Chapter Text
In the battle between mind and body, Jean’s body is winning.
It sneaks up on him, that familiar strain in his fingertips. At first, he pushes through it. The only thing stricter than the deadline he was given is the man who imposed it. Of the reasons Jean can give Levi for not completing his task on time, he’s positive My hand hurt won’t cut it.
There’s also his seating arrangement. The concrete staircase outside the mess hall is uncomfortable at best, but Jean likes to sketch in places he’s confident he won’t be interrupted. If that means dealing with a bruised tailbone for a day or two, so be it.
Besides, Jean’s the one who put himself in this predicament. He’s the one who approached Levi. He’s the one who offered his assistance. The least he can do is not let the captain look like a fool for trusting him.
But when the pain metastasizes to his wrist, Jean’s forced to drop his charcoal. He places it in the metal tin by his hip, containing the small collection of art supplies he’s built over the years. He stretches his neck, tilting his chin toward the midnight sky looming over him. Stars scatter in whimsical patterns, yet all Jean sees is a reminder how little time he has to get this done. And with exhaustion taunting him more by the minute, Jean’s window of opportunity is closing in.
Black smudge coats his fingers, a side effect he attributes to hard work or simply the excitement of exercising his greatest passion. It’s been over two months since his charcoal touched canvas. Being an active member of the military robs most of his free time. Life as a Scout comes first, always.
Even with that, Jean scans the artwork in his lap with newfound pride.
His charcoal stained hand remains at his side. The last thing he needs is tainting this piece with smudged fingerprints. This isn’t the final product. Some last minute polishing is needed. But for as harsh of a critic Jean is toward his capabilities, he knows he strikes gold this time.
It’s perfectly duplicated from his memory. Light reflecting on the water. The allure of the waves. Clouds parting in celestial fashion, the sun right in the center, the most captivating sky Jean’s ever had the pleasure of witnessing.
It’s nothing short of a miracle, both the ocean and the fact Jean’s lived long enough to confirm its existence. When he first joined the Survey Corps, he accepted he signed his own death warrant. Jean never imagined making it to sixteen. Yet here he is, a year into his Scout career and the proof of a world outside the walls resting in his lap. All the destruction he’s seen, all the blood he’s shed, all the friends he’s lost, this is the end result.
Marco’s smile flashes in his mind. If there’s anyone who deserves to be alive in Jean’s place and assist humanity toward a better future, it’s Marco.
The ocean would’ve mesmerized him. A gentle backdrop for a gentle soul. Jean pictures him dipping his toes in the water, taking his time to adjust to the temperature change, then beaming at Jean to let him know it’s safe to come in. Jean splashes him, because he’s childish, but Marco takes it in stride because that’s the kind of person he is.
Jean misses him like hell. He always will.
Studying his drawing again, his heart swells. It’s as if Marco’s spirit is embedded in the canvas, a feeling of hope and all things good about life grinning up at him. For as often as Marco crosses his mind (every damn day), it’s never for good reason. All Jean dwells on is the fact that Marco’s been gone for a year and he’s yet to do anything to make him proud. To honor his memory.
Except now.
There are two people Jean ever shared his artwork with: his mother and Marco, neither by choice. Yet their reactions mirrored one another’s. They were incredibly biased, so Jean never put much weight to their praise. But if Marco were here right now, no doubt he’d say this is Jean’s best work to date. Not just based on skill, but what it represents.
Jean’s got a long way to go before avenging his friend, but this drawing is a good start.
“What are you doing?”
Jean breaks from his thoughts and peers behind him with enough intensity to risk dislocating his neck. He instinctively hunches forward to block his art. So much for not getting caught. With the Scouts on a strict schedule and insurmountable responsibility on their shoulders, it’s imperative to get a full night’s sleep. At least Jean has an excuse for being out here. But for someone else to be awake, only a self absorbed idiot would dismiss protocol and wander along the outdoor corridor in the middle of the night.
