much he hated to be there, but Armin, the polite boy that he was, tried his best to brush it off. 

“No,” answered Jean in disinterest.

Marco had begged him to replace him for the weekend, and infuriatingly so, Jean couldn’t say no to those doe-like eyes. Chess was always a game that Armin and Marco played, with the winner changing every round because somehow, the two were equally good. Jean had often seen them play and the reasoning he hated chess was because it made him jealous. Armin was gonna steal Marco through this ridiculous game and Jean had to just watch it happen. 

“You sure?” 

“Yes,” reassured Jean in annoyance.

“Okay. Well, you start, since you’re playing with the white ones,” explained Armin as he brushed his fingers through his hair uncomfortably, the blond locks falling against the side of his face beautifully. Jean always wondered how he was able to keep his hair so soft and shiny throughout training.

“Right.” Without much thinking, Jean moved the pawn that was the furthest to the left one tile forward. And with that, the match officially started.

Marco was much better, that was for sure, but Jean wasn’t too bad himself, especially for someone who was playing for the first time. The game continued and eventually, “Checkmate!” Armin won.

“We have a day off today since Commander Erwin is going over our month’s budget, so if you want to, we can play chess once you’re done,” suggested Armin, missing the fun they used to have together not even one week earlier.

“Armin, what are you doing?” sighed Jean as he sat down on the fresh cube of hay.

“What?” asked Armin in confusion, his beating heart jumping to double the speed.

Looking up at him through a solemn expression, Jean dug the words out from hell and brought them harshly upon the earth’s ground. “Why are you acting like nothing happened?” and the ground shattered like thin ice. 

“What do you mean?” worried Armin. His heart twisting around, stopping the cells of blood from making their way around his body. 

Jean stared at him with a solemn expression, the sunlight from the glassless window hitting only the top part of his face, bringing out the honesty in his eyes. “I’m not…” started the teen before halting his words, hesitating to get his point through. “…I’m not the same anymore.”

The intimacy they had once shared, the mutual respect and loving friendship was now a mere fable. It had become a fragment of imagination and a book note in life. “I think I died in that place.” Honesty had never hurt so much before. “And you can’t be friends with the person I am now.” Grief had never been this alive.

A sudden rush of wind blew into the stables, freezing the already cold place—enough to turn tears into crystals of ice. Armin didn’t know what to say or how to react so he just laughed, hysterically so. His eyes were getting wet, either from tears of laughter or from tears of hurt. Armin didn’t know. He placed a hand on his stomach, feeling the muscles clench up with every take of breath as his head leapt backwards. The sounds of broken laughs echoed off the wooden walls, filling the place to the rim with inadequate joy. 

“Why… why are you laughing?” asked Jean insecurely. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as lips parted in offense.

All that Jean wanted was to laugh with him. He wanted nothing more than to go back to a time where everything was perfect. A time where his mother was still alive, sending him apples and her special omelette every time they had cadet assignments out in Trost. A time where Marco was still sleeping in the bunk bed under him and talking about his village and family like it was a magical place (Jean later learned that it was). He missed the time where everyone was alive, laughing and joking about the most ridiculous of things. If he could go back to those wonderful days that were filled with colors, he would, but Jean was stained with incurable pain. He had become a shell of the person he used to be, the skin—no matter how many layers of soap or how hard he rubbed, always stayed dirty. And it would forever stay so.

Perhaps the laughter from Armin was what Jean deserved, but it still felt like salt on an open wound, and he could not stand it. All his pent up anger boiled up like water in a pot, “Huh?? Why are you laughing?!” he stood up from the cube of hay, clenching his fist and wrinkling his face up in anger and frustration. 

Jean wanted to punch Armin in the face. Here he was spilling out his guts, trying to push the blond away so he wouldn’t get more hurt, and he was laughing! Laugh?!

It was incredibly rude in Jean’s opinion, and he knew ‘ rude’ , he was rude himself. He knew what rude was better than anyone!

“Stop laughing, you bastard!”

“I’m sorry,” but Armin kept laughing.

He took a step forward, ready to punch Armin straight in the face. “Stop fucking laughing!” 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry” Armin took a deep breath, interrupting the violent thought. “I’ll stop,” and he did. 

Someone finally stopped. Someone finally stopped when Jean asked them to. 

His steps halted abruptly, his fists unclenching and his face melting with relief as Armin looked his way with the eyes of someone Jean knew all too well. It was the same look he’d get whenever the teasing became too much that he’d need to walk away, slamming the door to the sleeping barracks, and burying his face in his all too flat of a pillow. That was when he’d see those apologetic eyes that he loved so much—Marco had come to comfort him, his feet on his own bed and his hands curled around the sides of Jean’s bed, peeking his head over the bed frame and smiling softly.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Armin. 

Gulping his anger back down, Jean turned around and continued sweeping the floor. He completely ignored Armin’s presence and hoped that it would be enough to make the blond go away; It wasn’t. 

“Jean, I’m sorry,” apologised the blue eyed boy for the millionth time, engulfed with guilt. However, a part of him was mad and annoyed at his friend. How dare he say something like that? 

Armin wanted to slap some sense into him.

“But what you just said is complete bullshit,” started the boy, not caring that he was getting ignored because he knew that Jean was listening. During his childhood, one of the first things Armin learnt about himself and his identity was that his presence could often be blank, clear as glass and ghosts. At some point he’d gotten used to it, but it never hurt any less. The blond knew that he wasn’t like the other kids. While everyone was running around and playing tag, you’re it , Armin sat under a tree reading the biggest of books that he could find in his grandfather's library. No one would ever look his way and ask if he’d want to join or walk up to him to check if he was okay. The way he never fit in prevented him from getting friends and justified the mockery and bullying he faced from the other kids in town. Every time Armin would come to them with a fun fact that he had read about, eyes would roll and spit would end up on his face. Eventually, his constant chatter became too much for anyone to stand anymore, and the rude reactions stopped. At first, Armin was excited because maybe he had finally found a fun fact that was interesting enough for them, but that was just his childlike bliss and wonder. Eventually, whenever he approached the playground, everyone else would leave. Grass was smashed under his fact-filled body and the flowers let their petals fall from the pressure of heavily boring words that no one, except for Armin, cared for.

“What?” hissed Jean.

“Did you know that humans get new skin every seven to ten years?” Fun fact .

Jean’s body tamed its way back to normality. “Huh?” 

Armin shook his head, “Well, not actually. Skin cells shed every few weeks so doctors believe that after seven to ten years, all of our skin cells will have changed to new ones. Which means—humans get new skin every decade!” explained Armin. “Isn’t that fascinating?” he beamed with excitement, his blue orbs wide with awe.

“Oh… I thought you meant that we change our skin like snakes…” admitted Jean.

In response, Armin chuckled, “Well, we kinda do, it’s just a much slower process and it happens in small bits instead of all at once.”

“Right,” the taller of the two nodded in awkward understanding. “Got it.”

Putting the conversation to rest like a gun against his head, Jean entered a pit of trepidation. A sudden feeling of dread and shame seeped into his broken heart and rotten mind as he thought of all the things Armin could bring up just so Jean would talk to him. The taller of the two had gotten his integrity stolen right in front of someone he cared deeply for and Jean knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep his legs stable if the blond mentioned anything about it. Everything he held his soul inside of had been crushed with irreversible damage and stained with mortal dirt. His skin was tainted with someone else’s vile ideals and morals, used like a statue with a pulse and art that one could fuck. For the guard it was much hotter when Jean didn’t want it, leaving the boy with destructing torment that he would be holding for a lifetime. 

And Armin was there to see it all which Jean hated the most.

“Your face looks a little better than yeste-” started the blond when the other suddenly interrupted him.

The boy that Jean admired the most was there to see him at his absolute worst, the weakest and most vulnerable moment he had ever lived through—it was exposed to someone who made Jean stronger and it killed every part of him. 

“-Armin, can you please leave?” sighed the boy as he continued sweeping the barn floor, his expression absent and bleak.

The blonde, who felt the river flow as his body was thrown in the running waters by Jean, winced at the request to leave. “Why?”

“Because, I want you to leave me alone,” answered the amber eyed boy in hushed words. 

“Jean-“

“Armin, please. Just go.” It sounded like a plea of desperation, the urge taking over his being. 

“Just tell me why,” begged Armin as he stepped closer to the sweeping boy.

Jean, noticing the small steps, copied the very same action and distanced himself from the blue eyed boy. “Please, Armin. Please just go,” implored the teen as tears camped up in the bottom of his eyes. His body, crestfallen and low-spirited, hunched over the broom as if it was the anchor of a boat. The shame and embarrassment had taken over his mind like a parasite, the plaguing emotions mocking him with condescension and tricking him with mischief. 

When Armin noticed the pleading eyes, the bottled tears that waited impatiently to be cried, and the bouncing fingers on the broom like untuned drums, he knew that all hope was lost like words in unread books. With a curt nod of forced acceptance, the blonde turned around and left the barn, unknowingly leaving behind the presence of his ghost. 

The feeling of nostalgia anointed Jean and swallowed him into a hollow pit of no way out. There was a semblance of doom right where he stood, his feet sinking into the ground and marking his path with black holes. His world shattered like thin glass as his hopes for the future cascaded away with his smile. Jean’s current existence had betrayed the status quo—the soldier once as brave as a bear now shaking like a mouse trapped in the claws of a hungry eagle. 

For the rest of the morning, all the way till the sun beamed its burning rays, signifying that mid-day was near, Jean cried. When he fed the horses, the food was wet with tears. When he picked up poop, the floor was stained with tears… and so on. 

“Kirstein,” suddenly, Captain Levi called out his name from outside the stables, himself finished with training and heading for lunch. “Tomorrow morning you and I are going on a run. I’ll pick you up from your room.” With that, not even mentioning the tears,  Captain Levi left. 

Chapter Text

Jean had lived every moment in solitude, always keeping to himself and burying deep down the things that he didn't like. But Jean didn't like many things, so eventually, the grave that he had dug rose above the ground and grew into a hill of trash. Every inconvenience and every feeling of displeasure that the teen had faced throughout his life was shoved away into a stuffed pit of previous living nightmares that no matter how big or small, had no right to bother him. Usually, the smaller things in life like math… or Eren for example, held no significance in any way except for pissing the crap out of Jean. So naturally, they got thrown in that very pit only to never bother him again (It was a failed attempt with Eren because he had just crawled right back out again and bothered him mere seconds later for chugging the water too loud). Recently however, the pit had gotten filled with invisible things that only the heart could see—feelings. And Jean hated those the most, because just like Eren, they found a way to crawl back up and resurface at terrible times. 

The worst part of it all was that most of those feelings were completely foreign to Jean. Sure, he knew ‘happy’ and ‘sad’, and he knew ‘anger’ all too well, but these feelings were new and strange, they were uninviting and cold. He had been hypnotized by some dark force that made him feel sick in the head and all he could do was sit idly by as those invasive monsters paraded around in his heart. Jean had tried to take Marco’s advice: ‘talk about them and explain to someone how you feel’. But for one part, Marco wasn't even there so he had no one to talk to, and for the other part, those feelings were ineffable. Oh, how Marco was just so perfectly naive. 

But was he? 

The freckled teen whose ashes now spread across the land like pappus of a dandelion, was incredibly intelligent; emotionally intelligent the most. Somehow, out of all the people who wandered throughout the universe, Marco chose Jean. He chose the most complicated, angry, rude, and arrogant person out there, yet still managed to find the gems of good. Jean was selfish, but the freckled teen had always had this concept of being selflessly kind. 

‘I will be kind, even if this world is the cruelest place,’ he’d say. 

And to Jean, that was total crap. He had been kind several times throughout his life and it never helped, never had the world rewarded him for being a good person and doing good deeds. Marco had died after all… and so had his mother. In the cruelest place, the breathing teen only continued on living for two people. With every step he took, he took another one for Marco; and with every breath he took, he inhaled deeper for his mother. 

In the cruelest place, only the good die young. 

Jean knew that tragedy was in his blood. Pain and misery attracted him like a moth to a flame, a never ending story of torment and hurt. A shadow chasing his light, blowing out the candle that was once as scorching hot as the sun in the middle of July. From a little kid with monsters under his bed, Jean grew up to become that very monster, gripping his own ankle and creating his own achilles heel. One day, Jean was going to grow wings. When he was twelve those wings represented the success he would get once he joined the military police. Today, at fifteen, those wings never grew, instead he got a uniform with embroidered wings that would never spread. The ODM gear being the closest he had to flying as he knew well enough that if he’d ever grow wings of his own, they’d only appear once he had reached the afterlife. It used to terrify Jean, but lately, it didn’t seem so bad. 

The sky was quiet, peaceful even in the dark. He had people waiting for him.

But he would never get there, would he?

Jean was cruel in the cruelest place. While Marco and his mother were saints, Jean had committed sin after sin. He danced with the devil, their waltz in perfect harmony as Jean’s steps burned the ground beneath him, paving his own path all the way to hell where his corpse would burn to ashes and his soul would suffer in silence. The very being of Jean was an ill omen to the people around him, everyone leaving his presence more damaged than before.

Jean was a bad person, he knew that, but he didn’t care to change. No matter what he did, even if it meant that he would join the scouting regiment, he knew that no good deed would repair the damage—the world already hated him. So Jean kept away, knowing that one bad seed could kill a whole garden. 

He often wished for time to stop, that it would hold sympathy for the broken ones and let them take a deep breath. But the world kept spinning and it would never stop. No amount of tragedies could freeze the clock and Jean had learnt that the hard way. No matter what, humans kept moving. Their legs work hard to keep up the pace because if you slow down even the tiniest bit, you’ll never make up for lost time. 

One step behind and you’ll stay there forever. 

That is how cruel this place is.

Time was like a carousel that had been cursed to never stop. It would for the rest of eternity spin in circles and watch as people fell off. With no walls to keep them safe and no break to let them rest, the hands that held on with all its strength slipped away; and since the carousel never stopped moving, they could never get back on. Only the very best who never had a broken seat could keep up with a smile on their faces, because if you never have to stop and look around, you see no wrong. If you're never forced to experience the same as the less fortunate, you think everyone is fortunate. As forever spins around, only the ones whose life falters, see the issues of the system. Whether the seat is broken or the rod is taken away, it doesn't matter—failure is failure even if it isn't the same as someone else's. When the carousel keeps spinning you can’t fix the things that are broken even if you've managed to stand back up again. So as everyone around you stays perfectly fine, you keep fighting an unwinnable battle. You keep holding onto the hope which makes you say that ‘everything will be okay’ but once you have seen the good be bad, there's no coming back. 

“Is Jean coming?” Connie had been looking at the door of the mess hall every few seconds waiting impatiently for his best friend to walk through it like he’d usually do. Ever since they came back from saving Eren and Historia, things had changed for the worse, and the bald teen hated every part of it. He hadn't seen Jean as much anymore, and when he did, the taller of the two was never really there. During the nights that they’d spent together, Connie had often found himself sitting hopelessly on the edge of his bed as the moonlight shone into the room and onto Jean’s sweating form, perfectly capturing his pained expression. Connie was waiting every second and every minute for a change, even the tiniest one. He wanted something to change for the better so that things would feel even the slightest more normal. But as the clocks moved forwards, each second passing like they had always done, nothing improved. 

Sasha had noticed Connie’s restless state, his bouncing leg rubbing up against hers. She was a smart girl and she had noticed everything. She saw how Jean had distanced himself from everyone, retreating back to his former self and abandoning all the progress he had made since Marco’s death. She had also noticed the way Armin never took his eyes off of Jean. The way his blue eyes always found their way back to the tall silhouette made Sasha burn with curiosity. She wondered what had happened to make their bond so…weird. “He’s probably showering or something,” theorized the girl as she took a fist sized bite of her steamed potato. 

