Archive of Our Own ^beta

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. 

Chapter Text

Jean struggles to keep his eyes open. Premier Zachary’s opening remarks never hold his attention, but today’s feel overwhelmingly tedious. There may be important details sprinkled within his monologue of big words and obscure military phrases, but Jean’s too tired to listen for them.

He didn’t sleep at all. Redrawing his sketch of the ocean stole his hours until the sun came up. The final product sits on the wooden desk that occupies him and two of his comrades, Connie Springer and Sasha Braus. During these meetings, Jean usually sits in the middle to prevent his friends’ stupidity and carelessness from rubbing off on each other. Today, he’s in the corner seat so Connie can’t peek at his drawing.

Jean perks up once the Premier finishes speaking. The entire address is probably two minutes max, yet it drags as if an hour has passed.

The rest of the courtroom is alert. Like most meetings Jean’s invited to, all three military branches are present. Being surrounded by several important people should make Jean feel important too. Instead, he shrinks in his chair and hovers his arms over his artwork.

His eyes keep drifting toward the left side of the room, the side that’s occupied by the Military Police Brigade. The longer he stares, the more he wonders how he could’ve been so naive to idolize them in his younger years. Cowards, the lot of them. It must be nice to live in the comfy quarters of the interior, sleeping every night in comfortable beds, tuning out the destruction and heartache that falls on the shoulders of those brave enough to do the right thing. 

Then again, if Marco survived the Battle of Trost, he and Jean would be sitting with the Military Police right now, looking as arrogant as the rest of them. Jean was right to join the Survey Corps. It forced him to mature, wise up, and push past any physical limitations he set for himself. But would he trade away that development if it meant having Marco back? Without a doubt. 

Premier Zachary opens the floor to Hange, the commander of the Survey Corps. Hange, sitting in the front row with Captain Levi, shoots out of their chair like a bat from a cave and immediately dives into the primary reason for today’s meeting.  

“Three days ago,” they say, “the Scout Regiment embarked on our mission to see what is beyond Wall Maria. During our journey, we came across a single titan. Since it posed no threat, its life was spared. Aside from that one encounter, it appears our military has eradicated all pure titans outside the walls.”

Even though Jean experienced this discovery alongside his comrades, it still doesn’t feel real. He spent three years as a cadet learning how to slay titans. Since graduation, he’s come across more titans than people. And of the 270 soldiers that were around when Jean first joined the Scouts, only nine are still alive. 

The bloodshed of his comrades casts invisible scars along every inch of Jean’s skin. But with the Scouts killing the hundreds of titans outside the walls, the scars feel less like a burden and more like a promise. Jean’s not naive to the fact that he can still die at any moment. Truthfully, it terrifies him. But a surge of hope dominates any of his fears. For the first time since losing Marco, since losing everyone, Jean believes that maybe their deaths weren’t for nothing.  

“Upon heading westbound,” Hange continues, “we reached as far as our land can go. At the edge, we came across a border wall approximately thirty meters high. It is presumed this is where Eldians are turned into titans by the same group responsible for imprisoning our ancestors on this island. Eren Jaeger recognized it from his father’s memories, a side effect of inheriting his Attack Titan.”

Jean grits his teeth, hard enough to hurt. After what transpired in the early hours of the morning, Eren is the last person Jean wants to see or hear about. 

Eren’s in the seat in front of Jean, sharing a table with Mikasa Ackerman and Armin Arlert.  

Even the back of his head is enough to piss Jean off. He can’t be certain of the face Eren’s making, but the bastard’s probably sporting the most smug expression from being acknowledged by the commander. 

It’s not fair. Just because Eren has titan abilities, the military treats him like a prized jewel. Jean understands it’s important Eren stays alive at all costs, blah, blah, blah, but that gives Eren the luxury to do as he pleases without facing serious consequences. If Jean were half as impulsive as Eren, he would’ve died ten times over by now. It’s insulting how Jean and his comrades are expected to protect Eren without question when Eren’s foolishness is what puts himself and everyone else at risk in the first place. Who cares about the average, everyday soldiers who get nothing more than a brief mention of their honor and integrity after being slaughtered to death as long as precious little Eren is safe?

Jean bites his tongue as Hange resumes. 

“Beyond this wall is a large body of water we now know as the sea.” Hange gestures to the second row. “Armin Arlert is in possession of literature that describes it in detail. Apparently it covers over seventy percent of our planet’s surface. It also has an incredibly high salt concentration.”

Captain Levi interjects. “We collected some of it in this flask.” He cups the small canteen positioned between himself and Hange. 

Premier Zachary peers at Levi over his glasses. “Salt?”

“Indeed. Jean Kirstein can attest to that, given that he swallowed it.”

Jean’s cheeks burn scarlet. It’s the first time his name is uttered during a military meeting. This isn’t the way he imagined it going. At the very least, he hoped it would be for a cooler reason.  

All eyes are on him, including Eren’s. He swallows hard, unsure if he’s meant to comment. When the silence turns deafening, he mumbles a quick “Right” before tilting his head down. Sasha gently taps her thigh against his under the table. Jean ignores her. 

“Speaking of Jean,” Levi continues, still looking his way, “he volunteered to draw an image of the sea for this meeting, so those who were not there understand what we’re dealing with.”

“Is that so?” the Premier asks.

If Jean’s temperature rises any higher, he’ll require hospitalization. The shocked faces of his comrades don’t help. Even Eren is taken aback, a tenderness to his gaze like when he first observed Jean’s original drawing. Jean never told Eren the motivation behind the art piece, but it’s out in the open now. Jean wants to believe Eren feels bad, but that requires Eren to care about someone other than himself.   

“Jean?” Connie says.

Jean clears his throat. “Right.”

He gathers his canvas, palms cushioning the underside, and trudges through the packed courtroom. The sound of his boots gliding against the marble floor grates his ears. He casts one final glance at his new and nowhere improved piece, imposter syndrome rushing through him. The voice in his head screams to turn around and save the humiliation, but his legs won’t listen. 

Tight timeline or not, how can Jean call himself an artist when this is the best he can do? To his credit, it’s not horrible. The technical elements are right. But that’s all it is, a technically pretty picture. There’s no soul behind this drawing. It reminisces an image taken from a school textbook that students skim over before focusing on the text they’re required to memorize.

He walks to each section of the courtroom, carrying the canvas waist height so the seated officials can observe. He starts with the Garrison Regiment, then the Military Police Regiment, then Hange and Levi. He doesn’t expect smiles or explicit praise. These people are far too serious for that level of positivity. 

But aside from Commander Pixis of the Garrison Regiment, everyone’s expressions remain neutral. It’s as if Jean is showing off a newspaper clipping of something that happened two weeks prior. Nothing worth more than a sparing glance.  

Premier Zachary’s response when Jean places it on his bench is the final dagger.

“Very nice, Jean. Thank you.”

And that’s the end of it. Jean keeps his head down as he returns to his seat. However, at the last moment, he locks eyes with Eren. There’s enough heat behind his stare to set the room ablaze. He hopes Eren’s sweating under his uniform.

Discourse about the ocean continues, and Jean’s name isn’t brought up again. For the rest of the meeting, his gaze is deadlocked on that chestnut mess of a hairstyle mocking him with every tilt of the head.

*

“Well, that was productive.”

Outside the courtroom, Commander Pixis cups Jean’s and Connie’s shoulders from behind.

“I’ve got to say, it’s remarkable what you kids have accomplished for humanity in such a short amount of time.” With a small smile, he gives Jean’s shoulder a small squeeze. “Nice work today, Jean.”

Jean doesn’t smile back. It’s been so long since he’s flashed a genuine one, it’s like he’s forgotten how. 

“Thank you,” is all he says. 

Pixis releases them, then Jean and Connie are off to find Sasha. The meeting’s been over for less than five minutes and she’s already gone. 

They locate her in a nearby hallway, snacking on a loaf of bread she snagged from God knows where. When she notices them, her eyes light up and she immediately breaks into a speedy monologue. She mumbles a string of nonsense between chews, but the word “draw” is one of the few Jean makes out. 

Connie, an experienced Sasha interpreter, nods enthusiastically. “Seriously,” he says, offering Jean a playful nudge, “why did you never tell us you’re an artist?”

Jean frowns. “I’m not.”

Wide eyed, Connie and Sasha stare at each other, then back at Jean. The subject is dropped, but no one brings up a topic to replace it. Jean doesn’t enjoy shutting out his two best friends, but he’s running on zero sleep and his first time presenting his art to people other than his mom or Marco was a total bust. 

And then, as if the world is out to get him, the person responsible for his lackluster showing rounds the corner, Mikasa and Armin at his sides. Their eyes meet again, and Jean tunes out his surroundings. Right now, all his focus is on Eren.  

He curls his lip in disgust. “Got something you wanna say, Jaeger?”

“No,” Eren replies without blinking. 

Jean scoffs. “That’s a first.”

Eren grows closer, Jean’s disdain for him heightening with each step. The light glimmering through the hallway window illuminates his face, yet there’s no warmth to his expression. All that stands before Jean is a blank slate. 

It’s fake, obviously. Eren’s been overly emotional since the day they met. Maybe he’s playing it up to appear tougher than he is. Maybe it’s to mess with Jean. Either way, Jean’s not buying it. 

 “Woah,” Connie cuts in. “What’s with the weird tension?”

A brief pause passes before Eren responds.

“Just Jean picking a fight so he feels important. Nothing new.”

Jean clenches his jaw and pushes forward, his chest colliding with Eren’s. “I’d take that back if I were you.”

Eren doesn’t flinch. “Or what?”

Just then, a hand clamps Jean’s shoulder. It’s Commander Pixis again, wedging himself between the two boys. Jean hadn’t even noticed he followed them down this hallway. 

“Ah, to be young and dumb,” Pixis says. “When you feel invincible, your mind poisons you into becoming a shameless fool.”

Jean brushes Pixis away, his scowl deepening as his eyes refuse to leave Eren’s. 

“The only fool here is the one I’m looking at.”

“I’d rather be a fool than a coward,” Eren counters. 

“Eren,” Mikasa says. She grabs Eren’s arm, but Eren wiggles out of her grasp without acknowledging her. 

For such a minor gesture, it has Jean seeing red. Eren doesn’t understand how nice he has it with Mikasa. A loyal, kind hearted, and beautiful girl like Mikasa is at Eren’s side no matter what and Eren never appreciates it. Jean has to work so damn hard to get Mikasa to say more than a few short sentences to him, yet Eren can treat her like shit and she’s still his biggest fan.

It’s bullshit. Eren is bullshit. 

He shoves Eren. Not hard, but hard enough for Eren to step backwards.

“How am I the coward when you’re the one who refuses to admit when he’s wrong?” he asks. “The least you could do is apologize.”

Eren shakes his head. “You’re still worried about that stupid drawing? I did you a favor by ruining it. You should’ve taken that as a sign to give up. But you just had to try and prove yourself as a valuable member of this team.”

He approaches Jean again, this time an added taunt to his stride. Jean does his best to show restraint, but his fist and Eren’s face sound like a godly combination right now.

Noses on the brink of touching, Eren’s demeanor finally displays a hint of emotion. This time, it arrives in the form of a sneer. 

“Joke’s on you, Kirstein, cause you’ll never be anything more than a useless-”

Jean grips Eren by the collar. 

“Does this seem cowardly to you?”

He punches Eren in the jaw. Eren follows up with a punch to Jean’s nose. It hurts, but not enough to quit. Jean has too much adrenaline to stop before he pummels Eren’s face in. Which is perfect, because Eren seems just as determined to hurt Jean.

“What round is this now?” Connie says. “284?”

“285,” Sasha answers, a lot clearer now that she’s finished her bread. “I think you forgot their double fight on Christmas Eve last year.”

Punches are thrown everywhere. Some connect, some don’t. Their friends don’t rush to break them up. To them, this is just a regular happenstance. But there’s something different about this fight. It feels like there’s more on the line here than just pride. What that may be, Jean isn’t sure. He’s too busy hitting Eren to think it over.

“I’ll kill you, you little shit!”

“Don’t rip my jacket!”

When it’s clear that this is more than their usual stint of letting off steam, some of their friends increase their urgency.

“Guys!” Armin cries out.

“Stop it!” Sasha adds. “Before Captain Levi sees!”

Mikasa holds Eren back while Connie grabs Jean. Even then, they kick and attempt to break free. Armin and Sasha also step in, but both boys are too rabid to control. Obscenities are shouted and teeth are bared. And in the midst of the chaos, Commander Pixis laughs from the sidelines.

“Such fools, both of you,” he says with delight. “Maybe someday, you’ll figure it out.”

“Figure what out?” Jean snarls as he breaks away from Connie and Sasha.

At that moment, Eren must get through Mikasa and Armin because he lunges at Jean at full force. Since he’s still focused on Pixis, Jean doesn’t anticipate it. They collapse to the ground, Jean’s head smacking against the cold floor. 

The sound is enough to make him dizzy. Above him, Eren is a giant blur, as are the damask wallpaper and candle style chandelier. The harder he tries to focus, the more the pounding in his head worsens. 

“Shit!”

Jean’s not sure who says it, but they sound worried. He flutters his eyes a few times, becoming more difficult with each blink.  

“Eren, what did you do?”

“Jean! Jean!”

Muffled voices surround him. People are in his face, but he can’t tell who’s who anymore. If they’re touching him, Jean can’t feel it. 

Of those crowding around him, there’s one that stands out among the rest. All Jean sees is a giant blob, mostly brown but some flecks of cerulean mixed in. They’re shouting. It must be at the top of their lungs because it’s the only voice Jean hears clearly. Only for Jean, it still comes out at low volume.

“Fuck. No, Jean, can you hear me? Jean?”

Jean knows that voice. At least, he thinks he does. His memory, as well as the world around him, fades faster by the second. 

The voice calls for him again, fainter than before. Jean’s lips part open as the light behind his eyes vanishes. He’s tired. He needs sleep. Maybe for a day. Maybe forever.

Everything goes quiet, and Jean’s eyes are too heavy to hold open any longer. But as darkness consumes him, the identity of that panicked voice springs to the front of his mind. It envelopes him like a security blanket, keeping Jean from fearing whatever’s happening to him. It feels warm. It feels familiar. 

So, before he slips under for good, he uses his last bit of strength to slur out the name that voice belongs to.

“E…ren…”

Chapter Text

Jean’s unsure if he’s alive or dead.

Eyes half open, a bright light obscures his vision. A church bell rings in the distance, too loudly for Jean’s taste. If this is heaven, Jean’s not impressed. For a celestial paradise, his body feels the opposite of peak salvation.

His head is on fire. From what, he doesn’t remember. He doesn’t have a clue how long he’s been in this state. If he’s dead, which is almost definite at this point, then it’s probably been less than thirty minutes total. And yet, Jean struggles to move. The body that’s housed him for the last sixteen years now feels foreign. It’s as if he’s slept for a century, lost all muscle memory, and now needs to relearn how to walk, talk, and every other basic human function.

Some heaven.

Then again, Jean’s never been religious. If this is the best he can get, at least it beats the alternative.

“Oh good, you’re up.”

Not that Jean can know for sure, but he’ll bet money that’s not the voice of God speaking.

He stirs awake. While his memory is still clouded, his vision no longer is. Lying flat, Jean’s view is limited by a large wooden frame that hangs above his mattress. A bunk bed. For how much his head hurts, Jean hoped to wake up in a hospital. But there’s no mistaking it. This is a bedroom.

Which leads to Jean’s next dilemma: this isn’t his room.

His memory is hazy, but Jean spent enough time in the Survey Corps to know the Scouts’ dormitories aren’t nearly this nice. Jean’s bedroom consists of an old cot, dull wallpaper that’s half peeled off, and a small dresser to hold his uniform and a handful of other clothing pieces. It’s not much, but he’s grown accustomed to it.

This bedroom is the opposite. Tudor paneling stretches throughout the modest room, dyed a deep mahogany. Both the left and right walls are occupied by a full dresser with cabinet doors. Next to both dressers are desks that have Jean’s artist heart drooling with envy. Drawer space, beautifully crafted woodwork, tall desk candles, Jean fantasizes how little sleep he’d get if he had a workstation like this in his room. 

But now isn’t the time to daydream. His first agenda is to figure out where the hell he is.

Luckily, the other person in here is someone Jean can never forget even with the biggest of head injuries.

“Connie,” he says with a sigh of relief.

Connie’s digging through one of the dressers when Jean calls for him. It’s quite rude to snoop through someone else’s belongings, in Jean’s opinion. Then again, this may be a hotel room that the Scouts were gifted if they’re lodging out of town. Besides, he’s too elated from seeing a familiar face to question Connie’s antics.

Connie gives Jean a curt nod. “Hurry up. Lineup’s in twenty minutes.”

“Lineup?”

“Let’s go,” Connie presses.

Jean throws his hands up. “Okay, okay.”

Even with the implied urgency, Jean takes his time crawling out of bed. His temples are throbbing, and the room shifts to an uncomfortable slant. Jean stands, backs of his knees pressing against the mattress, too dizzy to put effort into anything other than watching Connie by the dresser.

Connie strips out of his loungewear and throws on his uniform in quick succession. It’s normal practice for Scouts to dress quickly. When it comes to saving humanity, every second counts.

But when Jean’s dizziness subsides, he gets a proper glance at Connie’s waist jacket.

“Wait,” he says, taking a step forward. “What are you doing?”

Connie looks at him with hesitant curiosity. “Putting on my uniform? The same thing you should be doing.”

Jean snorts. “Very funny.”

But Connie’s expression doesn’t change. He turns away from Jean and smooths out his outfit. Jean parts his lips as he processes the symbol etched across Connie’s back. In place of the Scout Regiment’s Wings of Freedom logo, a green unicorn glares back at him. It’s the symbol of the Military Police Brigade.  

Why is Connie wearing a Military Police uniform?

With new strength in his legs, Jean scurries to the other half of the room. There’s a clean uniform hanging inside the double doored dresser that he yanks out with such speed that he smacks himself in the face with it. Pulse accelerating, Jean finds that same logo on the jacket’s breast, upper arm, and back areas. To top it off, the inside is marked with a J. Kirstein in fine ink.

Jean clutches the waist jacket like he’s trying to suffocate it. Like the harder he squeezes, the more sense this will make. But an itch at the back of Jean’s still injured head tells him that something is very, very wrong.

“What the…?”

“Are you alright?” Connie calls from behind him.

Face turning white, Jean meets his gaze. “What the hell is going on?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about this,” Jean says, panicking. He holds out the jacket. “Why do I have a Military Police uniform? Where’s my Scouts uniform?”

Connie stands there, puzzled. A damning silence passes between them. Jean’s half a second away from slapping some sense into his friend and demand the answers that’ll stop him from feeling this is all some sick joke.

But before he can, Connie bursts into laughter.

“You?” he asks, still in hysterics. “Join the Scouts?”

He hugs his belly and cackles harder, which only worsens Jean’s headache.

“What’s so funny?”

It takes a moment, but Connie regains composure. When he does, he grabs Jean’s shoulder.

“Jean, you’ve wanted to join the M.P. since we first became cadets. It’s all you ever talked about, remember?”

Jean’s face softens. Connie isn’t wrong, not completely. But Jean’s desire to join the Military Police died the same day Marco did. Jean’s heart, his mind, his soul, they all belong to the Survey Corps.

He’s a Scout. He always will be.

Yet here’s his own comrade telling him that’s not the case.

What on earth went down while Jean was knocked out?   

“Come on,” Connie says, “we’re gonna be late.”

He heads out, and Jean has no choice but to follow. Still confused, he changes into the Military Police uniform and rushes after him. If nothing else, following Connie may help him figure out what’s going on.

Their destination isn’t far. Even so, it’s enough of a walk for Jean to gawk at this building’s architecture. It reminds him of the upscale value of the Premier’s courthouse. It’s definitely designated to the Military Police. No other branch has the prestige to claim a building with cobblestone floors and pointed arches along the interior that stares out to an immaculate courtyard.

Jean assumes they arrive when they reach a group of six soldiers properly lined with their backs against the far wall. One of them catches his eye immediately.

“Sasha,” he says. “You’re here too.”

He’s uncertain if her presence is comforting or unsettling. Sasha’s in the same M.P. uniform as him and Connie, acting like there’s nothing unordinary about it.  

She offers a small pout. “Oh, come on. Is it really that surprising that I’m on time this morning?”

“Yes,” Connie cuts in.

“Didn’t ask you.”

Jean scans the rest of the soldiers in line. He recognizes them all from his cadet training, but no other Scouts are here.

It makes no sense. Why have only he, Connie, and Sasha been transferred to the Military Police? More importantly, why do his friends not seem to care? Sure, Jean used to dream of joining the M.P., but Connie had no interest, and Sasha even less so.

“Why are you making that weird face?” Sasha asks.

A nervous squeak escapes Jean’s throat. There are so many reasons why he’s this erratic, so he has no clue where to start. Then again, why should he have to spell it out to his two closest friends? Their nonchalance toward staying in this hellhole makes Jean want to stay quiet instead of opening up.

“I think he’s still shaken up after yesterday,” Connie says. “He was really confused when he woke up.”

This catches Jean’s attention. “What happened yesterday?”

Sasha’s eyes widen. “You don’t remember? You fell and hit your head. The doctor said it didn’t seem like a concussion, so he let you go.” She scans his face with worry. “But maybe you should get checked out again today.”

Her words flip a switch in Jean’s brain.

“Right.”

Now he remembers. This all started due to a fight in the halls after the military meeting. The one Eren ruined for Jean.

“Eren,” he says. “Eren knocked me over.” His jaw tightens. “Where is he? I’ll punch his face in.”

Connie scrunches his face. “Eren? He didn’t knock you over. He wasn’t even there.”

It’s a declaration so offensive that Jean’s anger toward Eren makes a hearty jump toward Connie instead. Now he knows something is up. Connie’s charisma may have convinced Jean to accept the strange happenings around them, but this is where Jean draws the line. How dare Connie tell a blatant lie. Maybe he thought the circumstances around Jean’s head injury would also get lost in Jean’s foggy memory.

Too bad for Connie, Jean recalls it perfectly. And Jean will be damned if Connie thinks he can get away with gaslighting him like this.

“Yes he was!” Jean snaps at him. “You were all there!”

“Why must you all be so chatty this morning?”

A monotone voice cuts through the tense atmosphere. Normally, Jean wouldn’t pay an eavesdropper any mind when he’s this riled up. But it’s a voice he recognizes instantly, and it belongs to someone who absolutely shouldn’t be here right now.

Jean hopes he’s wrong, but that hope diminishes once their eyes meet.

 “You,” is all he has the strength to say. It comes out like an accusation.

Annie Leonhart appears as bored as Jean does dumbfounded. “Can I help you?”

This isn’t real. It can’t be. Annie has been kept prisoner by the Survey Corps for nearly a year, encased in her own hardening she mastered as the Female Titan. She, along with Reiner Braun and Bertholdt Hoover, acted as a double agent in the Eldian military to bring death and destruction to innocent Eldians.

She’s a traitor and a murderer. Freedom is the last thing she deserves.

Yet here she is, sporting her M.P. uniform like she’s not one of the most hated people by the surviving Survey Corps members. Whatever her reason for being here, Jean’s putting a stop to it.

He lunges at Annie, leaving her zero time to react. He wrestles her to the floor and secures her in a chokehold. Annie shrieks, as do the rest of the M.P. soldiers.   

She claws at him. “What are you doing, you psycho?”

But Jean doesn’t let up. “Someone get Captain Levi,” he says. “Or Commander Hange. Somebody. Before she transforms.”

“Transforms into what?” Sasha asks.

“The Female Titan.” The desperation in Jean’s tone heightens. “Hurry!”

“Excuse me?”

For as strong as Jean is, Annie is stronger. She’s also a better skilled combat fighter. She elbows Jean in the ribs, forcing him to drop her. Out of his grasp, she turns the tide on him. A punch to Jean’s face, a kick to the back of his leg, then a stomp to his gut. Jean’s been in harsher situations, but a groan still escapes him as he takes his beating in a fetal position.   

Annie lifts her leg to kick him again, but Connie holds her back. Two other M.P. members step in, creating distance between her and Jean.

“Careful, Annie,” he says. “He’s still not a hundred percent.”

“He just tried to choke me to death!” Annie shouts. “Do you expect me to just take it?”

Jean sits up and sneers at her. “Shut up, you traitor!”

“Jean,” Sasha says, “what has gotten into you?”

Connie shakes his head. “He’s lost it. He’s officially lost it.”

“You’re the ones that have lost it!” Jean declares. “Annie’s the Female Titan. She, Reiner, and Bertholdt are titan shifters that infiltrated the military. They’re the reason the walls were breached! Did you all forget that?”

They all stare at him like he’s grown a second head. Jean doesn’t know whether to scream or cry. He’s telling the truth. They all know it. If they don’t act to get Annie back to the Survey Corps, they’re setting Eldia up for another tragedy. Jean had little faith in the Military Police already, but they’ve never been this stupid.

Why are they pretending they don’t know what he’s talking about?

Annie huffs. “I’m not a titan shifter, idiot.”

“I’m pretty sure if Annie was a traitor, we would’ve figured it out by now,” Sasha adds.

Jean resists the urge to cover his ears. While it’s been a self-soothing technique he’s adapted since joining the military, showing vulnerability to the people causing his anxiety will only intensify it.  

“But…but…”

Reluctantly, Annie pushes through the soldiers that separate them. Jean expects another hit or kick coming his way. It doesn’t happen. Instead, Annie offers her hand.

“Come with me.”

Jean weighs his options. He can refuse and drive himself to madness through being the only one here who cares about the severity of this situation. Or, he can follow Annie to God knows where and risk getting kidnapped or killed. Neither outcome looks promising, but Jean would rather die trying than leave his fate to anyone else.

He accepts Annie’s hand and is pulled to his feet. Guiding him away from the crowd, Annie speaks over her shoulder.

“Cover for us if we’re not back on time.”

“Will do,” Sasha answers.

Annie leads Jean through several staircases and even more hallways. The rest of this building is as immaculate as the small section he saw earlier. Jean’s more transfixed by the paintings on the walls than anything else. He can tell they’re expensive by the frames alone. The intricate carving of the wooden borders wouldn’t be wasted on any art short of perfection. Maybe if Jean keeps at it, he can craft something worthwhile like this. He’ll first have to live long enough to even have a chance.  

Focusing on the row of artwork and not the girl potentially leading him to his doom, Jean realizes he’s been here before. Annie’s taking him to the underground section of the premises. The area where she’s supposed to be kept hostage.

At the entrance into the lair, Annie exchanges words with the guards, who allow them to pass. As they head inside, Jean takes a slow breath. As curious as he is to discover what Annie plans to reveal to him, he’s also terrified. It’s possible he can die here without the Scouts learning Annie’s escaped. Or that Connie and Sasha have betrayed them all out of nowhere. If that happens, he’ll never avenge Marco.

No, Jean refuses. Whatever Annie has planned, he’s ready for it. No matter what, he’ll take her down. Even if he has to do it alone.

But once Jean enters Annie’s prison lair, that thought vanishes.

Side by side, he and Annie approach the back wall. Everything looks as Jean remembered. A quiet room, deep underground to prevent Annie from transforming. A girl shielding her entire body by thick layers of titan hardening, eyes closed like she’s taking a peaceful nap.

Except, the girl in the hardening is supposed to be Annie.

So why-

“Are your memories coming back to you yet?” Annie asks.

Jean’s jaw drops. “That’s…”

It’s impossible. Annie is the Female Titan. Jean’s fought against her. He watched Eren fight her. He listened to Armin’s theories as to why it can’t be anyone else except Annie.

But he can’t argue with what’s in front of him.

“Hitch?”

Hitch Dreyse is another graduate of the 104^th Training Corps. She joined the Military Police after graduation. Jean holds a pang of guilt when he thinks of Hitch. She was really close with Marlowe Freudenberg, another M.P. member. Except, Marlowe made an honorable choice to transfer to the Survey Corps and was killed in his first mission. Jean played a part in Marlowe getting Captain Levi’s approval to join, so in a way, he played a part in Marlowe’s death. He's struggled to look Hitch in the eye after that.

Still, Hitch is as removed from titan killing and double agenting as an everyday commoner. But evidence doesn’t lie. If she’s being held here, if she’s being protected by titan hardening, then she has to be the Female Titan. Not Annie.  

“She’s been like this for months,” Annie says. “A last resort to save herself from getting killed I guess.”

“Hitch is the Female Titan,” Jean answers, still in disbelief. “What about Reiner and Bertholdt?”

“What about them?”

“They’re the Armored and Colossal, right?”

Annie gives a half smile, which causes him to flinch. He’s known Annie for four years. Never once has he seen her do anything other than scowl.

“Wow,” she says. “You really hit your head hard, huh?”

Jean doesn’t answer, so she continues.

“I don’t know Reiner and Bertholdt that well, but they’re considered the strongest Scouts from the 104 class, right behind Mikasa.” She gives him a knowing glance. “You remember Mikasa, don’t you?”

Jean’s face heats up. “Yes.”