And when Jean’s eyes land on his intruder at the top of the stairs, that theory is confirmed. The lanterns that hang off the neighboring walls leave no room for doubt.
“What are you doing here?” he hisses.
Eren’s expression remains neutral. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Eren Jaeger. If Jean needs any more proof the universe is out to get him, this is it. He and Eren are acquaintances at best, enemies at worst. Four years of knowing one another and the only thing Jean’s learned to tolerate is Eren’s titan shifting ability, for the simple fact that when he’s a titan, Eren can’t speak.
Such a punchable face. Jean may or may not have capitalized on that over the years, smashing his fist between those antagonistic eyes. However, that’s only because Eren is the most volatile and insufferable brat he’s ever met. Talking out their issues is simply not an option when dealing with Eren Jaeger.
And perhaps it’s the lack of sleep, but Jean won’t hesitate to throw hands if Eren pisses him off any further. So, naturally, a fight is bound to break out within the next two minutes.
For now, he plays it cool.
“We have to be up at six,” he says.
“I know,” Eren replies. He descends down the steps. “Why are you out of bed?”
The closer he gets, the further Jean curls into himself. No way is he allowing Eren to see what he’s working on.
“Go away. I’m busy out here.”
But Eren doesn’t listen. “You don’t own the corridor, Jean.”
Annoyance wears at Jean’s temples. Eren’s tone is so lifeless, like he can’t be bothered with Jean’s presence. That only irritates Jean more. He was here first. How dare Eren act like Jean’s the one inconvening him.
With only three steps between them, Jean gets a proper look at Eren. His eyes are as dull as his clothes are disheveled. Instead of hanging out here, a trip to the showers can prove more beneficial. Also a haircut. This new style doesn’t suit him. His chocolate brown locks now reach his chin, framing his face in a way that emphasizes the prominent baby fat in his cheeks. Jean left that phase years ago, now sporting an impressively chiseled jawline. If Eren weren’t such a jerk, Jean would pity him for looking so stupid.
Finally, Eren reaches the step Jean’s sitting on. His gaze drifts from Jean’s irritated expression to the piece he’s desperately trying to conceal.
“What is that?”
Jean turns away from him. “None of your business.”
Eren approaches from the opposite side and sits beside him. Jean turns away once more, but not before Eren steals a glimpse.
“I didn’t know you liked drawing.”
Jean grits his teeth. “I don’t. Get lost.”
Eren gently tugs on Jean’s forearm. “Come on.”
“Don’t touch me,” Jean snaps.
“Let me see.”
“No!”
They go back and forth, stubborn as ever. It’s like Eren’s sole purpose on Earth is to push Jean’s buttons. He’s awfully good at it, Jean admits. The only thing preventing him from screaming at Eren is the chance he wakes Captain Levi. That’s a one way ticket to a severe ass kicking.
Eren tugs Jean’s arm again, almost like he’s asking for a fight. He knows Jean has little patience for his bullshit. If Eren wants to avoid conflict, he can easily walk away. But he doesn’t, so Jean doesn’t hesitate to give him what he wants.
He backhands Eren in the nose. Open fist, so not as rough as it could’ve been, but the grunt that leaves Eren’s lips is satisfying nonetheless. So is the bitterness reflecting on Eren’s face. Jean knew the emotionless cool guy persona could only last so long.
Eren retaliates with a push. Jean’s not expecting it (Eren prefers punching to anything else), so he loses his balance. In the struggle, the canvas is ejected from his lap, plummeting down the dozens of concrete steps beneath their feet. It reaches the landing with a firm smack, its contents facing down.
Jean’s heart collapses into his stomach.
He tunes Eren out completely. The bastard can be spewing a sonnet full of apologies (he doubts it), but Jean can’t be bothered. He darts down the steps, time not moving anywhere fast enough. With every step forward, the farther his destination seems.