She missed Jean. Sasha saw him as more than just a friend, for her, he was like the big brother she never had. Standing helplessly by as he fell through cracked ice made her choke with guilt. She saw him drift away like oil to water, his old self no longer a part of their found family. Out of all the things she had experienced ever since joining the military, out of all the pain and hurt that made her life stop momentarily, the severance from Jean ripped her the most. The way life continued on as she grieved a living person made the world seem so unfair. It truly was a cruel place that they lived in.

“I don’t like this,” pouted Connie, “he’s been acting off for days.”

“I’m sure everything will be back to normal soon.” Armin tried to ease out the situation, worried that with every day passing by, his friends would get more and more annoyed, worried, and suspicious over Jean’s behaviour that eventually it’d get them to snoop into things they shouldn’t. And just like how curiosity killed the cat, their curiosity would get them to a truth that’s not theirs to know. “No, Armin, It won’t be normal soon,” protested Connie in response.

“It doesn’t make any sense! Like sure, I get that being held at gunpoint with a knife is traumatising and all that, but worse stuff has happened to us. We’ve seen people get eaten for fucks sake.” The bald teen explained in frustration, hoping that his friend would understand his point of view and agree with him that something about Jean was beyond ruined. 

“It’s like Marco died all over again,” mumbled Sasha, her head lowered in grief as she brought up their deceased friend. All of them knew that unless Jean brought him up, he shouldn’t be. His name, now holding the same power as the name of god, had been burnt together with the body. It was no secret that in Jean’s life, Marco was more paramount than anything else; the same could be said about Jean in Marco’s life. However, what no one seemed to grasp was that the boys’ relationship was like iridescent colors—never truly one color, always changing depending on where you stood. 

After the ghostly name was spoken, everyone went quiet. All the outside noise had disappeared and now only lived in their own heads. Memories of the kind person flashed through their minds as their hearts hated this cruel world that took away his soul all too soon. 

The mess hall where they sat was as loud as usual. Soldiers bantering on and on about topics which seemed so insignificant next to the reality that they lived in. But on two tables, the world stood still. One in which a blanket of grief had draped over its guests, the other in which no one sat. The five teens felt chills through their bodies as they sat somberly on the benches with their heads lowered to their plates. 

As three out of five went on with their grief, reminiscing about Marco and all the things that they missed about him, the other two could only think about the one who made it out alive, Armin and Mikasa. 

Mikasa had seen the kiss, she knew that more than just ‘a knife to the jaw’ had happened that sunny morning inside of the warehouse. For three nights, she couldn’t sleep. Nightmares had haunted her rest like children tales of monsters in the closet. She had wanted to ask Jean or Armin about what happened under that warehouse roof but how did one bring up such a subject? Even to Armin, the closest she had to a brother, could she not find a way to bring it up. She’d make up one bad scenario after the other, imagining the worst possible situations of what that kiss had meant and what came after it. Mikasa tried to push it away, acting as if nothing had happened as she tried to keep the two boys close to her reach. But it was deemed impossible. She watched from the sidelines as one drifted away from their little group, his sudden isolation now a bump in the road. She missed his cocky smirk and condescending remarks—as much as it bothered her before—it bothered her more that it was all gone. The thing about her and Jean was that she didn’t know a lot about him, she was an observer which made people trust her with their secrets, but with him it was different. He never told her anything that was below the surface. She knew small details about his life, things that either changed regularly so they never stayed relevant or things that were so relevant that you’d just guess them on your own. But if Jean didn’t want you to know something, you never would. 

So if Jean didn’t want her to know what happened after the kiss (which was poisoned with malice), she never would. 

“He’ll talk to us when he’s ready.” Mikasa broke the silence as she spoke with faux placidity, her words with soft understanding even though she felt the patience slip away from her. The urge to save everyone around her pounded her heart. Ever since Mikasa couldn’t save her parents and unborn sibling, she had promised to herself that she would save everyone else. 

With a raised eyebrow and words laced with doubt, Connie tilted his head towards her, his body on the opposite corner of the table, “How'd you know that?”

“He won’t be able to keep it in forever,” answered Mikasa, doubting her own words just as much as the others did.

“He will,” Eren pointed out in a hiss, “the only person to ever get through to him was Marco and that’s not gonna work anymore.” It was true, the only person to ever get Jean to open up was Marco, and now, the tie between the two boys was obliterated.

“That’s not true,” pouted Sasha, “he talks to me and Connie about stuff all the time.”

Connie nodded in agreement, “Yeah, just because he can’t look at you without shouting doesn’t mean that he does the same to us.”

“He doesn’t shout every time he looks at me!” argued Eren with a raised voice. His eyebrows furrowed with annoyance and frustration as his cheeks got painted with a pink hue. 

“Nuh-uh, you’re wrong! He so does!” spat Connie with a wicked grin as he got a rise out of Eren. Next to him, Sasha almost fell off the bench with laughter, her voice dancing through the mess hall and brightening up the rather gloomy room, making the day feel like it did back when they were kids in the cadet corps. “Stop being delusional, Eren!” she managed to say between breaks for air.

“I am not delusional!” raged the green eyed boy which only made the duo opposite him laugh even more. “And even if he does shout every time he looks at me it’s only his fault because- Oh my god will you two stop laughing?!” Eren yelled from the top of his lungs as his face reddened with anger and slight embarrassment. The bickering between the three had caught the attention of the other soldiers in the mess hall, the room now completely quiet except for Eren’s shouted words of fury and the amused laughter from Connie and Sasha. 

“Fine! laugh all the fuck you want, I don’t care it doesn’t bother me!” The laughter grew louder after that. “You so care!” argued Connie in an attempt to humble his friend. The table was loud with insults, thrown back and forth between the three teens. Every attempt of a conversation that appeared between the other groups of soldiers were quickly shot down by another set of yelling and laughter. 

“Jean’s here.”

In an instant it all became quiet. Armin’s words hung in the air as six teens turned their heads towards the heavy doors, studying their ghost of a friend. The atmosphere was tense as their eyes locked on Jean’s muscled form, now seeming as fragile as eggs. His steps were heavy, held down by mountains of trouble and bother. The end of Connie’s, Sasha’s, and Eren’s bickering made the room as quiet as a desert night, but it didn’t last long since soon enough the other soldiers went back to their own conversations—Jean was not as important in their lives. At every table it was once again warm, but in the middle of the room was a table which froze. A cold breeze of wind travelled through the group like a ballerina, the air tight and controlled. Every pair of eyes glistened with the image of Jean as he walked over to the buffet, grabbing a metal tray and silverware. Everyone, except for Armin who lowered his head in remembrance of their earlier conversation, stared at Jean. They noticed the black eye which had now gotten a yellow hue, and it made Eren feel a tinge of guilt since he himself was left with nothing. The cut on his lips and right cheek seemed to heal, the redness not as prominent anymore—Armin’s ointment was truly doing wonders. The long cut on Jean’s jaw that he had gotten from the guard was almost completely healed, the scar turning into a thin, white line.

Jean had noticed all the looks he got, his eyes uncomfortably wandering off to the side for a glimpse of his friends. He tried his best to ignore them. His brain was too tired to think, his mouth was too tired to talk, and his body was too scared to get close as he still felt roaming hands on his skin. As he went to grab a tray for his unwanted food, his back turned towards them and a rush of relief attacked him. His shoulder relaxed as his breaths evened out. He couldn’t bear for people to look at him; They would notice. 

Jean carefully picked out the lightest of foods, taking a small portion of soup and leaving out the potatoes and carrots. He grabbed a metal cup and poured himself some water before walking over to the nearest table whose seats were free of people. With his back turned towards the rest of the room, he picked up his spoon and stirred the soup in the bowl. The petite waves that followed after the motion of the spoon captivated his mind and caught all of his attention. Even though the world around him was a bundle of a sadistic life, for the first time in months, the storm of chaos inside his head had quieted down to a calm drizzle. The way the soup danced around in its bowl shaped cage, still living freely with oblivious ignorance of faked bliss inside of the walls fit the perfect metaphor of the people around him. How the cruel world that he’d been born to love and grown to hate still held people inside whose lives were perfectly fine—it drove him crazy.

The awareness that came early on about the cruelty of this planet made him grow up precocious as his mind was still too young to comprehend the awful truth of the soil that he stood on. But yet again, the soup didn’t dance on its own. If it weren’t for the spoon and the movement of Jean’s wrist, the soup would stand still. An outer power existed to blind the people, forcing them to dance with the concept of joy instead of simply setting them free. The walls were everywhere, the outer power was godly—unstoppable. What’s a king to a god? Nothing. Only the ones who stood closest to the walls and stared daily out to the horizon felt like cattle. And only the splashes of soup that danced too much, that got hurt with the force and called themselves the ‘non-believers’, escaped the walls and spilled out to the wide unknown. As the soup continued on with its swirling dance, a new and horrifying revelation hit Jean like a brick. 

As insane as it sounded, Jean was the colossal titan. 

So no longer did the teen feel hunger.

He dropped the spoon on the edge of the bowl, the soup slowing down its dance before halting to a lucky end. Like falling down a slippery slope, the spiced water had been saved to live another day all through its unfortunate events. From afar, Jean’s bizarre behaviour was being studied by his friends. “He’s not eating,” addressed Sasha in worry. “I’ll go talk to him,” declared Connie as he stood up from the wooden bench. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Armin as he remembered back to his earlier conversation with Jean. 

Connie looked down at him, “What? why?”

“He probably wants to be alone right now,” explained Armin in an unconvincing voice, himself not wanting to leave Jean alone. 

“I don’t care what he wants,” said Connie as he furrowed his eyebrows, “he’s been alone enough.” The bald teen was rarely serious, but lately, it was almost all that he was. Next to him, Sasha nodded her head in agreement.

“Don’t go up to him, please. It’s a bad idea, trust me.” Armin tried to get him to understand without being too obvious about his masked knowledge, but he failed.

“You’re hiding something from us,” accused Eren, his turquoise eyes peering at his blond friend. 

“I am not!” argued Armin with a sudden surprise of his occasional high pitched voice. 

“Yes, you-“, “-I’m going,” interrupted Connie. Without giving a second glance behind him, the teen walked away towards the single-used-group-table. His legs marched forwards as his hands closed into tight fists with white turning knuckles. He furrowed his eyebrows and locked his jaw, teeth grinding together as spit filled his mouth. He swallowed with force before stopping right behind Jean. Connie’s standing body towered over the sitting teen like the colossal titan did over Shiganshina all those years ago.

“Jean,” said Connie firmly, calling out for his friend's attention. His hazel eyes bore deep into the back of his friend’s head, watching intensely as the hairs on Jean’s neck stood up like pillars. The boy flinched at the sound of his name, his body stiffening up as his breathing hitched in the back of his throat. Momentarily, his heart stopped beating. Connie’s serious expression faltered at Jean’s reaction, his eyes softening with worry as the pressure from his fingers lightened out together with his dropped shoulders. He took a deep breath, “Jean?” said Connie softly, still trying to keep himself composed and firm. “Can we talk?”.

The question was followed by a long silence that made the wind sound like screams. “We need to talk, Jean.” Connie once again stiffened up like stone, his voice low with command. 

“Go away, Connie,” mumbled the other with a husky voice. Connie had missed that voice dearly. 

“No.” Connie wanted to glue his feet to the ground, burrow them under piles of stone so that he’d never be able to move. He knew the power of Jean’s words and he knew that the force could push him over the edge and make him stumble to their friendship's death. “I mean it, Connie. Go away.”

It was a clear warning, “No, Jean,” but Connie didn’t care. “We need to talk.”

“We don’t.”

“Yes, we do.”

“No.”

“Will you just listen to me for a goddamn minute?!” shouted Connie. His nose bridge wrinkled with anger as his eyes fumed with fury. Everyone around them quieted down to a chilling silence, their eyes barging into things that were none of their business. The only sounds that could be heard for miles was the tight breathing from both the boys as everyone else held their breaths, expecting a fist fight. “You’re not okay, like at all, and I want to talk to you about that.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re my best friend, man. I miss you.”

“Shut. Up.”

“I want things to go back to nor-“

“-Shut up!” interrupted Jean as he stood up swiftly. He slammed his palms into the wooden table, making the bowl fall over and spill its insides onto Jean. The lukewarm soup soaked into his pants and made it seem like he had just pissed himself. The shock from the events made Jean stumble backwards and fall back into a sitting position on the bench as he hissed in frustration. “Are you okay?” asked Connie in worry as he rested his hands on Jean’s upper back to support him and make sure he didn’t fall all the way over. The hand over his shirt felt like a crawling spider catching its prey, every finger feeling like an arm of poison. Jean jumped up from the bench, walking sideways to get out of the confined space. “Jean?” Connie’s words grew with worry, bloated with the sadness that he held for his friend’s current situation. 

But without a single answer, Jean hurried out of the mess hall, running away and leaving a spider’s web of panic behind him, making everyone else feel the danger that he did. And as the last part of his silhouette could be seen from where Connie stood, the clock hit two and lunch time was over. Soldiers, already moving on from the previous drama, stood up and walked to the communal kitchen to clean their dishes. 

“Jean!” Connie ran after him, pushing through the people, cussing at how they swallowed him deep into the crowd. He felt his heart beat rapidly, the organ now ablaze with desperation as he followed behind his friend. Connie would never let it go. He would continue to fight for Jean through thick and thin and make sure that no matter what, his friend would be safe. It was the least he could do.

“Jean!” came a despaired voice behind him—the despaired voice of Sasha Braus. Pushing through the herd of people, her ponytail swinging from left to right, Sasha ran forwards with bow shaped eyebrows, her eyes scouting Jean like the arrows of a huntsman. All three made it out of the mess hall and back into the long hallway, its ground cobbled with polished stones and its walls built of maroon colored bricks. The oil lamps on the walls paved out the path as it lightened up the atmosphere around it, giving the stones an orange hue as the fire cackled like grasshoppers in the middle of the night. Their heavy stomps echoed from one end to another, interrupting the previous peace and quiet that slumbered in the hallway. 

“Jean! Wait!” Connie latched onto the back of Jean’s shirt, gripping the fabric and making the boy in front halt to a stop. As both caught their breaths, Sasha ran up from behind, slowing down to a jog before reaching the two boys. “Please wait,” continued Connie as his breathing evened out, “we just want to talk.” 

What followed was complete silence. 

Jean bowed his head and with that Connie let go of his grip and walked forwards to stand in front of him; Sasha followed behind. “We’re your friends. Please, just talk to us,” begged the girl with a saddened expression and quiet voice. As she bent her knees to try and get eye contact with him, Jean tilted his head to the side, keeping his gaze on the floor. He sank deeper into his isolation as if the ground he stood on was quicksand, playing the lonely game of solitaire as he lived a life of solitude. In his head, he ought to stay by himself because everyone who got near him fell to their deaths. Every body and every soul got their lives taken away after getting love from Jean. As poisonous as liquid could be, his love was more—a heart as sharp as knives and hard as stone shatters everything around it no matter how delicate it tries to be.

Jean wanted so badly to run away to a place where he knew no one and no one knew him, a place that would be free of grief and nostalgia, a place which didn’t hold its cruelty out towards him like samples that were free. He fantasised about a world which kept him bottled in a bubble and sheltered his dangerous existence from everyone he knew. Every fight that would start, eventually led to a runaway plan, a way to bolt and escape this hellish cage. He’d always say: ‘I don't care what happens, I’ll never see them again anyway’. But Jean stayed and he never got away. So as he repressed his feelings and didn’t solve the root of the argument, it later became impossible for him to form a deeper connection that didn’t linger with hidden resentment, either towards others or towards himself. It never got better. They promised it would but Jean never got better. 