Another lopsided grin. Jean’s starting to find this Annie even creepier than the titan shifting one. Smiling doesn’t suit her. Nor does talking in full sentences. But he still has questions, and she’s the only one around to answer them.  

“So,” he says, “the other two titans…”

She looks back at Hitch. “Armin’s the Colossal now, technically. He ate Marlowe Freudenberg after the fight to retake Wall Maria.”

“Marlowe?”

“That bastard wiped out nearly the entirely of the Survey Corps. There’s only seven left now. If you ask me, death was too kind a punishment.”

Jean ponders. It seems some elements are still the same. The Colossal Titan killed an overwhelming amount of Scout Regiment soldiers, and Armin was given the titan serum to inherit the Colossal powers. All that’s changed are the people holding the titan powers.

“Floch Forster got away, unfortunately,” Annie adds. “He’s the Armored Titan.”

Jean hangs his head. Even if what Annie’s saying is true, it still goes against everything he’s known until now. Who he is and whom he can trust. He can’t spend the majority of his military career as a Scout with Annie, Reiner, and Bertholdt as sworn enemies, then wake up one day with all of that stripped from him.

This has to be a dream, even if it feels way too real to be one.

“I see,” is all he says.

Annie offers him a short moment of silence, then gives him a soft nudge. “We should get out of here.”

They head back the way they came. Jean treats it like a walk of defeat. It’s more demoralizing than any return inside the walls after a deadly expedition. He’ll take onlookers shouting at him and his superiors over the Scouts failing to produce any effective results over this any day.

Sure, he’s gotten some answers from Annie, but he’s now left with even more questions.

There’s no M.P. superior in sight when they return to the group, so they must’ve made good timing. Their comrades turn to them, Connie and Sasha appearing the most eager. Now accepting that this is a dream, Jean recognizes that it’s genuine concern on their faces and not intentional deception.   

“So?” Connie says. “Is he back to normal?”

“Is Jean ever normal?” Annie counters.

Jean rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Is Jean causing trouble already?” someone calls from behind him.

At that, Jean freezes. No, he tells himself. You’re imagining it. There’s no way that was him.

And maybe that’d be true if anything else he experienced today made any sort of sense. Though he’s yet to turn around, Jean knows it in his gut. It’s a voice he’d recognize anywhere. One he hasn’t heard in so long. One he's already accepted he’ll never hear again.

When he spins around, his legs almost give out.

Freckles dance along apple cheeks, eyes crinkling as he sends an endearing smile in Jean’s direction.

“How are you feeling? Is your head better?”

Jean stands there, confused and scared and elated and a dozen other emotions at once. Now he’s certain he’s dreaming. A dream is the only place where the dead can come back to life. He forbids himself from getting his hopes up. It’ll only hurt more in the end.

But it’s been so long, and he looks older. He’s filled out well, more muscular than he already was, and his raven hair has grown a few inches. It’s not the way Jean remembers him, and it’s certainly not the way Jean would envision him in a dream.

Jean doesn’t know how or why, but he won’t complain. Right now, this is the one aspect of this morning that has him hopeful for what’s to come.

His best friend is back.

Marco Bodt is alive.  

Chapter Text

“Marco.”

Marco’s signature smile stretches wider. “Good morning.”

Jean’s mouth hangs open, but no words come out. There is a myriad of things he can say, that he wants to say. But the realization that the person who shaped his character above anyone is again living, breathing, and standing less than two feet away is too heavy to form proper sentences.

He’s taken back to that fateful day. Over 170 soldiers died at the Battle of Trost. Without Marco, Jean would’ve been one of them.

Jean still remembers the alarming rate his heart pounded as he and Marco loaded their shotguns. They were alone, and there was a good chance it’d be the last conversation they ever shared. Jean wasn’t ready to die, but he was a realist. Only the strongest and smartest soldiers would make it out alive, and Jean was neither.

When he relayed that sentiment to Marco, his friend hit him with a new perspective.

“Promise me you’re not gonna take this the wrong way,” Marco tells him, “but I don’t think you’re a good leader cause you’re strong. I think you’re a good leader cause you know what it is to be weak. You’re one of us.”

Those words carried Jean through the rest of that day. He committed to every decision he made, not worrying about what ifs. Someone he deeply admired saw his capabilities as a leader. The least he could do is believe it himself.

And it was those same words that sprang to Jean’s mind when he discovered Marco’s body.

There were corpses everywhere. Nurses walked around with clipboards doing their best to identify the deceased. Jean confirmed Marco’s identity to one of them, though the voice in his head shouted that he was wrong. It couldn’t have been Marco. The body that laid before him, what was left of it anyway, possessed no lingering warmth or positivity. The discoloration of the skin even concealed his freckles. It was too brutal a death for Marco’s kind disposition. 

It's an image he’s worked desperately to forget. Marco was the sunlight seeping through the dark cloud that hovered Jean’s shoulder, and he deserves to be remembered as such. It’s for Jean’s sake as well. Lamenting on Marco and the ways Jean could’ve saved him may drag him into a pit of agony he’s not strong enough to crawl out of.

But with Marco in front of him, those feelings rush to Jean’s brain without his permission.

His balance betrays him, and he stumbles sideways. Marco gasps but catches him in time. Firm hands grip Jean’s biceps with no intention of letting go.

“What’s wrong?”

Jean steadies his breathing, zeroing on Marco’s face. He’s scared to blink, like Marco will disappear if he does. Luckily, Marco’s hold offers as much emotional support as it does physical.

The corners of Jean’s mouth turn the slightest bit upwards.

 “Nothing,” he chokes out. “You’re here.” He cups Marco’s forearms and squeezes, just to be sure. “You’re real.”

Marco beams at him. “Of course I am. What else would I be?”

“Ignore him,” Connie says. “He’s been acting weird all morning.”

Marco scans Jean’s face, his sweet smile vanishing as soon as it comes. He loosens his grasp to brush his thumbs against the leather of Jean’s waist jacket.

“Jean, you’re crying. Are you sure you’re okay?”

It’s not until Marco mentions it that Jean notices himself. A pair of hot tears rush down his cheeks. When they curl beneath his chin, two new ones replace them.

“Yeah,” he whispers, “I just…”

His thoughts go unfinished. Jean’s not smart or stable enough to reflect on these emotions properly. But the tears keep coming, and they empower Jean to throw his arms around Marco and pull him into their first ever embrace.

He dips his head against his friend’s shoulder. “Marco.”

Marco welcomes Jean into his arms. Like everything else about him, Marco’s hugs are soft and inviting. He chuckles, and Jean realizes he forgot what it sounded like after all this time. His memory struggled to duplicate the pitch.

But once he hears it, Marco’s little quirks and mannerisms that Jean overlooked when they were younger race back to him. Like the way he only scrunches one eye when he tastes something sour. Or the way he counts his freckles on the first and last day of summer to see how many he’s gained, and how he pouts if it’s not an equal amount on both sides of his face.

Holding Marco like this, it’s as if he never left.   

“Well,” Marco says, “this is quite the greeting.”

“I didn’t know Jean was a hugger,” Sasha says.

“I think I’m gonna barf,” Annie adds.

Jean tunes them out. He looks like an idiot sobbing in the hallway while hugging his very confused friend, but that’s the least of his concerns. Marco’s alive. He’s safe. Two things Jean couldn’t say yesterday. And if Jean's heart tells him to squeeze every bit of that relief into Marco until he's certain he won’t lose him again, then he can handle petty remarks from his comrades.

“What’s with the love fest?”

Marco lets go, forcing Jean to as well. An older M.P. member stares down at them, probably an officer. The other soldiers properly line against the wall. The two boys join them, Jean getting into his proper stance.

The officer surveys the line, his gaze narrowing when focusing on Jean.

“Wrong stance, Kirstein.”

Jean’s eyes widen as he processes he’s giving the traditional Scout salute, his right fist over his heart. He drops it, cheeks turning red, and stands with his hands at his sides like the other soldiers.

“What’s up with you?” the officer asks. “I know starting lineup at 7 AM is cruel, but that’s no reason for tears.”

Jean wipes his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Dennis,” Connie says, “he needs to go back to the doctor. He’s not acting like himself.”

Dennis’s stare is blank, though Jean still detects a level of annoyance. “Whatever. Somebody needs to escort him.”

“I’ll do it,” Marco offers, which has Jean internally celebrating. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to accompany him.

Dennis nods. “Very well. The rest of you, patrol the northern grounds until lunch. Keep an eye out for any suspicious activity. We want to have as little problems as possible while the Scout Regiment is here.”

Jean perks up. The Scout Regiment is coming? Maybe they’ll have some answers for him.

Though, he’s not sure how anyone can explain the resurrection of Marco. For the sake of his own happiness (and sanity), he’ll let that one slide. But some pieces to this mysterious puzzle definitely lie within the Survey Corps.

“Springer, Braus, Leonhart, Fuelner,” Dennis orders, “you four start above land. The rest of you will be with me patrolling the underground tunnels. Understand?”

They acknowledge their superior and break into their respective groups. Connie and Sasha each give Jean a little wave on their way out. Jean returns the gesture even if he’s still sketched out by their behavior.  

Then again, some of their behavior can be attributed to the boy smiling beside him. If Marco’s alive, then Jean would’ve never been motivated to join the Scouts. And it was Jean’s assuredness in joining that influenced Connie and Sasha to join the Scouts as well. This doesn’t explain how Annie is magically a non-sadistic human all of a sudden, but hey, baby steps.

Marco tilts his head toward the exit. “Might as well get going, right?”

There’s a bounce to Jean’s step as he follows Marco to wherever the nearest doctor is. The visit will likely be a waste of time, but he’s just happy to have time with Marco without worrying about military duties. They have so much to catch up on.

On their walk, they don’t really catch up on anything. The majority of it is spent with Marco talking, Jean listening or mumbling a few short sentences. He wants to contribute more, but every time he looks at Marco, the reality that his best friend, the one whose bones Jean held in his very hand as he watched them be reduced to ash, is alive sinks deeper into his skin. It’s too overwhelming for words.

“I’m excited to reunite with the Survey Corps tonight,” he says. “It’s been too long.”

Jean snorts as he kicks some gravel out of his pathway. “For you, maybe.”

“You’re not excited to see everyone?”

“It’s not that.”

He doesn’t elaborate further. He trusts Marco, but he also doesn’t want to saddle him with a problem when he can’t articulate what that problem is.

“Well,” Marco says, “maybe you’ll be in better spirits after you get checked out.” He gives Jean a playful shove. “Besides, you can’t let Eren see you like this, right?”

Jean parts his lips. A pro to having Marco back is the brief period Jean forgets about Eren’s existence. But by Marco acknowledging him, Jean’s reminded that this crazy morning all resulted after his fight with Eren. A fight that was all Eren’s fault.

There must be a connection. Maybe Eren’s titan powers involve putting curses on people he doesn't like. But cursing Jean by reuniting him with his best friend is too kind for it to be Eren’s idea.

Still, Eren must be involved somehow. He's been a plague in Jean's life from the moment they met. What his role is in this whole ordeal, Jean needs more time to figure out. 

But right now, his primary focus is the way Marco grins while saying Eren’s name. The way he nudges Jean. It’s just like old times. Marco was Jean’s personal confidant when it came to his issues with Eren. For how often Marco was subjected to the words “Fuck that suicidal maniac”, it’s a miracle he still wanted Jean around. Marco never shared that same disdain toward Eren, but it’s impossible for Marco to wish ill will on anyone. He’d probably sympathize with Annie, Reiner, and Bertholdt if he lived long enough to discover their traitorous ways.

Jean doesn’t mean to, but he laughs. Once he starts, he can’t stop. It’s been years since he’s let go like this, since he remembered that sometimes, life can be worth enjoying. The fluttering in his belly is a welcome surprise, the sensation multiplying the longer he studies Marco’s perplexed expression. Even so, his friend settles into an easy smile.

“Was it that funny?”

Jean, still in a fit of giggles, throws an arm around Marco’s neck and pulls him close, giving him a noogie like they’re twelve years old again.

“I’m just glad you’re here.” 

*

As Jean expected, his trip to the doctor is pointless. He doesn’t have symptoms for a concussion or a migraine. The only prescription he receives is the advice to take it easy and not participate in any intense Military Police duties until he’s feeling better. Jean resents that there are people who believe “intense” and “Military Police duties” should ever belong in the same sentence. 

Since Marco didn’t get additional orders from Dennis besides taking Jean to the doctor, the two of them spend the next hour patrolling the district’s interior. Marco’s company is nice, but Jean’s so bored he may fall asleep standing up. The most action they come across is a chess match between two elderly gentlemen that’s too competitive for their fragile hearts to keep up with.

Never has Jean been so sure he made the right call joining the Survey Corps.

They spot a familiar face perched on a bench by a wishing fountain, bottle of wine in hand. Jean should be surprised to see him, but by how this day transpired, a Jean clone can pop up behind him and he won’t bat an eye.

“All right there, Jean?”

“Commander Pixis,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

Pixis smiles. “Just the usual. Enjoying my lunch break.”

“But it’s only 8:30,” Marco says.

“Trust me.” He takes a long swig. “Once you reach your sixties, time becomes arbitrary. How are you, Jean? How’s your head?”

“Oh, I’m feeling fine,” Jean tells him.

“He’s taking it easy,” Marco adds. “In fact, I should probably take him back to his room so he can rest until lunch.” He shuts his eyes and beams at Pixis. “Time still matters to a couple of sixteen-year-olds.”

Pixis nods. “Yes, I suppose it does. Well, off you go then. Take care of yourselves.”

“You too, sir.”

When they’re out of earshot, Marco glances over his shoulder.

“That was weird.”

“What?” Jean asks.

He meets Jean’s gaze. “How did Commander Pixis know about your head injury? It’s not like he was there when you fell.”

Jean peers back at Pixis. Their eyes lock, and for a moment Jean thinks Pixis may have heard them. But then the old man turns away, bringing the wine bottle to his lips once more. With a shrug, Jean shift back to Marco.

“Maybe Dennis told him.”

Marco sports a look of amusement. “Does that sound like Dennis?”

“Beats me,” Jean answers truthfully.

Marco rubs the back of his neck. “Eh, you’re probably right. I just overthink too much.”

“I won’t deny that.”

They share a familiar laugh, and Jean detests his younger self for taking these exchanges for granted.

As promised, Marco drops Jean off at his bunk before continuing the rest of his self-assigned patrolling duty. Jean wants to protest, just so he can spend a little more time with Marco, but opts against it. Instead, he capitalizes on the opportunity to inspect the contents of his room without Connie around. There may be a clue hidden somewhere.

Once he’s alone, he rips off the M.P. waist jacket and throws it to the floor. Two hours is plenty of time to wear that hideous garment. Any longer and his skin may melt off.

Connie’s side of the room is a mess, another thing that hasn’t changed between Jean’s former life and this one. Figuring it’s all junk, he starts with his own side.

Jean was too delirious when he first woke up to notice the collection of charcoal drawings taped to the wall. There’s one of a heron by the lake, one of a cat with some country boots, and even one of a prime feast in the mess hall he frequented as a cadet.

A minor glance into the mind of the Jean Kirstein that joined the Military Police. It’s a mystery what inspired him to craft these pieces, but Jean’s taken aback by how amateur they are, both in content and in technique. Even his second ocean drawing that was drafted on a tight deadline evokes more emotion than all these displayed drawings put together.

He moves to his dresser, opening the bottom drawers and finding clothes of better quality than anything he’s worn as a Scout. There’s even a set of silk pajamas. Nice, but not what he’s looking for.

At his desk, all the drawers are either empty or stocked with art supplies and canvas paper. But by his foot, tucked away in the back corner, the bottom drawer contains a folded sheet of hemp paper.

It’s a letter, a lengthy one. It must hold value if Military Police Jean kept it hidden away. Blood pumping with excitement, Jean takes a deep breath and reads through.

Jeannie,

I know it’s been a while since you last heard from me. I apologize for that. The truth is I’ve been struggling with what I should say. While I don’t want to worry you, it also pains me to tell you that everything is okay around here when that’s not the case. I so badly want to tell you that things finally look promising, for your sake as well as mine. But I can’t, and for that I’m sorry.

Thanks for the drawing! I’ve already almost been caught with it three separate times. It doesn’t help that I smile like an idiot every time I look at it, but can you blame me? I’m smiling as I write this right now just thinking about it. I hope you have more I can take with me after I come visit!

You must have heard about our recent expedition to the ocean. I wish you were there to see it. I know how much you love visiting new places and gathering inspiration for your art. Maybe if I get the approval from Levi, I can bring you one day.

Anyway, everyone else sees this as a step in the right direction, but I’m not convinced. If you were here, maybe things would be different. You’d be able to talk sense into me like you always do. But until that day comes, I’m afraid this problem won’t go away.

I’m not doing well. I wish I could give specifics, but I think this is something we should discuss in person. Before you worry too much (I know you love to do that), just know that I am safe and counting the days until I see you again. That’s all the motivation I need to move forward.

Not much longer before we’re together. Until then, stay out of trouble, please? Tell Marco he has my permission to slap you if you do anything stupid. Consider each slap a hug from me.

Miss you more,

Berry 

Jean reads the letter again. And again. And once more for good luck. But each time he tries to place an identity to the sender, he falls flat.

Jean doesn’t know anyone named Berry, and he certainly doesn’t know anyone who calls him Jeannie. His mom tried that when he was small, but he shut that down quickly. She resorts to Jean boy, which isn’t much better, but that’s not the point.

Judging by the letter’s contents, the sender must belong to the Survey Corps. But if it’s a Scout that’s seen the ocean, and if Annie’s right about only seven Scouts still being alive, that doesn’t leave him many options. It’s obviously not Levi, as he’s mentioned directly. Jean also doubts it’s Mikasa, no matter how much that pains him. It also can’t be Eren, because why the hell would Eren write Jean a letter?

More questions, no answers. 

In the end, he shoves the note back where it came from and clears it from his mind. He can’t stress about the things he’s unsure of. If it’s not concrete evidence, he must push it aside. And since the rest of this room is just Jean’s laundry basket and Connie’s messy corners, Jean gives up before he gets a concussion for real. 

*

Jean spends the rest of his day in his room. Connie recruits him for lunch in the afternoon, but other than that, Jean sketches at his desk. It’s the perfect remedy for an absolute mindfuck of a day.

When dinner rolls around, he’s ready. According to Connie, the Scouts will be joining them tonight. Jean’s not sure what to expect, but it can’t hurt to have a clearer picture of what he’s dealing with.

Entering the dining hall behind Connie and Marco, he instantly spots his two superiors. He rushes over, careful not to flail too much to avoid a lecture from the captain. Jean towers over Levi, but he cowers like a mouse every time Levi displays the slightest agitation.

“Captain Levi!” he pleads. “Commander Hange! I need to talk to you both.”

“Is that so?” Levi answers, eyeing Jean up and down. “And you are?”

Jean’s face drops. An ugly knot forms in his stomach, rejection and shame pulling each end.

How can he be so stupid? Obviously if Jean’s in the Military Police, there’s no way Levi and Hange will have a clue who he is. Maybe it was false hope, like if he refuses to acknowledge the possibility, then it can’t be true. That this isn’t a cruel prank on him being transferred between military departments.

No, that’s not it at all.

Jean’s life. His world. Everything he’s experienced in the last sixteen years. It’s all gone. In its place is the life that at one point, he wanted more than anything. Now he has it and can’t escape it. Sure, he has Marco back, but what about the rest? He can’t survive on the sidelines of the Military Police. It’s not in his nature, no matter what his new surroundings implicate.

Hange lays a hand atop Levi’s head. “Ah, you’ll have to excuse Levi. He’s a nice person, promise. Traveling just makes him cranky.”

“Get off me,” Levi mutters.

It’s an axe to the heart. These two have put their trust in Jean, and he in them, across countless missions. They’ve fought together. They’ve lost comrades together. They’ve saved each other. And now they have no idea who Jean is. It’s like part of Jean’s soul has withered away.

“Sorry,” he says, bowing gracefully. “Excuse me.”

He walks away, his remaining dignity held by a string. He doesn’t have much time to pity himself, because the other occupants at the third-row table with Marco and Connie notice him immediately.

“Hey! There he is!”

Jean sinks into himself as he’s bombarded left and right with smiles and waves. For someone who enjoys attention, heat swiftly rushes to his cheeks. If he had clearer insight to why the universe is playing mind games with him, he’d receive his welcome better.

“Jean boy!” Reiner shoots out of his seat and throws an arm around him. He pats Jean twice in the chest. “Heard you tripped and fell yesterday, you dumb fuck. Be careful before you lose the few brain cells you have left.”

It takes all self-control to not deck Reiner in the face. Yes, he’s innocent in whatever alternate world this is, but that won’t simmer the hatred that burns in Jean’s heart.

Even Bertholdt’s awkward demeanor has little effect. He gives a nervous laugh while pulling Reiner away.

“I think what Reiner means is, it’s nice to see you,” he says.

Jean flares his nostrils. “Sure.”

“But seriously,” Bertholdt adds, “how are you feeling?”

You don’t want to know, Jean holds back from saying.

Marco grins from the table. “He just needs some good food in his system. Come sit.”

“Same here,” Reiner says, then he and Bertholdt return to their seats.

Jean was hoping to sit next to Marco, but Marco was squished between Sasha and Armin. Jean gives Armin a friendly nod as he scans the table. He’s always liked Armin. Hopefully this new world hasn’t turned him into a little shit.

“Here, Jean,” a voice calls out. Mikasa. “You can sit next to me.”

At first, Jean swears he mishears. But sure enough, there’s an empty space to Mikasa’s left. If Jean didn’t know any better, he’d think it’s intentional.

He remembers the letter from that "Berry" person. There was a fondness to the words inscribed in the parchment. Almost like a love letter, as ludicrous as that may be.

But maybe it’s not so ludicrous.

Maybe Mikasa…

His fantasy is cut short by Reiner. Sitting across from Mikasa, he wolf whistles at the two of them.

“What’s this all about?” he asks.

“Mind your business,” Mikasa snaps at him.

Reiner holds his hands up in surrender, but shoots Jean a subtle wink anyway.

Jean’s blush spreads to his neck, his mouth dry as cotton. He’s so taken aback by Mikasa’s request (hell, he’s taken aback by her even speaking to him) that he doesn’t even realize until he sits down that he's sandwiched between her and a suspiciously quiet Eren Jaeger. It’s the first time Jean's seeing him since their brawl, which should enrage him. Luckily for Eren, Jean's too preoccupied for a rematch.

“Alright,” Sasha announces, “let’s dig in!”

They help themselves to the gourmet steak and potatoes. Jean’s enamored by the display. As a Scout, good meat is a rarity. He has to hand it to the Military Police: if there’s one thing they’re useful for, it’s providing a damn good meal.  

Feeling bold, Jean assists Mikasa with preparing her plate. She smiles at him with gratitude, and Jean smiles back like an innocent schoolboy.

It’s short-lived, however. Soon there’s a small pressure against Jean’s left thigh. He ignores it at first, not thinking too much about it. But as he gathers potatoes on his own plate, he feels it again. And it seems deliberate this time.

Watching out the corner of his eye, he catches Eren doing the same. Their little stare down lasts less than two seconds, but it’s long enough to have Jean shift uncomfortably. Eren’s never looked at him like that, like he’s trying to read Jean’s mind. Like he wants to tell Jean hello but is too shy or something.

Weird.

Oh well. As long as Eren keeps his mouth shut, Jean won’t stress. He’s got good food in front of him and a pretty girl to the right of him. For as hectic of a day this has been, he deserves to enjoy what's left of it. 

And if the small price to pay for his happiness is Eren's thigh pressing against his all throughout dinner, well, Jean can handle it. When it comes to Eren Jaeger, Jean’s dealt with far worse.

Chapter Text

Lethargy spreads through Jean as he scarfs down two servings too many. 

It’s hard not to be greedy. He’s been deprived of this level of luxury his entire life. Now that it’s thrown at him on a literal silver platter, all of Jean’s restraint has been abandoned with his former self. Even Reiner, who’s built like a house, eats a fraction of what Jean does. With dessert having yet to be served, Jean questions how everyone in the Military Police maintains such trim physiques.

He exhales as he pushes his plate forward. While he ranks his mother’s homemade cooking above any cuisine, this steak is an easy second place. But his stomach is suffering from his gluttonous choices. He'll have to sacrifice dessert unless he wants Connie to roll him back to their room tonight.

Conversation flows throughout the table. Jean settles into the role of a curious bystander, still in a trance from ingesting too much food. There’s also the incredible high from Mikasa constantly smiling in his direction. Her lingering gaze never lasts long, her smile even less so, but Jean’s heart beats faster every time he catches her. 

He wants to talk to her, wants to confirm that she’s the “Berry” who wrote him that letter. But Jean has yet to master the art of talking to his crush, even when she’s being uncharacteristically nice to him.

It also doesn’t help that whenever he works up the courage to even look at Mikasa, Eren resumes his weird tapping of his thigh against Jean’s. It’s Jean’s only reminder that Eren is even here. The bastard hasn’t uttered a word since Jean sat down. Normally Jean would rejoice in not having that whiny voice grating his ears for an hour straight, but Eren’s silence plagues his skin like a rash. It’s just so…unEren-like.

If it were this easy for Eren to go quiet, Jean would’ve shut him up a long time ago. Either one of two things is the cause: Eren’s developed a sudden case of laryngitis, or he’s troubled by something. 

Jean has no doubt it’s the latter.

Jean has a less than zero interest in Eren’s feelings, but with these strange happenings starting after their fight in the Premier’s courthouse, Eren’s drastic change in demeanor is worth considering. Jean already suspects Eren is behind this, even if he can’t prove it, but this is a strong piece of circumstantial evidence to aid his case.   

Eren presses his thigh to Jean’s again, and Jean disregards the instinct to curse him out. Even if his feelings for Mikasa are requited, he won’t risk falling from her good graces by fighting with someone so dear to her. 

He gives Eren a thigh tap of his own, this one issued as a warning. If Eren wants to pick a fight, he’ll have to wait until after Mikasa is out of earshot. 

Eren’s posture goes rigid, his head turning toward Jean. It’s his first proper look at Jean all evening, forgoing the subtle glances out of his peripheral vision. 

Jean’s unfinished dinner churns in his stomach as he surveys Eren’s wide eyed gaze. Green eyes pierce through his, an indecipherable question hanging from the ends of Eren’s downturned lips. Jean’s trapped by the magnetic force of his stare, unsure if it’s safer to look away or continue this psychological torment.

The awkwardness is heightened by how polished Eren looks. The usual grease that coats his hair is gone, his chocolate locks freshly washed and appearing annoyingly soft. He also smells like soap instead of his signature scent of sweat and dirt. 

Jean frequently wishes for Eren to pay better mind to his hygiene, for everyone's sake, really. But not tonight. Not when too many weird things have happened already. Not when he’s worried about what else awaits him.  

And then, Eren smiles.

It’s not a full smile. Eren only breaks into a full smile when he or someone else touts how wonderful he is. But this is different. Just a slight curve of the left half of his mouth, so minuscule that Jean’s probably the only one at this table that notices it. 

Jean freezes. The innocence in Eren’s expression is scarier than any glare he’s thrown Jean’s way. This isn’t Eren. This is an imposter wearing Eren’s face with a mission to add to Jean’s never-ending confusion.  

Jean opens his mouth to tell Eren to knock it off, but loses his train of thought. He knows how to act around the Eren he grew up with, but the boy next to him is almost a stranger. If this Eren can rattle him from a tiny smile, how else will he surprise Jean tonight?   

“Tell me I’m right, Eren.”

Eren jerks his head toward Reiner. Aside from a rosy hue casting over the tip of his nose, the color drains from his face. A heavy sigh of relief escapes Jean’s lips, his pulse returning to a normal speed.   

“Sorry,” Eren mutters. “What were you talking about?” 

Bertholdt grins. “Nothing, just Reiner being delusional.”

“I’m telling you,” Reiner insists, “I’m making progress.”

“If she didn’t want you when she was a Scout,” Armin says, “then she’s not going to want you as the Queen.”

They must be talking about Historia. Even in Jean’s old life, Reiner’s crush on Historia was less subtle than his crush on Mikasa. He can’t fault Reiner. Historia possesses a fearlessness that anyone would find attractive. Combined with her good looks, men have fallen for less. But Reiner’s crush went unrequited for years. It seems that’s the case in this world as well.

Bertholdt throws an arm around Reiner. “Just give up,” he says. “There’s plenty of girls out there.”

“Or boys, if you’re into that,” Connie adds with a snort.

Reiner slaps Bertholdt’s hand away. “Shut up, all of you.”

Jean grins amidst the laughter that erupts from the table, but stops once a single giggle is emitted beside him. Eren shields a hand over his mouth, but his eyes reveal a carefree nature Jean isn’t used to seeing. 

Eren’s gaze shifts to Jean, and Jean refuses to engage in another unnerving staring contest. He pretends to be interested in the scraps of potato on his plate. The tingling in his cheeks burns his skin red.

Eren giggles again. Jean wants to strangle him.

Something brushes against his hand under the table, and Jean’s so skittish he actually yelps. He retracts his hand, hitting it against the wooden underside. Another cry leaves his lips, this time accompanied by his favorite swear word. 