Jean’s been drawing with charcoal for years. Its sensitivity on canvas isn’t unknown to him. He’s well aware of what he’s about to uncover, but chooses to live in denial until he sees it himself.
He still keeps his smudged hand by his side, just in case. But when he lifts the canvas off the cold, hard landing, his clean hand trembles maniacally as he observes his piece.
“It’s ruined,” he whispers.
In Jean’s grasp is a sad shell of what was set to be his defining contribution to the military branch he’s been representing for a year. Streaks of charcoal are the new focal point, stretching across three fourths of the canvas. The magic is gone, its remnants dispersed along the staircase that aided its demise.
And it’s all Eren’s fault.
The same Eren that tentatively catches up to Jean. Whether that’s guilt or disgust on his face, Jean is too enraged to learn the distinction. If he disliked Eren before, all that consumes him now is pure hatred.
“You bastard! Look what you did!”
Eren looks to the side. He’s quiet at first, like a little kid being scolded for the first time. When he’s brave enough to meet Jean’s gaze again, a burst of confidence comes with it.
“Well it’s your fault for being so secretive,” he says. “If you just let me see-”
He snatches the drawing from Jean, who lets him. It’s beyond repair anyway.
As he surveys Jean’s art, Eren’s eyes soften. Lips parting open, he takes several slow breaths. Jean stands there awkwardly, waiting for a response that doesn’t come.
The tenderness in Eren’s expression is so out of character that Jean’s anger dissipates instantly. Now he’s just confused. For a second, he wonders if Eren is impressed. Not that he cares about Eren’s opinion.
The moment passes quickly, and Eren’s back to the smug and apathetic idiot he was when he first got here.
He extends it to Jean. “Whatever. It’s just a drawing.”
Jean’s jaw drops. “ Just a drawing?”
Eren looks off to the side again. “It’s not even good.”
Jean’s too suffocated by pain to unleash any anger he’s desperate to conjure. For a piece he’s worked so hard on to be wittered to something he’s ashamed to look at, and by someone who then finds it necessary to insult his craft. To think that Marco’s bones have been reduced to ash, any trace of his existence lost to the wind, yet this suicidal maniac is still around is the biggest betrayal.
Jean clenches his jaw and shakes his head. “You’re lucky I have business to take care of,” he mutters. Whether Eren hears or not, he doesn’t care. “Otherwise I’d happily kick the shit out of you right now.”
Eren stares blankly ahead, offering no reaction. Jean’s torn whether that makes him hate Eren more or less.
He clutches his canvas to his chest. Though it’s destroyed, it still holds value to him, and he’ll be damned if he allows someone as ungrateful as Eren to get a look at it again.
As tired as he is, both physically and mentally, he can’t waste any more time on Eren. In less than six hours, he’s meant to report his art to Captain Levi. And thanks to Eren, Jean now has to produce something worthwhile from scratch.
There’s plenty of places he can relocate to, as long as it’s not here. He brushes past Eren, bumping shoulders in the process. But halfway up the stairs, he stops.
Losing control of his emotions, Jean spins on his heel and marches back toward Eren. When they’re mere inches apart, Jean sneers at him.
“For someone who loves being referred to as the hope for humanity,” he says, “you sure do a great job at making things worse for those around you.”
Eren’s face drops. It’s only for a second, but it’s enough for Jean to recognize that his words got to Eren. Serves him right.
Still, the small hint of sadness in Eren’s viridian eyes pulls at Jean’s heartstrings. He doesn’t enjoy being malicious. Eren simply brings out the worst in him by being a permanent nuisance. But it’s that brief second of watching Eren’s vulnerability rise to the surface that has Jean questioning if he took it too far.
Then again, when has Eren ever offered him that same compassion?
Before he decides to retract his statement, Jean turns around and rushes out of the corridor. This time, he doesn’t look back. He hauls up the steps, determination to get this drawing completed at the front of his mind, abandoning both Eren and any thoughts regarding him on those cursed stairs.