“If you just talk to us, we can help you fix it and everything will get better.” Connie tried to get Jean’s attention and if Jean hadn't made it feel as if his hands were weapons, the bald teen would've grabbed his shoulders and shook some senses into his friend. It was such an infuriating life and they had so much uncertainty and pain that would never let them breathe. Fresh air was a luxury in the smoke—forests covered with an endless fog as grey as stone and as dark as the night. With a glimpse of light spawning every now and then the heart kept pumping, just enough to keep one going. “Let us help you. That's what friends are for,” continued Connie, but before he could continue on with his attempts to have Jean open up, he got interrupted. 

“We’re not friends! We never have been and we never will be!” lashed Jean in frustration. Like a little kid, he stomped his leg and raised his shoulders, closing his fists and furrowing his eyebrows. Jean didn't know what he was saying, he liked Connie and Sasha, and he was thankful to have them in his life. He honestly didn’t know what he would’ve done this whole time if he didn't have them nearby. But here he was, screwing everything up and pushing away the only two people left who still wanted to be with him. It was bad enough that he had ruined things with Armin, why did he have to ruin things with them too? Jean was a douchebag and trash followed him like shadows, what a fucking piece of shit. All that Jean ever did was to cause complete mayhem. 

The look in his friends’ eyes was haunting; It was like betrayals that had only ever been read about in books. Like a brother killing his sister or a prince revealed to be the monster, Jean had slayed the bond from friend to foe. Connie and Sasha stood in front of him like a bambi, Jean himself being the hunter. Their eyes were wide with hurt, glistening under the candle lights as their mouths stood agape. Their bodies stood completely still and Jean was sure that their skin had paled like snow and that soon enough their hearts would disappear into oblivion. Unable to look at them any longer, the tallest of the three pushed himself between them and walked away. Each step he took echoed behind him like whispers of regret, a painful punishment for the man he had become. 

What a cruel fucking place this world was. 

A titan was running behind him at full speed, swinging its arms like a lunatic as it drooled like a hungry bear. They had gone on a mission outside the walls and now Jean was stuck on a concerningly slow horse which seemed to have no sense of urgency. Commander Erwin had also gone absolutely insane because he had put Jean in charge of not only one person, but three. Armin, Connie, and Sasha rode behind him, their horses faster than Jean’s yet still behind him for ‘moral support’ as Connie had stated earlier. It was a warm day, hotter than what was usual for the season. Drops of sweat got into his eyes and his grip on the reins was slipping away as not even the wind could cool him down. The burning sun combined with the petrifying situation turned Jean into an anxious mess, yelling at his horse to speed up the pace and his friends to get in front of him. His frustration only grew when no one listened.

“Come on you idiot, run faster!” yelled Jean with a fast paced rhythm as he made the stupid mistake of looking behind him. The titan was horrifying, and something about its features reminded the teen of someone he hoped to never see again. With his boot, his leg slammed against the side of the horse with a painful force. Jean was becoming desperate to escape. The titan—an abnormal—ran peculiarly on the field of grass, shaking the ground like thunder before its large hand grabbed onto the slowest scout. Armin. 

Jean screamed out a long and screeching “No!”, his head turning around so swiftly that his neck almost broke. All he wanted to do was save his friend but his horse continued to gallop even when Jean begged for him to stop. He tugged at the reins and pulled at his hair, “stop goddamit!” he shouted, but it didn't work. There was no mercy in this cruel place. Just like Jean had practiced before, he stood on the saddle with both his legs. As he straightened out his knees and let go of his grip on the reins, Jean readied himself for attack. 

He was going to kill that motherfucking titan and save Armin. 

He carefully turned around on the horse so he’d look at the titan face to face, “I’m gonna kill you, you son of a bitch,” hissed the teen as he grabbed onto the handles of his ODM gear. Jean watched on as Connie and Sasha rode behind him as if they didn't notice what was going on a few steps away from them. It was weird to say the least but if they could stay ignorant as he protected them, he preferred that. Jean raised his hand and kissed his right fist before launching forwards towards the abnormal titan. He readied his weapons in front of him while flying in the air, glaring at his target before swinging both the swords from right to left. And before he knew it, a head was on the ground. 

His two feet landed roughly on the tall grass, his bones almost breaking from the force. He looked at the blood on his swords as his breathing evened out, “Armin,” he said with relief, his voice soft with love as he turned around to face the boy that he had just saved. With a soft smile of solace, Jean was faced with the person he just beheaded. 

“Armin?” his jaw fell open and his eyes landed on the bleeding head of his friend. Down at the neck, where the body had been separated from the head, was an unclean cut with memories of desperation and fear. Blood seeped onto the grass as a raven landed on the chin, bowing its black head to pick on the ripped skin. The whispered name lingered in the air as the ground continued to rumble. Four horses stood in place, bowing their heads and eating grass as two more bodies laid mere meters apart, served on silver platters for the wildlife that roamed around. Jean ran towards the girl and fell to his knees. Her body was ripped in two as all the remains he could find were from the stomach and up. Sasha was dead and only Jean was to blame. Hungry rats ran towards her meat, fighting each other with grief as they nibbled on her remains and dirtied their white fur with blood. 

“Jean,” heard the teen. From the side, someone called his name. Slow with shock, Jean turned his head towards the sound, now facing the broken body of Connie which looked to be twisted around like a wet towel. “Jean,” breathed out the bald boy with a creepy manner as drops of maroon fell gracefully against the ground like petals of snow and tears—all so cold from betrayal and sorrow—ran down his pale cheeks.

Connie tried to wake him up. “Jean, come on,” said the boy with desperation. 

Jean was crying, kicking his blanket and mumbling incoherent words as Connie stood beside him cluelessly not knowing what to do to make it get better. “Come on, buddy. Wake up already,” pleaded Connie as he felt tears well up in his eyes. Everything had been so weird lately, so difficult to understand and just plain confusing. Four days ago, everything was fine with Jean, but now it all seemed to just fall apart. Connie craved normality but he never got that. “Jean,” whimpered the boy as a tear ran down his cheeks.

Connie’s eyes were dead. They had dried up and any glimpse of life had been drained out of them. It was terrifying to look at so Jean crawled away, “Go away,” whispered the petrified teen with a cracked voice. Connie’s twisted body continued on calling his name, the voice raspy and slow as he moved closer and closer towards Jean. The grass beneath his body dried up and got painted in red as if autumn had arrived, the once vibrantly green now a gloomy blend of beige and brown with tips of maroon to emphasize the blood. Jean crawled away as fast as he could considering the fact that he was sitting on his butt and walking backwards on all four. 

“Jean.” The word echoed all around like drops of water falling in a cave. Jean continued to beg, “stop, go away”. All of a sudden, he came to an end. His back pressed up against an unknown thing. Chills ran down his body as he held his breath. Turning his face slowly, Jean was faced with the leg of a titan—the titan which he had failed to kill. He launched his body forwards as the titan looked down at him, its smile a familiar grin of wicked thoughts and its eyes a chilling reminder of someone Jean once knew. Before the teen could get any further the titan took a single step forwards, its foot stomping over Connie’s dying body. Due to the shock, Jean froze. In the span of one second, Jean’s body was lifted off the ground and squashed inside of the titan’s hand. “Jean,” said the deep voice of the titan as it stared creepily at him.

“Jean,” said Connie once again as he shook the restless body of his friend. “Dude, come on. Wake up.” But nothing helped, Jean was way too deep in his nightmare to even register what was happening in the real world. As Connie was about to shake his friend one more time, a fist met his face and Connie buckled over in pain. Jean, still asleep, continued to trash around in his bed, the blanket already on the floor and the mattress beneath him a puddle of sweat and tears. “Let me go,” muttered the sleeping teen in a weak tone as his wet face glistened under the moonlight. 

It was a pathetic sight. Connie had failed to protect his friend, an attempt to comfort him so badly executed that even a dead man could do a better job. As he sat on the bedroom floor listening to Jean’s whimpers, Connie thought back to the last time he had seen his friend truly happy. He missed that guy so incredibly much, feeling a part of his heart get hollowed out each time he heard a cry. The pain in his face pounded against his skin and Connie wondered how a sleeping guy could hold this much strength—he would definitely get a bruise from this. He sat on the wooden floor with his legs crossed, his hand over his nose where the pain still stung. Against all that he wanted, against all the energy he used to hold it back in, Connie started to cry, shedding more than just a single tear. Life had been so tough and all he could do was break. 

Nothing was good anymore and there was absolutely nothing he could do to fix that. 

Connie bit down on his lower lip to keep the crying soundless, not wanting the shame he’d feel if Jean would've caught him crying. So for god knew how long, Connie sat miserably on the floor as his whimpers were overpowered by the distressed crying and breathing from Jean. Eventually, once his eyes turned red and puffed, Connie crawled his way back into bed to continue on with his pitiful state. For the rest of the night, Connie didn't sleep. All he could think about was how he had failed as a friend. He didn't know Jean like he thought he did. Connie had no clue about what had made Jean change so much for the worse and he feared that he would never find out. Connie had a friend- no, it was no longer a friend.

Jean had made that perfectly clear.

He was so incredibly tired of constantly losing people, first were the people he lost back at Trost, then Annie and then his family. He almost broke down completely when he realised he had lost Berthold and Reiner, too, only to understand that he never actually had them. For Connie, the hardest part about losing Ymir was watching Historia crumple into bits and pieces. No one ever understood what the relationship between the two girls was but everybody knew that they were more than just friends, and their incomplete story held the tragedy of it all. 

Connie wasn't ready to lose another one, especially not someone as important as Jean.

In this small room were two beds, one window, one rug, and two people who were nothing more than roommates. Two comrades who shared a history of friendship but a future of alienation. 

“Kirstein, wake up, we're going for a run.” Levi had barged into the room uninvitingly before the sun had even woken up. A part of Jean’s punishment was to go on morning runs with Captain Levi, and as much as Jean hoped that he’d forget, he of course, didn't. It was four thirty in the morning and the wind was blasting through the half opened window. Only two hours ago had Jean woken up from his nightmare and only one hour ago had Connie finally fallen asleep. This place is so fucking cruel thought the two boys bitterly as one kept his eyes closed to seem asleep and the other dragged his exhausting body out of bed.

“You have five minutes, I’m waiting outside.” And with that, Levi left the room and Jean got dressed. He tried to move around as quietly as he could, not wanting to wake Connie up—unknowing of the night his friend had just had. Rummaging through his closet, purposely avoiding the back of it, Jean reached out to grab a black, plain,  long-sleeved cotton shirt and a matching pair of shorts. He opened up the bottom drawer of the closet and picked out the least dirty pair of white socks—most were covered in uncleanable dirt stains and blood from foot blisters. Jean then walked back to the end of his room where the bed stood, putting his clothes on the crumpled blanket and looking over his shoulder to make sure that Connie was most definitely asleep. 

He was… well, Jean thought that he was. 

Remembering the time limit that captain Levi had set for him, Jean hurriedly took off his shirt and momentarily stopped to stare at all the healed scars that he had on his upper body. Some he’d gotten while training and some he’d gotten from actual missions with the scouts. Only a relative few were from his bullies back at Trost. Each scar meant something and each scar had its own brave story and over time Jean had learnt to use them as trophies; even the ones he’d gotten from traumatic events. But there laid one single scar up his jaw which Jean thanked every day that he couldn’t see. He quickly shook his head, not interested in going into that lane this early in the morning—or ever for that sake—before he put his shirt on, the fabric tight on his body and highlighting the crevices of his abs. He put his thumbs under the waistband of his beige pyjama pants, pushing them down and letting them fall messily on the floor before grabbing his shorts and putting them on. Jean picked up his running shoes from under his bed before he put on his knee-high socks and later on the shoes, tying the laces in a lazy bow.

Stealing one last glance towards Connie, the teen rushed towards the door, closing it carefully to not make a sound before running down the stairs to the entrance floor where Levi stood waiting—his right arm was stretched over his chest as his left arm locked it back to stretch the tense muscle. “Stretch,” commanded Levi monotoningly without even batting an eye, and Jean did just that.

A few minutes passed and the run had started. 

Since both men had perfect stamina, the run went by smoothly and they got pretty far rather quickly. Captain Levi hadn't shared with Jean any information about their route, whether that meant where they were running or how long they would be running. “Sir, where are we running to?” shied Jean in hesitation as he wet his lower lip and glanced around uneasily. He had no idea how long it had been since they had started running but when they started, the moon was still out and now the sun had just finished rising out on the horizon, so Jean suspected that it had been at least an hour. “Nowhere,” answered Levi nonchalantly, much to Jean’s dismay as the captain continued to run a few steps in front of him.

If there was one thing Jean hated, it was being left alone with his thoughts. Whenever he stood alone in a room he felt as if he was held at gunpoint, forced to deal with the cruelty of this world as his soul wept in cold and sharp tears which lacked any sympathy or empathy for the host that birthed them. In the silence there was no way out, no voice to keep him company as he pushed his thoughts aside, praying to whatever outer being there was that they would never come back. Being alone, as freeing as it sounded, was not like that at all. When the mind is a prison you're never gonna get out, so the best way to stay alive is if there's a window to another's mind, and you do everything in your power to forever continue peeking out. 

Hearing words from a person besides yourself is the only thing that makes sure you never drown. 

So when people stopped talking, Jean stopped living. He tried to talk to himself about irrelevant stuff but he had no tales to tell except for the monster which swallowed him whole and haunted his daily life. Jean craved for human interaction that stayed innocent and pure, so two dimensional that there was no depth to study. But there was none and he didn't know how to free his mouth from the shackles and just talk. Jean had forgotten how to talk and he had forgotten how to be human. Jean was now a mere being which existed only because its body still breathed. 

He thought back to the day before, the moment in which he fucked everything up.

“We’re not friends! We never have been and we never will be!”

All of a sudden, the sun burned even warmer and the birds sang louder. He felt his legs buckle under pressure and his breathing suffer as something held it back from escaping. All the pent up panic erupted like volcanos and Jean could no longer hold it back. Mid run, he halted to a stop as his hands covered his ears, failing miserably to block out all the sounds around him. Jean felt like such a liability when he noticed through the blurry perception of his eyes that Captain Levi had stopped and turned around. He couldn't believe that this was happening once again and that the embarrassing break down which he had only a few days ago repeated itself like clockwork. As one thought led to the other, his shield collapsed like dominos. “Kirstein?” asked Levi with furrowed eyebrows. When Jean did not answer due to inability, the raven haired man understood immediately. “Sit down,” his words commanded and the panicked teen listened. Still on both feet, Jean bent his knees and curled himself up, letting his bottom fall to the grass in a thump. 

“I- I made… I made a huge mistake,” mumbled Jean with wide eyes and uneven breaths. Levi towered over him, “I know.” but Levi suspected that the said mistake was more than just getting drunk and going to a brothel. Captain Levi knew that there was more—with Jean, there always was. 

Jean’s breathing quickened, his body hyperventilating as his eyes shut close with force. He dug his fingers into the sides of his head, clawing at his sweaty hair and bruising his scalp with his nails, forming patches of blood in the size of a flower seed. It was all falling apart, everything he had worked so hard to build crumbled like castles at war and it was too late to build it back up again. Jean could only imagine what Captain Levi was thinking about him at this very moment, probably cursing himself for picking someone like Jean to join his squad and laughing internally at how weak and fragile he was. He needed help and he wanted out but oh, how nothing happened in his favour. Captain Levi was right, Jean was just a spineless coward and he was completely useless in this world. He was a mere footnote in this story and his life mattered like the amount of a single ant. 