Eren flinches, his eyes widening. Jean knows he's behind this, though he can’t guess what Eren tried to touch Jean’s hand with. It all happens too quickly for Jean to register any of its qualities other than it being soft and warm. For all he knows, Eren just pissed on him.

They have everyone’s attention now. Even some at other tables turn in their direction. Jean’s blush worsens. Eren’s expression twists into one familiar to Jean, that helpless look he often gets when he feels sorry for himself. 

Problem is, Eren only has himself to blame for Jean’s reaction. If he’s looking for pity, he won’t get it from Jean.     

“What the hell was that for?” Jean spits out.

Eren parts his lips slightly, but remains silent. 

“Hey,” Jean presses, grabbing Eren by the collar, “I’m talking to you.”

With a scowl, Eren grabs Jean’s wrist. He applies no pressure, not even a small squeeze. It’s like Jean’s being held by a little kid.

“Don’t rip my shirt,” Eren says through his teeth.

“Ah,” Sasha chimes in, “it’s just like old times. Jean and Eren butting heads.” She leans into Marco, who’s snickering too much for Jean’s liking.

Jean lets go of Eren’s shirt, but follows up with a playful smack to Eren's scalp .

“It’s sad,” he says, to no one in particular. “You’d think after four years of acting like a suicidal maniac, this idiot would grow up a little bit.”

Eren smirks and presses his thigh to Jean’s again. 

“You call me a suicidal maniac when you’re the one who tripped over your own two feet and knocked yourself out.”

The insult is received well. Too well. Even Mikasa chuckles at Eren’s stupid remark. Jean flushes a deeper shade of red, but not out of embarrassment. 

“Careful, Jean boy,” Reiner teases, like the dumbass he is. He gestures to Mikasa. “Eren’s winning over your girl.”

Eren snorts. “Give Mikasa some credit. She’s way too smart to fall for a horseface like Jean.”

Marco is on the verge of choking from holding in his laughter. Jean side eyes him. He may be on cloud nine from having his best friend back, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be irritated by Marco’s lack of solidarity. 

It all leads back to Eren. Jean can teleport to another planet five million light years away, and Eren Jaeger will still find a way to follow him and ruin everything. Even in a new world where his best friend never died and his crush smiles at him with a new appreciation, Eren has to ruin that too.

If Jean doesn’t put a stop to this now, it’ll never end.

“Okay,” he says, “I’ve had enough.”

He grabs Eren’s shirt again and flings him out of his seat. He stands as Eren stumbles to the ground, his body smacking the cobblestone with a satisfying thwack. Everyone gasps apart from Marco and Mikasa, who appear indifferent to Jean’s and Eren’s shenanigans after all this time. 

Silence spreads over the rest of the dining hall. If they didn’t have the crowd’s attention before, they certainly do now. 

Eren gets up and charges for Jean. He doesn’t swing, but he bares his teeth and gives Jean a lackluster shove. That irritates Jean further. If Eren insists on being the bane of Jean’s existence, the least he can do is put up a proper fight. 

Connie leaps from the table and hugs Jean from behind. Armin goes for Eren, but Eren doesn't put up a fight that requires restraining. Jean, on the other hand, can’t free himself fast enough.  

“Woah, woah,” Connie says. “Jean, we can’t afford you getting hurt again.”

Jean scoffs. “He won’t hurt me. He only had the upper hand because Pixis distracted me. But I won’t lose focus this time.”

Eren scrunches his face, his anger replaced with confusion in the blink of an eye. 

“What the hell is he talking about?” Reiner calls from the table.

Jean drops his shoulders. Connie still has a hold on him, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not in the mood to relay his disaster of a day just to be called crazy a second time. 

Marco’s next to stand up. Once positioned between Jean and Eren, Connie lets Jean go. 

Marco places an assuring hand on Jean’s shoulder. “Maybe you should call it a night.”

“We’ll be in town for a few days,” Armin says. “We can always hang out tomorrow when you’re feeling better.”

Jean clenches a fist at his side. “I feel fine!”

“No, I agree,” Mikasa pipes up. “You should get some rest.”

Damn it. Jean usually has no issue setting aside his feelings for Mikasa to tell her what she needs to hear over what she wants. But after how kind she’s been to him this evening, how pretty she looks when she smiles at him, how can he tell her no?

He stares at the ground. “Whatever.”

Mikasa speaks again. “You too, Eren.”

“Hmm?” Eren asks.

“You haven’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks. You need to prioritize your health.”

Jean peers up in time to catch Eren giving a weak shrug.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Fine.”

Sasha sports a menacing grin. “Now the real question is do Eren and Jean murder each other on the way to their rooms?”

“I’m betting tomorrow’s dinner on Eren,” Reiner says. “Gotta stay loyal to the Scouts.”

“I’m betting your dinner on Jean,” she replies.

“Huh? That’s not how that works!”

Jean dismisses himself, offering a quick goodbye to Marco and Mikasa. Everyone else is on his bad list right now. Except Armin, but Armin is too busy saying goodnight to Eren and Jean wants to get away fast enough so Eren can’t catch up to him. 

It doesn’t work.

Eren hovers beside him on their walk back like a mosquito. Jean refuses to spare him a glance. He shakes his head, huffing and puffing and hoping Eren takes the hint to give him some damn space. 

Of course, because Eren either doesn’t understand or doesn’t care to understand social cues, he nudges Jean’s elbow. 

“You’re too good of an actor, you know,” he says. “Some of those things you said were starting to hurt my feelings.”

Jean finally looks over, and a chill rushes through him as he processes how sad Eren looks. He’s pouting like Jean killed his family or something. Is this another one of Eren’s manipulation tactics? Jean’s gut says no, but his head can’t comprehend why Eren would appear so defeated after one of their typical arguments. It didn't even turn physical this time.

At the end of the hall, they break off in opposite directions. The Scouts are sleeping in another wing, thank God. The only way Jean can sleep peacefully tonight is with the knowledge that Eren will be somewhere far from his reach.

Back in his room, Jean makes for his desk. He fetches the letter from Berry and reads through it again. Except this time, he reads it with the theory that it came from Mikasa.

For the first paragraph, his heart swells as he scans each word. For the second and third, his excitement depletes. She’s still his best bet of sending this letter, judging from her behavior tonight, but the sentiments in this letter don’t fit the Mikasa he knows. He can’t picture her using exclamation marks, and he certainly can’t picture her caring about gaining Captain Levi’s approval for anything, especially when it involves a boy she’s in love with.

He won’t lose hope yet. He's waited too long to give up this easily.

Besides, if it’s not Mikasa, who else can it be?

Someone knocks twice on his door. Startled, Jean drops the letter. He quickly stuffs it in his desk’s bottom drawer and smooths out his clothes. He scans the rest of the room, ensuring there’s no other visible traces of Berry. 

When he comes up empty, he takes a steady breath. He shuffles to the door, curious to who is on the other side. Marco, hopefully. Jean's not in the mood to talk to anyone else. Maybe Mikasa, but not in his bedroom. 

Jean opens the door and is hit with a burst of cerulean. Eren’s eyes are shy but bright, a wisp of a smile tugging at his lips as he takes Jean into view. Before Jean can turn him away, he notices what Eren is carrying, and all his bravado is lost.   

 “Um, hi?”

Eren places the bouquet in Jean’s arms. “For you.”

Jean furrows his brows as he studies his gift. Five vibrant sunflowers wrapped in cellophane smile up at him, looking as dopey as Eren does right now.

“Sunflowers,” he says to Eren, neither a statement or a question.

Eren tucks a patch of hair behind his ear. “The nearest flower shop was out of roses,” he says, avoiding Jean’s gaze. “But the owner said sunflowers last longer anyway.”

Jean inspects the flowers further, convinced Eren hid a bee nest in them. But it’s just a bouquet of ordinary flowers. They’re not even pretty. Jean’s tempted to shove them into Eren’s chest and slam the door in his face. He’s too irritated to deal with one of Eren’s practical jokes that only he finds funny.

In the midst of his dilemma, however, Eren snakes into his bedroom. Jean cries out in protest, but Eren yanks the sunflowers from his grasp and tosses them on Jean’s desk.

“Hey!” Jean tells him. “You can’t just barge into my room uninvited!”

As he approaches, Eren rolls his eyes. “Drop the act.” 

He brushes past Jean and closes the door, locking it behind them. Jean, mouth hanging open, is rattled as Eren then throws him against the wall, holding him by his biceps.  

Jean’s blood is pumping hard. It’s one thing for Eren to challenge him in the dining hall, or in the Premier’s courthouse, or in the Scouts’ outdoor corridor. But Jean’s bedroom is off limits. Eren better put up a better fight than he did earlier, because Jean won’t hesitate to punch him this time. 

He puffs his chest out. “You seriously want to fight right now?”

Eren cups Jean’s cheek. “Oh, shut up.”

Slender fingers sneak to the back of Jean’s head. And then, standing on his toes, Eren seals their lips together. 

Jean’s eyes shoot open, his body freezing in place. Eren steals a breath as he kisses Jean harder, his free hand grabbing a fistful of Jean’s shirt. 

This isn’t happening. 

Eren is kissing Jean. 

Eren is kissing Jean.

Jean doesn’t reciprocate, but he doesn’t shove Eren away. Everything of his has shut down: his brain, his heart, his mouth. If Eren loosens his grip even a bit, Jean will collapse to the ground.

Eren breaks for air, a tender smile overpowering him. He flutters his eyelashes as he scans Jean’s face, still too close for Jean’s body temperature to reduce to normal levels. The intimacy that lingers behind his gaze is one that Jean never wants to see from Eren ever again. It’s horrifying. 

Eren hooks his arms beneath Jean’s and wraps him in a soft hug. He kisses down Jean’s neck, the touch of his lips sending a shiver down Jean’s spine. 

“What are you doing?” he chokes out.

Eren laughs into his skin. “Don’t worry,” he whispers between kisses. “Connie’s not gonna get back for at least another thirty minutes. We’re safe.”

“No!”

He shoves Eren away, the feeling in his legs returning to him. Jean stands tall. His confidence is fake, but he can’t show weakness in front of Eren. If he does, Eren may try some weird shit again. 

“That’s not what I mean,” he says. “Why are you acting like this?”

Eren stares at Jean as if it’s obvious. Jean doesn’t pick up whatever hints he’s throwing, so after a long pause, Eren speaks his thoughts aloud. 

“Because I missed you?” he says. “Is it wrong to want to kiss my boyfriend after not seeing him for two months?”

Jean drops his jaw. He steps backward, but remembers he’s against a wall. There’s nowhere to run. His only option is to stand here, wide eyed and shell shocked, and digest that cursed word that leaves Eren’s mouth. 

Boyfriend?

Chapter Text

“Did you say boyfriend?”

It’s a useless question. Eren’s words couldn’t have been more clear. But Jean can’t think of anything else to say. 

“Yeah,” Eren answers. With a small pout, he looks away. “I guess we never made it official, but I never felt like we had to.” He locks eyes with Jean again and grabs his hand. “I mean, we’re together, aren’t we?”

Jean presses his back to the wall like he wants to fuse with it. The knot in his stomach tightens, forcing the steak he demolished earlier back up his esophagus. Eren watches him, none the wiser that his thumb caressing Jean’s knuckles increases the likelihood that the latter will throw up on him.    

Jean takes two long breaths before he forgets how.

“This is insane,” he says. “This is absolutely insane.”

“What’s insane?”

“This!” He yanks his hand away. “Eren, quit messing around. You don’t like me like that.”

It has the opposite effect. Eren’s expression softens, almost appearing offended. Instead of reaching for Jean’s hand again, Eren cups a palm around his hip. 

His hand is warm. Too warm. Slim fingers slip beneath the hem of Jean’s shirt as Eren grasps him with purpose. 

“Of course I do. Jean, you’re everything to me.”

“No I’m not,” Jean argues. 

Hands tight around Eren’s shoulders, Jean pushes him an arm’s distance away. It’s not enough space to alleviate Jean’s stress, but this wall has become his safe haven. Something in this room needs to serve the role of holding him upright, and he refuses to give Eren that privilege.    

“You hate me,” Jean says. “I hate you. That’s the way it’s always been, remember? I’m not even into guys.”

Ever since Jean hit puberty, it’s been all about girls. He isn’t the best at charming them, but that doesn’t stop his admiration. Girls are cute. They’re compassionate. They have beautiful hair and beautiful smiles and even the slightest bit of physical contact will keep Jean awake for hours replaying the memory.

The number of times he felt that way about a boy? Zero. Zilch. Nil. 

He may be in a different universe, but universes can't alter sexualities. Jean Kirstein is straight. Always has been, always will be. 

Besides, even if he were attracted to boys, Jean would never crush on Eren fucking Jaegar. Maybe Marco or Armin, someone who doesn’t make him want to bash his head into a wall. But he spent all morning with Marco, and Armin was quite chatty at dinner. Neither of them evoked any romantic feelings from Jean, which proves this whole thing is bullshit.         

Jean’s convinced of it. Eren, not so much.

“Oh, God,” he says, eyes widening. “You forgot about me.”

His eyes don’t leave Jean, but Jean refuses to meet his gaze. Jean focuses on Eren’s ear. It’s away enough from Eren’s face that the lump in Jean’s throat subsides, but close enough that he doesn’t appear too intimidated. 

“Connie mentioned earlier that you lost some of your memories after you hit your head,” Eren mutters, “but I never thought you’d actually forget me. Or us.” 

Us. The way he says it sets Jean’s skin on fire. Like it’s something Jean should thank the heavens for instead of damn to hell.  

Eren sighs and shuffles over to Jean’s desk. Jean wants to protest because his belongings and Eren Jaeger is a combination that should never mix, but allows it for the ample breathing room Eren’s absence provides. 

He grabs the bouquet of sunflowers he placed there earlier. He sits sideways, head tilted down. As he speaks, he cradles the flowers and brushes his fingers along the cellophane wrapping.

“No wonder why you were so cold during dinner. I thought you were just upset because you found out about Mikasa.” 

“Mikasa?” Jean asks.

Eren peers up at him. “It was an accident, I swear. She barged into my room when I was writing a letter for you. She caught me with it and it all just sort of spilled out. She promised she wouldn’t tell anyone, but she was being so damn obvious at dinner.” He presses a hand to his forehead. “It won’t surprise me if everyone figures it out by morning.”

Salt on an open wound. So Mikasa wasn’t being kind to Jean at dinner because she likes him. She’s just warmed up to Jean because of whatever the hell Eren told her. Mikasa’s insistence that Jean sat next to her was just a diversion so he could sit next to Eren. 

Disappointment washes over his face, which Eren picks up on immediately.

“I’m sorry. But you can’t be too mad at me since you told Marco about us first.”

Marco? Looking back, his behavior at dinner was strange, too. He and Mikasa were the most entertained by Jean’s little spat with Eren.

Is it because they thought it was an act? It certainly wasn’t on Jean’s part. But Eren?

“You’re too good of an actor, you know,” he says. “Some of those things you said were starting to hurt my feelings.”

Yeah, that must be it. Eren was just acting. Whatever relationship Eren thinks he has with Jean, it exists only in secret. And Marco and Mikasa are the only two who are aware of it.

Another conversation flashes in Jean’s mind. This morning, Marco playfully shoved him while they were talking about their reunion with the Scouts.

“Besides, you can’t let Eren see you like this, right?”  

Jean thought Marco was referring to Eren as Jean’s adversary. Was he actually teasing Jean about having a boyfriend?

God, that word is so weird. 

But the pieces are coming together. And for the first time today, Jean reckons he’s better off in the dark. All the evidence in the world can be thrown at him, and he’ll still never understand how Military Police Jean could stomach Eren for more than five minutes, let alone enter a relationship with him.

He needs to lie down, but not with Eren in the room. Jean is already vulnerable enough. He settles for sitting on the edge of his bed. He hunches his posture to prevent hitting his head against the bottom of Connie’s bunk. It's uncomfortable, but it pales in comparison to how uncomfortable this conversation is making him.  

A heavy silence passes between them, which is somehow more agonizing. Jean pushes himself to speak, even though he can’t muster more than stating the obvious.

“You’re Berry.”

A childlike grin spreads across Eren’s face. Jean hates it.

“You do remember,” Eren says. “That’s a relief. So then why don’t you look happy to see me?”

Because I’m never happy to see you, Jean wants to say. 

“I’ve just had a long day,” is what he chooses instead.

Eren sets the flowers back on Jean’s desk and rushes to sit beside him. Jean curses internally. If having Eren in his room is unsettling, having Eren in his bed sets Jean on the verge of a panic attack, cardiac arrest, and a stroke all at once.

Eren’s thigh presses against Jean’s when he sits down. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not unless you want me to start screaming,” Jean scoffs. 

“Oh, Jeannie.”

Eren leans his head on Jean’s shoulder, nuzzling into his neck. His hand migrates to Jean’s back, rubbing soft circles into his shirt. The gesture is so out of character that Jean is lost for how to react. He tenses up, but can’t find the words to push Eren away.

“I’m sorry you’ve been struggling,” Eren says. “But I’m here.”

He lifts his head so their eyes meet. His free hand traces Jean’s jawline, so tender that Jean barely feels it. 

“God,” he whispers, “I missed you so much.”

He kisses Jean for the second time this evening, which is two times too many. All he gets is a quick pressing of lips before Jean breaks away, setting a hand on Eren’s chest to create distance. 

“Stop,” he gasps.

Eren blinks repeatedly, returning his hands to his lap. This Eren appears so devastated and confused from being rejected, Jean almost feels bad for him. Almost. 

“Sorry,” Jean blurts out. “Just, uh…”

An excuse comes to him quickly. It’s not a great excuse, but he’s a desperate man. If he waits too long, Eren may try something again.

“It’s my head,” he says. “The doctor said physical touch can worsen my injury. So no hugging, no kissing, none of that stuff. Doctor’s orders.” He offers a fake shrug to sell the lie. “Sorry.”

Eren inspects Jean’s face. “Did he say for how long?”

“For eternity.”

Alright, that one may be overkill. Eren’s skepticism is prevalent, which is saying a lot since he’s not particularly intelligent. Besides, that long of a timeframe isn’t necessary.

“Or,” Jean adds, “if that doesn’t work, after a week should be fine.”

“But I’m leaving in two days,” Eren says.

“Oh well. Maybe next time.”

Eren looks like he wants to push back, but ultimately concedes. 

“Okay. I don’t want to make things worse for you. No matter how handsome you look right now.”

He glides his fingers through Jean’s hair, then retracts his hand once realization sets in.

“Right,” he says, “no touching. Sorry.”

Jean fights back a smile. He can’t believe that worked. With touching off the table, surely Eren will be on his merry way back to his room and allow Jean a peaceful night’s sleep before having to tackle this same monstrosity tomorrow.

“So, what should we do instead?”

Panic floods Jean once more. “Huh?”

“Wanna go for a walk?” Eren asks. “We can find somewhere to stargaze like we used to.”

Jean actually thinks he prefers the old Eren. At least that one wouldn’t be so persistent on clinging to Jean’s side.  

“You really want to spend time with me that badly?”

“Yes. What kind of question is that?”

Eren leans forward, so Jean leans back. No way is he risking another potential kiss, even if Eren bought his excuse. This Eren seems too smitten with Jean to remember that rule for an extended period, which may be the worst aspect of all of this. 

“Jean,” Eren asserts, “you know I lo-”

He doesn’t finish, but Jean has a good indication of what he was about to say. Jean looks up. Connie’s wooden bed frame appears sturdy enough. Maybe if he applies enough force, he can knock himself out with another head injury. Maybe that’s what’ll transport him back to his regular life. At the very least, it'll free him from this torture. 

“Well, you’re special to me,” Eren concludes.

Jean swallows hard, but stays quiet. It seems he can’t win no matter what he says, so he’d rather not waste his breath responding to such a ridiculous declaration. 

Eren frowns. “Did you even receive the last letter I sent you?”

“I did.”

“Did you read it?”

“Multiple times, actually.”

Eren shifts his gaze to the floor. “Then you should understand.”

Jean thinks back to the letter. He was so preoccupied with figuring out its sender that he didn’t take much time to reflect on its contents. But Jean read it enough times to memorize, so it doesn’t take long to get what Eren is hinting at.

“Oh,” he says. “You said you weren’t doing well.”

Eren sighs. “Not even close.”

There’s a brokenness to his voice, one too intimate for Jean’s ears.   

“I was really looking forward to seeing you,” he continues, “even if it’s just for a couple days. I could use the distraction.” He turns to Jean. “Besides, there’s something going on with me and I need your support. I can’t talk to anyone else about this.”

“What about Mikasa and Armin?”

He furrows his brows. “You know Mikasa. She’ll start panicking and become even more protective than she already is. I won’t even be able to piss by myself again if she finds out what’s going on. And Armin will immediately start brainstorming a solution because he just doesn’t get it. I don’t need a solution right now. I just need someone to listen.”

Jean can’t take this. The imbalance in vulnerability has his head spinning. Before tonight, Eren’s never so much as allowed a dent to the metal safe that imprisoned his heart, at least not to Jean. Jean was the same. Walls up, swords drawn, the desire to protect their weaknesses from those who would exploit them. In other words, each other.

But this Eren is an open book. Just looking into his eyes, Jean detects a lifetime of pain. It feels more natural than the Eren that walks around without a trace of emotion, but that doesn’t mean Jean has to like it.        

Tears well in Eren’s eyelids. “I’m scared, Jean.”

Jean turns away. “Is it really that bad?”

“It’s worse,” he whispers. 

Jean hangs his head. He’s not cut out for pep talks, especially when Eren is on the receiving end. Not that he wants to cheer Eren up. A dejected Eren on the brink of crying in his bed doesn’t erase his four year history of agitating Jean above anyone else.   

He’s not sure what possesses him to say it. Maybe it’s exhaustion. Maybe it’s the small hope that Eren will interpret it the way he intends: an invitation to leave.

“Tomorrow, all right?” he says. “A lot has happened today, and I need to sleep it off. Then, when I’m well rested, you can tell me whatever it is that’s bothering you. Deal?”

Eren dabs his eyes with his shirt. When he’s finished, his longing stare lingers over Jean, like he’s hoping Jean will say something else. Jean watches the hope drain from Eren, the greenness of his eyes losing all vibrancy.   

“Fine,” he says once it’s clear Jean won’t change his mind. “I guess I’ll go then.”

He leans forward to kiss Jean again, but stops before Jean has to remind him about the no touching rule. Lips pressed into a tight line, Eren rises from Jean’s bed, making his way to the other side of the room.

Eren opens the door, but hovers in the entryway. He looks over his shoulder, his grip on the doorknob tightening as he stares down the sunflower bouquet on Jean’s desk. 

And then, he spares Jean one final glance. 

“Goodnight, Jean.”

When he’s gone, Jean reaches for the nearest wastebasket. He hangs over it, expecting himself to vomit at any moment, but all that leaves his mouth are frantic gasps.     

“What the hell was that?” he pants.

Eren’s adoring face is still at the forefront of his mind. His hand on Jean’s hip. His lips on Jean’s neck. It will take several showers to scrub away the invisible markings of Eren’s touch. 

At least it’s over. For now, anyway.

But Jean can’t handle this two days in a row. Tomorrow he’ll hear Eren out, five minutes maximum, then lock himself in his room for the rest of the day. He won’t even open it for Marco. Maybe he'll kicked out of the Military Police because of it, but who cares about them?

He throws the wretched flowers in the trash, not thinking twice. He’ll already have a tough time sleeping tonight because of Eren’s stupid self. The last thing he needs is an ugly souvenir to make it tougher. 

A good night’s sleep. That’s all he needs. Tomorrow he’ll come back strong and prepared to keep Eren at a safe distance. He won’t freak out at every little thing Eren says, because there’s no way Eren Jaeger can surprise him more than he did tonight. For what it’s worth, nothing in this new world surprises him anymore. 

Whatever awaits him tomorrow, Jean will be the one in control. He’ll be damned if he allows Eren the upper hand again.

Chapter Text

That night, Jean dreams that he’s trapped. In every direction, darkness surrounds him. There’s no telling if he’s in a small room or an open space that stretches for miles. He can’t even distinguish his own hand when he holds it in front of his face.

It’s quiet. Jean opens his mouth, first to speak, then to scream. No sound comes out. Pressure builds in his head so intense he risks bursting his eardrums. His lungs constrict, his hands instinctively reaching for his neck as if he’s being strangled.  

Then he sees it.

A wisp of light surges in the distance. Jean runs toward it, but fails to get closer. He increases speed, pumping his legs faster than humanly possible. He’ll run for the rest of his life if that’s what it takes to get out of this strange place. When that determination sizzles through his skin, he gains serious distance.

As his surroundings get brighter, he spots a figure laid out on the ground. Jean rushes over, both relieved and frightened that he’s not alone.

But this person appears hurt. Either that or they’re sleeping. The body lies motionless on the hard floor, its only sign of life the shallow rising and falling of its chest.

When Jean is close enough to make out the person’s features, he pauses. The wires in his brain cross in irregular patterns as he grasps what he’s looking at.

It’s himself. This Jean is in his Scouts’ uniform, unlike the real one who realizes he’s still sporting the hideous Military Police waist jacket now that he’s in the light. Or is this Jean that’s passed out before him the real Jean? If it is, then what does that mean for himself?

The ground reveals itself beneath him. White marble floor stretches until it hits the abyss Jean narrowly broke free from. Walls rise from the floor, encasing the two Jeans in an expensive room. No, not a room. A hallway, appropriately decorated with rich paintings and golden wallpaper.

Jean knows this place. This is the courtroom building, the one where he last fought Eren.

Then does that mean this Jean...

He approaches again with even more urgency than before. He kneels beside the body, reaches out to grab his arm, shuddering at how limp it feels in his hold.

Jean tries to rustle him awake, but it’s useless. His eyes remain closed. Jean worries they may stay closed forever.

If that happens, he’s screwed.

“Jean boy.”

Someone calls for him, but the voice is too muffled to identify the source. Jean’s not even sure which direction it comes from.

“Jean boy,” it calls again.

Jean tunes it out. Whoever it is, they can’t be more important than him getting help for the body next to him. His body. The one that Eren knocked unconscious.

He has to do something. He can’t abandon a person in need, whether it’s his old self or a complete stranger. Problem is, he’s not sure where to start.    

“Jean boy!”

Jean jolts awake with a shriek, clutching his shirt. He gasps for air like he’s been submerged underwater. The battering of his heart against his chest prolongs his distress.

For a dream, that felt way too real. The gabardine of the other Jean’s dress uniform is ingrained in his fingertips. The chills from seeing himself in a comatose state slither down his spine.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jean boy, get up!”

“Hmm?”

When the shock of his dream wears off, Jean realizes he’s not in the same bed he fell asleep in the night before. Connie’s top bunk is nowhere to be found. His first thought is he’s back in his room at the Scouts’ dormitories. Whatever the hell happened yesterday, from the Military Police to Eren and everything in between, it’s over. Maybe it was a dream after all. Either way, he’s back where he needs to be.

But Jean’s excitement is short-lived as his eyes land on a middle-aged woman peering over him.

“You slept through your alarm,” she says.

Jean’s shock returns, but for an entirely different reason.

“Ma?”

Vera Kirstein sports a look of agitation that Jean’s not used to seeing, but that’s the least of his worries. His mom shouldn’t be here. She should be back at their home in Trost. It’s been a while since Jean last visited, and he feels guilty since he’s the only Scout who can still have fruitful conversations with his mother, but that doesn’t give her the right to intrude his military life without warning.

“I can’t be late to work,” she urges. “You better be ready in fifteen minutes or I’m leaving without you.”

Jean squints. What she’s saying makes no sense. His mother doesn’t work. Women her age rarely do. They live off the inheritance left by Jean’s father when he passed away several years ago. It’s not enough to live in luxury, but they get by. Plus, Jean gets a small monthly stipend from the military. Aside from necessities and emergency spending, he gives the rest to her.

He sits up. “What are you-”

His thoughts are broken when he observes the scenery behind Vera. This definitely isn’t the Scouts’ dormitories. It’s not even his bedroom back in Trost. The walls are painted a sage green, something he’s never seen before. Dark rug-like material covers the floor, but there’s no pattern on it. It’s just a single shade that stretches across the entirety of the room.

The chandelier in the center doesn’t look like a chandelier. Jean can’t imagine what else it can be, but instead of glass branches, it possesses three wooden blades emerging from a round middle. Bright light emits from that middle portion, too bright to only be holding a single candle. Jean reckons a chandelier is more practical.

He scans the rest of the room, overwhelmed by how loud it is. Crisp drawings are taped to each wall, most of them of people Jean’s never seen. They’re captioned Lionel Messi, Bad Bunny, Star Wars (whatever that means), and a bunch of other things.

No way Jean drew these. They’re way too detailed, and these people look too lifelike. They remind Jean of the photograph discovered in Grisha Jaeger’s basement. But these can’t be photographs. They’re in color.

Then again, even the richest people will have a hard time coming across paints or pencils that produce colors this vivid.

Jean hops out the bed and rummages around. There’s weird trinkets everywhere, like the little rectangular item on the nightstand. Jean reaches to pick it up, but it lights up before he makes contact. Friday, October 6^th, 7:43 is what it says at the top, a backdrop of an alluring sunset overtaking the rest of it.

Jean’s never seen anything like it.

“What the hell?”

“Fifteen minutes, Jean,” Vera says from behind him. “I mean it.”

He turns back to her and risks popping an eye vessel when he fully takes in her appearance. Vera is more polished than usual, her copper hair possessing an unnatural shine as it falls past her shoulders. And her outfit. Where the hell did she find that? Since when did they make suits for women? Since when did they come in royal blue?

Vera leaves before Jean can question anything. Now alone, this room feels a lot scarier. At least when he woke up in the M.P. dormitories with Connie, he at least understood what everything was. Here, he’s more confused than not.

Vera asked him to get ready. For what, Jean has no clue. But there’s no military uniforms in any of the dresser drawers (they’re painted white, as if he needs another thing to be perplexed by), so he doubts it’s for that. He opts for casual wear, but all of these clothes are so ugly. They’re baggy, too vibrant in color, and the tops all have weird patterns stitched into them. The first pair of underwear he grabs is black with little skulls adorned throughout. Jean can admire good craftwork, but these garments must have been designed by someone with a sick sense of humor.     

When it’s clear he won’t find anything he likes, he throws on a turquoise sweater with some black detailing on the sleeves. It cuts off past his knees, which isn’t ideal, but he’s in a rush. The dark pants he pairs them with are also on the looser side, but at least he has a belt to prevent them from falling down. There’s some strange shapes stitched in by his hips. He glides his fingers over them, and that’s when he realizes they’re pockets. The only thing of Jean’s that has pockets is the trench coat of his dress uniform. If he weren’t so unsettled by everything else, he’d be impressed.

He can’t rationalize any of this without acknowledging the obvious: Jean may be free from that damning universe where he’s a Military Police soldier, but he’s definitely not back in the one he calls home.

What world did he wake up in this time?

Because he’s still intrigued by the rectangular item on the nightstand, he slides that into his left pocket. He’d stay longer to scope out the abundance of trinkets in this room, but his mom is waiting for him.  

“That’s a lovely outfit,” Vera says when he meets her downstairs.

Jean scrunches his face and tugs at his sweater. “If you say so.”

Vera kisses his cheek, then offers him a paper bag. “Here’s your lunch. Now grab your backpack. I already started the car.”

“The what?”

Vera grabs a set of keys off the counter and dashes for the exit. Jean follows, picking up a black bag by the door that he assumes belongs to him. Vera locks the door behind them, and Jean gawks at this house’s exterior. He’s not certain what the siding is made from, but it’s not wood or stone, the only two designs he’s ever seen for houses or buildings. Also, it’s painted a deep navy, paired with a bright yellow front door. What’s this world’s obsession with bright colors?

Still, it pales in comparison to his surprise upon viewing the complex machinery that Vera approaches. It’s silver, on four wheels, and has windows in every direction. It reminds him of a carriage, except there’s no horse to pull it.

Jean gets in on the opposite side of Vera. The seat is made of leather. Fancy, and way outside of the Kirstein budget.

“Put your seatbelt on, please,” Vera says.

He copies his mom and pulls at the black strap by his shoulder. There’s a corresponding buckle at his opposite hip, and he secures himself with a sharp click. Once he’s secure, Vera fidgets with the lever that sits between them. Then, the car is in motion.

Jean yelps, but Vera's too focused to comment on it.

His breathing accelerates as he stares out the window, watching the row of obnoxiously colored houses vanish from view. This is insane. The car is moving. And judging by her hand placement on the wheel, Vera is the one operating it.  

“No way,” he whispers. He’s too stunned to say anything else.

Jean is torn between being amazed and horrified. A futuristic society is always cool to think about, but living in one is a different story. He won’t have the first clue of how anything works. How is he supposed to survive an atmosphere where he’s unaware of what survival skills he’ll even need?

“Jean boy?”

Jean doesn’t answer. He’s too mesmerized by all the other cars on the trail, operating in the same fashion as Vera’s.

“Jean.”

He snaps out of it. “Yes?”

“Are you alright?”

He caves into himself. He has no answer to that question, so he poses one instead.

“Um, where am I going?”

“School,” Vera says with amusement. “It is Friday, after all.”

“Right. Just checking.”

School, as it turns out, takes ten minutes to get to. Jean wonders how long it would take to get there by foot. He always walked to school when he was younger since the neighborhood was so small. 

Vera follows the line of cars that move toward the entrance. One by one, they pull up to the front and a teenager hops out, each one with more confusing fashion tastes than the last. At least Jean will fit in.

“Have a great day,” Vera says once they reach the front.

Jean gives a curt nod. “Sure.”

“Love you, honey.”

He’s already one step out the door, but he looks back over at her with a soft smile.

“I love you too, Ma,” he tells her, because it’s true. While he’s yet to have a moment of peace this morning, it’s good to see her. As soon as he gets back to his old life, visiting her will top his priority list.

Backpack on and lunch bag in hand, Jean gets out. Vera speeds off, then the panic settles in again. Jean has no clue where to go, and this building is way too big to accidentally stumble upon the right place.

“Jean!”

To his left, someone waves for him. Their eyes meet, and Jean relaxes into a relieved smile. He runs over, almost embarrassed by how eager he comes across.

“Oh, thank God,” he says. “You’re here too.”

Marco smiles back. “Unfortunately. But hey, at least it’s almost the weekend.” He inspects Jean’s outfit. “Cool sweater.”

“Is it really?” he asks, fully skeptical.

Marco snickers and starts walking. Jean tags along, not even bothering to ask if he and Marco are meant to be going to the same place. This school probably has dozens of classrooms. His old school only had three.

As they make their way inside, Marco pulls something from his pocket. Jean recognizes it as the same funny instrument he found on the nightstand, the one that’s currently residing in his own pocket.

“You have one of those, too!”

Marco looks at him. “My phone?”

“Phone,” Jean repeats, storing the word into his brain.

“Don’t worry,” Marco says. “Ms. Ral was just bluffing about confiscating it for a week. She gave it back at the end of school yesterday.” He points at Jean. “Which, by the way, you still owe me for taking the fall for you.”

Jean has no idea what he’s talking about, but if phones are something that can be confiscated, then they must be important.

“Okay,” he concedes.

They carry through the halls, Jean’s head snapping in every direction as he takes the scenery. A collection of tall, blue storage cabinets are cemented into the walls, stretching along the endless corridor. They're narrow, but wide enough for kids to deposit their belongings in them. Jean wonders if it’s a free for all or if he has one assigned to him.

Light sources scatter the ceiling, except they’re all flat. Definitely no room to fit a candle. This must be another technological advancement he’s in the dark about.

It’s when they pass a line of flags, each with different symbols and colors on them, that Jean stops in his tracks.

“Wait,” he says to Marco, “did you say Ms. Ral? As in Petra Ral?”

Marco smirks. “Since when are you two on a first name basis? You’re gonna make me jealous.”

Jean’s face grows hot. He needs to remember that this is a completely different universe. For all he knows, the Scouts don’t even exist here. Then again, how else is he supposed to react when he hears a deceased soldier of Captain Levi’s squad is one of the staff members?

“I just…I know who she is.”

Marco snorts. “I would hope so.”

A sharp ding erupts through the halls, catching Jean off guard. No one else reacts to it, but several students increase their pace. Some that hover the nearby classrooms dip inside.

Marco slumps his shoulders. “The day just started and I’m already over it.”

“You and me both,” Jean mumbles.

They round corner after corner. Jean’s tempted to accuse Marco of not knowing where he’s going, but he has no place to judge.

Marco leads him to a classroom at the end of the far wing. Jean trudges along the floor, not the least bit ready for school after a year of being out of it. Hopefully he hasn’t forgotten much.

His presumed teacher stands outside the door, greeting students as they enter. It’s nice, in theory, but Jean’s jaw falls open. In his time as a Scout, he’s seen those lips curve into a smile a total of one time. But now, they shape into a permanent grin.

“Good morning, gentlemen.”

“Captain Levi?” Jean blurts out.

Levi chuckles. “That’s a new one.” He gestures to the nameplate by the door. “While I appreciate your creativity, Jean, I ask that you stick to Mr. Ackerman.”

Well, at least he knows who Jean is in this universe. But that doesn’t simmer the discomfort in Jean’s stomach. Levi smiling is, for a lack of better word, disturbing. Jean respects the hell out of Levi, but Levi has always been the stone-faced leader with no tolerance for childish antics.

But here, he’s so relaxed. His eyes are gentle, his teeth are disgustingly white, and his tie has little cats reading books on it.

“‘Sup, Mr. Ackerman?” a random student shouts as he passes by.

Levi waves graciously. “Good morning.”

Two girls Jean recognizes as Historia Reiss and Hitch Dreyse break through their huddle. Jean immediately glances away, his cheeks flaming red. Never has he seen girls wear skirts that hit above the knee, but Historia and Hitch sport outfits that fall at their mid thighs. He only catches a slight glance, but Jean still feels like he just committed a crime.

“Hi, Mr. Ackerman,” they say in unison.

“Good to see you.”

“He’s so hot,” Historia says once they’re inside. If it means to be a whisper, she fails terribly.

Hitch giggles. “I know, right?”

Levi either ignores them or pretends he doesn’t hear. He shifts his attention back to Jean and Marco.

“Well, get inside, you two. The bell’s gonna ring any minute.”

In the classroom, students have individual desks instead of three or four to a long table. Jean hates it. His long legs barely fit into this funky contraption.

Marco’s to the left of him, Connie on the right. One look at Connie’s jacket and hat combination and Jean worries he’ll go blind if he looks any longer.

Levi teaches history, which catches Jean’s interest. History always came easily to him. He had the timeline of Eldia’s formation memorized by age nine.

“What year did World War I start?” Levi asks.

“1914,” someone calls out.

Jean’s eyes widen, but he recovers quickly. He probably misheard.

“Very good,” Levi answers. “And which country declared war in 1914?”

Marco tentatively raises his hand. “Germany?”

“Not quite.”

“Austria-Hungary,” another student answers, to which Levi responds with a thumbs-up.

“Which country did they declare war against?”

“Serbia,” Historia says.

“Why?”

At that, Jean raises his hand.

“Jean,” Levi says with a smile.

“I’m sorry,” Jean mutters. “Did you say 1914?”

“Yes, we covered the notable dates of World War I last week.”

“But…how are we expected to know about a war that hasn’t happened yet?”

The class bursts into laughter, though Levi doesn’t look amused. He crosses his arms and glares at Jean. There’s the Levi he knows and is forever intimidated by.

“Are you high?” Connie asks Jean. More laughter.

“That’s enough, Connie,” Levi cuts in.

“What year is it?” Jean asks, clutching the ends of his desk.

“2023,” Hitch says, looking at Jean like he’s a massive idiot.

“What the fuck?”

“Okay.” Levi’s tone grows stern. “Mr. Kirstein, please see me after class. Can anyone else tell me what started World War I?”

A boy in the front row raises his hand. It takes a moment for Jean to recognize Armin beneath the thick framed eyeglasses.

“The assassination of Franz Ferdinand,” he answers.

Levi nods and proceeds with the lesson. Jean sinks in his chair, tuning out the rest of class. He spends its entirety trying to make sense that he somehow transported 1172 years into the future. Not just him, his friends and family too.

When the period ends, Jean stays behind as requested. Levi’s at his desk, so Jean approaches him. Levi’s disappointment is evident, which has Jean strangely missing the Levi that simply kicks him in the gut when he gets pissed off.

“Jean,” he says, “I know history isn’t your strongest subject, but I do expect that when you’re in my classroom, you pay attention and behave in a respectful manner.”

“Sorry Cap-” Jean pauses when he catches his mistake. “Uh, Mr. Ackerman.”

Levi’s expression softens. “Still, you’ve never been a student I had to worry about disrupting the class. Is everything alright?”

Jean debates whether to be honest. Levi’s smart, but probably too smart to believe what’s happening with Jean.

“You know you can always come to me,” he assures. “Or if you’re not comfortable with that, you should talk to your guidance counselor. You have Mr. Berner, right?”

Moblit Berner. Another dead Survey Corps member.

“Sure,” Jean tells him.

“Sorry for the hold up.”

A blond head pops into the doorway. Jean forces himself not to wheeze upon seeing Erwin Smith’s piercing blue eyes land on him.

Erwin was the Commander of the Survey Corps before Hange, up until his death during the battle to retake Wall Maria. His loss was a devastating blow, both to the Scouts and to humanity.

Yet here he is, very much alive. Is this school just staffed with a bunch of dead people?

“Oh,” Erwin says. He clears his throat and steps inside. “Hello Jean.” He awkwardly waves at Levi. “Mr. Ackerman.”

“Commander Erwin?”

Erwin grins and nods to himself. “Nice. I like it.”

“Don’t encourage him, Coach Smith,” Levi says. “Can I help you?”

“Right.” He clears his throat again. “I was just, uh, wondering if you were still coming to the…staff meeting.”

Levi perks up. “Ah, that’s right. Tell them I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Erwin’s gaze shifts between Jean and Levi. “Well,” he says, voice shaky, “the meeting is only thirty minutes. And the staff would really appreciate your attendance for its entire duration.”

Levi concedes with a slight smile. “Fine.” He starts drafting a yellow slip on his desk. “Jean, you’re free to go. Take this late pass.”

He gives it to Jean, then Jean’s out the door. He bids farewell to Erwin, leaving him and Levi to attend whatever staff meeting they were talking about.

While he’s pleased to not be in trouble with Levi, Jean can’t even enjoy it because he has no idea where to go next. Marco’s not around to guide him. Nobody is. He supposes he can walk into every room until he finds the right one, but he’d rather not make a bigger idiot out of himself.  

After two minutes, Jean’s pretty sure he just walked in a circle. It doesn’t help that all these classrooms look the same from the outside. The names jump out at him, though. Mr. Dok, Ms. Nanaba, Mr. Jinn, Ms. Brzenska. Room after room, the names slap Jean with a grim reality. He feels himself getting a headache.

“Lost?”

Jean spins around and spots Commander Pixis standing in the entryway of one of the rooms. If it has to be any military member, Pixis isn’t the worst choice. Jean doubts he’ll get a lecture from not being in class.

Pixis steps toward Jean. “I’m starting to think you and secluded hallways don’t mix.”

“Sorry,” Jean answers. “I’m a little out of it today.”

He smiles. “Perhaps this will prove beneficial.”

He offers Jean a piece of paper, though this one isn’t a late pass. Jean’s name is at the top. The rest is a grid broken into eight sections, each with a number, class subject, and teacher. This must be Jean’s class schedule.

“Why do you-”

“You’re an open book, Jean,” Pixis says. “You always have been.”

Jean has no idea how to interpret that, so he doesn’t. “Thank you.”

According to this list, next class is mathematics with Petra, ahem, Ms. Ral. Room 143. That’s wonderful. Too bad Jean has no idea how to get there.

“Down the hall and to the right,” Pixis chimes in.

Jean questions if old people have a sixth sense or something.

“Thanks, uh,” he says, eyeing the nameplate by the door, “Mr. Pixis.”

Pixis nods, then retreats to the room he came out of. Jean heads off to Petra’s classroom, which is right around the corner. She’s in the middle of drafting a problem on the board when he enters.

She looks toward him. “Oh. There you are, Jean.”

Jean hands her his late pass. “This is for you.”

“Thank you. Take your seat, please.”

Great. More stupid desks with not enough leg room. At least he’s sitting beside Marco again.   

“Did Mr. Ackerman give you detention?” he whispers when Jean sits down.

“I don’t think so,” Jean whispers back.

Marco smiles. “He’s cool like that. You’re lucky.”

“Marco,” Petra calls from the chalkboard, “I know you and Jean are attached at the hip, but surely your conversation can wait until class is over?”

A cackle comes from the back of the room. Petra stares down the perpetrator.

“While you’re at it, Ms. Leonhart, please spit out your gum.”

Jean turns around and sure enough, there’s Annie. She spits into a little paper wrapper, which Jean finds repulsive, and leaves it on her desk. It seems her nonchalant demeanor transcends into this universe.

Jean moves to glance toward the front again, but his eyes don’t quite make it there. Instead, they fall on the pair of eyes to his right, green and big and fully focused on him.

He screams, catching Eren and the rest of the room off guard. Petra flinches and drops her chalk.

“Jean!”

Jean ignores her. All that’s on his mind is the sight of his unconscious body in that twisted dream he had. The unconscious body that was the result of Eren Jaeger’s aggression. It has to be why Jean’s going through all of this now. Nothing else makes sense.    

He leaps from his desk (hitting his knees against the underside), and grips Eren by the collar.

“You! What did you do to me?!”

“Mr. Kirstein!” Petra yells. “To the principal’s office, now!”

Jean leaves, but only after Marco pulls him back to prevent the situation from escalating. He goes back to Pixis’s room, figuring he’ll be able to tell him where the principal’s office is.

But just like before, Pixis is already in the doorway. If Jean didn’t know any better, he’d think Pixis was waiting for him.

“Back so soon, Jean?”

Just then, Jean peers at the nameplate by the door. He didn’t notice before, but it’s there, clear as day. Right under Pixis’s name is an additional plate that says Principal.

Jean sighs. This is going to be a long day.  

Chapter Text

Pixis’s office is the least interesting room Jean’s been in this morning, which provides a strange comfort. Aside from the ceiling lights, there isn’t much that’s foreign to him. The walls are bland, the cabinets are a dull grey, and Pixis’s desk is clean with the exception of a small stack of paper. If Jean imagines hard enough, it resembles the layout of Commander Hange’s office.   

“Would you like something to drink?” Pixis asks, red mug in hand. “Water? Coffee?”

Jean doesn’t know what coffee is, and he’s not in the mood to find out.

He dips his head. “No thank you.”

Pixis smiles and sits behind his desk, Jean positioned on the opposite side. He sips from the red mug, an uncomfortable silence cutting through the air.

“So,” he says once he’s done, “do you want to tell me what happened with Eren?”

Jean winces. “How do you know I'm here because of Eren?”

“Why else would you be here?”

It’s a fair answer, Jean hates to admit. He has no comeback, so he stays mute.

Pixis shakes his head. “I swear, the two of you.” He says it with a sigh, but Jean detects a hint of amusement. “I’ll say this, you kids keep me young. But surely you must find it tiring to have this much hostility for each other after all this time.”

“Eren Jaeger ruined my life,” Jean replies, with more conviction than anything else he’s said today. “More than you could imagine. So, no, I’m perfectly fine hating him.”

Pixis rests his elbows on the desk. “I can tell you’re under a lot of stress, Jean. And since you came to my office before you got violent with Eren, I’m reluctant to punish you. But I’ll feel better about that decision if you can assure me there won’t be another incident.”

Jean huffs. “Don’t worry. I plan on avoiding Eren the rest of the day. Preferably the rest of my life.”

“That’ll be hard to do when you share five classes together.”

“Five?”

Pixis smiles again. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

Great. Seeing Eren for that split second in Petra’s class was enough to set Jean’s blood on fire. Five whole classes together feels like a cruel joke. Five classes of being reminded of Eren pressed against him the night before, marking him with his lips. Five classes of wondering if the Jean from his old life, the one Eren knocked unconscious, is even alive anymore.

“But you and Eren are both good kids,” Pixis says. “I’m sure if you try, you’ll be able to come to an understanding.”

“What if I don’t want that?”

Pixis shrugs. “Then you’re only hurting yourself.”

“How?”

A thick tension looms around them. Pixis scans Jean’s face, golden eyes narrowing just slightly. Jean considers dropping his question to end this strange shift in atmosphere.   

Before he gains the confidence, Pixis leans back in his seat. 

“I think I’ve kept you here long enough. You’re free to go back to class.” With a grin, he adds, “I hope this is the last time our paths cross today.”

His tone carries a finality, not that Jean plans on negotiating. The way Pixis glanced over him still has his head spinning, but Pixis has always been on the more eccentric side. He likely dismissed Jean’s question because he had no real answer. It's not out of character for Pixis to speak in riddles for the hell of it.

“Sure,” Jean tells him. 

He returns to Petra’s class, heat rising to his face as he gains the attention of everyone in the room. He makes a conscious effort to avoid Eren’s gaze on the way to his seat. Halfway there, however, Petra cuts him off.  

“Oh, absolutely not,” she says. “Jean, switch seats with Mikasa today.”

He turns to her. “Mikasa?”

He didn’t know Mikasa was in this class. Surely he would’ve noticed her presence. Jean always notices when Mikasa is around.  

A girl rises from a seat in the front row, and Jean shrieks when he gets a proper look at her. It’s Mikasa, but her appearance is far removed from the Mikasa he saw last night. Her outfit is all black, from her shirt to her skirt to her hole-patterned stockings to her sneakers. Even her lips and eyelids are painted black. It’s as if Jean’s looking at the human embodiment of death.

Mikasa rolls her eyes as she passes him. “Nice to see you too, asshole.”

“Language,” Petra says over a chorus of giggling students. 

Once Jean takes Mikasa’s seat, Petra resumes her lesson. Like Levi’s class, Jean spaces out the entire duration. Concentrating on school is impossible when his life is this hectic. 

Against better judgment, he glances at Eren across the room halfway through the period. He means to be subtle, but Eren notices immediately, his expression softening as he locks eyes with Jean. Eren looks confused, dejected almost, and Jean’s taken back to last night.  

If he woke up as a member of the Military Police this morning, he would’ve spent the day listening to Eren disclose whatever was troubling him. If there’s any consolation to today’s chaos, at least he didn’t have to stick around for that. 

But the way Eren stares at him is the same way he did in Jean’s room, a mixture of sadness and appreciation. Eren claimed he and Jean were a couple in the last universe. Is it possible they’re a couple in this one too?

Anxiety poking at his stomach, Jean spins around. No, he refuses to acknowledge that possibility. Yesterday was a fluke. One universe of Jean allegedly being in love with Eren is ludicrous enough. No way are there two. 

There’s just no way. 

*   

Next class is gym with Erwin. Luckily, it’s also Jean’s third class in a row with Marco. Jean feels good going into this period as he's unlikely to make a fool out of himself, as long as he keeps quiet. He’s in impeccable shape. It comes with the territory of being a Scout. Since none of the kids in this universe seem to have any knowledge of the Scouts or titans in general, Jean reckons he’s the most athletic person here.

His gym uniform is a pair of red shorts that fall at his knees, paired with a white tee donning the school logo in the center. The rest of the boys are dressed the same. Girls too, but the length of their shorts hit that dreaded mid thigh area. Jean almost wants to cause another scene to get sent to Pixis again. It’ll be easier than tilting his chin toward the ceiling all period so he doesn’t accidentally see too much exposed skin. 

The one exception is Annie Leonhart, who emerges from the girls’ locker room in her everyday wear, a black jacket and baggy pants. Erwin catches her instantly and approaches her with a frown. 

Annie beats him to it. “Didn’t feel like changing.”

Jean and Marco hover nearby. Jean attempts to act like he’s not interested in their conversation, and he probably shouldn’t be. But an exchange between the girl he knows as the Female Titan and the man he used to call Commander that’s completely unrelated to all of that is so bizarre that it’s intriguing.

Erwin scribbles on his clipboard. “Okay, Annie gets a zero for the day.”

Mikasa, still sporting those weird tights under her red shorts, steps in next to Annie, creating a lopsided triangle between the three of them.

“What’s the big deal?” she asks. “As long as she participates, who cares what she wears?”

“Don’t take it up with me,” Erwin answers. “It’s school policy. Students are not allowed to participate in gym if they’re not appropriately dressed.”

“What about my outfit isn’t appropriate?” Annie says. “It’s not like I’m in my underwear.”

Jean’s eyes widen. He can’t believe he’s watching the Erwin Smith get sassed by a couple of teenage girls. Erwin keeps his composure, but there’s a hint of agitation beneath his blue eyes. Jean guesses this isn’t the first time Annie and Mikasa have challenged him.

“Policy is policy,” he says.

Annie scowls. “Well maybe if the boys in this class weren’t such pigs and didn’t ogle us any time we showed skin, I’d feel more comfortable wearing my gym uniform.”

Jean feels called out, even though he’s making a valiant effort to do the exact opposite of what Annie accuses the male students of. He can’t speak for the Jean that actually belongs to this world, but he also can’t see himself under any circumstances objectifying girls the way she describes. 

Annie looks in their direction. “Not you, Marco.”

“Yeah,” Mikasa adds with a smile. “We love you, Marco.”

Marco beams at them. Jean suppresses an eyeroll.

“Jean’s alright,” Annie mutters. Mikasa shrugs as if she’s indifferent.

Erwin sighs. “Fine. There are spare boys’ uniforms in the utility closet. Would you wear one of those?”

Annie straightens her posture. “Fine.”

She heads out of the gymnasium, presumably to wherever said utility closet is. Erwin nods as she leaves, appearing happy to resolve the situation before it escalated. This Erwin seems more carefree than the original.

Mikasa is all smiles as she extends Erwin her hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Coach.”

Erwin accepts with a chuckle. “Do you cause your cousin this much trouble when you’re in his class?”

“Just you,” she teases.

They lose Jean’s attention when Eren arrives, sporting the same uniform as the other boys. He sweeps the hair out of his face, looking around awkwardly as he stands alone. 

He catches Jean staring again. Jean does his best to look intimidating, though the pink hue to his cheeks makes that difficult. 

He vowed to himself that he wouldn’t let Eren have the advantage over him today. He didn’t account for waking up in an entirely new universe, but a vow is a vow. Jean’s fine with avoiding making conversation with Eren, but he can still assert himself as the winner in whatever mind game Eren initiated.  

Marco grabs Jean’s wrist and eases him away. 

“Careful,” he says. “Don’t draw any more attention to yourself.”

Jean grits his teeth, but he knows Marco’s right. 

Eren remains on the opposite side of the gym while Marco leads Jean toward one of the six nets that occupy the court’s exterior. Marco picks up an orange ball tucked away in the corner and bounces it off the ground twice. He tosses it to Jean, who’s unsure what to do with it, so he just copies what Marco did before throwing it back. 

Jean looks over his shoulder, regrettably, catching Eren still peering his way. Jean’s restraint is at an all time high, because all he wants is to smack that doe eyed look off Eren’s stupid face.

“What was that all about, anyway?” Marco asks him. 

“What?”

“In Ms. Ral’s class.” Marco spins and throws the ball toward the net. It falls through with a squish, which is a rather pleasant sound. “I mean, I know you and Eren don’t like each other, but you kinda attacked him unprovoked, no?”

Jean pauses. “We don’t like each other,” he repeats. “You said don’t, right?”

“Uh, yeah?” Marco replies as he passes Jean the ball.

It’s like he escaped a devastating avalanche. Relief. Jean knew it was too wild to happen two days in a row. If Marco says that he and Eren dislike one another in this world, then that’s all the proof Jean needs. 

He exhales and tries to score into the basket like Marco. He doesn’t, but it’s not as disastrous as it could be for someone who’s never tried before. 

“Thank God. I can’t handle that bastard trying to kiss me again.”

As Marco retrieves the ball, he stops in his tracks and turns around. “Kiss?”

A pathetic wheeze leaves Jean’s lips. 

“What?” he stammers. “Who said kiss?”

“You did,” Marco tells him. The ball bounces away, now long forgotten. He gets close to Jean and drops his voice. “Eren tried to kiss you?”

“No.” Jean says it way too quickly to not be suspicious, but his mouth won’t slow down. “No, I didn’t say kiss. I said, uh…kick.”

Marco narrows his brows. “Kick.”

“Yeah.” Jean ignores his increase in body temperature, almost as much as he ignores the crack in his voice. “Last time we fought, he went for my shins.” He offers a fake laugh. “I’ll give it to him. That one hurt.”

“Okay,” Marco says, though his expression indicates he doesn’t believe Jean one bit.

“Come on, you know I’ve never kissed anyone. If I have, you would know.”

It’s true. Jean’s yet to have his first kiss. And no, those two instances in his room last night with Eren don’t count. 

They look for their ball, focusing on the direction in which it rolled away. It didn’t travel far. At the net nearest theirs, Eren Jaeger cushions it between his palms. He observes Jean and Marco, discomfort rushing down Jean’s spine. Whether his stare is a silent invitation to join or curiosity if they want the ball back for themselves, Jean’s answer is the same. 

He scoffs and turns back around.

“Let’s just go find another one.”

The rest of his morning classes don’t fare any better. Jean either spends his time studying Eren from a couple seats down or thinking about him. Even in his old life where Eren was the person he hated above anyone else, he never occupied Jean’s thoughts this much. Jean had his own friends, his own routine, and he managed to spend his days as Eren free as possible. Here, however, it’s like Eren became his second shadow.  

Jean’s excited for lunch. One, because he’s hungry, and two, because food is the perfect distraction from his Eren problems. Marco has lunch this period too (praise this universe for at least allowing him ample time with his best friend), so Jean follows him to the cafeteria. Which, for some reason, Marco is surprised by.  

“Oh, you’re eating here today?”

Jean tilts his head in confusion. “Am I not supposed to?”