Run! Run! Run! Run as fast as you possibly can and don't let anyone that hates you catch you because you will be cut into pieces and paraded around all the towns for being the monster which got caught! 

Fuck this all! what a jail he had willingly stepped into and willingly tossed away the key, watching as it fell from the height and into the shallow hole which he himself later filled up with soil. 

Jean tried to stand up, hyperventilating as his palms hit the ground to help him stabilize his body. He was crying as his feet dug into the grass in an attempt to rise from this shameful fall. His feet battled with the ground as their grip never stuck. His nails now held onto the dirt as his hands latched onto the tall grass, using it as handles to get himself to stand. He crawled like a drowning spider, such a pitiful and degrading look when all of a sudden it all stopped and all that Jean could see was black.

Levi lowered his leg, watching from above as the teen fell to his side, his consciousness leaving his body like a ghost. From the thin lips of the raven haired man escaped an exhausted breath—what a hard day in which this had been. 

He sat down on the grass, his legs crossed and his fingers intertwined. Levi had worried greatly for the boy, an instinct in which he was not much familiar with. His dark blue eyes landed on Jean, relaxing slightly as the teen’s breathing evened out and he laid in a calmful rest. Levi stayed like that even when the sun burned his skin red and even when an animal looking for its prey approached with a mouth of drool. Time passes enough for Levi to feel the whole planet move, but unlike everything else, he stayed the very same; His body still and the patience flowing through him like a river at night. At some point he had started counting, but then lost the number he was on when a deer came by to eat. 

Living beings had come and gone, continuing on with their lives as if a crisis wasn't happening right at this very moment. It was so weird to think how one could live their worst day yet when another had just smiled brighter than he had ever before. Such a small world yet the stories were big and the people even bigger. 

It felt like eternity before Jean started to stir. 

“C-captain?” whispered the boy in confusion, his voice raspy and in clear need of water. He rubbed his eyes and leaned up on his elbows as Captain Levi stood up from his sitting position and rubbed away all the leaves and grass that had stuck to his clothes. 

“Morning.”

“Did you kick me?”

And the captain nodded.

“Thank you.” It was honest and sincere. Jean didn't know how to talk about this thing that had just happened and he definitely did not know how to fix it, so he was eternally grateful for the path his captain had decided to take. Levi nodded once again, this time a silent “no need to thank me”.

“Stand up, we're heading back,” said the Captain with a surprisingly soft voice. Jean followed the given orders and the two men turned around and ran, anticipating the showers they would take once they got back. “What mistake did you make? Except for getting drunk and going to that brothel.” Captain Levi hissed the last few words in a quiet yet audible whisper. Jean blushed in shame, the cruel reminder of his stupid decisions tugging at his heartstrings, “I think Sasha and Connie hate me,” admitted the teen in regret. 

“Why do you say that?” It sure surprised Levi, this theory of his. Sasha, Connie, and Jean were the best of friends and everybody knew that. On some levels, they reminded Levi of a happier version of his’, Isabel’s, and Furlan’s friendship.

Jean slowed down his run to a simpler jog, the memories of yesterday flashing him like burning candles, “I lashed out at them and told them that we never have been and never will be, friends”. Saying the words out loud once again broke another part of Jean’s heart, and the cruelty of his words hit him like bullets. 

“Hm,” Levi hummed, turning his head to hide his widened eyes, “that is worse than I thought”.

“Thanks,” answered Jean dryly.

“Im not good at these types of things,” admitted Levi, “But Braus and Springer are. If you just apologise, they’ll forget in a second.” 

Jean looked at him hopefully, “You think so?”

“I know so”.

It was 10:27 when Jean and Levi made it back to the base. After the short conversation about Connie and Sasha, the remainder of the run went quiet but surprisingly, not uncomfortable. 

“Jean!” The teen watched as Captain Levi headed into the base and no other than Armin Arlert ran out. ‘What is he doing here?’ thought Jean to himself as the blond boy halted to a stop a single meter away from him. “How uh… how was the run?” asked Armin uneasily as he fiddled with the hem of his blue, button up shirt, “you were out for quite some time, and with Captain Levi alone it can get a bit uh, weird .” 

“It was fine.” Jean wanted Armin to hug him so badly, he wanted the blond to tell him that everything was okay between them and that there was no bad blood. But Armin didn't. “Good, good.” light blue eyes met with honey colored eyes, the intense pulse in their glances spreading like the plague. 

The silence between them was sharp and uncomfortable, the desire that the two boys had to hug each other haunting the air between them. “Um,” started Armin nervously, “can you uh, meet me on the rooftop after dinner? I uh, I really want to talk.” Jean was too stunned to speak, his dreams getting fulfilled right in front of his eyes.

“You don’t have to!” assured Armin with a higher pitched voice than usually, “I know you don't wanna talk to me so it’s okay if-”

“-I’ll be there,” interrupted Jean softly like a heavy weight had just been lifted off his shoulders and the gates to heaven had just opened. 

“Great! I’ll see you then!” Armin smiled in relief, raising his hands slightly before remembering that Jean was like an art piece—not to be touched. But what the blond didn't know was that Jean longed for that hug more than anything, and if it was between him and oxygen, Jean would choose him in a heartbeat.

————

During dinner, the two boys kept stealing glances at each other, their cheeks painted with a pink hue and their pupils dilated as Jean still, despite his desires, sat at the empty table in the corner of the room. 

When Armin had finished his bowl of stew (he somehow finished before Sasha), he excused himself to leave the mess hall earlier than usual. After cleaning his dishes and walking out of the communal kitchen, he shot Jean a quick glance and a soft smile before heading out to the rooftop. Mere seconds later, Jean did the same. He rushed into the kitchen, lowering his head and avoiding everyone since he felt his cheeks burn red. He threw away his uneaten food, cleaned his dishes, and headed out with swift movement. 

“Armin?” Jean called out his name with softened excitement once he made it to the dark brown rooftop. The sky had turned dark blue, the cloudless night showing the world its stars that shined so brightly. “I’m here!” replied the boy as he peeked his head out from behind the chimney. His smile was bright like the stars and his hair glistened under the moonlight. Jean could promise that what he saw was an angel. The taller teen ran carefully towards the other one and sat down next to him, on his right side, still keeping a small and safe distance. “Hey,” cooed Jean with a soft tone and a silly grin. “Hey,” breathed Armin as he looked at the other fondly. Jean didn't know what it was but Armin looked majestic tonight, his pale skin shining like pearls and his blue eyes bright like fireflies. “The stars are pretty tonight,” blurted Jean and Armin hummed in agreement, “They are”.

For some time, both boys sat in silence as they studied the stars. Their hearts pounded in their chests but they felt no hurry, it was as if every worry and burden that they had carried had drifted away to never show up again. Armin laid down on the roof, his hair spreading artistically around him like an angel's halo. “I love the moon so much,” Armin’s soft voice interrupted the quiet, the night now ready to have the boys talk. “I like the sun more,” added Jean as he laid down on the roof too.

“Like, it's just a huge orb up in the sky which is made out of fire,” explained Jean excitedly in fascination, “and it has to be incredibly big for us to even see it.” His eyes glistened in awe, “I think it’s incredible.” The last four words were said softly and delicately, the pure love that Jean held for the sun prominent through his tone. “And besides, the moon wouldn't shine if it weren’t for the sun.”

“...Yeah, I guess you're right.” 

As a chilling breeze of fresh air flew by, the boys thought about the sun and the moon, and how they were irresistibly bound to continue to live in harmony forever and ever until the universe ceased to exist. “You see those stars over there?” Armin raised his hand and pointed towards a constellation of seven stars. “Mhm,” Jean looked towards them. In the middle was the biggest star, its size almost as big as the northern star. On the star’s right side, was a medium sized star which was accompanied by a smaller star to its left and another small star right above it, and on the star’s left side was another medium star accompanied by a small star to its right and another right above it. “It’s called Ivan and Ima, I read about it in a book once.” 

“Who are Ivan and Ima?” asked Jean curiously as he tore his eyes away from the constellation and onto the side of Armin’s face.

“They were lovers,” Jean’s eyebrows raised in surprise and his mouth fell open slightly before he closed it back up again and looked up to the stars once more. 

“Both boys, but since Ima can also be a girl's name, many believe that they were boyfriend and girlfriend,” Armin worded his explanation cautiously, not knowing what Jean’s opinion on homosexuality was. “They fell in love as kids and hid it from the rest of the world until Ivan’s caretaker-”

“-Did he not have parents?”

“No. They both died when Ivan was a kid.”

“Oh. That's sad.”

Armin continued with his tale, “Ivan’s caretaker hated him and when he found out that Ivan loved Ima, he kidnapped the two boys and locked them up in his hut.” Armin remembered back to when he was eight and read the book under a tree back in Shiganshina after getting it as a gift from his grandfather. “Ivan’s caretaker tortured Ivan by making him watch as he hurt Ima every day and every night. The two boys suffered indefinitely, but what Ivan’s caretaker didn't know,” It quickly became Armin’s favourite book, “was that their souls had tied for eternity and that the golden strings in their hearts had intertwined into an unbreakable knot.”

Jean watched up to the sky as the stars transformed into two faceless boys.

“After years of torture, Ivan’s caretaker realised that nothing would break him and Ima, so with all his cruelty, he took a sword and stabbed Ivan right in the heart. Ima cried for years as he sat in that hut, Ivan’s caretaker now long gone and on the run.” Armin felt chills run through his body as he remembered the tragic tale of the two boys whose only crime was to fall in love. “Eventually, Ima had had enough. He prayed for god to kill him, and god listened. Ima died from heartbreak and now the two boys live forever and ever in the sky as beautiful stars”.

“Wow…” breathed Jean, “that’s a tragic story.”

“Mhm, it is.” Armin pointed back up to the stars again. “The medium sized stars are their hearts, the one on the right is Ivan’s and the one on the left is Ima’s. The small stars above them represent their heads and their eyes for how much love can be told through the mind and through simple glances.” Armin moved his hand to the middle star. “The two small stars on the big star’s sides, represent their arms and how they constantly tried to reach for each other—it also represents how love is often physical, too”.

“What about the big one?” asked Jean quietly. 

“Everyone thinks something else. Some believe that the big star is Ivan’s protector who will forever, until eternity, separate the two boys. Some believe that the big star is the representative of god who brought them together up in the sky. But most people believe that since it's the seventh star and the number seven stands for perfection and completeness, the biggest star represents their bond and love, and how nothing broke what they had; it also represents how they are now together forever until eternity. Ivan and Ima represent a true story of love and loyalty and the biggest star is there to prove it”.

Jean looked over at Armin, seeing how his eyes got wet with emotion, “what do you believe it stands for?”

“The last one, that it’s their love,” replied the blond. “What about you?”

Jea thought for a moment and he knew what he wanted to believe—that the star truly did represent their love, but he just couldn't believe that. 

“The first one. Ivan’s caretaker.”

Chapter Text

Sorry guys this isn’t a new chapter😔💔

But don’t worry chapter 18 is in the works and it will traumatise us all!!

Also, please, call me Bailey lol—no need for formality

Anyway, I wanted to write you guys a couple of things and couldn’t wait for the next update to do so, so an authors note felt necessary. (Read it over again now and I sound like a disappointed teacher… I’m not dw).

1. Thank you guys so so much for all the nice comments that you have written me. I can’t even begin to express how much they mean to me ❤️ They truly make my whole week and pump my adrenaline and will to write to 100%

2. I’ve opened a tiktok account (@baileyjean88) where I’ll post content about attack on titan and my fic(s). I think it would be very nice, fun, and exciting to strengthen the base of this fic and future ones since you guys are all so sweet and I’d love to be more in touch and able to answer questions and give you guys updates (instead of authors notes for example).

3. Ivan and Ima explanation for those who didn’t understand. Ivan represents Jean (both names have the same meaning search it up). Just like how Ivan lost both his parents, so did Jean. Ima represents Armin (again, both names have the same meaning) and how Armin says that some see Ima as a girl, Armin wishes to be a girl in fear of not being liked by Jean. Ivan’s caretaker represents the guard that assaulted Jean and Armin. Ima’s prayers to god to die and get back to Ivan will be referenced in the next chapter so keep an eye out (for selener). In the end of the chapter when Armin says that he believes that the biggest star represents Ivan’s and Ima’s love, it represents how Armin tries to hold onto Jean because of his unconditional love. Jean however says that the star represents Ivan’s caretaker (the guard) because Jean is still stuck in the warehouse (rightfully so) and therefore believes that he isn’t worthy of love. 

Because if my awful ability to describe star placements, here’s an awful example:

⭐️s/s                                           ⭐️s/s

⭐️ m/s    ⭐️s/s    ⭐️b/s    ⭐️s/s    ⭐️m/s

4. I know everyone here is Jearmin fans but I have the duality of man and am personally IN LOVE with Jean, so I really want to write a Jean and Y/n fic (college au) since I’ve also had many many ideas just popping up in the past few days. So if you guys are interested in that, please say so. I’ll write it anyway but it still feels right to ask you guys. 

Don’t worry about the this fic, I’ll of course prioritise this one and won’t abandoned it because I have the most perfect ending and the story still has so many plot points that I want to write so badly. But when i’m stuck on this one and don’t have any idea what to write for two whole months (what happened with chapter 17), I’ll be able to write my other fic and the writers block will be less extreme and easier to get over.

The Y/n fic will of course be angsty because who am I of not for that… It will also have similar writing styles (of course) and I truly hope you guys will be just as excited as I am (it’s like a new baby to the family!) and want to read a Y/n fic ☺️

Anyway, so that’s it for this note—future messages by me will be given on my tiktok. 

Next update will be chapter 18 dw! I’ll see you guys then and again, thank you so much I love you all ❤️❤️❤️

Chapter Text

Jean had stayed outside with Armin last night until three o’clock, talking about absolutely everything and nothing. Since everything seemed fine between them, a mutual understanding was formed and they had decided to keep quiet about their earlier fight. Armin had wondered whether that was a healthy method or not, but Jean was convinced that it was the best solution. Since nothing had been said and no truths had come out, neither did Armin’s anxieties and therefore, a wall — as tall as could be — built its bricks step by step. 

When Jean snuck back into his room and laid back down on his bed, his eyes stayed wide awake; he had gained this fear of falling asleep, because when Jean fell asleep, only the worst of things happened. So for the rest of the night, up until six in the morning when the sun told him it was time to start living again, Jean laid on his back, asking silent questions as he stared at the ceiling that gave him no comfort or reply.

“You look tired, did you sleep at all?” Asked Hange with concern. As promised, Jean was having therapy sessions with her that he had dreaded all morning; there was nothing wrong about spending time with Hange, of course. The problem was spending time with his feelings and bringing them up to the surface. 

“Not really,” mumbled Jean as he shrugged his shoulders and lowered his head, studying the patterns in the wooden floor like he did the stars in the sky only mere hours earlier. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” questioned Hange gently with genuine concern. 

Jean looked up at her, his eyes conveying an unusual sense of warmth and relief that Hange hadn’t seen in what felt like decades. “I was with Armin”.

“Oh! That's great!” exclaimed Hange with a high pitched tone as her eyes widened with shock. She had noticed how Jean had slightly gotten his color back and hearing that it was thanks to Armin, a boy as nice as could be, filled her with a feeling of security and hope. “I’m glad to hear that it wasn’t nightmares that kept you up again,” she said with a soft half smile. ‘ What a beautiful day this would be’ , she thought, completely unaware of the lava that was heating up in Jean’s heart, waiting for the right moment to erupt and burn all that was around.