“Well, normally you hang out in the computer lab to catch up on homework.”

Jean opts against asking what the hell a computer or a computer lab is. If there’s anything he’s learned from this experience, it’s that he needs to think before he speaks. 

“Guess I’m all caught up today,” he says with a shrug. If he doesn’t turn in homework for one of his later classes because of it, he’ll manage. 

His lunch table is comprised of himself, Marco, Connie, and Sasha. It’s his ideal group, but that doesn’t simmer his frustration that unravels throughout the period.  

“People keep staring at me.”

He counts at least six instances of kids either pointing at him or whispering and giggling as they pass him. If he weren’t trying to keep a low profile, he’d curse them all out. He’d then follow up with a smack to Eren’s head, wherever he is, since he is the key ingredient of Jean’s life going to shit. 

Connie shrugs as he picks at the chicken in his salad. “Well, you’ve been acting weird all morning.”

Jean scoffs. “You said that yesterday, asshole.”

“I did? Well anyway, my point is people talk.”

Sasha laughs into her hand. “I’m still not over you asking what football was.”

Jean grimaces. He doesn’t understand what makes that exchange so humorous. They broke into small groups in Nanaba’s literature class and were asked to discuss the passage they just read. Jean’s group finished early, so he utilized the remaining time to gather intel about this universe. More specifically, if titans exist. As he suspected, they do not.

“So, what do you think of titans?” he asks Sasha, as nonchalant as possible. 

“You mean the football team?” Reiner Braun asks.

“What’s football?”

As obnoxious as their laughter was, Jean was more taken aback by the confirmation that this is a titan free world. It seems too good to be true. But if all these technological advancements are the result of a world that doesn’t carry the stress of titans slaughtering civilians by the thousand, that makes Jean want to return to his home even more so he can one day save his people for good. 

“Whatever,” he mutters.

“Hey,” Sasha says, “I’m just messing with you. This school could always use some entertainment.”

And entertainment Jean provides. His friends make references throughout lunch that he has no knowledge of (What’s that tagging game they keep mentioning? Instagroup? Instagrid?). He pretends to follow along, but halfway through his attention is solely fixated on the ham sandwich his mom prepared. It’s not up to the standards of Vera’s cooking back in Trost, but it keeps his stomach happy. 

Next period, Jean is on his own. He’ll reunite with Marco later in the afternoon for biology with Hange, but now he’s off to art class. Keith Shadis is the registered teacher, which is an odd choice. But hey, Jean loves the idea of exploring his passion in the midst of a tiring school day. 

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance.

On his way to class, someone grabs him out of nowhere and pulls him into an abandoned staircase. The swift act robs the much needed oxygen from Jean’s lungs and he gasps for air. When his eyes land on his abductor, he can’t decide if he’s more pissed or scared.    

“What the hell?”

Eren pouts like a toddler. “I am very mad at you.”

“I can see that,” Jean says. “The feeling is mutual.”

He motions to get away, but Eren sets him back against the wall. Jean's backpack crashes against the cement. 

“What do you have to be mad about? You’re the one that went psycho on me in math, then had the audacity to ditch our plans.”

It’s been too long since Jean has seen a properly angry Eren. How much he’s missed it. Eren Jaeger doesn’t deserve happiness. Not in this life, the next one, or the infinite that follow. After the disaster Eren unleashed on him the last two days, Jean wants to bask in Eren’s misery.

Too bad he can’t, seeing as he has no clue what Eren is talking about. Eren hasn’t said a word to him all day. What plan is he referring to?

“Wait, what?”

“I texted you,” Eren says.

Jean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to decipher what that means. He comes up short, which appears to agitate Eren further. 

“Did you even check your phone?”

Jean’s eyes light up. “Oh right, I have a phone.”

He pulls it from his pocket and stares at the screen. It lights up again, now saying Friday, October 6th, 1:18. It seems to update the time on its own. Pretty neat.  

Jean presses the center button and a notice flashes across the screen. Ten numbers stare back at him, as well as a clear instruction.

“Oh,” he says, “it says I need a password.”

“So put in your password.”

That makes sense. Jean just needs a password. A four digit combination and maybe his phone will do something cool as a thank you. But there’s too many options to choose from. How is Jean meant to know which is the right one?

Eren’s complexion turns red. “It’s my birthday, you fucker!”

Jean stands there, still as clueless as before. Why would Eren’s birthday be the key to unlocking his phone? Also, when’s Eren’s birthday again?

Resembling his old self faster by the second, Eren snatches Jean’s phone with a harsh grunt. He punches in the numbers 0330 . As an artist, Jean appreciates the symmetry. 

His phone unlocks, and Jean watches in awe as dozens of little squares cover the screen, each with their own design. Eren touches a green one, then the screen changes again. 

“Here,” he mutters, shoving the phone into Jean’s chest.

Jean observes the screen, that pit in his stomach returning as he sees that silly name for the second time.  

Friday, October 6th at 12:36 PM

Berry 🍓

Are you coming?

Jeannie?

Jean

Did I do something wrong?

I’m sorry

No.

This can’t be real. Marco said it himself, Jean and Eren don’t like each other in this universe. There’s no Berry. There’s no Jeannie. There can’t be.

This Eren who looks like he wants to strangle Jean can’t possibly have romantic feelings for him. Jean doesn’t care about all the longing glances Eren sent his way this morning. If he refuses to believe it, then it can’t be true.

Instead, he focuses on what fills the top of the screen.  

“12:36?” he asks. “As in 12:36 today?”

Eren relaxes his posture. He’s still pouting, but the tension in his face disappears. “Yeah. You’re never late to our meetups, so I texted you.” 

Wanting to test a theory, Jean drafts a message of his own. It takes a full minute to conjure it as the letters on his phone are out of order, the late bell for sixth period ringing as he hits send.

 
Jean

Hi

He hits send, then a sharp ping is heard from Eren’s pocket. Eren pulls out his own phone, punches in a password (0407, Jean’s birthday), then that same message Jean just sent is there for viewing.

Jean yanks Eren’s phone, his excitement overpowering him.

“This is brilliant!”

“What?”

“Seriously,” he says, a smile encompassing his face, “this is so much more convenient than sending letters! If the Scouts had these, we’d be so much better off.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Eren snaps at him.

Maybe so. If he has, Eren’s the one that drove Jean to this insanity.   

His eyes scan Eren’s messages again. Even through text, he senses sadness. Desperation. Even endearment, from the name Eren calls him to the name Eren’s stored in his phone as. 

“Berry.” 

It rolls off Jean’s tongue smoothly. Too smoothly. There’s no significance behind it, not that he can recall. Still, each time those five little letters dance across his mind, his chest tightens in an unfamiliar fashion. Jean hates it.  

He looks at Eren, then immediately wishes he hadn’t. The hurt in his eyes makes Jean feel like he’s being punished for something he didn’t do. 

“You don’t get to call me that right now,” Eren says. “Not until you tell me what your problem is.”

Jean wants to deny, deny, deny, but he can’t. It doesn’t take a math expert to put two and two together. Somehow, some way, he and Eren are a couple in this universe as well. 

“But you…” he blurts out, “and me…Marco-”

“Marco?” Eren tops his question with an irritated laugh. “So that’s it, you want to be with him now?”

Jean recoils. “Of course not. Marco and I are friends.”

“Well I’m your boyfriend. For some reason it seems you’ve forgotten that.”

Jean shifts his gaze toward the staircase’s exit. So close he can almost touch it. He wants to run. Where to, he’s not certain, but anywhere has to be better than here.

“I waited in the west wing for twenty minutes like an idiot,” Eren says. “If you weren’t going to show, the least you could’ve done was be upfront about it.”

Jean bites back before he loses all ground to stand on. “How can I show up to something that I don’t even know is taking place?”

“We meet up at the same time every day, idiot.”

So that’s it. Whatever the Jean of this world has with Eren, it’s top secret. Secret enough that not even Marco is aware.

Then he remembers. Marco was surprised he joined him for lunch instead of going to the computer lab. But the computer lab must be a cover so this world's Jean can sneak away with Eren. To do what, exactly? Jean doesn't want to picture it.

It's silly. How good can a relationship be where both parties have to resort to sneaking around at all times? Whatever the answer may be, Jean has no interest in learning it. 

He hauls out the staircase and into the empty hallway, Eren promptly chasing after him. Jean doesn’t make it far. His legs may be longer than Eren’s, but Eren’s stubbornness knows no bounds. 

He grasps Jean’s wrist and spins him around. “What’s up with you?”

Jean attempts to retract his hand, but Eren won’t let go.

“Talk to me,” he pleads, his eyes falling somber. “I’m still mad you stood me up, but I can ignore that for now if there’s something more important.”

“Just leave me alone.”

“Jean.”

Eren shifts his hold from Jean’s wrist to his hand. His warm palm makes Jean’s skin crawl, though not as much as the tenderness of his touch. He follows up the gesture with a soft kiss to Jean’s cheek, which is just about the worst thing Eren can do in this situation.

“Why am I the only one making an effort here?” Eren asks. He gives Jean’s hand a light squeeze. “Just tell me if it’s something I did.”

“Why are you boys not in class?”

Jean and Eren direct their attention to the end of the hall. There’s Levi, arms crossed and expression authoritative. 

“Imagine how much better your grades would be if you spent your time at school learning instead of fighting one another,” he says. 

Jean waits for the reprimanding, but it doesn’t come. Levi’s strictness drops as soon as he notices their joined hands. 

“Oh.”

Eren lets go of Jean and looks away from the both of them. His blush is prominent and he awkwardly rubs his own arm. 

After an agonizing pause, Levi holds his hands up.

“No judgment here,” he says. “But school is still a place for learning. You guys can’t just wander the halls freely, no matter the reason.”

Neither boy responds. Jean’s not sure about Eren, but he’s in no position to be having this conversation. If anything, he’s perfectly fine pretending this occurrence never happened. 

“Well, go on,” Levi says. “Get to your classes.”

Eren speeds away, not needing to be told twice. He looks at Jean on his way out, that same betrayal still lingering in his eyes. 

When it’s just him and Levi, Jean observes the compassion in his stare. Or pity, even. After their talk in his classroom, Levi probably suspects this is why Jean was so rattled this morning. He can’t be more wrong. 

Jean rushes away, not in the mood for whatever Levi has to say.

“Jean-”

“Nope,” Jean says, back to Levi, “not listening.”

But Levi holds strong, swiftly walking behind him.

“Jean, if you need to confide in someone about this-”

At that, Jean spins around.

“I don’t,” he asserts. “Whatever you think you just saw, it wasn’t that. Far from it.”

And then he’s off again. Levi protests, but Jean continues forward. It’s the first time he ever defies the captain, and the old Jean is screaming at him to turn around and pay his superior his proper respect. 

But for now, perhaps forever, the old Jean no longer exists. And if he’s going to live as the Jean of this world, then certain adjustments need to be made. 

In this universe, not even Levi can get Jean to disclose his confusing relationship with Eren Jaeger. Especially when there’s an itch at the back of Jean’s brain that tells him that things will only get worse from here.

Chapter Text

The glimmer of hope in Jean’s miserable day occurs in the evening, the stresses of school and Eren behind him. Through Vera’s assistance, he is introduced to two new loves: pizza and television. 

Dinner takes place on the living room couch. Jean sits cross legged as he and Vera binge cartoons that he is too mesmerized by to blink. As he scarfs down his fifth slice, he reaches for the large pizza box on the accent table to steal his sixth.

Vera chuckles. “I would’ve ordered another pie if I knew you were going to be this hungry.” She sets down her plate and wipes her mouth with a napkin. “You must be due for another growth spurt.”

Jean gives a half smile. “Maybe.”

It’s not a baseless assumption. Jean’s father was quite tall. He used to cup his chin over Vera’s head when they hugged, which Jean always found sort of sweet. But that’s not the reason for Jean’s increased appetite.

Truthfully, he can easily devour a second pie if presented with one. With each bite, it dawns on him how much he’s missing out on. While he’s not unfamiliar with bread, cheese, or tomato, never has he had the pleasure of the harmonious blend of all three. This universe must have hundreds of dishes of the same mouth watering quality. Maybe thousands. Now that he’s had a taste, Jean wishes to eat until he makes himself sick. Because once he returns home, all this will be stripped away from him. 

If he returns home. 

The uncertainty gnaws at him. The program on TV about a ragtag team and a talking dog solving mysteries together is creative and entertaining, but Jean zones out. This is better than he could ever ask for: great food, inventions he’s never dreamed of, and quality time with his mom. But no matter its upsides, this is not where Jean belongs. This world belongs to a different Jean. 

He reserves a bit of envy for his alternate self. To know that Jean and his friends endured monumental amounts of trauma in their teenage years while their alternate counterparts are free from all of that makes him want to punch something.

But his loved ones, the ones he cherishes over anyone else, are back home waiting for him. If that dream is any indication, his original body is probably unconscious in a hospital right now. The longer he stumbles into lives that aren’t his own, the longer his mom and comrades will worry that he’ll never wake up.

Not to mention the whole Eren ordeal. 

“Is everything okay?” Vera asks. “You seem troubled.”

Jean swallows a large portion of his slice and places his plate next to hers. “I don’t know anymore.”

“Is it a girl?”

“What?” he blurts out. “No.” It’s not a lie, technically, but his pulse races anyway.

Vera hums to herself. “Just a thought. Is there any way I can help?”

“That’s okay, Ma. Thank you.”

They turn back to the TV. Characters break into a dance sequence as they’re chased by a masked monster. It makes little sense to Jean, but Vera is fully immersed. 

He pulls his phone from his pocket. Little by little, he’s been learning the mechanics. The home page has too many icons, so he focuses on the one that pulls up his text messages, the one Eren showed him earlier. 

As it turns out, Jean texts a lot of people, sometimes multiple at once. One of the most active conversations is one he shares with Marco, Connie, and Sasha. Jean can’t follow completely since his friends often use weird words he doesn’t know (some without vowels?), but he tries his best.

Unfortunately, it’s not the only conversation that’s active tonight.

He has four more notifications from Eren. He’s been texting Jean on and off since their dispute in the hallway. Jean has yet to reply. He assumed Eren would’ve gotten the hint by now, but remembers Eren is persistent to a fault. 

Jean rolls his eyes as he scans Eren’s latest messages. 

Friday, October 6th, 7:14 PM

Berry 🍓

Pls talk to me

Jean pls

I’m home alone and I can’t stop crying

I don’t wanna break up

The rest of Eren’s texts from this evening more or less say the same thing. Jean scrolls up, rereading Eren’s desperate pleas. If it weren’t so pathetic, maybe Jean would feel guilty for freezing him out. But Eren’s responsible for his own torment since he can’t take no for an answer.

Jean keeps scrolling, and that’s when he catches the end of a conversation between them from the night before. In other words, a conversation between Eren and the Jean that actually lives in this world.   

Thursday, October 5th, 10:20 PM

Berry 🍓

I should probably go to sleep

Meh

I don’t wanna go to school tomorrow

Jean

Lol

It’s okay, I’ll be there 😝 we’ll suffer together

Berry 🍓

Good

I’m gonna kiss your face off when I see you

Jean

Not if I beat you to it 😏

Berry 🍓

🙈

Okay, I gotta sleep for real

Jean

Same

Gute Nacht, meine Beere

See you tomorrow ❤️

Berry 🍓

🥰 night Jeannie

Jean does his best not to wear his discomfort on his face, not with his mother sitting nearby. He’s no expert in the romance department, but these texts seem obnoxiously sappy. Certainly too sappy for him and Eren. 

And yet, he keeps scrolling. Morbid curiosity, that’s all it is. He reads through his messages with Eren, a small glimpse into whatever relationship they have in this universe. The more he reads, the more he wants to look away. 

Saturday, September 16th, 5:04 PM

Berry 🍓

I MISS YOU 😭

Jean

I miss you too

Mom’s staying out late tonight

Come over?

Berry 🍓

Can we snuggle?

Jean

Of course

Berry 🍓

Can we do more than snuggle?

Jean

Hold hands? 🤔

Berry 🍓

More

Jean

Back massage? 🤔

Berry 🍓

You know what I’m referring to lol

Jean

Nope, no idea

Guess you’ll have to show me when you get here 😏

Jean pretends not to see that last part. 

Tuesday, September 5th, 9:59 AM

Berry 🍓

Stop looking over here before you get in trouble

Jean

Stop blushing if you hate it so much

Berry 🍓

Never said I hated it

Jean

Good cause you look way too hot today

I’m the luckiest guy at this school no question

Berry 🍓

Pretty sure that’s me but okay

Sunday, July 30th, 8:13 AM

Jean

Hi boyfriend 😍

Berry 🍓

Lol

We’ve been dating one day and you’re already overusing it

Jean

Your point?

Lemme be happy you dumb fuck

Berry 🍓

So romantic ❤️

But okay

Hi boyfriend 🥰

Jean

That’s better ❤️

Jean scowls. “I need a shower.”

“Oh,” Vera replies. If she’s concerned, she doesn’t act on it. “Okay. Help me put these leftovers away.”

He does, then he’s off to the second floor shower to scrub away his frustrations. The water pressure is immaculate, which helps, but Jean’s dismay still lingers even after overstaying his welcome.

He retreats to his room and changes into sleepwear. Compared to the hideous everyday garments in his dressers, Jean’s night clothes are pleasantly plain. A solid red shirt and some black lounge pants is enough to satisfy. 

He doesn’t go back downstairs. He loves his mom and wishes he could enjoy his time with her fully, but Eren and everything involving him lurk over Jean like a dark cloud. 

In bed, he unlocks his phone again. Eren sent him another message, which Jean doesn’t even bother to open. Instead, he clicks on the small square at the bottom right that says Photos. He flips through them, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Most of them are pictures of artwork, presumably his own. They’re paintings instead of charcoal drawings, but Jean’s signature habit of creating art that’s perfectly symmetrical transcends into this universe. 

There’s some pictures of his mom, of nature, and even of Jean posing in mirrors shirtless for some reason. Still, it’s a nice distraction from the hell that is his new reality.

Then the pictures with Eren come in.

Eren covering his face. Eren caught mid-laugh. Eren poking his tongue out. An outsider may not think too much of these photos without knowing the truth. 

Jean should stop. Even if these images are more tame than not, there’s no justification for wasting his evening on scrolling through God knows how many images of Eren Jaeger. He’s supposed to be doing his due diligence to pretend Eren doesn't exist.

Morbid curiosity strikes again.

After the initial burst of solo Eren shots, Jean’s presence comes into frame as well. About ten in a row are of them making silly faces at the camera. Eren licks Jean’s cheek in one of them, which has present day Jean scrunching his face in disgust.

There’s pictures of them snuggling. Some with them shirtless, some not. Eren’s face is pressed to Jean’s collarbone, and Jean offers the camera a soft smile.

One that catches Jean’s attention isn’t a picture at all, but a video. Eren’s face takes up the majority of the screen, puffing his cheeks out like he swallowed a bubble. He switches between sticking his tongue out, crossing his eyes, and tilting his head side to side.  

“Are you on my phone?” a voice calls from the background. Jean’s voice.

Eren presses his lips together to suppress a laugh. “No,” he answers sheepishly.

Just then, Jean pops into view. He glances at the camera, then at Eren, then the camera again. He shakes his head, but the grin that overtakes him reveals his true feelings.

“You’re so annoying,” he giggles.

Eren giggles too, then kisses Jean’s cheek. A brief silence follows, the two staring at one another. Even from the other end of the screen, the Jean watching this video can feel the adoration exuding from the Jean that’s in it. 

Jean leans forward and kisses Eren for real, then the video stops. Jean replays it, studies it, even. Up until now, his only knowledge about his relationship with Eren in these new universes comes from Eren’s perspective. But now he has tangible proof that for some strange reason, the Jean of this world is hopelessly in love with Eren. The proof in his eyes, looking at Eren like he’s gold.

Jean can’t make sense of it. How can two people hate each other in one world and love each other in the next?

Jean continues through his camera roll. Photos of him kissing Eren rot his brain. Why are there so many? If they’re not kissing, they’re cuddling. Or Eren sitting on Jean’s lap. Or Eren sleeping on Jean’s chest. Or it’s a picture of just their linked hands. Or Jean grabbing a handful of Eren’s-

“Hi honey.”

Jean flings his phone to the ground. He plasters a fake smile for his mother standing in the doorway. Even in this universe, it seems Vera needs reminding that she really shouldn’t enter her teenage son’s room without knocking.

“Hey.”

“I’m heading to bed,” Vera says. “I had a long day.”

“Sure. Okay.”

“Try to sleep in tomorrow.”

“I will.”

He gets up to give her a hug. Vera is caught off guard, not hugging back right away, but quickly wraps her arms around Jean’s ribcage.

“What’s this for?”

Jean leans his head on hers. “I love you, Ma.”

If this pattern continues, then tomorrow he’ll wake up in a different world than this one. There’s no telling if Vera will be there, or if she’ll be in the one after it. Until Jean can figure out why this is happening and how to escape it, he accepts the possibility it may be a very long time before he sees his mom again. 

Vera rubs his back. “I love you too, Jean boy.” She breaks away and pinches his cheek. “I wouldn’t mind getting hugs from you more often.”

Jean smiles. “Noted.”

“Sleep well, honey.”

“Good night.”

She dips out, closing the door behind her. Jean trudges back to his bed, this time slipping under the covers. He’ll try to sleep early tonight too. There’s no need to prolong the inevitable. 

On the floor, his phone lights up. Jean doesn’t even have to check to know it’s another text from Eren. Whatever. If Jean is correct about being transported to a new universe tomorrow, then that means the Jean from this world should return tomorrow, too. He can snuggle or kiss Eren back to happiness or whatever they do in their free time. 

And if Jean stays trapped in this universe, well, no way in hell he’s staying in a relationship with Eren. If that makes Eren cry, so be it. 

Jean flips on his stomach and closes his eyes. Wherever he wakes up, he hopes it’s far away from Eren and his drama.

*

Jean’s not surprised when he opens his eyes and finds himself in a new location.

However, he is surprised to find himself staring at the floor. He’s on his back, head cushioned against his pillow, yet he and his bed are on the ceiling. 

He screams and clutches the comforter. He supposes he can jump down, but it’s a pretty big drop. There’s nothing safe for him to land on either. 

A cackle erupts from the other side of the room. Connie. He’s on his own bed, arm pointing at Jean, fingers bent like he’s holding an imaginary ball.  

“Sorry,” he says, still laughing, “couldn’t resist.”

Jean blinks repeatedly, not having the slightest clue what his friend is referring to. But then Connie rotates his wrist, and both Jean and his bed flip right side up.

“Descendo.”

The bed lowers to the ground, tucking itself in the far right corner. As the legs grace the spruce colored rug, Jean’s breath catches up to him. 

“Did you just-”

Connie beams. “I know, right? I finally got the hang of it.”

Jean leaps from his bed, not wanting to chance going through that havoc again. He looks at the ceiling, then the bed, then Connie. It’s obvious what happened, even if it’s literally impossible. 

But this is a new universe. Maybe impossible doesn’t exist. 

“What’d you do to raise it?”

“Supellevo,” Connie answers. “The furniture lifting spell.”

Jean spins around the room. He’ll have time later to admire the sculpted end tables and the meticulous woodwork of the full sized wardrobes against the wall. Right now, this is way too tempting to ignore.

He zeroes on the desk closest to his bed. Connie’s hand movements flash in his mind. He stretches out his arm, slowly adjusting his fingers to the same positioning until he’s certain it’s a perfect replica. This is where being an artist comes in handy. Jean adheres to the importance of memorizing every last detail.  

“Supellevo.”

Jean feels ridiculous saying it out loud. He sounds like a child playing pretend. His embarrassment is short lived, however, since it doesn’t take long for the desk to rise from the floor.

His jaw drops. “Holy shit.”

“Gotta love magic,” Connie says.

Magic. In this world, magic exists. And if Jean can use it, that technically makes him a wizard. 

Alright, this world is already more fun than the previous two.

He directs his arm toward his bed next. “Supellevo.”

Just like the desk, his bed begins to levitate. Jean celebrates the same way he did when he killed his first titan. He can’t believe what he’s seeing, what he’s doing. But if this is the only day he’ll be able to do this, he better make the most of it.   

Overcome with excitement, he casts the same spell over several pieces. End tables, a lounge chair, even Connie’s bed with Connie still in it.

Jean doesn’t account for the added difficulty that arises with each piece he uses magic on. Pressure builds in his forearms and stretches down his back. Huh. He should’ve figured even magic has its limitations. 

Furniture starts crashing to the ground, leg posts rattling against the rug. Other pieces fly higher and scatter in all directions. An end table sails straight for Jean’s head. He dodges it in time, but it’s a close call. 

“Hey,” Connie says, “don’t overwork yourself. Save it for class, idiot.”

Jean nods and regains his composure. “Descendo,” he mutters. 

One by one, the pieces fall back to their rightful spots. Jean’s torn between being amazed by his new abilities and relieved he didn’t kill himself and his friend within his first few minutes of existing in this world. 

Connie grins. “Man, that never gets old.”

Jean approaches his desk. In the midst of the furniture chaos, a large box fell off its edge. When Jean bends over to pick it up, he notices how thin it is. Its contents are sealed with crisp wrapping paper, a solid blue decorated with white polka dots.

A present. If it was meant for Jean, it probably would’ve been opened by now. 

He yelps when Connie sneaks up behind him and clamps a hand on his shoulder. 

“Come on, big guy. I don’t wanna miss breakfast.”

After yesterday, Jean isn’t phased by the strange outfits that await him in his wardrobe dresser. The clothes themselves are fine. Lots of neutrals that fit appropriately. But there’s also a collection of black robes. Connie throws one on over his clothes, so Jean does as well. He catches the little green and white logo over his heart, the words Eldia Academy for Wizarding Youth tracing the exterior.  

So cool, Jean squeals internally.

The layout of the Academy is reminiscent of the Military Police headquarters. There’s probably some symbolism buried deep, but Jean’s too entranced to care. There are kids in every direction in black robes, waving wands around. They perform little spells like making someone’s hair stand up or turning their shoes a different color. There’s likely way more interesting things magic has to offer, but Jean beams all the same.  

“Hey. You make a mess, you clean it up.”

By the archway to the indoor courtyard, Captain Levi is scolding a group of young boys for knocking over a plant while waving their wands. Commander Erwin is with him, sporting an amused grin at Levi hovering over the boys to ensure they eradicate every speck of dirt. They do, at least from what Jean can see, but Levi doesn’t appear pleased. 

The boys escape to the courtyard with the color drained from their faces. Jean and Connie take their places, Connie offering a friendly wave. 

“Hi Professor Ackerman. Professor Smith.”

Oh, so now they’re professors. Jean only got used to calling them Mr. Ackerman and Coach Smith by the end of school yesterday. This conundrum is bound to cause whiplash.

“Hello,” Levi says curtly.

Erwin chuckles. “Typical Professor Ackerman. Always stressed over the most minimal of things.”

Levi glares up at him. “Excuse me for expecting our students to keep the halls as tidy as possible.”

“Hey, we do our best to keep clean,” Connie interjects.

“Yes, and I appreciate you.”

“Good morning.”

Hange’s here now, and Jean now accepts that any alternate universe he attends where school is required will consist of the same staff. At least Hange keeps things interesting. Yesterday in biology, they spent the entire period raving about epistasis and Labrador retrievers. Jean had a nice time.

“Ah, Professor Zoe,” Erwin says. “Good morning.”

Hange slouches and puts a hand on one hip. “What happened this time, Ackerman?”

Levi purses his lips and leans against the stone wall. “The usual.”

“How about I take over from here? You can debrief in your office before classes begin.”

“Fine,” Levi answers without hesitation.

Erwin smiles. “I should probably escort him so he doesn’t unleash his anger on any more innocent kids.”

Levi’s expression remains cold. “Hilarious.”

Erwin waves them farewell, then rests his hand on the small of Levi’s back. They exit together, Erwin guiding and Levi looking like he hates his job. There’s a faint blush to his cheeks when Erwin touches him, but Jean attributes that to Levi’s disdain for the situation. And affection. No way can Jean see Levi enjoying being touched by anyone, ever. Erwin’s lucky Levi doesn’t strangle him in front of the entire school. 

Hange snickers as the two disappear into the sea of magical students and staff, then turns back around. They flinch when their eyes land on Jean and Connie. Did Hange not realize they’ve been standing here this whole time?

Hange clears their throat. “Shouldn’t you two be off to breakfast?”

Jean knows when to take a hint.

He nods. “Right.” Then, he and Connie are off. 

An overwhelming crowd piles in front of the dining hall entrance. Luckily, Bertholdt is the size of a bamboo tree, so it’s easy to know where to go. Sasha and Reiner are with him. Jean still hasn’t warmed up to Reiner or Bertholdt, but tolerating their presence is a small price to pay to avoid being separated from his real friends.

However, there’s a pang in his heart when he notices who’s missing.

Connie’s eyes widen as he grabs Jean’s shoulder.

“Shit,” he says, “move over.”

“Why?” Jean asks as he’s being pushed into Sasha.

He’s answered with a quiet popping noise. The gap that Jean was just standing in now has a new occupant who arrives out of thin air.

“Morning,” Marco says, catching his breath.

“Marco.” Jean’s smile returns instantly. Screw the fact that his best friend just teleported here. Jean’s just excited they get to spend another day together.

Marco smiles back and grabs the back of his neck. “Good, I really thought I wouldn’t make it on time today.”

“Well you’re just in time to see this,” Connie says.

He pulls out a little black box from his robe pocket. Jean first mistakes it for a phone but throws that assumption out the window once Connie presses it to his forehead. Slowly, the box transforms into an alluring gold. Connie lowers it and holds it out for all to see.

The top of the box now displays a little video. A video of Jean, to be exact. He’s sleeping soundly, unaware that he and his bed are upside down. Connie’s laugh can be heard in the background, the same way Connie is laughing is present time.   

It seems this device can be used to play back a person’s memories. Jean would be impressed if it weren’t at his expense.

The group joins in Connie’s laughter, apart from Jean of course.

“I did this for like ten minutes and he had no idea.”

“That’s a long time,” Bertholdt says. “You didn’t get tired at all?”

“Seriously, Connie,” Reiner adds. “Shit, you could’ve killed him.”

Connie shrugs. “Eh, Jean’s tough. And I would’ve caught him if anything went wrong.”

“What about Jean?”

Jean jumps at the sound of Eren’s voice. Of course he’s here. Jean was too busy reveling in his new surroundings to remember the agonizing detail that Eren Jaeger will no doubt make an appearance in this world as well. After being harassed with dozens of unanswered messages last night, he hoped he’d at least have time during breakfast to decompress. But if there’s one thing true about Eren, it’s that he’ll always show up at the worst possible time.  

Mikasa’s with him. She’s still in all black like yesterday, though it’s not as jarring since everyone is wearing black robes.

Jean hides behind Marco. He’ll take all the distance from Eren as he can get.

“What’s it to you?”

He studies Eren’s face for a sign. Something that’ll tip him off about their dynamic in this world. Jean doesn’t even care at this point. He and this Eren can be friends, best buddies, whatever. But dear God, they better not be dating.

Eren smiles. “I like to know what goes on in your life.”

Oh fuck, they’re totally dating.

Why? Why is he being punished? Eren’s the one who injured him during that fight. Does the powers above hate Jean enough to want to rub it in even further?

Regardless, this time he’s prepared. A secret relationship can’t blossom out in the open. As long as Jean clings to Marco, Connie, or anybody else for the rest of the day, Eren can’t do anything.

With that loophole providing him a surge of confidence, Jean steps out from behind Marco. He ignores Eren’s comment (because Eren’s irrelevant) and turns his attention toward the entrance hall doors, wondering if he can use magic to force them open.

When he’s not looking, a pair of arms envelopes his midsection. His gaze meets Eren’s, body temperature elevating the same rate as his confusion. Eren smiles and stands on his toes, gently brushing his lips against Jean’s.

The noise that comes out of Jean’s mouth is a mix between a gasp and a scream.  

“Hey, you can’t do that!” he says as he attempts to break free from Eren’s hug. It’s harder than he anticipates. Eren’s wrapped around Jean like the tightest of hospital bandages.

Eren frowns. “Why not?”

Jean jerks his head toward the very obvious crowd of students. “There’s people around!”

Sasha snorts. “Like that’s ever stopped you guys before.”

“Seriously,” Reiner says. He slaps Jean on the back. “I heard they’re serving French toast, so if you two can hold off on the PDA long enough so I can enjoy my breakfast, I’d appreciate it.”

Jean’s mouth hangs open. This is his worst nightmare. As if being Eren Jaeger’s boyfriend isn’t torturous enough, now he’s Eren’s public boyfriend. Does the Jean of this universe have no shame? How can he possibly want to parade such an annoying little booger as his romantic partner?

Eren’s still hugging him. Jean tries to wiggle away, but Eren just squeezes tighter. It’s like the bastard thinks it’s a game. Whatever game they’re playing, Jean lost a long time ago.

“Ignore Reiner,” Marco says. “He’s still bitter that Historia rejected him last week.”

“She didn’t reject me,” Reiner argues. “She said she’s not looking for a relationship right now.”

“That’s a rejection if I’ve ever heard one,” Mikasa mutters. She alters her expression from annoyance to appreciation as she turns to Eren and Jean. “You two are precious. PDA all you want.”

Eren leans his head on Jean’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

Jean lets out a nervous laugh as he gently tries to separate himself from Eren. “You know, Eren, maybe Reiner has a point.”

Eren lets go, his eyes softening as Jean’s words catch him off guard. Jean wants to shake him silly for looking so damn upset. Clingy little shithead.

But then he catches Mikasa glaring at him, and Jean knows he’s in trouble. He’s seen firsthand what Mikasa does to people who hurt Eren. Jean would rather be devoured by a titan than deal with Mikasa’s wrath, even if it costs him his pride.

“Or not,” he says, pulling Eren back into another hug. He winces at the intimacy, but a smiling Eren means Mikasa no longer looks like she wants to rip Jean’s head off.

The doors to the dining hall finally open, so kids make their way inside. Eren opts to hold Jean’s hand as they enter. When Mikasa’s not looking, Jean squeezes Eren’s hand extra hard, enough to evoke a small whimper. Oops.

Several teachers are already inside, greeting students and patrolling the dining hall. Pixis is one of them, because of course he is.

“Good morning, Professor Pixis,” Eren says as he and Jean walk by him.

“Hello.” Pixis smiles at their joined hands. “Off to a good start today, I see.”

Eren smiles back. “Always.”

Pixis nods, then directs his attention to Jean.

“Better hold off on the scowling, Mr. Kirstein, before you get a migraine. Last thing you need is another head injury.”

He fades into the crowd, exchanging greetings with another group of students. Jean and Eren continue walking, but they only make it two steps before Eren tugs his hand.

“Another?”

Jean looks at him. “Another what?”

“What did he mean by another head injury? When did you hurt your head?”

Jean parts his lips, but he offers no response. In his head, however, a conclusion is forming, one to a hypothesis he didn’t even know needed investigating.

How didn't he see it before?

The way Pixis was the only one outside of the Military Police who knew about Jean hitting his head. The way he had Jean’s class schedule handy, like he was certain Jean would get lost. The cryptic message he left Jean with during the discussion in his office yesterday. The way he’s taken a particular interest in Jean these last few days, suspiciously so.

“Jean?” Eren asks.

Jean tunes him out. He spins around, his eyes fixated on Pixis’s back like a hunter to its prey.

He may not have all the answers, but he at least knows one for certain:

Jean isn’t the only one who’s aware of what’s happening to him.

Chapter Text

With Pixis on his mind and Eren’s obsession with physical affection, Jean can’t enjoy his French toast. Eren wolfs down his food in less than ten minutes, then spends the rest of breakfast with his head on Jean’s shoulder. Jean can’t even push him away because Mikasa is directly across from them smiling like a proud mother. He never thought he’d hate the idea of Mikasa smiling at him, but there’s a first time for everything.

As everyone wraps up eating, Eren cups his hand over Jean’s underneath the table.

“I want to show you something after school,” he mutters in Jean’s ear.

Jean turns to him, dread already sinking into his pores. He can’t think of anything less appealing.

“And that is?”

Eren grins and shakes his head. “It’s a secret.”

“Of course it is.”

“Meet me at the lake once classes are over. Okay?”

“Sure,” Jean replies, still very aware of Mikasa’s eyes on him.

He gets a break from Eren with the excuse he needs to return to his room before his first class. It’s true, to be fair. He needs to grab his wand and notebooks.

Luckily, he also finds a class schedule in the top drawer of his desk. The day hasn’t even started and Jean is already faring better than he did yesterday, at least in terms of school. The Eren stuff is yet to be determined.

Like yesterday, Jean’s first class is with Captain Levi. Of all the subjects on his schedule, wizard history is easily the least enticing. Magic can’t always be fun, it seems.

Levi’s class is on the fourth floor. Jean gets there with ease, especially with the assistance of the transportation room in the far east wing. Large platform tiles cover the spacious area, each adorned with a room number. When a tile is stepped on, it rises from the floor and carries its occupant or occupants to the corresponding room. When Jean steps on the one designated for Levi’s classroom, he’s at his destination in less than a second. This must be what Marco used to get to the dining hall earlier. The swift speed in which he arrived only gave the illusion he teleported.

He enters the classroom and is instantly taken aback when he spots Levi. Compared to the Levi he talked to earlier this morning, this Levi is the polar opposite. The captain is all smiles, greeting his students with a warmth that Jean will never get used to.

True to the original Levi’s character, however, his classroom is pristine to a fault. The bookshelf is evenly stacked with textbooks and supplemental materials. Somehow Levi managed to alphabetize them and organize them by size. The room is dominated by wood, from Levi’s desk to the students’ desks to the display table holding antique magical artifacts, each polished to perfection. Jean can actually see bits of his reflection when he peers down at his desk. Normally, he’d render it impossible, but Jean won’t underestimate the dynamic duo that is magic and Levi’s obsession with cleanliness.

Connie, sitting next to Jean, leans closer to him.

“He seems in a better mood.”

Jean watches Levi tend to a vase full of roses that rest on the windowsill. His movements are meticulous, his thumb gliding over one of the petals with muted admiration. Jean never took Levi as a horticulture enthusiast, but perhaps it’s easier to develop obscure hobbies when there’s no fear of titans demolishing humanity at any given moment.

“All right,” Levi says once he’s done admiring the roses. “Let’s continue our discussion about the overthrow of Hizuru’s wizarding government in 1465.”

Jean tries, he really does. But learning about the history of wizardry is so boring compared to practicing it. Levi doesn’t call on him once. Thank God, since his brain shuts off for the full forty minutes. But at least Jean can get this out of the way first and spend the rest of his day learning the cool stuff.

Next up is the one he’s looking forward to the most: divination with Pixis.

Of course the all-knowing wise man is in charge of teaching the art of predicting the future. Though, that’s not what’s driving Jean’s desire to attend this class. Right now, Pixis is his only hope at understanding what’s going on with him. He’ll press Pixis until he drains every bit of information from that bald head.

Marco’s in this class, so Jean shares a table with him. A crystal ball sits between them, so Jean’s already pumped. He even holds back a grimace when Pixis addresses the classroom.

“Today, we’ll start with a quick warm up exercise. You and your partner will take turns using your crystal ball to see the other’s future. It’s okay if you can’t conjure any specific details yet. Just an overall picture will do.”

He struts down the center aisle with a smile. When he hits the third row, his gaze holds on Jean for a second too long.

“And just in case anyone forgot, the spell to use is Futurus prospectus.”

Jean’s grimace reveals itself after all. He’s tired of the subtle hints Pixis keeps throwing his way. Jean’s not a toy to be played with. Pixis may be a good man in the real world, but this one is shaping out to be Jean’s prime enemy.

Still, Marco’s looking at Jean all cheerily and hopeful, so Jean pushes aside those thoughts for now. Besides, he’s been tempted by magic all morning. It’s about time he utilizes it.

He slides the crystal ball closer to him. With Marco’s future at the front of his mind, he waves his hand above it.       

“Futurus prospectus.”  

Clouds of smoke dance inside the crystal. Jean’s eyes dazzle. Even if he fails at producing a crisp image, he won’t complain.

Back at home, Jean is an ordinary guy among extraordinary people. He doesn’t possess any titan shifting abilities. He doesn’t have Ackerman strength. He’s just Jean. Nothing more, nothing less.

But for once, Jean knows how it feels to be special. No wonder why Eren has such a huge ego. It’s hard not to when the end result is this awesome.

Crap, he’s thinking about Eren again.

He regains his focus and observes the smoke within the crystal transform into three separate figures. Marco is one of them, Reiner and Bertholdt the other two. There’s no sound as the scene unravels, but the image is vivid enough for Jean to interpret the general consensus.  

“Looks like you’re gonna overhear Reiner tell Bertholdt something you’re not meant to,” he tells Marco. Marco takes a moment to ponder, appearing disappointed his future didn’t involve something cooler.

“Damn it,” Bertholdt says from the table behind them. It seems in this situation, he’s the one who overhears. “I knew telling Reiner about Marco’s surprise party was a mistake. He can’t keep a secret to save his life.”

“Wait, what?” Marco asks.

Bertholdt’s face goes blank, his posture straightening.

“Oh. Uh...”

“Alas,” Pixis cuts in.

He swirls his wand in the air, then points it at Marco.

“Dedecum secundus.”

A faint crack erupts from the tip of his wand. Jean flinches, as does Marco. Jean’s mouth is agape as he tries to figure out what spell Pixis just cast on his friend. If Marco is hurt in any way, Jean will throw hands. Or wands, in this case.

Marco blinks repeatedly, then settles into a relaxed state.  

“What just happened?” he says, pressing a hand to his forehead. He looks at Jean. “Did you see what my future looks like?”

Jean drops his panic. It was just a spell for erasing recent memories. He wouldn’t mind Pixis hitting him with that same spell, maybe a stronger dosage. Jean would very much like to forget his two previous days.

Bertholdt lets out a nervous laugh. “I’ll need to remember that one. Thanks, Professor.”

Pixis nods. He then kneels beside Jean’s table.

“Shall we look at your future, Jean?”

Jean shrugs and passes the crystal ball to Marco, the image he conjured dissolving to nothing. Marco repeats the same incantation and a new smoke cloud emerges. Only this time, it doesn’t morph into a clear image. In fact, it doesn’t morph into an image at all. It’s a permanent dark smog.

“Why’s it so foggy?” Marco says.

Pixis hums. “Inconclusive.”

With the way his life has been going, it’s the last thing Jean wants to hear. Especially considering who its messenger is.

Pixis smiles and stands up. “Don’t worry, Jean,” he says. “You can always try tomorrow.”

“You and I both know that’s not true,” Jean answers bitterly.

Marco’s jaw drops. “Jean.”

Pixis raises a brow. “Is there a problem?”

Jean throws him a challenging stare, hands balling into fists on the table. “I want you to tell me what you know.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Save it. You know what I’m talking about.”

Pixis smiles again, softer this time, which pisses Jean off even more.

“I have a class to teach,” he says. A dismissal.

Jean holds back his rage. Making a scene is not the best way to handle this, even if Pixis deserves it. Jean can tell just by looking at him that he’s fully aware what Jean is referring to. To pretend otherwise after Jean suffered three days of confusion and fear is offensive at best.

Jean huffs. “Yeah. Whatever.”

Pixis takes a slow breath, then continues down the aisle. He addresses Jean one last time without looking back.

“Come see me when the school day is over. We can discuss whatever it is that’s on your mind.”

Yes.

Finally, Jean will have the chance to fix this unusual circumstance. There’s no telling if Pixis will feed him the information he needs, but this is better than nothing.

With hope for what’s to come, Jean breezes through the rest of his day. While he’s eager to get home, he’ll miss having magical powers. Attending wizard school may be the most fun he’s ever had. He learns the anatomy of a unicorn with Hange (even pets one too!), transforms a pocket watch into a teapot with Erwin, and learns from Petra how to brew a potion that allows him to walk through walls.

He has a nice break from Eren too. They only share one class together, astronomy. They sit next to each other, but Eren is too enthralled with Moblit’s lesson to do any sneaky PDA tricks with Jean under the table.  

Once his last class finishes, Jean races to Pixis’s classroom. He got all the fun magic stuff out of the way. Now he can properly focus on getting answers. 

Pixis is at his desk when Jean arrives. A second chair is appropriately placed across from him, which Jean slumps into.

Pixis nods. “Welcome back.”

“Whatever,” Jean mumbles.

He opens his arms. “Well, the floor is yours. Out with it.”

“What the hell is happening to me?” Jean presses. “Are you behind this?”

Pixis chuckles. “Wow. Got right to the accusations.”

“It makes sense,” Jean tells him. “I’ve been waking up every day in a new world and you’re the only one besides me that’s noticed.”

A quiet sigh leaves Pixis’s lips. “I don’t blame you for coming to that conclusion, Jean. But I assure you that I am not the one responsible for your current predicament.”

“Then how is it that you know about this? It’s like you’re always one step ahead of me.”

“Better it’s a step ahead than one on your toes, right?”

His words hang in the air. Jean tries to decipher the meaning behind them, but that just makes his brain hurt. 

Pixis shrugs. “Well, that’s what Pixis would say in this situation, don’t you think?”

Jean blinks twice. “Wait, what?”

He studies Pixis’s expression. His body language. Everything he did and said these last few days. Even before Jean concluded Pixis was involved somehow, there was something about Pixis that seemed off. All the pieces to the Pixis he knows are there, but when put together, they create a puzzle he’s unfamiliar with.

The only explanation that makes sense is the one most difficult to comprehend: this isn’t the real Pixis.  

“Who are you?” Jean asks.

Fake Pixis smiles. “A spirit appointed to you by a higher power to keep an eye on you. A guardian, of sorts. I’ve just taken on the form of someone you trust to make you more comfortable.” He gestures to himself. “You don’t want to know what I look like under all this. Not all spirits are pretty.”

“A guardian,” Jean repeats. “Like an angel?”

Fake Pixis waves his hands. “Heavens, no. I’m not that righteous.”

Well, at least he’s self-aware.

“So if you’re here,” Jean says, “then where’s the real Pixis?”

“Pixis’s soul is sleeping peacefully at the moment. Probably dreaming about women and booze. Trust me, he’s fine.”

Jean nods. This Pixis may be an imposter, but he has no reason to doubt him. For as shady as he’s been, he’s yet to lie to Jean. As long as the real Pixis is safe, then he can deal with an omniscient spirit guide for now.

Still, there’s someone else Jean needs clarity on.  

“What about me?” he says. “I mean, the real me. Back home. Am I…”

“Dead?” Pixis asks. He breaks into a laugh. “No, of course not. You’re knocked out cold, but you’re very much alive.”

Jean exhales. That version of himself he saw in his dream is likely real after all. But he’s alive. If he’s alive, then this can be fixed. That’s what counts. 

“Will I ever wake up?”

“That’s entirely up to you,” Pixis says. “If you want it enough, it’ll happen.”

“The hell?”

Jean shoots out of his seat. He clenches his jaw, the veins in his neck throbbing with discomfort.

“Of course I want to wake up! I want to go home!”

Pixis doesn’t appear impressed. “You didn’t seem too eager to get home once you discovered you can use magic in this world.”

“Do you think I’m that shallow?” Jean says, tone growing harsher. “I’d trade all this stuff in a heartbeat if that means I can get back to my friends. My real ones. They’re probably worried sick.”

“That’s a fair assessment.”

“So then why don’t you tell me what I have to do to get out of here?”

“What makes you think I have that answer?”

“Didn’t you just call yourself my guardian?” Jean counters. “Aren’t guardians supposed to, like, be useful for this stuff?”

“Yes, I suppose. But I’m not the only tool that’s been given to you.”

Jean shields his face. With a groan, he runs his hands through his hair.

“What does that even mean?”

“Jean,” Pixis says, “do you know how many universes there are?”

Jean doesn’t answer, so Pixis proceeds for him.

“An infinite amount. Think of any setting imaginable and I promise you it exists, each of them with a sixteen-year-old Jean Kirstein none the wiser about your existence.”

Jean scrunches his face. “So you have me sent to three universes in a row where Eren Jaeger is my boyfriend?”

“Sorry to tell you,” Pixis says, his own tone matching Jean’s hostility, “but the two of you are a couple in way more than three universes. Of course, the way in which you get together may be different. There are plenty of universes where you don’t even meet Eren until you’re in your twenties.”

“So then why not send me to one of those? At least I’d have some peace from that damn leech clinging to me. What the hell did I do to deserve this? He’s the one who’s ruined my life!”

Pixis grunts and shakes his head. “Christ, you are hopeless.”

“Says the spirit guide who won’t do his fucking job and guide me back home.”

“Fine,” Pixis snaps at him. “You want to know how to get back to your real life?”

“Yes.”

And then, the irritation on Pixis’s face vanishes. In its place is a grin, one that Jean accepts as nothing less than a challenge.

“Stop running,” he says.

Jean tilts his head. “Excuse me?”

“Like I said, there’s an infinite number of universes out there. The ones you’ve visited so far, and any that you visit in the future, none of it is coincidence. The choices you make in one universe will determine which universe you end up in next. Theoretically, you could end up back home tomorrow if you really wanted to.” He casts a look of judgment over Jean. “But based on what I’ve seen so far, I seriously doubt it.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Jean tells him.

“Jean, these alternate lives of yours are trying to tell you something. Instead of running from the truth, try listening for a change. Have an open mind.”

Jean suppresses an eye roll. Serves him right for getting his hopes up. How is it that Pixis can talk his ear off yet mention nothing of substance? Looks like he’ll be stuck in this conundrum a little while longer.  

“Now,” Pixis says, “weren’t you supposed to be meeting Eren at the lake? Better get to it.”

Damn. Jean forgot about that. Not that he cares about whatever Eren wants to show him (though it better not be anything that’s concealed by clothing), but the ghost of Mikasa’s fury still haunts him. He can spare five minutes to entertain Eren’s shenanigans to avoid getting beat to a pulp.

“Whatever,” Jean tells Pixis. “Thanks for nothing.”

He doesn’t waste time to get away from Pixis. He turns on his heel and storms out, though not before hearing Pixis mutter under his breath.

“Hopeless.”

*

The lake behind the school is wondrous. The fields surrounding it are illustriously green. Jean’s reminded of the jade ring his father proposed to his mother with.

Blue skies reflect beautifully against the water. The last body of water Jean visited was the ocean at Eldia’s coastline. That still holds first place for the most incredible view he’s witnessed to date, though that may be due to what it represents for him: hope. This scenery, however, offers a calming sensation, like Jean can sprawl out in the grass and nap his troubles away.

That’s the exact sort of peace he needs right now.   

Eren is crouched down on the rocky shore, fiddling with something on the ground. Jean approaches, his confidence faltering with each step. If this Eren was bold enough to kiss Jean in front of their peers without worry, there’s no telling what he’ll try when the two are alone.  

Eren looks up and, upon seeing Jean, breaks into an enthused smile.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Jean replies. “All right, what is it that you want to show me?”

Eren holds out his hands, creating an invisible cave for six items he has lined up against the rocks.

Jean narrows his brows. “What’s with all the pens?”

Eren’s smile stretches wider. “Just watch.”

He fetches his wand from his robe pocket. He gives Jean once last tender glance before flicking his wrist and pointing it at the pen farthest to the left.

“Stylus rosamuto.”

In a flash, the pen transforms into a bright sunflower. Perfectly even petals with two leaves sprouting from its long stem.

Maybe if Eren picked a different flower, Jean would be intrigued. Something cool like a camellia or a lisianthus, something Vera plants in their family garden. But Jean can’t fathom the appeal of sunflowers. They look goofy, like a child that tries too hard to act older than they are. If this is meant to impress Jean, Eren fails in all aspects.

Although, it seems Jean isn’t the only one that’s unimpressed.

“Huh,” Eren says, sitting back on his heels. “That’s weird. It was supposed to turn into a rose. Professor Smith showed me how to do it.”

He tries the spell again, this time on the next pen in line. But just like the first, a sunflower appears instead of a rose. Eren goes down the line, the wrinkle in his forehead deepening with each attempt.

When six sunflowers stare back at them, he pouts.

“Damn it.” He looks apologetically at Jean. “I did it before, I swear.”

Jean glances off to the side. “Well, sunflowers last longer anyway.”

He means it to be sarcastic, but it doesn’t come across as such. When he peers back at Eren, he’s unsettled by his newfound elation.

“They do?” Eren asks, smiling again. “That’s good.”

He picks up each sunflower and groups them like a bouquet. He cups them at the center of their stems and extends them to Jean.

“Here.”

Jean tentatively accepts. “Oh,” he says, cheeks reddening, “uh…”

“Happy anniversary.”

“Huh?”

Green eyes trace over Jean’s perplexed face. “We’ve been dating for three months today. Guess you forgot.” His smile turns sad as he tilts his head down. “That’s okay. It’s kinda silly to celebrate, anyway.”

Jean wishes Pixis were here to listen to this idiocy. Because really, how is being in a universe where he and Eren are celebrating a three month anniversary going to help him get out of this time loop? The only significance he can pinpoint is the ability to piss Jean off further by the day. Is the goal for Jean’s anger to fuel him to solve this mystery? He’s pretty sure he’d be back home by now if that were the case. His threshold has been exceeded five times over already.

Then again, if today is their anniversary...

“That explains the present on my desk,” he says.

Eren perks up instantly. “You got me a present?”

Jean leans back as Eren leans forward. “Um,” he chokes out, “maybe?”

Eren beams. “Well, can I open it?”

“After dinner.” If Jean has to deal with Eren swooning over whatever Wizard Jean got him, he deserves to have some good food first.

Eren sits back and nods. At least he won’t push Jean to change his mind.

“Well, what should we do until then?” he asks. “Wanna come back to my room?”

Jean’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

“We can work on homework together,” he clarifies.

“Oh.” Jean exhales, far louder than necessary. “Yeah, sure.”

To Jean’s chagrin, his hands are full on the walk back to the dormitories. One hand holds his new sunflowers, the other hand holding Eren's. Eren kisses Jean’s hand before taking it a step further and locking their fingers together. It’s a natural fit, but Jean hates it all the same. At least Eren positions their hands so Jean’s is the dominant one.

The next few hours progress with surprising ease. Aside from the few kisses Eren tries to steal from Jean while they do homework together, PDA doesn’t escalate any more than it did this morning. Eren even keeps his hands to himself long enough during dinner for Jean to tune him out while he scarfs down his chicken drumstick.

Then the cursed hour arrives. Jean brings Eren back to his room, though not before Connie assures them he won’t be returning for at least a few hours. The idiot had the audacity to use the phrase “private time”, and Jean never wanted to smack him so hard.

The sunflowers sit on a little end table for now. Once Eren's gone, Jean plans on tossing them in the trash. Or maybe he'll use a spell to set them on fire. Either works for him.

Eren’s eyes light up when he spots the present on Jean’s desk. He dashes for it immediately, a boyish grin encompassing his face as he inspects the thin package from all sides.

“Did you pick blue wrapping paper because it’s my favorite color?”

Jean forces a smile. “How about we keep that a mystery?”

He sits in the center of his bed, quickly realizing his mistake when Eren joins opposite him. Still, Eren’s too transfixed by his gift to make any unwarranted moves. As it sits in Eren’s lap, the upper portion of it presses against Jean’s knee.

“I think I know what this is,” he says.

“That makes one of us,” Jean mutters out the corner of his mouth.

Eren rips the paper off in large chunks. It doesn’t take long for Jean to realize what’s beneath the wrapping. It’s a watercolor painting, which he deduces is Wizard Jean’s choice of artistry. Pretty sweet. It’d be even sweeter if the painting were for someone Jean actually likes.

A small crescent moon is tucked in the top left corner. The midnight sky is the backdrop, a tantalizing mix of bright blues and deep purples. A collection of tall pine trees scatter across the bottom, tufts of needles detailed to perfection.

The real allure of the painting lies within the stars. They dazzle even in 2D, so magnetic that Jean wishes he can reach into the image and grab one. None of his charcoal artwork comes close to this creation. Jean finds himself proud of his alternate self and extremely jealous all at once.   

“You made this?” Eren asks, his bewilderment evident.

He waves his hand over the image, seemingly testing something. All the stars leap from the painting, and not just the ones that are visible. From every direction, little celestial wonders burst out, creating a global exterior around Jean’s painting.

Jean sucks in a breath, as does Eren. The stars hold still until Eren moves his hand again, then they rotate accordingly. He circles through them, his amazement heightening by the second.

When he’s finished, Eren points at the painting. The combination of stars that are directly over the canvas fall into place, creating a new starry scenery against the midnight sky.

Eren, giddier than Jean’s ever seen him, meets his gaze again.

“It’s got all the constellations!”

Jean shifts uncomfortably. Eren’s enthusiasm for astronomy is an unexpected twist of this universe.

Then again, is it restricted to only this universe?

During his night as a M.P. soldier, Eren asked Jean if they could stargaze like they used to. Maybe Eren always had an affinity for watching and studying the stars and Jean never bothered to notice.

Not that it matters. Jean still doesn’t care about Eren’s interests. He was just surprised, that’s all. 

“It’s incredible,” Eren gushes. “You’re amazing.”

Jean looks away. “I don’t know about that.”

Eren flicks his forehead.

“Ow!”

“That’s for being dumb,” Eren tells him. Once Jean’s done rubbing his forehead, Eren kisses it. “That’s for being cute.” He beams at his present again. “Thank you. Best gift ever.”

He toys around with it some more, observing all the constellations up close. Jean has no choice but to watch, his stomach tightening the more it sinks in that he’s the reason for Eren’s over the top happiness. He wonders what the Eren of his world would think of the Eren of this world. Surely, he’d be just as disgusted as Jean to see himself act like such a sap.

“Here,” Eren says. “I’ll leave it on Cassiopeia.”

“Why Cassiopeia?”

He gives a bashful smile as he admires it etched into Jean’s painting. “It’s my favorite. I like that it’s one of the few you can see year-round. Plus, it’s beautiful.”