“Well, Jean, I’m honestly not sure how therapy works since the government doesn’t give the scouts a budget for that-“ she looked at him apologetically as she rubbed the back of her neck, the guilt of not being able to help Jean in the way she would like eating her alive, munching on her meat and sucking on her bones, “-but I have been through things so I understand pain on some level, and I want to help you the best that I can. Even if we don’t find a solution for the problem, at least you’ve talked about it and shared it with someone. That's, kind of, good enough, don’t you think?”.

No, Jean did not think that, but he held great respect for Hange, never once having the urge to disagree with her or kick her in the bum like he did everyone else. He didn’t know what it was about her that made her so unique in his head, but he liked it and he thanked god every day for giving him someone like her. Not everyone had the privilege of getting to know Hange Zoe. 

“Yeah… that’s good enough,” he tensed his jaw as he averted his gaze away from her in shame, feeling swallowed up as he spit out more lies. 

Hange’s eyes brightened once again as they found common ground, “Great! So, Jean, what do you wanna talk about?” but Jean shrugged, dismissing the idea of opening up.

“Wanna tell me about Armin?” The question got her a moment of eye contact that warmed her heart. 

“No.”

“Right…” she pursed her lips uncontrollably, “what do you want to talk about then?”

“Nothing.” With every letter that he said came a brutal force of numbness. She took a deep breath, “Why don’t you draw it then? You’ve mentioned that you like it,” suggested Hange.

Filled with doubt, Jean furrowed his eyebrows as he squinted.

“If you can’t talk about your feelings you can express them on paper. I've heard that it’s a really good therapy method and that it actually works,” continued Hange coddlingly as if she was talking to a small, uncooperative child, as she raised her glasses and leaned back on her wooden chair. 

She wasn’t like Jean in any way whatsoever.

Expressing her feelings wasn’t something she had ever struggled with and she knew that it had saved her from greater pain surrounding her work field. Keeping everything inside was a thought she couldn’t grasp; even the mere idea of doing so was unbearable for her. Hange was a blabbermouth — she knew that — and it did poke her in the butt here and there but Hange wasn’t alone, even if there was no one around that she knew, she was still with someone. She feared the thought of loneliness with a healed part of her brain which refused that way of life; refused a solitude life.  

“I’m good,” mumbled Jean somberly, politely declining the offer. Drawing was for escapism, not coping. On paper there could be no sign of emotion or any personal pain — ever since Marco that was. The last ever drawing that Jean had sculpted with graphite onto a canvas made of paper, the last one to ever get created with a sign of personality, was of Marco; the very same day that Jean had looked down as Marco leaned back against the wall, his body half gone and his freckles numbered down. 

It was a detailed drawing made with fine lines that highlighted every tear in the skin and every drop of blood, the open eye haunting the outside world and cursing at Jean for not saving him in time. The art piece brought the artist much despair and anguish, the fleeting feeling of grief and hurt so explicitly and violently alive that merely seconds after the drawing had been finished, was it ripped out of the sketchbook and thrown angrily under the bed to hide away the guilt of an innocent man. 

The next time the sketchbook was opened, Jean drew a tree, and ever since then he had drawn enough to create a whole forest.

Hange took a deep breath, “Jean, you have to do something to deal with what you’re going through,” she urged, hoping to get the boy to understand how crucial it was for him to face the pain as she watched him slip through her fingers. “You can’t continue with this path of destruction because in the end it will do you nothing .” 

“I’m fine Hange, I don’t need your help,” he said as he averted his gaze away from her

“Then whose help do you need?” she said harshly. Hange was no fool and she would not be in cahoots with his little mind-trick-games that he played with, and only, against himself. Jean was young, he didn't understand that he wasn’t the only one affected by his made up rules; he didn't understand that everyone was. The world around him kept spinning but the chemistry that revolved around and within him changed forever and would never go back to what it used to be, he didn't understand and she feared that he never would. Whose help could be enough to drag him out of this hole that he’d been buried in — who would take his shovel so he’d stop digging and who’d give him a ladder and a helping hand so he would be able to get out of the darkness? Was it Marco? That guy she had heard him talk about. “Marco? Is Marco the one who can help you?”

The question was left hanging in the chilling air that froze over, the room crystalising in the ice as the vibe tensed up. How could she say such a thing? Say his name so casually as if the owner of those letters didn’t matter a whole lot? Jean’s face turned pale and his ears red as his widened eyes watered with repressed memories and unresolved feelings of love, lust, and grief. “How do you know who he is?” he stepped around the question carefully, wary of the person in front him that now held a loaded gun against his heart — a loaded gun that he himself had given her. 

“You mentioned him in your sleep once,” the words shot him like ricocheted bullets, “back when you fell asleep in the common room.” Did he talk in his sleep? Was he stupid enough to do such a thing? Why couldn't he control himself? The curtains closed and the door was thrown shut as a paranoid realization hit him like stone against water, ‘ what else could he have said in his sleep? What could Connie have found out? ’. His heart beat fast as his skin turned damp, nails digging into his palms as his inner cheeks got the taste of blood. “What did I say?” he asked as he looked at her through furrowed eyebrows.

“Just his name.” Just his name, good. “Do you want to tell me more about him?”

Jean shook his head. He couldn't bear the rising feelings of anger and guilt that he got every time he or someone else mentioned his lamented friend; Such an agonising feeling that he couldn't get rid of no matter how much he tried. “I can’t,” he whispered through gritted teeth before biting down on his tongue, hoping to never talk again. 

“Then what can you talk about?” Hange felt herself losing patience at how stubborn the boy in front of her was, “what you felt  in the warehouse?” she alluded to Jean, but he no longer listened to a word she said — she lost him indefinitely. Jean was preoccupied in his own thoughts and she just sat by and watched as the cogs in his mind turned in rapid speed. 

You’d think that Hange would let this all go and let him leave the trap that she had built, but she was dead set on getting him to express his feelings with every word he knew and every tone he had. The way his calm and steady body kept on breathing creeped her out in ways she couldn’t fathom. Hange wanted him to scream and shout, to yell at everyone around him and cry like he did a few days earlier. She wanted Jean’s feelings to come to a culmination and erupt like they never had before. Hange prayed for such times and begged for his feelings to form a shape so they’d become tangible and legitimate, just so Jean could see how damaged he truly was. 

Hange studied his physical state: His eyes lacked the glance that a young boy his age would usually have and his hands clenched hard enough to stop his own blood. His tense jaw highlighted his bones and the cut that was almost completely healed. “Jean, What did you feel that day?” the question spat like a hissing cat. 

“Shut up!” The volcano erupted as the lava darted out and burned down everything in its path. 

“I don’t want to fucking talk to you! Why can’t you just understand that and leave me the fuck alone?!” His face turned red as he stood up in anger and frustration, his body heating up with steam. “I don’t need your help! I’m fine, okay?! So just fuck off and bother someone else!” He shouted with a high pitched voice and his body stiff before he turned towards the door, ready to bolt away like he always did. 

One thing about Jean was that he was eager to avoid, whether that was friendship or love, feelings or emotions. He avoided anything that seemed to crawl too deep into his heart, anything that had the power to hurt him one day, and anything that needed healthy communication. Jean didn't know when and why this issue stemmed, but he knew he had it. He was quite self aware for a boy his age and he knew about most of the problems that he had — one of the problems being the inability to fix all his other ones. 

“Jean,“ She started calmly, “you’re yelling at me right now because you have something to say and you know that I’m right.”

“No! You don’t get to analyse me like that! I’m not your fucking lab titan and you don’t get to treat me like that!” He saw red. “You’re all acting like I'm some fragile nut case who can’t take care of himself and I’m so tired of all that fucking bullshit! I’m still me!”

The cat had left its cage, hissing with his sharp teeth at anyone who tried to keep him inside. 

Hange took a deep breath, her nostril tightening as she lifted her glasses, “I know that, Jean. I know that you’re still you,“ she confirmed, “but you went through something traumatic–“

“Stop throwing that word around!” interrupted Jean, “it’s just an event that happened, ok? I don’t feel anything towards it.” 

“Sit down,” she commanded and Jean, filled with respect towards the woman in front of him, listened. “Thank you.”

Had you stepped into the room, your bones would shatter from the peer pressure and intensity of shared words that were thrown back and forth like a ping pong ball. “You have changed, Jean,” his name was slowly and carefully said, every vowel highlighted with importance as if his name had the same purpose as water and air. Hange’s intentions were pure but her way of work was assertive, greatly understanding the depths of Jean and his refusal to open up his eyes and accept the fact that he was reaching for a breaking point by keeping it all inside — silent. 

“Even if you have noticed it or not, you've changed. You’re not the same as you’ve always been. What happened in the warehouse affected you and everyone can see that. You are blinded by your inner need for perfection and can’t see that your mental health has declined and continues to do so as every day passes by. You need help, Jean.” Hange was direct, her words stinging like needles and thorns, the letters sharp and hurtful yet never dangerous, but Jean perceived them like the teeth of a snake that were filled with poisonous venom. 

If only they had been on the same wavelength, agreeing on the situation and getting to a mutual understanding that much help was needed, everything would be much easier and a solution would’ve been quickly found - thought Hange as she fiddled with a loose string on her sleeve. 

Jean felt a lump form in the depths of his throat, the size of it growing rapidly as his eyes fought with all their power to stay dry. A part of him knew that Hange spoke with words of truth and that she only came to him with care, but the fragile part in his mind and heart saw it as a hurtful attack. 

His sanity slipped and he was losing himself. 

But Jean would never admit to such profanity.

“Hange, with all respect, you’re wrong. Yes, I’ve done some stupid stuff and all that, but it was a short phase that won’t repeat itself,” He argued. “I’m better now because I’ve learnt to take everything in proportions and I realised that I had been very dramatic for absolutely no reason. It's all in the past now.” Jean truly believed so. 

A stable person would’ve noticed the flaws and tried to do something to get rid of them, but here Jean sat and he saw no issues with the way that he’d been living. There was no bump in the road that told him: ‘hey, something is very wrong and you need to reach out for help’. The lack of rational thinking would only sink him more and roughen the anchor’s purpose of holding him in place and prevent him from floating further away from the shore. Everybody tried to tie him to a fence and take out all the water from underneath him, but like how a boat needs water to get anywhere, Jean needed to sink before he could feel the ground breaking beneath him and open his eyes to reach out for help. 

“You might have forgotten Jean, but you told me what that guard did to you. You can’t escape him by running away and ignoring the affects that he has on you,” Hange slung one leg over the other. “If you continue to live like this, it will hold onto you for the rest of your life and so will that man.”

A poison tree has two ways of creation. The first way is the one in which the seed itself was made out of poison. It’s the one which was born out of malice and grew with roots of death. It’s the tree that will forever follow the path that it was created for, and will continue with the planned out patterns of dangering the world around it. The tree’s motion has been calculated over and over again to perfectly execute its purpose and find the best way to ruin its place in society. 

The second tree is one that grows pure like the ones you find in a home garden or at a park. It's a tree which gives you air to breathe and shadows to cool down under as you take a nap on a hot summer day. The poisonous part of it is the one that appeared once a human altered its environment or gave it a very specific chemical treatment with the purpose of making it inhabitable. It’s a tree that grew like any other, born to help the ones in need for a home, or air, or any simpler thing. It’s a tree that was made to give. But once that giving tree has been poisoned by the monstrous actions of a human, it can no longer live for what its purpose originally was. It is now affected with a plague that it can never get rid of and is forced into a life of distance, disease, and death; all because a human felt that it would be right and hoped that it would benefit his life. 

As much as Jean saw himself as the first one, seeing his soul and heart as the root of all evil and the reason for all his problems — he was not. Jean had been struck down by a human whose intentions were nothing but the same as the one of a monster. Jean’s inner self had been injected by poison and he was now forced to live with the thing he resented most. In such a cruel world where nothing seemed fair, Hange was going to fight for his right for justice. 

“You need to let me help you.”

Hange tried to change Jean’s route of thinking, his stubbornness being a dangerous trap and the walls of an inescapable labyrinth of blind roads. She burned with desire to help the skeleton in front of her, watching as his dying corpse lost air and energy as he refused to admit defeat. Hange felt as if she was chasing after a shadow at night and acting as if she could light a match in the rain. She felt utterly pathetic as she watched her attempts fail over and over again without any progress.

“I just want you to be okay.”

“I am okay,” whispered Jean with a shivered voice. 

He felt like a stranger, an intruder in his own head. He did not belong inside of himself, yet he had gotten the key to the machinery of his brain without anyone telling him how to crack it open. Jean could bang on the door with anger and frustration, using all the strength that his muscles held to try and pry it open, but all that would be shown in response were small dents in the wood and a few broken bones. 

If only there was a manual that would give him step by step instructions on how to get inside his own head and fix the screws and wheels, he would’ve. If only he had the strength inside of himself to dig deep into the dark unknown and dare to light it up on his own, he could’ve. And if he just hadn’t been so stubborn and accepted the help that was offered to him, he should’ve. 

Jean was a case study, and the one who could give the most answers and leads, was himself. But now the curve had become a sphere and with how far he thought that he had come, how he thought that he was ahead of everybody else, he was proven wrong once he saw the backs of everyone else who had once seen his own. 

A cat starts his run by chasing after a mouse, but he always ends up catching his own tail unless he dares to ask for help and sets up a mousetrap. 

“You’re not. Jean, please be honest with me,” begged Hange, “tell me the truth.” She leaned forwards on the chair, waiting impatiently for his walls to break down instead of just crack. Hange wanted him to pick apart the bricks so she could carry them for him; a few had fallen, but he fought back for them and glued them back harder than before. Hange couldn’t fathom the fact that she now begged the most honest person that she’d ever met, to be honest. It was such a peculiar moment that she almost thought it was an endless nightmare. 

“I am, it’s just- it’s the truth, okay?” Jean furrowed his eyebrows as he retreated 

the words that he originally planned to say — a moment of regret pushing him three steps backwards. 

“I’m sorry but I can’t believe you, hun.” She looked at him with pity, the light in her heart flickering as she let herself hope again. “You were sexually assaulted and that-“

“No! Stop talking! Stop!” Jean raised his voice as he covered his ears like he always used to do. It was a habit of his that Hange had wondered about ever since she’d first seen him do it — did his parents fight a lot? Or yell at him? She curiously thought about what made Jean continue with this childish habit of his. “That means something, Jean,” she said slightly louder to make sure the teen would be able to hear her words of reason.  

“No! I don’t want to hear those words, okay? They’re not- they’re not me and it’s not-“ he gasped for air, “-they’re not who I am. Don’t use them like that.” Tears started to well in his eyes as his breathing fastened. “Don’t say those words to me!” 

It was clear that he was losing control, panicking from the truth and honesty that those two words held. “They’re not who you are but it is something that happened to you and you can’t deny that,” Hange continued as brutally honest as she could, the light in her heart growing with every second that continued to pass, hopefully praying for Jean’s walls to crumble down like castles at war. “I want you to open up to me even if it’s in baby steps. I don't care if it takes us days, weeks, or months, I just want to see you get better.”

“Shut up!” He stood up as quick as a lightning bolt, pushing his chair backwards and making Hange flinch with the sheer strength in his voice. “Why are you being so stubborn about something that doesn't matter ?!” his shouting could be heard all the way out to the hall, the edges of his voice sharp and strong. 

“Because you're clearly suffering!” Hange fought back, raising her voice unlike she usually did. “You’re just a boy! It's okay to not be okay!” she stood up from her chair, matching Jean’s height and frustration. “Let go of this mindset that you have and understand that you don't always have to be alone!”

Jean stared at her in shock, not expecting her to yell back at him like two lawyers in a court case. “Get help from someone! Anyone!” continued Hange, “I don't care if it’s me, or Armin, or Commander Erwin, or Captain Levi, Or Connie, Sasha, Mikasa, or Eren! Get help from that Marco guy for all I care! Just get help!”

“I can't!" the tears had left their lair and now slid artistically down his cheeks. 

“why not?!”

“Because he’s fucking dead !” 

Silence. Hange didn’t know what to say as the chilling revelation of Marco’s end hit her like a brick. Marco was dead. Another person that Jean cared about, was dead. Who was Marco? And what was he to Jean? 

How old was Marco when he died and how did it happen?

Hange had many questions she dared not to utter. 

“…I’m sorry…” she whispered.

As Jean glared at her, came three words that pierced her heart like daggers. 

“I HATE YOU!!”

Hange had never heard Jean yell this loudly before. His voice cracked at the four letter word as his body buckled down from all of the emotional pain that stormed inside of him. Jean bolted out of the room faster than a hare, escaping the crime scene. He left behind a vessel of his body, the outline of where he earlier stood now lingering like a long lost dream. 

“Jean!” Hange tried to get him to stay. 

She followed him all the way to the door before halting to a stop when she saw the crowd of scouts swallow him whole and make him disappear into the grand unknown. She sighed heavily before taking a sorrowful step backwards and closing the door behind her. Hange hated doing so, closing the door that she had proudly declared as open, but even she needed the privacy of a room as she grieved the thing she couldn't achieve. She fell to the ground with fervour as her head rested painfully against the wooden door. The failure was unbearable as curse words threw themselves at her, shaming her for not knowing how to help and only damaging Jean further. How could she not understand that Marco was dead? All the hints lead to it. 

Hange just wanted to turn off her brain and fall asleep. She wanted to escape the only thing she never would be able to — herself. Hange Zoe wanted to let herself go and become someone new and unrecognizable. The resentment she had for herself carried itself by her feet, tied to her ankles and burning into her skin. Hange was jailed by her own guilt and shame, her walk limping from her own self-made injury that shadowed after her. 

Was this how Hange would continue her life? Was this the only way she would continue to live? 

By losing herself?

Did Jean really hate her? 

The blade was in his hand, tightly held by his thumb and index finger. Jean had locked himself in his room and taken out the screw from his pencil sharpener that now laid on the floor, all the pieces detached from each other. The pain and guilt had consumed him as he sat on the edge of his bed, breathing heavily as he stared blankly at the sharp piece of metal. The skin on his wrist was now exposed to the room, the veins in his body a constant reminder of his life that he lacked to value. Jean had no positive thoughts in his head as he raised his hand and let the blade glide smoothly into his skin. He traced the most prominent vein in his wrist, the line vertical from his palm and up. Jean watched as his skin got torn apart and blood seeped out from the cut. The cold metal and rush of pain made him halt to a stop and hiss as he stared at the blood running down his arm, landing on his beige, linen pants. The teen watched on in shock as his body trembled in fear. 

Jean was scared of himself — petrified. 

He couldn't believe what he was doing. 

As blood slid down his arm, tears did so on his cheeks. He pursed his lips to not make a sound as he once again slid the sharp blade against his wrist. The skin tore open like unimportant envelopes and the red liquid swam away barbarically. The blade lingered too long inside the cut which made it sting inside his body, giving him the feeling of salt on a wound. He removed the blade from between the crack as he stared numbly at his cuts. There were currently two, sitting neatly on his right arm as his fingers twitched with pain. 

His mouth dried up as adrenaline rushed through him. There was an odd feeling haunting his every movement as he continued breathing and staring at his red painted arm. Jean wanted to obliterate every atom and fiber that made him who he was and remove his mold from the atmosphere of the earth. 

Jean’s posture resembled the one of a hook as he let his chin fall down to his chest and his short bangs cover his dull eyes. There was no mercy from the man above and Jean had learnt so long ago. What was the reason for his pain and suffer if he had only barely lived? He knew he was a sinner, but did his sins match the punishment that he got?

He knew that it was wrong for him to like a boy, but his mother did not have to die because of that. He knew that it was wrong to be greedy and proud, but he did not have to be touched because of that. Surely the guard’s sin was worse than his… so why did the guard get to rest in peace while he had to levitate on the holy soil of mother earth as he got bashed for the sins of pure love and devotion?

Jean did not believe in the man above like his parents did, but no matter how much you try to get away from the place and way that you were raised, you can't. The memories and nostalgia will find a way to haunt you and leap onto the stairs you climb. There's no way for you to escape your past indefinitely and Jean hated that more than anything. There is a maximum size for the radius that you can wander before you get back to the place that you came from. No matter where you bolt to and no matter how much you try to hide, you will always come back to what you were beforehand. The one you were as a child is buried inside of you and as you grow up, it gets stronger and faster until one day it takes you over by force and throws you all the way back down to who you were before. 

That’s why Jean didn't believe in the father above. Because had the father known about all this, he wouldn't take a person's growth for granted and he would rather celebrate this change by making said person get freedom from their past. If you were to ask Jean, god was not all good. And if he was all good, then he was not all powerful. God could not supply everything that the human kind would need to survive the cruel and harsh world that he himself had built for them. The man above could not provide the human kind with eternal peace and love so instead, he created hate. 

If God truly did exist, Jean would make him beg for his forgiveness.

There was an eerie silence in the room. The curtains were closed, the sun rays seeping between the crevices of black fabric as the only other light source had been blown out. Jean felt safe in the darkness — if someone was watching him, he wouldn't know. His grip on the blade tightened once more before he reluctantly slashed his skin for the third time. This was his destiny. Jean would choke on his own loneliness and cry with invisible tears as he embroidered his skin with cuts.

He craved physical pain since the mental and emotional pain had become all too much. 

Jean cut through his flesh as he bit down on his bottom lip as hard as he could. Breaths came like rapid fire as his hands shook with provoked emotions; but it was mind over matter. This felt good, his pain was directed elsewhere. It didn't matter if it was good or healthy, it felt so incredibly good . 

As he cut his skin again and again, sometimes lightly and sometimes harshly, he thought about all the things that hurt less than his wrist. All the cruel words that he had spat to Hange, Connie, and Sasha. The way Captain Levi looked at him. The rough and large hands that still roamed his body and cradled him with malice. But there was one feeling that just would not flee — disgust. He felt that feeling so much more than any cut that he had made. No matter how much he tore up his skin, that feeling of nastiness, dirtiness, and impurity stained him like black ink on cloth. Jean was not one who would easily buckle and yield under harsh circumstances, but someone aimed at his heart that day in the warehouse and shot the sharpest and heaviest of bullets right where he held all of his strength. 

Jean’s lower lip bled from the pressure of his teeth, his anxieties rushing inside of him like a torrent as he continued to cut his skin like the history of a fossil — the fossil resembling the scars of a cat scratch. 

He whimpered. 

His emotions had gone haywire, escaping his body and swirling around him like a tornado. As he lost control of his heart, the only thing that he could rely on was his grip on the blade. He controlled everything: the depth, the length, and when to stop. Every cut in his skin was the carving of a scream when his voice wasn't loud enough. Every drop of blood was a source of fuel when life had become too much, a reminder that he still carried life inside his soul when he felt like a bad omen of death. Every tear in the skin was a memory from the past that had intruded into his present and future. They were tears that shed in silence because their noise would wake the world. They were the weight of a million thoughts and feelings that pressed against his chest so hard, to the point he thought that he might break. 

He didn’t care if it hurt, he wanted control over his body so he could have a perfect soul.

So with all that pain and agony, Jean held onto the one thing he could control.

Until he won’t be able to anymore.

Jean doesn’t know it yet, but control is a lie.

It’s a cruel and fleeting lie that only gives you the impression of power. It creates an illusion of what you seek and desire. Control knows you better than anyone and it mirages into something you think you have as you subconsciously lose the grip that you had on it. Control slips through your fingers the moment you think you have it. So as Jean sat on his bed, ripping up his wrist like scissors do on paper, he failed to understand that his control did nothing but damage him even further. Because cutting doesn't heal anything. It’s purpose is momentarily and it works like drugs, blinding you from the truth of how deep your pain can go and giving you a false reality of escapism. 

At the end of the day, the harm will only leave you with scars. They will be a window to things people don't want to see. It will become a constant reminder of the pain that you've been through — the wars that you've fought. But those scars are only the surface and they will never be able to tell the whole story, all they will be is evidence of the person you once were; but not fully. They will never show all of the things that you’ve been through — just the aftermath. 

So as Jean sat buried in his past, he tried to let go of the pieces of himself that he didn't like in the only way he knew how. His head had been fogged out by the depression that had won him over, his brain going moldy like an apple that had fallen from the tree. He grimaced as he watched down on his bloodied wrist, his vision blurry from the pool of tears that camped in his eyes. Inside his head, he counted each and every one of the cuts, his lips moving but no sound coming out: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine… 

“Ten,” the last number was uttered in a quiet whisper of released air that he didn't even know he had held inside. He dropped the blade onto the bed, not caring that his blood stained the sheets, as he tenderly slid his fingers over the open cuts and smeared the blood around. He felt the bumps of torn skin as he hissed from the stings and pain. His breathing slowed down as he licked the blood away from his lower lip before completely breaking down. It didn't start with a small whimper like it always did — whether you were an adult or a child. There was no drizzle before the storm. Jean grabbed his white pillow and buried his face in it to muffle out the sounds of his sobs. The teen had hunched over, letting his head drop as he clutched the pillow as tightly as he could as his sobs echoed in the room. He cried hysterically as his tears, drool, and blood stained the fabric. All his pent up hurt let itself slip from his courtesy and drown in seeping doom. 

It was a miserable sight. 

His crying continued on for what felt like eternity. 

Jean wanted it all to end: his pain, his anger, his memories. He wanted nothing more of it. It was all too much for someone like him. 

Jean wanted to die.

Was it a last wish that was too much to achieve? Was it one of the things a genie could never give? If God truly did exist, he would do Jean the favor of taking his life. It was simple, kind of him even, to not ask for more. God had made and taken so many, what would one more do? If God was all kind and all powerful, he would end it for Jean. 

What was the meaning of life if he could find no reason to live?

As Jean continued to cry he fell onto his side, curling his body around the pillow and praying for his surroundings to swallow him whole. It took him several tries to understand that holding your breath was the most difficult way to take a life.

As he laid on the bed, hugging the pillow as hard as he could, he felt the hands of the guard creep around him with a degrading hug of dehumanization. The mattress sank even deeper as the guard laid next to him and cuddled him, his arms and legs creating a cage that Jean couldn’t escape. The guard was a sleep paralysis that was more real than anyone.   

Jean cried himself to sleep that morning, his body still tired from the sleepless night that he’d had with Armin. You would've hoped that the nap was a calm and peaceful one, but all Jean thought about was the easiest way for him to take his life. He thought about fire and blades, drowning and jumping. It was a rough one as his blood dried up and his tears slowly came to a stop. 

He stayed still as the cage pressed onto him more and more. 

In his head there was no way to save his life. 

It needed to come to an end. 

As Jean sank deeper and deeper into a depressing sleep, he prayed that this one would be eternal.  

“Please god, if you can hear me. Please save Jean and give him the life that he deserves.” Armin didn’t know whether there was a god or not, but belief was now the only option. He didn’t know how to save Jean and he knew that no one else knew either, so he went to the one who was called the most powerful of all . As Armin sat on his knees, his legs pressed into the wooden floor of his dorm room and his hands clutched together in front of his chest, he prayed for the only one he could think of. 

“I need to see him happy again. Please god, I know that I’m not the perfect human, I know that I have sinned,” he apologised, “but I’m not here to ask for your forgiveness, I just want you to take all of Jean’s pain and give it to me.”

Armin had always tried to be a man of virtue, believing words were the best solution for conflicts unlike Eren who believed that violence was the answer. But life had been harsh on him and ever since he had joined the scouts, he had fallen into moral corruption. It was a path that he had chosen to go into, but the choice was pre-determined by the government and all that surrounded him. 

The false perception of choice was a common thing inside the walls and people knew that, but denial and ignorance gave them a sense of power and most did not care whether it was theirs or not. Power, control, and choice were three basic human needs that made someone feel more confident and safe, so if that meant that it had to be a fake one, so be it. Something fake would be better than nothing at all. 

They would not care that they were cattle if their cages were big enough.

Armin hoped that his prayers would change the trajectory of Jean’s life. The world needed to give him a much needed helping hand and time to rest and heal. But the boy didn’t know if his prayers would be heard. It wasn't his first time praying to father above, he had done so before. 

The blond had never been to church before, his parents being proud of themselves for resisting the ‘religious cult’ — as they would often call it — and escaping the world of being god’s slaves. When they later tried to escape their slavery in the walls, they died. Not how they thought they would, because they were stuck in mortal eternity. 

And that was when Armin worried that it was their punishment. So at nine years old, he went to church for the first time to ask for mercy and understanding. When God did not reply, Armin had an epiphany and made the decision to follow his own morals and do what was right for the human kind — even if it went against the wishes of God. 

He held onto a book for dear life; a book that could kill him if the wrong person found out.

It was a secret between him, Eren, Mikasa, and God himself.

“Please let Jean’s pain be the punishment for my sins.” 

The sun shone bright at midday, the rays peaking between the curtains and into the dark room. The bed looked like a crime scene, the sheets covered in brown, dried blood, no longer a burning red. Jean’s body laid stiff in the same position that he had been in when he fell asleep. Stars of dust flew around the room, highlighted from the sun and dancing in the comforting heat. Everything was silent, spare for Jean’s muffled breathing, his head still buried deep in the dirty pillow. 

Outside, down at the courtyard, soldiers were shouting and yelling during training as the birds above motivated them with beautiful melodies. The weather was nice for the season, the sun warm yet not burning as a soft breeze danced through the trees. It was truly a beautiful day. 

Jean started stirring in his bed, the pillow suffocating him and his arm stinging worse than before. He lowered the pillow down to his chest, letting his nostrils flare with air as the sweat on his face cooled down. The boy tried to open his eyes but was immediately hit with a heavy feeling and thick salt water. His eyelids were heavy and his pupils were still glossed over with tears. He turned around to lay on his stomach, finally letting go of his grip on the pillow and setting it free from the pain. 

A whimper escaped his lips as he felt his breathing fasten, choking on the stone in his throat that itched him uncomfortably. The dry tears on his cheeks worked like glue, making his face feel stale and stuck. He bent his knees up to his chest, letting his stomach rest in the cave between his thighs as his head fell between his shoulders. Jean tried to stabilize his breathing, counting to himself as he slid his hands as far as he could away from his head. With his face buried in the mattress, he thought back to the crucifying things he did mere hours earlier. 

Jean thought back to the blade that he held, once used to sharpen his pencils so he could draw a beautiful world, now used to cut his skin. He wanted to hurl at the thought of his own actions, so carelessly doing the work of a killer. He choked back on his sobs as he sat up on his knees, using the only strength he had left to push himself. The muscles in his arms burned in agony as he felt the cuts on his wrist tear themselves apart even more than the damage he had already done. 

He climbed out of the bed and walked tiredly towards his closet, opening the door that had a mirror hanging on the other side of it. He dared not look at his wrist or bed, wanting to ignore all the pain that had released. 

Jean looked at himself in the mirror and stared into the eyes of an unrecognizable man. With a blurry vision, he studied his face. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot red, his lips cracked with dried blood, and his face unusually pale. The bags underneath his eyes were scarily visible and his hair was a ridiculous mess. He didn’t know the person in front of him, the stranger so similar yet not. 

It was almost funny how much he had changed. So Jean wanted to laugh. 

Maybe laughing would stop him from crying. 