Jean tries to see what Eren does, but all he sees is a crooked W. How that evokes beauty is just another of Eren Jaeger’s many mysteries.

“You know,” Eren says, “the night we had our first kiss, I could see it from my bedroom window. I didn’t even have to look hard for it. It was like it was watching over me. At the time, I thought it was just a nice coincidence.” He pauses to suck in his bottom lip. “But I’m not so sure anymore.”

He sets the painting next to him with gentle consideration. Looking away from Jean, he tucks his fists into his lap and cowers into himself.  

“Jean, there’s something that I want to tell you.”

Jean surveys his face. “What’s that?”

“Well,” Eren says, “this is my first relationship, so I wasn’t really sure what to expect. But it’s been fun, being with you.” With a shaky hand, he tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. “You’re sweet. You make me laugh. You’re always there when I need you.”

He takes several slow breaths. He tries to meet Jean’s gaze again, but drops his head as soon as he does. This is nothing like the Eren that’s been all over Jean today. This Eren looks like he’d rather be anywhere else right now.

“Sorry,” Eren says, teeth chattering, “I’ve never done this before. It’s a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

Realization sets in, and it feels damn good. Of course. The only thing this Eren can possibly be nervous about revealing to Jean is the desire to break up with him. It would be so like Eren to wait until after he gets his three month anniversary present to end his relationship with Jean.

All the flirting, the kissing, the PDA, it was just to keep Jean from calling it quits first. Now Eren got what he wanted, so Jean is no longer needed. Eren’s just too nervous about being yelled at to say it outright.

For the first time ever, Jean wants to reassure him. They may as well get this over with so he can enjoy his last few hours as a wizard before he’s blasted off to God knows where.  

“You don’t have to say it,” he tells him. “I feel the exact same way.”

Eren glances at him again, his eyes softening. “You do?”

Jean smiles. “More than anything. I’m just glad we’re on the same page.”

Eren’s smile is twice as big. “Oh, Jeannie.”

He throws his arms around Jean’s neck, crushing his windpipe in the process. When he loosens his grip, Jean gasps away the shock of almost being choked to death. He doesn’t enjoy his freedom long, however, because soon Eren is smothering his face with kisses.  

Jean pushes him away. “Wait, what are you doing?”

“What?”

“Why are you kissing me?”

Eren’s smile doesn’t falter. “Cause I’m happy. Aren’t you?”

Jean stays mute. Normally when people break up, kissing is nowhere on the agenda. So, either this is the most amicable break up in human history, or Jean misunderstood what Eren was referring to in the first place.

When he takes too long without responding, Eren’s smile finally drops.

“Wait, what did you think I was talking about?”

“What did you think I was talking about?” Jean argues.

“Oh my God,” Eren whines.

He stands up and glares at Jean. Jean prefers Eren’s anger to his affection, but that doesn’t simmer his confusion.

“You’re an idiot,” Eren snaps at him. “Do you know how long I’ve been working up the nerve to confess?”

“Confess what?”

Eren grunts and crosses his arms. “Forget it.”

He turns away, but not enough for Jean to miss the pink tint to his cheeks.

“Just so you’re aware, I’m marking this down as our first fight.”

“Congratulations,” Jean mutters.

Eren spins around with flared nostrils. He stomps toward Jean’s bed and snags the painting. His scowl deepens as he hugs it to his chest.

“I’m keeping this.”

“Be my guest.”

Eren puffs his cheeks out, his face resembling a grumpy kitten. He angrily kisses Jean’s cheek, which Jean could’ve done without, then storms out of the room, painting in tow.

Jean has no idea how things went so wrong, so fast, but he won’t question it. At least he’ll have the night to himself now. There’s still some time before he’s ready to sleep. Spending it practicing magic is a nice way to debrief after his most chaotic day yet.

Then he remembers Mikasa. What are the chances that Eren spills to her about their argument?

Jean rushes to his door and fastens both locks. Then, as his first attempt at magic this evening, he uses the furniture raising spell to push his large wardrobe against the entrance as well. Just in case. 

Chapter Text

For a week that passes without a cloud in sight, Saturday’s weather is abysmal. The sky is painted an overwhelming gray that can give depression to the happiest man on earth. Rain showers scatter throughout the morning, leaving the ground wet and windows streaked. Conquering another school week should be celebrated with a weekend of outdoor play, running free and getting into the occasional trouble. Sadly, Mother Nature has other plans.

But a quiet Saturday indoors can be fun too. Nine-year-old Falco Grice is an avid reader, and getting cozy in bed on a rainy day and breezing through a new book is a personal favorite. He recently discovered the Goosebumps series by R.L. Stine and has inhaled every installment he can get his hands on like candy. Falco’s still gaining the courage to read them at night. As addicting as they are, they’re a bit too scary for his liking.

The steady tapping of raindrops against his bedroom window sets the mood. Falco rolls onto his side and bundles himself deeper into his comforter. Slappy the dummy is up to his usual tricks, which is both comical and terrifying. Falco doesn’t own any dolls, but these books would have made him throw them out if he did. He’ll never look at puppets the same way again.

In the middle of his current chapter, there’s a knock on his door. His older brother Colt steps in immediately after, which negates the purpose of knocking in the first place. But being five years younger, Falco has to choose his battles wisely. Colt’s mostly harmless, but he can crush Falco to a pulp with his eyes closed if Falco provokes him enough.     

“What?” Falco asks.

Colt smirks and leans against the doorway. “Your girlfriend’s here.”

Falco rolls his eyes. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Sure.”

“She’s not!”

“Not yet,” Colt teases.

They recycle this conversation so often that Falco’s convinced it's shaved at least five years off his life. Gabi Braun is a classmate that lives a few houses down, so Falco often hangs out with her outside of school. But they’re friends. That’s it.

Falco’s allowed to have a friend that’s a girl without wanting her to be his girlfriend. Just because he thinks Gabi is pretty and smells nice doesn’t mean he wants to, like, kiss her or anything. They’ve only hugged once, and that was when they won the relay race that pushed their class to first place on Field Day. Besides, if Falco wants to date a girl just because they’re friends, that makes him a womanizer, since he’s friends with Zofia and Kaya as well.

Colt knows all of this, but taunts Falco about Gabi anyway. It must be that older brother instinct to humiliate his little brother at all costs. And sure, Falco gets embarrassed, but it’s just because Colt is so off the mark that it’s frustrating. Falco reckons that Colt’s just bitter that he’s in high school now and still doesn’t have a girlfriend to hang out with. The thought offers some comfort, but not much.

Falco tucks his bookmark in its rightful spot and ends his Goosebumps adventure for now. He climbs out of bed and lunges at Colt. He tries to push him out of the entryway, but Colt’s tall and stocky body is difficult to move.

“I hate you!” Falco says. “Why can’t you just leave me-”

“Hi Falco.”

Falco drops his hands when he spots his friend lurking behind Colt. “Gabi.”

Gabi pops into the doorway with an upbeat smile that makes Falco’s stomach feel funny. Her deep brown hair is braided into pigtails, the ends just hitting her shoulders. Even in this weather, she’s wearing her signature ensemble: a knitted dress with black tights.

Falco’s face flushes pink. He never comments on how Gabi dresses out of respect, but one day he’s going to have to explain why she can’t show up to his house all cute and put together when Falco’s only in a Sonic the Hedgehog shirt and some lounge pants. They always look like they’re dressed for different occasions. If they’re friends, they should try to match more.

“Wanna hang out?” she asks, her tone so sweet Falco may melt into the floor.

“Oh,” Falco mumbles. He glances off to the side. “Yeah, of course.”

Colt watches the two of them in awe as Gabi takes two full steps into Falco’s room.

“You kids have fun,” he says. “Oh, and Falco, keep the door open.”

“Get out!”

Falco bares his teeth and lunges forward a second time. Colt makes kissy faces at him and steps back, evading Falco’s attack. Falco slams the door in his idiot brother’s face, not caring about the decree imposed on him a few seconds prior.

With a grunt, he spins around. Back pressed to the door to prevent Colt from barging in again, he directs his attention to Gabi.

“Hi,” he exhales.

Gabi’s still smiling. Falco can’t decide whether that’s better or worse. “Hi.”

His eyes drift around the room. His bookshelf, his lava lamp, his Funko Pop collection, anything but Gabi’s face.

“So, what do you wanna do?”

“We can play Animal Crossing,” she suggests.

“Nah.” Falco loves Animal Crossing, but is still traumatized from the last time he played and his avatar got bit by a tarantula.

“Sims?”

Falco perks up. “Sure.”

If there’s one game that he and Gabi can waste the entire day playing, it’s The Sims 4. There’s something so enthralling about controlling the actions of virtual people to either help them achieve their dreams or make their lives as miserable as possible. Falco and Gabi keep a healthy balance of the two, mostly depending on their attachment to the household in question.

They relocate to the Grice basement where the computer Falco shares with Colt is. Gabi pulls over an extra chair and the two sit at the neon blue desk. Falco adjusts the mouse so it rests between them. When they play, it’s a free for all. Both of them are fine with sharing, so they take turns depending on who wants to do something specific.

Falco boots up the game, a satisfied grin appearing on his face. He already knows which household Gabi wants to play with. It’s the same family they’ve been following for the last few weeks. While it’s fun turning a random woman into the community harlot and getting her pregnant six times by six different men, they’ve been enjoying the peaceful slice of life atmosphere this particular family provides. The kids would make way better older siblings than Colt. 

Gabi hums. “There they are.”

The official name they gave this family is Ackerman-Jaeger, even though no one in this household holds both surnames. Mikasa (the niece) and Levi (the uncle) are Ackermans, and Eren (the nephew) is a Jaeger. Gabi came up with the elaborate backstory that Eren and Mikasa are childhood friends that lost their parents at an early age, making them both orphans. But then they connected with Levi, a distant relative that was unaware of their existence. Levi took them into his modest home, and the rest is history.

Falco’s not sure how Gabi thinks of this stuff, but it’s part of why he likes her so much.

Wait, no, not like her like her. He likes playing with her. Two very different things.

Just like the real world, it’s Saturday in the game as well. As for what he and Gabi will have their Sims do, that can be figured out as time passes. Falco appreciates some spontaneity.

The first thing Falco notices on screen is Eren in the living room, waving his arm toward the ceiling as he whines in pain. The diamond floating above his head that’s supposed to be green is crimson red. A quick glance at Eren’s needs panel tells Falco why.  

“Use the bathroom, dipshit!” Gabi yells.

Falco’s eyes widen. “Gabi.” He points at the ceiling, signaling that his parents may have heard.

She winces and drops her voice. “Sorry.”

Still, he understands her frustration. Some Sims are just dumber than others, and Eren is pretty dumb. If Eren were left to his own devices, he would’ve died at least five times by now. He never does anything to relieve his stresses unless Falco or Gabi manually select the option for him. He’ll go the entire school day with a full bladder instead of just, you know, peeing at school like a normal person.

Eren’s a fun character, though. He likes to sneak out and get wild (even if Levi punishes him later), but still has wholesome aspirations and hobbies. They saved up Simoleons to get Eren a telescope for stargazing, and he now even shows certain stars off to his loved ones.

After Eren relieves himself in the bathroom, he returns to the living room. Mikasa is in the corner doing sit ups for whatever reason while Levi maniacally cleans every surface imaginable. Eren, sitting alone, cups his hands under his chin and swoons as a little thought bubble with a fourth Sim’s face inside hovers over his head.

“Invite Jean over,” Gabi says.

Falco nods. “Good idea.”

Jean is Eren’s boyfriend. It’s funny. When they first encountered Jean, Falco and Gabi didn’t like him that much. He picked fights with Eren for no reason. He even went as far as declare Eren his enemy at one point.

And then at one point, they just started...flirting?

It was a complete shift in attitude, but Falco and Gabi went along with it. Admittedly, they’re suckers for a good enemies to lovers story. It was like watching their own personal romantic comedy.

Of the two, Gabi’s way more invested in Eren’s relationship with Jean. She actually screamed when they kissed for the first time. Falco’s parents had to come downstairs and ask for them to be quiet, but Gabi claimed it was worth it once they were out of earshot.

That same excitement is back on her face as Falco clicks on Eren’s relationship panel, Jean’s profile being the first in line. When she realizes Falco is looking at her, she fidgets in her chair.

“What?”

Falco beams. “Just, you get so excited when Eren and Jean hang out. I never expected you’d be so into romance.”

“I’m not,” she tells him. “I just think they look cute together.”

Falco surveys her hesitantly. “So it’s not something you’d want yourself?”

“What?”

A scarlet hue washes over Gabi’s cheeks. Her eyes are big, her mouth open. She stammers to get the words out, but manages to when her gaze leaves Falco’s. 

“Of course not.”

Falco nods, doing his best to not look disappointed. He’s not even sure why he’s disappointed. Then again, he’s not sure why he asked in the first place.

“Why?” Gabi asks after an embarrassingly long silence. “Is it something you want?”

Heat rushes to Falco’s face. He swiftly looks back at his computer. “Ew. Gross.”

He returns to the task at hand, inviting Jean over. Maybe they’ll have him and Eren spend their Saturday cuddling and watching movies. Or maybe they can cook a meal together, as long as they don’t set the kitchen on fire like last time.

Eren shoots Jean a text asking to hang out. Jean’s response shows in the notification bar in the top right corner.   

“Sorry, but I don’t feel like coming over today.”

Falco scrunches his face. “That’s weird.”

“Try again,” Gabi says.

He does, but Jean’s answer is the same.

“Sorry, but I don’t feel like coming over today.”

Gabi’s jaw drops. “What the heck?”

For the length of time that’s passed in the game since Falco and Gabi first created the Ackerman-Jaegers, Eren’s relationship with Jean is well past the serious stage. They fully plan on having them marry when they age into adulthood. Gabi’s already brainstorming ideas for the wedding.

Eren is with Jean every day, at least for a little bit. And if for some reason they can’t hang out, Jean always calls him just to chat. When they are together, Falco and Gabi don’t even have to do anything. Eren and Jean cling to each other like koalas, both equally initiating soft kisses and tender touches with one another.

So why does Jean not want to see Eren all of a sudden? Are high school relationships that finicky? If so, maybe Colt’s better off not having a girlfriend. Falco’s opinion of his brother changes by the hour, but even at his worst, Colt deserves a good girl. Probably.

Gabi takes control of the mouse, determination overtaking her expression.

“No,” she declares. “We’re not getting stood up.”

Instead of Eren texting Jean a third time, Gabi just transports him to Jean’s house. The Kirstein residence is one story with two bedrooms, but that’s more than enough since the only ones who live there are Jean and his mom.

Vera Kirstein is tending to flowers in the garden, but she waves at Eren as he passes her. Eren makes his way inside, immediately going for Jean without being prompted. His boyfriend is in his bedroom working on some digital art on his tablet.

“You could’ve done that at Eren’s house, idiot,” Gabi mutters.

She starts with small talk. Eren asks Jean how his day is going. Jean continues drawing, not offering a word. Which makes no sense, because whether interactions turn out positive or negative, if one Sim speaks to another, the other always responds. That’s just how the game works.

Gabi tries a different conversation topic. Discussing interests is a safe bet. If nothing else, Jean can talk about his own hobbies versus listening about Eren’s. But like the first time, Eren speaks into a void. Not only does Jean ignore him, but he sets down his tablet and walks out of the room, not even sparing Eren a glance.

Falco leans forward. “Is he avoiding Eren?”

Of course, the answer is as obvious as his question. Eren chases Jean around the tiny corners of the Kirstein abode, trying to engage with him. While it’s a losing battle, Gabi doesn't give up. She cycles through the various friendly interaction options, but the result is always the same. Eren speaks to Jean, Jean ignores him, Jean walks away, Eren follows him, repeat.

Gabi’s grip on the mouse tightens. “Why’s he in such a bad mood?”

For that, Falco has no answer. Everything was fine between Eren and Jean the last time they played, almost too fine that it was uncomfortable. But Jean’s irritation is palpable through the screen, and Gabi’s insistence of making things right is just making it worse.

Gabi kicks it up a notch and has Eren reach for Jean’s hand. Jean pulls away, which Falco expected. Watching their relationship meter decrease in real time is a punch to the gut. All that progress he and Gabi built for these two, and Jean is throwing it away in a single afternoon.

Either Gabi is even more stubborn than Jean or she lacks all social cues because she makes Eren go for a kiss next. Jean rejects it, so she grits her teeth. Falco just watches on in confusion, wondering why the game is choosing now to give its NPCs this much urgency.  

Jean turns his head just slightly so his eyes are perfectly centered on the screen. He then goes ballistic, screaming his head off and wagging his finger in the air and stomping his feet.

Falco flinches. Simlish may be the funniest language he’s ever heard, but he can’t find the humor when Jean’s tantrum seems to have a specific target.

“Is he yelling at us?” he asks Gabi.

Jean continues his tantrum, never taking his eyes off them. Eren stands by with a hand over his mouth. He tries a few times to calm Jean down, unprompted by Gabi or Falco, but gets ignored again.

Gabi sinks into her chair. “What kind of glitch is this?”

Falco’s dealt with his fair share of game glitches before, but not to this scale. He opens Google Chrome on his desktop, tuning out Jean’s incessant screams in the background. He types his problem into Google three times, each phrased a little differently, but comes up empty. No one else seems to have any information about Sims breaking the fourth wall and cursing out the players.     

“Falco,” Gabi says, “I think you’ve been hacked.”

Falco pouts. “No way. I used an auto generated password. It has to be the game.”

“Well I don’t like what the game is doing. It’s ruining my OTP.”

“Your what?”

“Never mind.”

They’re back on the game’s screen. Jean’s still yelling, though this time it’s not at the kids. He’s now out on the sidewalk going off on a random elderly Sim passing by. Gabi hovers over the newcomer, revealing his name as Dot Pixis. Falco’s never seen him in the game before, but he’ll bet all the money in his piggy bank that Mr. Pixis doesn’t deserve whatever Jean’s reprimanding him for.  

“He’s pissing me off,” Gabi says with a sneer.

Falco nods. “Eren deserves better.”

“Damn right.”

She forces Eren back outside. Falco is pretty sure it’s not to have him initiate anything romantic with Jean, but he asks anyway.

“What are you doing?”

“Breaking up with him,” Gabi clarifies.

Fair enough. Well, their relationship was fun while it lasted. But Falco likes Eren too much to want him to continue anything with such a selfish jerk.

He looks to Gabi again. Her lips are parted as she rapidly clicks the mouse. Each time she does, the confusion on her face intensifies.  

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s no option.”

Falco snaps his head back to the screen. “What do you mean?”

“Look,” she insists. “It’s not here.”

The break up option should be available under mean interactions. It doesn’t matter how well a relationship is going in The Sims. The option to end it is always there. Falco remembers when he and Gabi had Mortimer Goth divorce Bella even though they were shamelessly in love, just because they got bored.

But when Gabi clicks on Jean, there’s no option for Eren to terminate their relationship. In fact, there’s no option to perform any mean interactions at all. They check every other type of interaction (friendly, funny, romantic), just in case it snuck in somewhere by accident, but to no avail.   

“Okay,” Falco says, “this is freaky.”

Definitely a glitch. Maybe Jean is a virus meant to poison the Grice family computer. Or maybe it’s the virus that’s causing Jean to act this way. Or maybe Falco is just panicking over nothing like he tends to do.  

Gabi’s face softens. “Oh no.”

Eren’s moodlet has turned blue, indicating he’s sad. If that’s not enough, he cries into his hands while Jean unleashes his rage at Pixis. Falco can’t remember the last time Eren’s been sad in this game. He’s always so energetic and enthused about life. Screw Jean for bringing out this side of him.

Gabi says it without hesitation. “Let’s kill him.”

Falco smirks. “You want to?”

“Might as well. If he’s gonna be a crappy boyfriend, he serves no purpose.”

Ah, maybe this is why Falco loves this game so much. While murder is totally frowned upon in the real world and he’d never fathom doing such a thing, he does get a sick satisfaction from causing a Sim’s ultimate demise.

Well, not always. Sometimes it’s not done out of joy, but to progress whatever plot he and Gabi are working on. Eren and Mikasa both had parents when they first created their families, but had all the parents killed the same day they moved in. Gabi really wanted that orphan storyline.   

“How should we do it?”

Gabi glares at Jean through the screen. “It needs to hurt. I want him to suffer as long as possible. We can either have him starve to death or make him drown.”

Falco gives her a lopsided smile. “I don’t know if I should admire you or be afraid of you.”

She smirks back at him. “Aren’t those the same thing?”

Okay, maybe Falco has a tiny crush on her.

“Let’s starve him,” Gabi says. “It’ll take longer.”

But before they can set the plan into motion, Mikasa appears on the Kirstein lot. Jean instantly freezes up, which catches Falco and Gabi off guard.

Then he runs like his life depends on it. Which, if the way Mikasa bolts after him is any indication, may be a fair assessment. Falco and Gabi watch, mouths open, as Jean desperately climbs up a nearby tree. Steam exudes from Mikasa’s body as she hauls behind him. The tree’s leaves shield them from view, but it’s clear from the cloud of smoke and the little punctuation symbols leaking from it that a fight has broken out.

Gabi cackles. “Get him, Mikasa!”

Falco doesn’t have to see the fight to know that Mikasa is going to win. Mikasa is all about athleticism. She’s already maxed out the skill by working out on the daily. Jean may talk a big game, but actions speak louder than words. And in this instance, he doesn’t stand a chance against the wrath of a loving sister.

Jean’s ejected from the tree, his butt hitting the ground several feet below. He looks worn out, stars spinning around his head.

Eren runs over to check on him, which has Falco pursing his lips. Eren’s really too nice for his own good, at least when it comes to Jean.

Mikasa hops down from the tree seamlessly, then pounces on Jean again. This time Eren tries to break them up, but Mikasa is too determined to smash Jean’s face in.

“Eh,” Gabi says, “I’m bored now. What’s Levi up to?”

She switches POVs back to Levi, who’s still at the house. Only, he isn’t alone.

Gabi gasps. “Look.”

Levi’s on the living room couch with Erwin Smith, the personal trainer who lives down the street. They’re engaged in what appears to be a deep conversation, and Levi’s moodlet is a bright green. It makes sense. His mood is always lifted when Erwin is around. And Erwin tends to come by the house a lot.

“They like each other, right?” Falco asks.

“Duh,” Gabi tells him. “It’s obvious.”

Well, they certainly look like a couple. The banter between them flows easily. And they’re both objectively good looking men. Why wouldn’t they be interested in one another?  

Gabi turns to him. “Should we have Levi make a move?”

Falco grins. “Do it.”

With one click, Levi works up the courage to put an arm around Erwin. Erwin welcomes the gesture with a smile, scooting closer to Levi and pressing their bodies together. They snuggle in silence, seemingly too wrapped up in one another to continue their discussion.  

Falco’s excitement heightens. It’s always fun to watch the beginning stages of a relationship. Especially since Levi has never shown any interest in love in the past. Until Erwin came around, at least.

“Okay,” he tells Gabi, “make them kiss.”

She obliges, then Levi is turning his head and kissing Erwin on the mouth. It’s soft and quick, but Falco and Gabi high five like the Titans just won the Superbowl.

Forget Eren and Jean. At least there’s one couple Falco can count on today to feed his inner hopeless romantic.

Gabi follows up with another kiss, this time a proper make out. And wow, they go at it for a while. Longer than most couples when they pull this interaction. But Falco smiles anyway. He’s happy for Levi. Mikasa and Eren won’t be living with him forever. It’ll be nice for him to have someone to grow old with.

When Levi pulls away, he and Erwin are back to snuggling. Erwin kisses his temple, and Falco considers that being in a relationship may be kinda fun. When he’s old enough, of course.

A menacing grin encompasses Gabi’s face. “Should we make them Woohoo now?”

Falco’s ears turn red. “Gabi!”

Chapter Text

Jean would rather keep his eyes closed for two reasons:

One, his body is still sore from yesterday. Getting his ass kicked by Mikasa multiple times over was humiliating enough, but having the pain carry over into this next universe is a special kind of evil.

Two, this bed is really, really comfortable.

With a sleepy smile, he buries his face deeper into his soft bedsheets, encapsulated by their warmth. They smell good too, like freshly chopped pinewood that’s used to build a fire. Jean breathes it in, the alluring scent carrying his problems from the last four days to a faraway land.

He can lie like this forever, but twenty-four hours will do. Whatever universe he’s in now, surely there’s nothing enticing enough to get him to leave this spot. He’ll sleep the day away. After all he’s been put through, he deserves a day of peace.

Jean nuzzles his bedsheets, pairing the gesture with a satisfied hum. His comforter retaliates by pressing deeper into his back. Jean dismisses it. He’s likely being fooled by his own dreariness.

But then the pressure applied by said comforter shifts from Jean’s lower back to his hip.

Instinct tells him that he’s being woken up. Just once, he’d love to wake up to an empty bedroom. He had that privilege as a Scout, but who knows how long it’ll be until he can call himself that again? Until then, he’s trapped in a loop of people who insist on rushing him the moment he wakes up to get ready for something he has no knowledge of.

Slowly, Jean flutters his eyes open. The next course of action is to flip over and curse out whoever is trying to ruin his precious sleeping time, but he's distracted by what's in front of him. What he assumed was a silk bedsheet of the highest caliber that he was rubbing his face into isn’t a bedsheet at all. It’s skin. A bare chest, to be specific.

Jean jolts awake for real. His gaze flickers over the midsection his arm is wrapped around. The light tufts of chest hair. The defined collarbones.

And, because God is out to get him, the sleeping face of Eren Jaeger.

Eren Jaeger is in Jean’s bed. Or worse, Jean is in Eren’s bed. Neither of them have shirts on.

And they’re cuddling.

There’s a two second grace period where Jean’s expression twists into one of such terror it physically pains the muscles in his mouth. Eren is still asleep, his chocolate hair swooping over his right eye. For as soft as his breathing is, he keeps a sturdy hold on Jean’s hip.

Jean screams like he’s being stabbed to death.

Eren rattles awake with a scream of his own. He holds out Jean’s comforter as a shield. After the initial shock wears off, he lowers it, revealing a timid face that’s ghastly white.

“What the hell?” he asks Jean.

Jean can throw that same question back at him, because really, what the hell is this? He may have reluctantly accepted that he’ll be Eren’s boyfriend in any alternate world he visits from now on, but Jean did not sign up for snuggling Eren as they sleep.

The words are on his tongue, but he’s cut off by the door swinging open.     

“Jean boy?”

Jean stares in horror. “Ma!”

Well, at least the mystery is solved over whose room this is. Jean’s not surprised. While this isn’t the same bedroom as the one from that futuristic universe on day two, there’s traces of the same style. If anything, it’s that room but smaller.

But that’s irrelevant. All that matters is that Vera is here. Jean’s relieved to see her, don’t get him wrong, but he’d be a lot happier if there weren’t a shirtless boy in his bed.

Doing his best to appear casual, he throws the comforter over Eren, hiding him from view. It’s useless since it's impossible Vera didn’t see him when she first entered, but Jean’s too desperate to think straight.    

Vera offers a look of concern. “Are you boys okay?”

Eren wrestles free from Jean smothering him with the comforter. Disheveled hair dominates his appearance as rubs his eye.

“I was until Jean screamed in my ear,” he groans. He flashes Vera a sleepy smile. “Good morning, Vera.”

“Good morning, Eren,” she says, matching his benevolence. “Sorry my Jean boy disrupted your sleep.” She shifts to Jean. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Jean scowls. “That’s one way of putting it.”

Truthfully, calling it a nightmare is a disservice. This exceeds the combined distress of every bad dream Jean’s ever had. His worst fears are coming true. Fears so terrible he didn’t realize he had them until it was too late.

He’ll take Eren being all over him at school over this any day. How is he going to get out of today’s mess if he’s in a universe where he and Eren can wake up in his bed topless without Vera batting an eye? A universe where Eren’s on a first name basis with Jean’s mom?

Maybe the objective of this time loop is to worsen Jean’s situation little by little each day until he loses all sanity. If that’s the case, Jean reckons today will be the day it’s seen to fruition.

“I’ll start making breakfast,” Vera says. “Are pancakes okay?”

“Yes please,” Eren tells her.

Vera nods. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

Eren lets out a baby yawn once she leaves. He looks slightly peeved about the manner he was awoken, but Jean can’t bring himself to feel bad. Still, Eren’s annoyance dissipates when he focuses on Jean.

“What’d you dream about?”

“I forgot,” Jean says monotonously.

Eren flops back onto his respective pillow. That stupid fondness is back in his eyes. “Well, good morning.”

“Hi.”

Eren inches closer and hugs Jean’s torso. He presses a light kiss to Jean’s shoulder, sending a chill down Jean’s spine. This is way, way, way too much intimacy this early in the morning.

Jean stiffens his posture. “I need to use the restroom.”

“You can’t wait five minutes?” Eren mumbles into his skin.

“Not really.”

Eren sighs, but breaks away. He throws out a “You suck” as Jean speeds out the room, which goes unanswered.

The first thing that strikes Jean when he steps into the hall is how small this house is. It’s even smaller than the one he had yesterday from that ridiculous universe where everyone’s actions were controlled by those two bratty kids. There’s a second bedroom across from Jean’s, but he can see the kitchen and the living room from his little corner of the narrow hallway. The bathroom falls in the middle, so Jean makes his way in.