He let his mouth fall agape and an inaudible laugh escaped from between his lips. And then a louder one, and a louder one, before he laughed loud enough to make a clown celebrate for days. His stomach pounded in pain from the forceful laughter. He was a madman, staring at the lunatic in the mirror as he laughed without ecstaticism. The broken melody danced in the room and echoed off the walls, so chillingly unfitting that death himself dared not step foot into the room. 

Jean stumbled backwards against the nearest wall and slumped himself down to the floor, his back leaning and his head fallen. He continued laughing as he bravely brought his wrist in front of his swollen eyes, staring at the dry blood and unhealed cuts. Everything was brown and maroon, a sight of displeasure that hooked him like narcotics. Masochistic thoughts plagued him like sickness and burned down all that was still with health within him. Together with the laughter came cries, the situation so surrealistic and confusing that all Jean could do was feel. He didn't know exactly what, but he was feeling more than he had ever felt before. 

He looked up at his bed, seeing the splashes of blood on his white sheets. It was going to be impossible for him to hide this from Connie and everyone else. There was no cat to carry the burden for him and there was no way for him to disappear without a trace. Jean was now stuck in a twisted reality that he could not escape. Perhaps if he wandered away in only his mind, would the real world follow in tow. 

It took Jean several minutes before he was able to calm down. Only then was he able to stand on his fragile legs and start cleaning. 

He was thankful for the change of sheets that his mother had made him bring back when he moved into the barracks during the training corps. It truly came in handy now that he could just throw away his old ones instead of getting a bazillion of questions on why there was blood on them. The boy walked over to his closet and dug as deep as he could to find the beige, cotton bag that held the sheets. He reached his arm — cuts still exposed — between his clothes before he grabbed the heavy bag and slid it out. On the bag was a small note, attached by a safety pin, that read ‘sheets for my dearest Jeanboy’. It was written in black ink, the letters shaped by a beautiful cursive handwriting that belonged to his mother. Jean turned the bag around, not wanting to acknowledge the note and break down in tears once again. 

The bag was closed at the very top by three maple tree buttons that had the unique stitch of Mrs. Kirstein. Careful to not loosen the thread, Jean unbuttoned the top and dragged out the mattress cover, the blanket cover, and the pillow case. He changed the sheets as fast as he could, a paranoid feeling eerily lurking behind him and making him panic about the room’s next guest. 

Once the sheets had been changed, Jean tied them all into a ball — wrapped inside of the mattress cover — and tossed them underneath his bed, far away into the dark corner. 

Once that was done, he hid the blade under his sketchbook that had been sitting untouched on his nightstand for weeks. He did not know whether he would need it again, but it was better to have it than to not. 

The next thing Jean had to do was to clean the cuts on his wrist to prevent an infection. He opened up the bottom drawer of his nightstand and picked up the first aid kit. 

Right as he was about to close the drawer and begin the cleanup, the door behind him opened up. “Oh-”

Connie. 

Jean’s body froze in place, his muscles tensed up as his breathing stopped. His eyes widened in panic as he thought about Connie finding out. 

“Hey,” Connie’s voice was soft and friendly, the letters coming out like flower petals in the wind. Jean missed that voice but he could not let Connie see. He quickly snapped back and lowered his sleeves, pushing them down further than they could go and stretching the fabric. 

“Are you okay?” Connie sounded worried; Jean hoped that he wasn't.

The taller of the two tensely nodded his head. 

“You sure?”

Another nod. 

Connie wasn't stupid, he could see Jean’s lie for miles, but the last time he tried to confront him, it didn't end up so well. 

‘We’re not friends! We never have been and we never will be!’ 

The words still rang in his mind, their echo haunting Connie’s life. “Okay… good.”

The bald teen carefully stepped into his room, feeling himself walk on eggshells, as he walked towards his bed. They had a break from training now and Connie usually used those to nap. He continued on studying his friend who hadn’t moved as he sat down on his unmade bed. The room felt suffocating as if something secretive had happened. Connie’s curiosity ate him alive once he noticed Jean’s change in the bed sheets. Something did happen. He knew that for sure. But only Jean was in the room when it happened. 

There was another room where something happened simultaneously. The room that Connie had just come back from.  

Both boys held a secret and no one would utter a word. 

As carefully as he could, Connie took off his boots and went under the covers. He was scared of making a noise, scared of disrupting the monster that loitered between them. As he laid on his side, he occasionally averted his gaze towards Jean who now sat on the edge of his bed, right where his feet belonged. With his back facing Connie, a blanket of silence draped over the room, none of them daring to speak with each other. It was a weird thought that they were once friends. 

Jean felt the scars burn underneath his shirt, the unhealed scabs sticking to the fabric and hurting him even more. He had never before been so uncomfortable on a bed. He felt as if ants were running through his body, heating up the blood and making him unusually impatient. 

With swift motion, Jean stood up and walked towards the door. Now, if Connie had any self control he would’ve done what his friend had asked of him and left him alone — but he did not. So the second Connie saw Jean on the move, he jumped out of the bed and ran towards him. 

“Jean,” it was a weird feeling to talk to him from behind, “wait.”

To Connie’s surprise, Jean waited. His legs halted to a stop but he did not turn around. 

“I don’t think everything is alright.”

It took anxiously long before Connie got a response back. “It is.”

“You know what, man? You can continue to lie to yourself about that for as long as you need, but I’m here, always. You're still my best bud and nothing you say can stop that, so sulk alone in your sadness for as long as you need because I'll be here when you finally dare to ask for help.”

Connie expected the reply to be almost romantic, a confession of past mistakes and a desire to redeem. But this was not a novel of hurt and comfort, this was life, the most tragic story of them all; unlike a novel, you could not close the book if you were unhappy with the writing. 

Life is set in stone, not ink. 

“I’ll wait for you when you're ready and I’ll always be here,” Connie tried again.

“Don’t.”

The word hit Connie like a brick — like a million of them. What a cruel way to answer. What a villainous reply. 

Before Connie could even begin to think of something to say, Jean opened the door and readied himself to walk out. 

“I will,” Connie grabbed Jean’s wrist, holding it tightly between his fingers and palm to not let his friend escape once again. He could not let it end like it did last time, he could not let their friendship crumble any more than it already had. But here stood Connie right in the middle of the ruins of their friendship as he held onto the very wrist that had been cut into pieces. Jean flinched away from his grip, his eyes wide with pain and shock as he turned around to face Connie for the first time since he had stepped into the room. With the eyes of a frightened bambi, Jean walked backwards and into the hallway, staring Connie straight in the eyes. The bald teen now noticed everything that he had missed before: the dark circles underneath his eyes that were bloodshot and swollen, and the cracked lips with the dry blood, and the messy hair that was usually neat. It was a nightmare to stare at. With his mouth agape, Connie watched on as Jean ran away from him. 

He ran and ran and ran as far as he possibly could. He did not care when he crashed into soldiers and he did not hear them curse after him. He just had to run. He ran uncontrollably, his legs disconnecting from his brain as they worked. 

He ran with panicked breaths like a bunny running from a pack of wolves. 

He ran for his life before he suddenly ran into the one and only Erwin Smith. 

Erwin stood in front of him like a statue, his body right in front of his office door. 

“Jean?” he looked down, “is everything okay?”

The teen just stared at him in shock, his veins filled with pumped adrenaline. He didn't know how to answer such a common question, so he just stared at Commander Erwin as if he was a ghost. 

“Come in to my office," commanded Erwin as he opened his office door and welcomed Jean inside. “I was actually looking for you.”

Jean walked tensely in as Erwin followed in tow.

“I have something to talk to you about.”

Chapter Text

“I want you to switch rooms with Eren.”

The blood seeped through Jean’s sleeves as Erwin brought up a seemingly irrelevant topic that had bloomed out of nowhere. 

“This will take action immediately and I expect to see you sharing a room with Armin by the end of the day. Is that understood?” Erwin was firm with his voice and his words got clearer with the way his blue eyes honed and polished the message.

“Yes, sir,” Jean didn’t dare to ask where this sudden change of plans had come from, but he worried that it was a personal request from his former friend, Connie Springer. 

“Good,” nodded the blond, “and don’t worry about telling Armin, Connie, and Eren, they already know.”

There was something left unsaid, something Jean felt linger in the air as the atmosphere around them diminished the last few bits of calm. He wondered if sorrows and stress had happened just minutes before he came or if it was actually jubilation, that was now hidden from Jean because of wandering pity and guilt that dressed up like leniency. He knew that he wasn't innocent himself and it was ridiculous of him to accuse Commander Erwin of being a schemer like him, but there was a gut feeling that rumbled in his stomach which Jean just couldn't shake. 

“Did I do something wrong, sir?” asked Jean cautiously. He didn't want to seem insecure and self-doubting in front of the commander, but he had to know — he had to know if he had ruined his friendship with Connie beyond repair. 

The question filled the room with venom and Erwin knew that he could answer with the pincers of a scorpion. “No,” but he chose not to. A conversation not much earlier had occurred between him and another being and it had been a rather unfortunate one, so unfortunate that it had to remain a secret till the grave. 

“I know that this sounds like a weird request sir, but i’m asking you with nothing but brotherhood, please let Jean switch rooms with Eren.” The bald teen sat restlessly on the chair, his bright hazel colored eyes pleading for understanding and a solution. It was clear that the issue had been bothering him for quite some time. 

“Why do you want that, Connie? I thought you and Jean were good friends,” asked Erwin with a raised eyebrow — foes in the scouts were never a good thing while they battled a bigger human-eating enemy. 

“Yeah, we were, and he’s still one of my best friends. But we fought not long ago and he gets nightmares a lot so I think it’s best for Jean to be with someone else right now,” it was a difficult thing for the bald teen to admit. He grew up with two younger siblings, so he was always needed. He was always the one who had to take care of his sisters and help his father with house stuff (even though he didn’t excel in it). So when Jean had chosen to abandon the friendship that they proudly shared with no reason at all, Connie’s shell cracked, the strong shell that he had formed ever since he was a little boy. The teen knew that there was something deeply wrong with Jean, and he knew that the first phase of it happened after Marco died while the second phase happened during the mission in the warehouse. Connie didn't know what had happened and he craved to know like fishes craved water while they were stuck on land. 

But in the deepest parts of his heart, the place where people held their most shameful and sinister feelings, Connie couldn’t care one bit. Because Connie had lost someone too, and much more recent at that. His whole family was gone — even his mother who now laid upside down on the broken down roof of their family cottage. Three were dead and one had no luck of surviving. Connie wanted to Carpe Diem his way through life, but here Jean sat sulking in self pity over something he didn't even want to say; probably didn’t want to solve either.

He would never admit this scrambled line of thoughts that his brain had wired (maybe only to Sasha) while the guilt and self-hatred kept his heart working overtime. He hoped this life wouldn’t be for evermore and he hoped to one day seize it with everyone whose heart beat close to his. 

“...I think the person who can help him the most right now is Armin,” Connie trailed off with a voice stitched down by melancholy. He was jealous because he wanted to be the one who could help Jean, he wanted to be the one who made sure that Jean got better; this was Connie’s best friend, not Armin’s. Armin had Eren and Mikasa, wasn't that enough for him? Did he really have to take Jean away from Connie? Was he truly that greedy? 

“That’s a very mature way of thinking,” praised Erwin, completely oblivious to the conflicts that swarmed Connie’s mind like sheep on a small patch of grass. 

“Thank you, sir,” sighed Connie. He hated being mature. “If Eren ever asks, can you please tell him that Jean just got tired of my snoring and that that is the reason for everything?”

“Okay,” mumbled Jean, not believing commander Erwin one bit. He could have continued to press on the topic, ask more calculated questions and beg on his knees for an honest answer, but he was too tired. All that Jean wanted to do was to leave the very office that felt like detention. He still felt the scars burn in ache under the material of his shirt. The fabric glued its threads between the elevated parts of the skin that had been parted like the red sea, and intertwined itself as an attempt to stitch it back up again. 

“You’re dismissed, go pack up your things,” commanded the blond man before moving on to look over some paperwork that had been lying on his desk. 

“Eren, you can’t snoop through other people’s stuff, it’s not okay,” argued Mikasa as Eren crawled down on his knees to look under Jean’s bed. They had gotten Connie to leave the room by telling him that Sasha needed his help coming up with a prank to pull on Armin. The bald teen had run out of his room with such excitement that he had forgotten to close the door behind him.  

“If you don't want to do this then you can leave, Mikasa!” snapped Eren. “I need to find out what’s going on with dipshit Jean and since he doesn't want to talk about anything, I have to find out on my own.”

“If he doesn't want to talk about it then you have to respect that and leave him alone,” said Mikasa through gritted teeth with furrowed eyebrows and ragefilled eyes. 

“No! I’m not gonna do that!” lashed Eren with an angered stare.

With fumes, Mikasa crossed her hands over her chest, “why not?”

“Because Connie’s lying!” accused the boy loudly before quickly quieting down when he remembered where he was and what he was currently doing.  

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Mikasa with furrowed eyebrows as her breaths slowed down. 

“There’s no way that his snoring suddenly bothered Jean after three years of sharing a room together every night,” explained the teen. “Connie and Commander Erwin are lying.”

“Eren, you're being dramatic. There’s no reason for them to lie about something like that.” 

With only a scoff in response, Eren turned back around and reached out his hand under the bed, sliding as forwards as he could before he reached a soft and big ball. “I found something,” he declared in a hushed tone from the fear of maybe getting caught. The boy grabbed onto the fabric and dragged the ball out from underneath the bed. “What the hell?”

“Eren, you're going too far,” warned Mikasa. But he didn't listen as he sat on his knees and untied the knot on the white sheet before undoing the ball and spreading the fabric open on the floor like a long lost map. 

“Is that blood…?” murmured Eren with wide eyes that Mikasa copied in tow. There wasn't a lot of the maroon dye but there was enough of it to be concerning to the regular man. The stains had started to turn brown.

“Why is there blood on his sheets?” wondered Eren to himself. When he thought about there being something wrong with Jean, he speculated something rather tame — something innocent that could be laughed off. Blood on sheets was further away from the direction Eren had theorised in. 

“Eren, please, put it back it’s none of our business,” pleaded Mikasa, scared of knowing the truth of what happened to her friend behind closed doors. She had carried the burden of knowledge ever since the mission in the warehouse. She had wanted to tell someone, anyone, about what she knew and the things she saw, but it terrified her to find out about all the things she missed, and it terrified her even more to be the witness who stood by like a bystander; how could she stand by and do nothing? The question haunted her. The events of that very day had terrorised her mind through morning and till night and she feared what would happen to her head and heart if she knew what had happened after she decided not to save the two boys. 

“Mikasa, Jean has blood on his sheets, we need to know more so that we can help him,” explained Eren as he tied the sheets back up, ready to move to the next thing. “Like, yeah I might hate him at times and I enjoy beating him up and making his life miserable, but he’s still my friend and blood on someone’s sheets is really concerning.”

Mikasa wished that Jean had been a girl because then the blood would make a lot more sense. Maybe he was? Maybe he was undercover as a boy because he wanted to bring down the scouts from the inside and it would be easier to hide his real identity and do so if he was a boy? No, okay, yeah Mikasa was losing her mind. Jean was definitely a biological boy, she had seen him without a shirt on several times before. Maybe he just developed later than regular people? Or maybe he had already developed but his boobs were just very- Okay that was enough, Mikasa had to take out her brain and wash it five times with soap. She shook her head and scrubbed her eyes as hard as she could.

“You okay?” asked Eren with concern as he stood up from the floor and kicked the ball of sheets back under the bed.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” mumbled Mikasa. 

With that, Eren moved over to Jean’s closet. He filtered through the shirts and pants, looking for hints for what could be inside Jean’s head and heart. The folded clothes got messed up the deeper Eren dug in the closet until eventually, the boy stopped. With his head buried between hung up knitted sweaters, Eren gasped.

“What? What did you find?” Mikasa urged for an answer and a distraction from her thoughts; and an answer for a question she dared not ask. 

“It’s his clothes,” replied Eren as he crawled his way out of the closet, “from the mission.”

“What mission?”

“In the warehouse, when he got dressed up as me,” reminded the boy as a shrill of unpleasant memories ran down the spine of the raven haired girl. 

Eren stood up with the pile of dirty, torn up clothes in his hands and looked straight at Mikasa with horrified eyes. The thought of Jean burying away clothes as if they were an art piece to preserve, was haunting. Did killing humans do him this much damage? Maybe that was what had messed him up?

“Why would he not clean his clothes?” wondered Eren as Mikasa’s mind spinned with every possible explanation. But when Mikasa only shrugged, his confusion turned into anger fueled by worry. “You know something!” he accused.

“What?! No!” she spat back defensively.  

“You do! That’s why you don’t want me snooping around!” Eren took a step closer to Mikasa, “You’re just scared that I’ll know the truth.”

“That’s crazy, Eren. I promise you that I don’t know anything,” Mikasa argued as she raised her hands in the air. The boy studied her face for several minutes trying to find a crack in her solid expression which burned as cold as ice. The room tensed up with accusations and defense, both the residential bodies carrying a double layer of bones as muscles turned as hard as stone. 

“Fine, you better not be lying.” The titan shifter turned around in sharp motion before putting the dirty pile of clothes back inside the closet. As Mikasa stood in the middle of the room, her raven hair shining under the rays of sun that slid their way through the window, Eren walked in circles around the messy room. “There must be something else here.”

Mikasa wanted to stop him but that would be like pouring gasoline on fire and expecting it to die out. She was no pyromaniac and her desires were nothing but quiet weather, so she stood calmly by as she waited for the candle to burn out from its own raging flame. 

“His sketchbook! There must be something there!” Eren exclaimed excitedly from behind her. With quick and motivated steps, he walked towards the nightstand that stood there accompanied by a simple sketchbook dressed in brown leather and a half used candle. A beacon of hope lit up in Eren’s eyes now that he thought that he had caught lightning in a bottle. He grabbed onto the sketchbook, his fingers curling around the spine when suddenly, his fingers got slammed between the book and the wooden nightstand.

“Ow! What the hell Mikasa?!” he swiftly removed his hand up to his mouth and blew at the aching pain. 

“That’s way too personal for you to look through, I can’t let you do that.” With her palm on the cover of the sketch book, she stared at him like a disappointed mother. “Go find yourself another hobby, Eren.”

Unknowingly, she had saved Jean from an uncomfortable confrontation.

The sketchbook chased Jean like monsters in the forests of redwood trees. The leather like vanity blamed him as if he himself was the hunter of the slaughtered cattle. It was a rather expensive sketchbook — a gift from his parents on his 14th birthday that they had worked double shifts to be able to buy for him. 

He was a loved child. 

As Jean stood face to face with the book of memories, he wondered: what should he do with the blade underneath? He had decided to bring it with him, but he had to find a way. No one could know about this side of him, this side that self-distructed with weakness and pain. If Connie, or god forbid Armin, had found out about what scars his wrists held, he would be done for. 

As Jean’s thoughts kept racing of what would happen to spilled secrets, he hurried towards the sketchbook and grabbed it with force. Had he been a little more insane he would’ve ripped the pages to pieces and thrown them far away, but he was not. Jean was calm and fair and he was acting in a totally normal manner. His head was still intact — the beheading far from reach. He had control over what was going on, so with all his control and all his calm, Jean picked up the blood stained blade and held it neatly against his palm. He watched as the metal blinded his orbs, reflecting the beauty of the life outside this hole. When the sun hit the silver with glistening glitter and lighted the blood from brown to maroon, he got hit with the pain of storms that he had promised to hide behind mountains tall as clouds. He closed his fist around the blade with prayers that it would disappear because Jean knew: he wouldn’t be the one who threw it away. 

“Ah!” He hissed as his fist parted wide. He had cut his gentle skin, what a way to signal in, what a way to remind of the dangers by. Oh the poems he could’ve written with his tainted blood, what murals he could draw with his blues and reds. Jean was art with everything he had, with everything he did, and with everything he lived. 

He hurried to bury the blade inside a pocket made of leather on the cover of the sketchbook; it was the first time he had used that pocket for its purpose — art supplies. Without batting another eye at the problem, he buried the sketchbook between his folded shirts in the duffle bag. 

Only a few more clothes had to be folded before Jean would be able to move out. He didn't know whether he was relieved to finally escape this cluttered room made out of howling walls and a sinking floor, or if he was shaking bones by the idea of leaving behind his wanishing friend. The thought of moving out left him with brutal punches of fear, yet settling in, something so thin of worry for the typical man, clogged his mind with the images of eternal stabbings through every crevice and crack of his worn-out body. He feared what more of him Armin would know.  

Such vicious thoughts and feelings hooked onto him like fishes born for the purpose of purely becoming supper. However, somewhere deeper and less sinister, Jean felt the sparks fly. He was excited to spend more time with Armin and get to know the boy better — he just wished that it would have happened without the current circumstances.

“I see you're almost done packing,” said Connie as he stood against the door frame with his hands inside the front pockets of his pants. The door had remained open to give Jean an easier way in and out as he carried big and heavy things. 

“Uh, yeah, just a few more pants left,” mumbled Jean as he stood in front of his closet without batting an eye towards his former roommate. It was a rather awkward situation and Jean preferred to have his head on his shoulder now that he had to go live with Armin. 

“I don’t hate you,” Connie blurted out with depth and Jean finally turned around to look him in the eyes.

“What-?” he asked with a glimmer of hope but a shadow of dread.

“About what you said to me and Sasha, I don't hate you for that,” reexplained Connie as he stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him so the honesty wouldn't slip out. 

“Why not?” Jean’s mouth couldn’t close even once as his face shimmered with confusion.

“Because I know that you're going through something and I know that Sasha and I aren't the people that you need right now,” sighed Connie, “so I understand and respect that.”

“Wow, I-” quivered Jean as he glued his eyes down on his boring feet, that stood on the boring floorboards. His eyes studied every detailed shading of the wood and every curve as if it were a mosaic frozen in time. 

“-You don’t have to say anything. I know you and I know that when you’re ready to tell me, you will.” It was hard for the bald teen to be this honest and serious, he didn’t like when things were like this. He wanted life to be easy no matter how tough it tried to be, and he wanted every pain to end with a pun. But happiness was mythology to the writers of this life. 

Jean nodded his head in understanding, his heart rate slowing down with relief. “Did you- Did you ask the commander to change rooms?” it hurt him even asking the question. He feared that his heart had sunk into purgatory as tears welled up in his eyes like drizzle on a window sill. He couldn't lose anyone else, he couldn't watch another thing crumble in his arms as he redefined the laws of alchemy. 

“I did,” confessed Connie, “but I think spending time with someone who knows what happened to you, can help you deal with whatever you're feeling and thinking about.” His voice cracked under the heavy pressure of emotions. “But that doesn't mean that I’m not here to listen and to help. You’re still my best friend, Jean.” 

“You’re my best friend, too,” replied the taller of the two with warmth that had been frozen behind glass. “But Armin he- he doesn't know more than y-”,“-he does, we can all see it,” emphasized Connie as he sniffled and pursed his lips, “but I can accept that, because it’s clear that something happened in the warehouse and Armin just happened to be there.” 

“I will tell you one day,” promised Jean.

“I know you will,” smiled Connie. Before another word could be uttered, strong arms coiled their way around Connie’s body, hugging him tightly as a head rested all its sadness and stress onto his shoulder. 

“Thank you,” mumbled Jean into Connie’s shirt.

“For what?” asked the teen as he wrapped his hands around his taller friend.

“Staying.”

Armin and Eren’s room wasn't much different than the one he had shared with Connie. It was the same regular layout of all the other rooms in the base — rectangular shaped with the window on the opposite wall from the door (the shorter walls) and two beds on each side with their ends pointing towards the door. Next to each bed was a three drawered nightstand which were connected by a singular desk and chair. Next to the foot of the bed, each soldier was blessed with a child’s sized closet that fit way more than what they had. 

Jean had packed out all of the things he owned and now, after they had returned from eating dinner with the rest where Jean was dragged by Connie to finally sit down on their usual table, he and Armin were getting ready for bed. It was weird not sleeping in the same room as his bald friend, they had done so ever since they joined the military as cadets, but there was a nice change of pace with Armin. Unlike Connie, the blond was quiet during nighttime, and clean too. There weren't any clothes thrown down from the bed which would be put back on there in the morning, and there wasn’t a suffocating smell of men's perfume that was used just to cover up the smell of sweat. 

“What do you do before bed?” asked Armin as he folded the dirty clothes from today in a neat pile and put them into the laundry basket. 

“Talk with Connie… or draw,” replied the taller teen as he tried to stay as casual as possible. 

With a nod of understanding from Armin came a short reply, “I read.”

“Cool.”

The air was tense between the four walls and Jean wanted the world to be assassinated or for the sun to blow up. From there on, the time went slowly by. Armin had tucked himself under the blanket as he sat up against the wall. He opened one of the thickest books Jean had ever seen right in the middle of it; It seemed impossible to get this far in a book this size. But as the candle burned beautifully inside the lantern, Armin read the most interesting combination of words. 

The blond would occasionally bat an eye towards his new roommate to try and start a conversation, but even with all of the words in the universe right under his nose, nothing felt good enough. He wished Eren was here, everything was much simpler with him. The minutes went by as if they were hours, and Armin had only read half a page. He lifted his head for the millionth time to check in on the person he now shared space with.

Jean stood right in front of his bed with his back facing Armin when suddenly, he grabbed onto the hem of his shirt and pulled it right over his head and onto the bed. Armin had seen Jean shirtless several times before, it was nothing new (they were in the military so privacy was as rare as Franklin Tree Flowers) but there was something that stood out this time. Maybe it was the way Jean’s muscles tensed up as his arms lifted in the air, maybe it was the fact that they were alone, or maybe it was the healed scars from the battlefield, all Armin knew was that he liked it and he liked it a lot. 

The way the burning candles turned his skin a tan shade of orange and redefined the muscles into examples of desired beauty made his knees turn weak like jelly. Armin felt his mouth get wet as he admired the art piece that stood in front of him and oh how he wished to turn this very moment into a statue of peace and liberty. The blond felt his breaths get warmer and deeper as he licked his lower lip — no one had ever made him feel this was. Armin felt the butterflies party in his stomach as he savoured every second when all of a sudden, Jean covered himself back up with a pyjama shirt.

Once the curtains to the show were closed, Armin felt the shame flood inside of him. He had lusted over Jean, a straight guy who had just gone through something sexually traumatic. The blue eyed boy hated himself. How could he do such a thing and think those thoughts? What a wicked man he was for buckling under his own desires. He wanted to spit himself in the face, slap himself on his chin, and hunt his own stomach for punches of tortured nature. 

“Good night, Armin,” said a soft voice from under the covers of the neighbour's bed.

“Good night,” wished the blond as he knew his own would be the worst one yet.

Hours later as the moon lived its day up in the onyx sky with the wandering stars of bright light, two restless boys shared a quiet room. Armin would wake up every thirty minutes to twist his own heart with cruel words of shame and disgust while Jean remained asleep in the horrors of his own mind. 

----

Jean sat on a chair in the middle of an enormous warehouse. He was currently in the worst possible situation in the world as he was tied to a chair, the rope ripping the skin around his wrists while he was dressed up as the stupid suicidal maniac who for some reason could turn into a titan by biting his dirty hand. At first everything was okay. The man keeping an eye on them was scary and smelled like sweat, cigarettes, and dirt, but the mission was going as planned, so everything was okay. But just like anything else in Jean’s life, nothing ended well, so when the man walked over to Armin, Jean tensed up, fearing what was coming next. 

“I’ll murder you,” whispered the guard into Armin’s ear before suddenly, three rabid dogs jumped out from behind the containers and launched their meat filled bodies on his trapped down body. They tore his skin apart as if they hadn’t eaten in five years. Blood covered their faces as blond strands of hair got stuck between the gaps of their sharp teeth. The three pit bulls howled and growled as the guard laughed with deep sounds of vicious and vile. Jean wanted to scream at them to stop, he wanted to stand up and kill them all but his feet were held down by unsettling hands, so familiar his heart almost jumped out of his body. The guard, his hands, right on the ankles of Jean’s captured legs. 

The teen watched on as the dogs tore his friend apart. 

Blood had splattered to every wall and body parts had been shared evenly to every mouth. It was a nightmare to witness as howlers sang their songs in words he knew all too well — Marco. The name echoed between spots of liquid maroon and Jean felt his brain grow bigger and bigger like a bloated cow ready to explode. 

It was worse than purgatory. Bite, gnarl, howl, growl. Blood, spit, bark, attack. Panic, fear, nausea, end. Five seconds and a bone was gone. Three seconds and skin was torn. One second and hell broke loose. 

Jean tried to get out of the chair but the knots were tight and the hands were firm. He tried to scream and yell but nothing worked — his vocal cords had gone to rest. The warehouse reeked of blood, death, sweat, dirt, and cigarettes. 

“Jean!” screeched Armin as his face was nothing more than meat. 

“Jean!” yelled the voice once more. 

“Jean!” urged the boy in the room.

“Jean!” he begged as his body remained safe.

But Jean could only see the bite, the scratch, the blood, the meat, the bone, the feast. 

And the dogs just eat. 

But they leave, they leave the feast for the second beast. 

And here comes those who will beat this meat. 

Maggots. 

Jean watched as the rabid dogs ran away to give their leftovers to thousands of maggots. Their color a sharp contrast against the burgundy corpse. They slid their starved bodies between holes of skin and meat and the being known for quiet, screamed with pleasure at the delicious feast. 

“Jean!” screamed the maggots.

“Jean!” screamed the rabid dogs.

“Jean!” screamed the guard.

“Jean!” screamed the boy whose death was celebrated by beasts.

“Wake up!” screamed Armin who shook his friend in panic and in fear.

And thanks to whatever power there was, whatever energy got sparked, Jean woke up in a puddle of sweat and tears. He gasped for breath like the pitbull dogs.

“Jean, are you okay? You had a nightmare,” asked Armin with worry as he stood next to the wet bed. He didn’t know what to do with his hands and his words, he didn't know what to do at all and he just wanted to curl into a ball and cry himself to sleep. But right in front of him sat someone in panicked tears who needed more help than anything, so Armin did what he thought was right and hugged Jean. He hugged the sweaty clothes and the tense muscles, he hugged the shaking body and the breathless cries. “I’m here, you’re okay,” whispered the blond with a caring voice. 

The two boys sat like that for quite some time as they shared liquid and air. Jean had eventually been able to calm down and even though it hurt, the hug came to an end. As Armin crawled back into his bed he sharpened his ears and listened with hope for Jean to ask him to stay, to sit with him for a little while longer, but nothing came. No asking for comfort and for help.

But Jean wanted it just as much. 

He didn't want to stay alone in his bed, he didn't even know if he would be able to fall asleep again. He wanted Armin to hold him and comfort him just like he did before. Jean needed his friend. He tried to get the courage to ask Armin to come lie with him in bed, he wanted to have the blond hug him as they slept but he feared the unrequited. He feared the answer “no” and he feared the looks of judgement. 

So as both boys desired the very same thing, no one dared to utter their wish. For the rest of the night until the sun shined bright, the two laid awake in their own hopeless misery and lonely woe.