After brushing his teeth, he splashes cold water in his face. It relaxes him, but only on the outside. The internal scars Jean’s acquired from this ordeal will need greater efforts to eradicate.

Jean stretches in the mirror. First his arms, then his back, then his neck. As he tilts his head to one side, he notices a splotch of purple at the area his neck and left shoulder connect. Jean’s first guess is some ominous autograph from getting pummeled by Mikasa the day before. But as he zeroes in on his reflection, he realizes it’s not that kind of bruise.

There’s a second mark on his right collarbone. A third near his nipple. They carry down Jean’s front, ranging from faint red to deep purple. After five, he stops counting. Having even one hickey is disturbing enough, especially knowing the source.

And Vera just saw him with his shirt off! He can’t recall if his body was concealed enough by his comforter to hide them, but he prays it was. Jean will die of embarrassment if he discovers he unknowingly flaunted a hoard of hickeys to his poor mother. 

He spins around in the mirror, checking if any are on his back. There aren’t, but a pit in his stomach forms when he catches the scratch marks that drag down his shoulder blades.   

“Eren!”

Jean screams it loudly enough to shake the house. He locks the bathroom door just in case Vera pops over to ask what’s wrong. It takes a few seconds for a soft knock to rap against the hardwood. Jean only opens when he hears Eren softly call his name from the other side.

He yanks Eren inside and shuts the door behind them. This bathroom is not designed to hold two people, so they stand closer than Jean prefers. Eren’s stupid cologne invades his nostrils, nearly suffocating Jean.

Eren surveys his face all lost and confused, as if the bastard has any right to act innocent. Jean, on the other hand, stares coldly enough to turn Eren to stone. When Eren doesn’t pick up on it, Jean points at the hickey near his neck.

Eren’s eyes widen. “Oh shit,” he giggles. “My bad.”

The veins in Jean’s temples are at risk of bursting. Of course the idiot finds this funny. Jean refuses to imagine what his alternate self was doing with Eren to produce this many markings, but he’s certain Eren got a sick pleasure from it.

With their close proximity, Jean notices Eren’s neck has a couple hickeys as well. They’re smaller and lighter than Jean’s, so at least Jean can pat his alternate self on the pat for not being as stupid as Eren. But they’re still obvious enough that Vera will see them even after Eren puts a shirt on.   

“Relax,” Eren says. “I brought my cover up.”

Apparently, cover up is some cold liquid that gets blended into skin with a soft brush. Eren covers his hickeys first and admittedly, he does a good job. The only way someone will notice is if they get close enough to Eren that their nose is touching his neck.

The two sit on Jean’s bed as Eren works on Jean next. He’s particular with his movements, using his thumb before following up with the brush. His touch is so light that it tickles.

Tingles spread across his forearms like a poisonous rash. Eren’s face is close enough that Jean can see how long his eyelashes are. His mouth is curved into a little smile as he concentrates, doting on Jean like a common housewife. It’s for the best that Jean lets him, but that won’t stop him from hating every second.

Jean sighs in relief when Eren is finally finished. He throws on a shirt, as does Eren, then checks the results in the bathroom. It’s not completely invisible, but Jean has the advantage of said hickey’s location that it’s mostly covered by his shirt collar. He should be safe, thank God.

Breakfast is ready by the time Operation Cover Up is complete, so everyone congregates in the little dining area. It’s not a full room, just a round table directly in the middle of the kitchen and the living room.

Jean’s stomach growls as the aroma of fresh pancakes fills the air. They’re topped with strawberries, which has Eren beaming like a little kid. He looks at Jean as if they’re in on the same inside joke. Jean’s still rattled from the hickey incident to try to make sense of what Eren’s referring to.

Eren’s the guest, so he’s allowed the first serving.

“Thanks, Vera.”

Vera smiles. “Oh, you’re welcome, honey.”

Jean fills his plate next then immediately starts chowing down. If he eats, he won’t be pressed to talk. Which is great, because engaging in conversation with his mom and Eren at this tiny ass table is not his definition of a good time. Especially when Eren spreads his legs so his knee leans against Jean’s. 

“So,” Vera says, “do you boys have any plans today before the dance?”

Jean drops his fork. “Oh hell no.”

There’s no mistake now. This is, hands down, the worst universe Jean’s visited to date. There are two things in life that Jean will always hate: Eren Jaeger and dancing. No way is he taking part in anything that combines the two.

Vera chuckles. “Guess Jean wants a lazy day.”

Eren shrugs. “I’m down,” he says. “We just have to head back to my place by four so I can change.”

Jean picks at his food, his appetite gone. He keeps quiet, like his silence will make them forget he’s here. But Vera is keen as a hawk, especially when it comes to her son.

“Jean?”

Jean bites the inside of his lip. He feels Eren’s eyes on him, likely watching with concern. That just makes it worse. If there’s one thing he hates having more than Eren’s affection, it’s Eren’s pity. 

“You know,” Jean mutters, keeping his head down, “I’m not really feeling well. I think it may be best if I stay in bed today.” It’s a lame excuse, but it worked like a charm when he was a kid and didn’t feel like dealing with the school bullies.

Vera slips her hand under Jean’s bangs and presses her palm to his forehead. 

“You don’t feel warm,” she says. She drops her shoulders. “I’d hate for you to miss the dance. Poor Eren was so excited about it.”

“That’s okay,” Eren chimes in.

Jean glances at him. A glob of syrup sticks to the corner of Eren’s mouth. Jean wishes he had a bib to throw at him.

Eren smiles. “I don’t mind staying here and taking care of you,” he tells Jean. “I can get some soup and medicine from the store and we can take it easy today. Besides, I don't want to go to the dance if you're not there.”

“On second thought,” Jean says, rising from his seat, “I’m feeling better. As a matter of fact, I wanna go somewhere.”

Eren observes him hesitantly. “Are you sure?”

“Yep,” Jean affirms.

“What do you wanna do?”

Jean can’t answer as he’s in the dark about what this universe has to offer, so he shrugs as if he’s simply nonchalant.

“We can go to the mall,” Eren suggests.

Jean has no idea what that means, but it has to be better than Eren at his bedside nursing him back to health with kisses and soup.

“Whatever.”

*

Jean has one word for this universe: congested.

Everything is on top of one another. Houses, offices, schools, hospitals, and everything in between. Apparently, Jean’s house is just one of many in a building with ten floors. He also learns what an elevator is. It’s not as efficient as the transportation method at the wizarding school, but it gets the job done.

However, nothing could’ve prepared Jean for his first train ride. Trains are just like cars, only if they were injected with titan serum. They’re bigger, faster, and a hell of a lot louder. Not to mention he barely survives navigating through a crowded train station with Eren. It’s the one time he doesn’t mind Eren holding his hand, otherwise Jean may have been carried away into the sea of people, never to be seen again.

There’s not enough seats on the train, which Jean thinks is stupid. Still, he and Eren are young and able-bodied, so they stand near the back of the cart. The momentum causes Jean to sway, a few times bumping into Eren’s chest accidentally. They can’t get to their stop fast enough.

Even when they do, Jean’s overwhelmed. Too many people rush through the exit, knocking him left and right. Eren keeps a firm grip on Jean’s hand and guides him through the crowd.

Free from the shackles of that hellhole posing as a train station, Jean greets the outdoor air with an enthused inhale. He’s welcomed with the smell of smoke and oil. Not exactly the rejuvenation he’s seeking for.

Eren laughs, which Jean pretends not to notice. Their hands are still locked, fingers intertwined. Jean allows it since the busy nature of this world intimidates him. He still can’t stand Eren, but it’s good to keep close to someone who knows where he’s going.   

In the time it takes to walk six blocks, Jean’s blinded by all the theatrics. They pass a trio of brass instrument players performing a mini concert, a man juggling on a unicycle, and two drunk idiots fist fighting underneath a lamppost.

Eren, however, takes it in stride.

“I love living in the city,” he says.

Jean winces. “Isn’t it a little noisy?”

Eren smiles. “I kinda like that, though. Everything you could ever want, you can find it right here.”

He spreads his arms wide, taking Jean’s hand with him. Eren’s fully immersed as they continue their stroll through the city center. If an overstimulated Jean weren’t beside him, he’d blend into this crowd easily. Even the way he walks is in tune with the atmosphere. Calm, confident, and even a little cool.

Jean doesn’t even realize he’s studying Eren until Eren speaks up again.    

“I always smile when we pass this.”

He’s looking at a mural adorning the side of a local school. Bright paints jump off the wall, a different sort of loud than the city it’s housed in. The artist mastered the skill of using vibrant colors that contrast from but still complement one another. There’s no primary focus, instead a collection of mini pieces deliberately placed in sections. A field of flowers, a starry sky, an ocean wave, a group of smiling students, all the beautiful elements of nature and life are here.

Jean’s never been so awestruck by a painting before. It’s like it’s been taken right from his soul. Everything he’s ever wanted to convey in his own art is right in front of him. It’s not about the masterful stroke of the brush (though it’s more than impressive), but the emotions evoking from it. Jean registers the painting’s intended message upon first glance. The best way to foster education in youth is through community, both with each other and with the earth.       

Jean glides a finger over the outline of a blue flower. “This is beautiful.”

“About time you gave yourself some credit,” Eren says from behind him.

Jean turns to Eren, his lips parted. Certainly, he heard that wrong. But Eren’s smirk says it all.

He peers back to the mural. “I made this?”

He surveys it again. This time he marks up each area with his hands as if confirmation can travel through touch. The wall is cold, but a new warmth accumulates in his palms. When it spreads to his heart, Jean forces his expression neutral. He’s not sure if the emotions flowing through his insides are happy or sad, but he refuses to reveal them in the open like this, and especially not in front of Eren.

Speaking of Eren, now that Jean knows his city boy counterpart is the genius behind this mural, it’s easy to recognize who the brown-haired boy in the center of the student section is. This Eren sports a little smile, his green eyes carrying a myriad of wonder.

While everything on this mural is crafted to perfection, Eren is painted with added care. It’s not even something Jean can see, he can just feel it in his heart.  

“Come here,” Eren says.

He takes out his phone and gets close to Jean. Stretching his arm out, he flashes a big smile, making sure to get a good chunk of the mural in the camera view.

Jean doesn’t smile. He’s still processing this masterpiece is his. But Eren calls the photo cute anyway.      

“Can you take one of me now?” he asks Jean.

Jean obliges, clenching his jaw a bit too harshly when Eren poses next to the painted version of him. Leave it to Eren to have his favorite part of the mural be the part where he’s included.

Eren takes Jean’s hand again, leading them toward the mall. Jean looks back at the mural one last time, only turning forward when he accidentally bumps into a snide passerby. It’s silly, but he doesn’t want to part with it. It’s like his soul has fused with it, and now there’s an emptiness within him.

He pushes those feelings aside to avoid Eren’s comfort. Besides, once they reach the main entrance to the mall, Jean finds an easy distraction.   

“This place is huge.”

Eren snorts. “No kidding.”

Shops and restaurants stretch across two floors, dividing into several wings. If this is only the part that Jean can see, he wonders how expansive the area is that he can’t. Never mind the city streets, Jean can easily get lost here if he makes the wrong turn.

Their first destination is a little drink stand in the toward the end of the main strip. Eren pays, not even asking Jean what he wants. Jean hears the words mango and pineapple, which are two fruits he enjoys, but that’s not the point.

When they get their smoothies, Eren pushes his straw between his lips and slurps down. His drink is a light green to Jean’s yellow. Whatever flavor it is, Eren’s happiness is evident.

Jean takes the plunge and tries his drink. One sip is all it takes. As soon as it passes through his throat, his eyes widen in delight and he sips down more.

It’s delicious. It makes sense that two of his favorite fruits can blend into a heavenly combination, but its genius can only be experienced by tasting it. Bliss dances on his tongue as he bounces on his toes.

Jean stops once cold pressure builds in his head. It’s probably for the best. He’ll get sad once his cup is empty. In the interim, he blurts out the first thing he can think of.   

“I think I’m in love.”

Eren pauses from drinking his own smoothie to meet Jean’s gaze. His mouth hangs open as a light blush casts over his cheeks. The realization of what he just said makes Jean’s skin flush as well.  

“I mean with the drink,” he clarifies.

Eren presses his lips together and nods. “Yeah. I know what you meant.”

A painfully awkward silence passes between them. Eren sits at a nearby bench to enjoy the rest of his smoothie. Jean follows so he doesn’t look like an idiot standing alone in a crowded mall, but sitting beside Eren doesn’t relieve the tension.

Jean doesn’t care about Eren, not really. But if they have to spend the day together, the least he can do is make it as painless as possible.  

“What’s wrong?”

“Just thinking about tonight,” Eren answers.

Oh right. The dance. From the bits that Jean gathered from his mom and Eren, at least their friends will be there. Jean plans on staying near Marco the entire evening. Maybe Connie or Sasha if Marco is busy. He’ll hang out with anyone as long as it’s not Eren.   

“Jean,” Eren says, “I know slow dancing isn’t your thing, but do you think you could do it for me? Just for one song. I promise I won’t ask you any more after that.”

Jean flares his nostrils. This is exactly what he didn’t want. Slow dancing with Eren Jaeger may be the most twisted form of torture.

It’s not going to happen. Jean would rather cut his hands off than place them on Eren’s waist and hold him close. But he can’t say that unless he wants Mikasa to beat his ass again tonight. Four times is more than enough.

For now, he’ll lie. Jean can sort out how to get out of it later.

“Fine.”

The left half of Eren’s mouth curls upward. “Thank you.”

He kisses Jean’s cheek. Jean holds back his disgust.

They finish their smoothies, then toss them in the trash bin beside them. They walk further into the mall. Jean’s over the hand holding, so he keeps close to Eren instead. Though Eren has a new spring in his step now that Jean “agreed” to dance with him, which makes Jean want to turn around and go home.

Before he considers it, Eren hugs his arm.

“Wanna go to the arcade?”

Jean scrunches his face. “Ar...what?”

Chapter Text

The colors are louder than the music. Blue, green, and purple lights dominate the scene, their collaboration creating a hypnotic element.  

Jean falls victim to it instantly.

He can’t decide where to look. There’s a lot going on, but unlike the intimidating city streets, it seems deliberate. From kids to adults, everyone is hyped up. They’re dispersed around the interior, taking turns at the various contraptions that occupy the mall’s arcade. Even with the vast crowd, there’s still enough open stations anywhere Jean turns his head. 

Jean allows himself to relax. Today may be a disaster (which is likely, considering he’s spending it with Eren), but at least the environment is aesthetically pleasing.    

Eren, arm still linked with Jean’s, gets in the line by the main desk. There’s a receptionist at each end passing out cards to paying customers. When it’s their turn, Jean and Eren are called forward by the one on the left. 

Eren lets go of Jean and fetches his wallet. He purchases two game cards and offers one to Jean. Jean observes the shiny plastic from both sides, cold between his fingertips.  

“Let’s go,” Eren says. 

The deeper they sink into the pits of the arcade, the more comfortable Jean feels. Most of these contraptions have little televisions like the one he watched cartoons on with Vera the other day. Except this time, it appears the actions of the people operating them dictate what happens on the screen. There are kids driving pretend cars and shooting fake guns. Jean doesn’t understand the enjoyment in that, but the arcade seems like it's designed for having fun. Eren already looks like he’s having a blast and they haven’t even done anything yet.

Eren points ahead. “Wanna start with some Skee-Ball?”

Jean’s gaze lands on a row of five separate lanes, all on an incline. Each lane has a set of seven rings marked with different numbers. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty, and fifty take up the center area, ten having the largest ring. Additionally, there are two small 100 pockets toward the back on each side. As Jean approaches, he notices the stack of wooden balls available on the right side of each lane. 

Intriguing, he thinks to himself. 

Eren steps up to the lane next to Jean’s and inserts his game card in the appropriate slot. Jean follows suit, jumping a little once the machine thanks him with a chipper noise and the screen above the set of rings lights up. 

Eren grabs a ball, then flashes a competitive smirk at Jean.

“Winner keeps the other’s tickets,” he says.

Jean turns to him. “Tickets?”

Another sound erupts from the machine. Eren rolls his ball up the ramp, not missing a beat. As it sinks into one of the holes, he sends up another one. The tip of his tongue pokes out as he concentrates. 

Jean doesn’t have a full grasp on what’s going on, but he must be losing since he hasn’t done anything yet. Eren looks too happy with himself, the scoreboard above his lane increasing its points with each roll. 

Jean has to think fast. He can’t lose to Eren. His ego can’t handle such a blow.

He tries to one up Eren by throwing his ball toward the set of rings instead of rolling it up the ramp. It doesn’t work because Jean is too frazzled to notice the giant net that prevents people from doing that very thing. The ball collapses against the ramp with a hard thud and rolls back toward him. 

It’s loud enough to distract Eren. He shudders like he’s having a stroke. The jerk in his movements causes him to mess up one of his turns, the ball curling too far to the left. 

“What are you doing?” he snaps at Jean. 

“Sorry,” Jean mutters. 

For everyone’s sake, he rolls the ball this time. It soars up the ramp and plops into the pocket marked with the number thirty. Instantly, the screen above his lane updates his score to thirty points. Also, it says he has 8 attempts remaining.

So that’s how it works.

He glances at Eren’s screen and drops his jaw. The bastard is already at 180 points! He’s only got six turns left, to be fair, but Jean won’t win if thirty is the best he can get each round. Especially if Eren could’ve had a better score if Jean hadn’t distracted him.        

Determination travels through his veins as he lines up his next shot. He needs to score in one of the 100 pockets.

This time, he scores ten. 

“Damn it!”

Eren chuckles, but keeps his eyes on his own lane. Jean watches him sink a forty with ease, as if he weren’t frustrated enough.

He grits his teeth and focuses on the task at hand. 

“You’re not winning that easily, Jaeger.”

Driven by hatred and the fragilest of egos, Jean’s third attempt earns him forty points. He exhales, relieved he’s not a complete fuck up, but it’s not good enough. Eren’s already at 300 points.

But Eren’s only advantage is prior knowledge of how this game works. And perhaps he’s better at Skee-Ball than the Jean that belongs to this world, but that isn’t the Jean he’s up against. 

This Jean is a member of the Survey Corps, where speed, accuracy, and heart are the difference between life and death. A little game like this is no match for his time on the battlefield. If there’s anyone he’s willing to teach that lesson to, it’s Eren. 

One by one, Jean aims his shots. He pays Eren no mind for the rest of the game. Eren’s score doesn’t matter. All that matters is that when Jean’s finished, his score will be higher. 

He gets a burst of adrenaline every time he sinks a ball into a 100 pocket. His blood pumps faster, his breathing rate getting slower. 

Why is this so intense? The stakes are so low, much lower than potentially getting eaten by a titan. Jean finds it odd, but he doesn't reject it.     

Number nine is another 100 pointer. Now finished, he checks his score. 580 points. Quite the turnaround from his lackluster start. He almost doesn’t even care about Eren’s score because of how accomplished he feels in his own right. 

But then he sees Eren only scored a 560, and, yeah, Jean’s gonna gloat. 

“Hah!” he cheers, throwing a fist in the air. “I win!”

The machine chimes again. Jean’s getting sick of these stupid surprise noises. He’s startled by the brush of some strange material against his shin. Peering down, a hoard of cream colored tickets are spit from the machine, connected in one long chain. 

Jean collects his tickets, then remembers the conditions Eren set earlier. With a smug grin, he holds out his hand.

“I believe those are mine now.”

Eren purses his lips and slams the wad of tickets in Jean’s palm. 

“I want a rematch.”

Jean stuffs his new hoard of tickets into his pocket, then twists his smile into one that’s even more condescending. It’s not his fault. Eren naturally brings out this side of him, especially when there’s a challenge involved.

“You’re on.”

Eren wins the second game by ten points, which has Jean seeing red. He chalks it up to a fluke and vows to not let it happen again. While it’ll be fun to spend his afternoon crushing Eren at Skee-Ball over and over again, there’s plenty of other games this arcade has to offer. It’ll be way more satisfying beating Eren in every game category.

“Let’s go there next,” he says, pointing to a game of two lifesize robots (one red, one blue) punching each other. 

With pride and tickets on the line, Jean and Eren cycle through every game they get their feisty hands on. Basketball, racing, air hockey, strength testing, the list goes on. Jean wins some. Eren wins some. The competition is too intense to keep score of who has the most tickets.

“You suck at this,” Jean taunts after demolishing Eren at one of the racing games. He follows up his remark with a playful smack to the back of Eren’s head.

“I let you win,” Eren counters. “I got sick of you crying from being unable to beat my Pac-Man score.”

It’s second nature to them, really. For as much as Jean hates having Eren around, there’s no one else who can motivate him this much to do his best. Call it insecurity, but Jean loves knocking Eren down a peg. But Eren will always put up a good fight, so if Jean wants to win, he has to earn it.

“One more round,” he begs after losing to Eren in air hockey for the second time.

Eren snickers. “You can never lose graciously, can you?”

“We’ll see who’s laughing after I kick your ass, you sack of pig shit!”

Eren laughs again and starts a new game. 

Before he can stop himself, Jean is laughing too. 

This is day five of what is potentially the rest of his life. His old life and the memories he carries are beyond reach. There’s been little semblance of the place he called home since this started, especially regarding his relationship with Eren. 

But here, battling head to head with Eren, Jean’s welcomed with a sense of familiarity. They’re not boyfriends right now, they’re rivals. Even in a universe where Eren looks at Jean like a priceless painting, he switches to viewing Jean as his greatest opponent with ease. 

This is the Eren he remembers. Jean didn’t miss him, but it’s good to have him back, even if just for a little bit. He dreaded this afternoon when Eren first suggested it, but it’s been a pleasant surprise.

If he didn’t know better, Jean may reckon he’s actually having fun.

Well, when he’s winning, at least.

He curses when Eren beats him once more, but the tension in his body strips away. Another laugh escapes him, lighter this time. Eren basks in Jean’s defeat, a celebratory smile forming as he pockets his tickets. 

“Okay,” Jean says, smile widening. “One more, then I promise we can move on.”

Eren checks his phone then emits a disappointed sigh. “Can’t. It’s getting late. We should probably cash in our tickets and head back to your place.”

Jean’s face drops. He agreed to going to the dance tonight, but it still sucks to be reminded of it. Truthfully, he’d rather spend his night here, even if Eren has to be the one to keep him company. 

But he already promised Eren a slow dance, something he’s still figuring out how to avoid. He’s gotten so wrapped up in their little arcade adventure that it slipped his mind. 

Well, if he’s allowing himself to be dragged to a stupid dance, the least Eren can do is fulfill one of his requests. 

“Just one more game?” he pleads.

Eren beams, the affection on his face unmistakeable under the orchid lights.

“I hate that I can never say no to you.”

Jean wins, because of course he does. Eren may have gotten lucky earlier, but his skill simply can’t match up to Jean’s. Jean sings to himself as he counts his new batch of tickets, Eren retaliating with a light shove.

“You’re so annoying.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Jean teases.

Eren tilts his head up and puckers his lips. He’s asking for a kiss. 

Jean’s heart stops. He forgot that they’re a couple, as ridiculous as that may be. It’s all he’s been trying to do these last five days, but this is the worst time for that wish to come true. 

Jean was viewing this as a typical day between him and Eren. They talk shit, do what needs to be done, then go their separate ways. But Eren? Eren probably saw this as a date, especially since Jean did nothing to dissuade that idea. Eren may have smiled more, but their investment in each game they played was equal.

Did Jean just accidentally go on a date with Eren Jaeger?   

He notices the disturbingly close proximity of their bodies and steps back. Instead of a kiss (which is absolutely not happening), he gives Eren two pats on the head. Eren frowns, looking a little confused, but Jean takes off for the prize booth before he can complain.    

The prize room is in the very back. Eren slips his hand into Jean’s while they walk. If the alternative is a kiss, Jean will settle for holding Eren’s slimy little hand.

Eren stops abruptly. “Oh!”

He gestures toward a large box made of glass against the wall. Eren rushes over, Jean lagging behind. 

This can’t be too complex of a game. Inside the box are dozens of stuffed animals scattered across the bottom, as well as a claw hanging from the top left. The box has one button and one joystick. That’s it. 

Eren’s eyes light up as he points to one of the stuffed animals in the back. It’s brown, almost shaped like a dinosaur, wearing a skull as a mask and clutching a bone in its right hand. 

“I always had a Cubone in my party when I played Pokémon as a kid,” he says.

Jean has no idea what any of that means, but nods along anyway.

Eren stares at it a little longer, then concedes with a sigh. “Let’s go.”

He heads toward the prize room for real this time. Jean frowns. 

“You don’t want it?”

Eren looks back over his shoulder and shrugs. “Those things are a scam. They’re impossible to win.”

Surely that’s not the case, Jean reckons. What’s the point of designing a game nobody can win? But Eren’s the expert of this universe, so Jean trusts he’s telling the truth. Besides, Jean has no attachment to any of the machine’s stuffed animals. He wouldn’t have played regardless.

When they enter the prize room, Eren goes straight for the counter. Jean trails behind, a sour expression spreading across his face as he spots the employee tending it. 

“Hello,” Pixis says with a smile. “Ready to cash in on some prizes?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jean says. 

Eren points behind Pixis. “I’ll take that star puzzle, please.”

“The 500 piece or 1000 piece?”

“500,” Eren answers. He pulls out his wad of tickets. “I don’t have enough tickets for the 1000 piece one.”

Jean surveys the numbers on the prize wall, his eyes at risk of popping out of his head. The 500 piece puzzle is 300 tickets! And the 1000 piece puzzle is 500! He and Eren just worked their asses off at every game imaginable and the best they can be rewarded with is a shitty puzzle? What a ripoff. 

Of course Eren wants a star puzzle. Nerd. Jean recognizes one of the constellations on the box. Cassiopeia, the one Eren pointed out in that anniversary painting from Wizard Jean. 

Astronomy may be a hobby of Eren’s, but it seems a waste to throw all his hard work away on something he can put together in one sitting. At the very least, he should get the one that will take him longer to complete. 

Jean looks away and gathers his batch of tickets. He slams them on the counter, pushing them toward Eren. 

“Here.”

He doesn’t look, but he still feels Eren’s eyes on him. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. “Don’t you want your own prize?”

Jean dips his head. “Not really.” It’s not like he’ll get to keep it after today anyway. 

Eren nearly squeals as he hands his pile of tickets to Pixis. Pixis throws them into a little ticket counter, confirming that they indeed total up to over 500. He fetches the 1000 piece puzzle from the shelf and hands it to an overly enthused Eren. 

Eren leaves the puzzle on the counter just so he can hug Jean’s side. “Thank you,” he gushes. 

Jean’s face heats up. PDA with Fake Pixis smiling at them is so damn embarrasing.  

“Well you two seem like a happy couple,” Pixis says.

“We are,” Eren insists. He gives Jean a loving squeeze and leans his head on him. “I know he comes across a little grumpy at first, but he’s really the best boyfriend ever.”

Pixis presses his hands together. “How precious. You’re lucky to have found each other. Young love is truly something to be treasured.”

“Love?” Jean blurts out.

He and Eren eye each other. Eren’s cheeks are pink again, but he doesn’t let go of Jean. Jean’s complexion is about five shades darker, reddening with every silent second.  

“Well, here’s your puzzle,” Pixis says like he didn’t just make this the most awkward encounter in human history.  

Eren unwraps his arms from around Jean and accepts. “Thank you. Have a great day.”

“You too.”

Pixis gives Jean a final nod. When Eren’s not looking, Jean gives Pixis the finger. 

They don’t speak as they exit the arcade. They don’t even speak as they exit the mall. Eren hugs his new puzzle and keeps strolling, his mouth twisted into a little pout. Jean doesn’t mind it at first, but when they’re back on the train and still neither says anything, he cracks. 

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” Eren mutters. 

Jean scans the train. It’s a lot emptier this time around, so they manage to snag some seats. Still, there’s enough people that he worries about eavesdroppers. Just because Eren’s packed on the PDA with him before, doesn’t mean he wants to broadcast this messed up relationship to anyone he sees. 

He drops his voice. “Why are you so obsessed with showing off our relationship?” He scrunches his face. “I mean, don’t you get embarrassed saying such mushy stuff like that?”

Eren taps the puzzle box that rests on his lap. “Not at all.”

“Why not?”

He turns to Jean. “Because you’re important to me. And I don’t want to hold back from letting the world know.”

This is exactly what Jean’s talking about. How can Eren say this shit with a straight face? And about Jean of all people? He just can’t fathom Eren seeing Jean, flaws and all, and still wanting to be around him. Their personalities don’t mesh, even on their best days.   

“Honestly,” Eren continues, “meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me. So, yeah, I want to show you off.”

He presses his lips to Jean’s. Jean doesn’t kiss back, but he doesn’t fight it. He has no fight left in him when Eren spews nonsense like this.   

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Okay.”

Eren’s discomfort from earlier evaporates. His head is back on Jean’s shoulder. He loves to do that for some reason. He presses the rest of his body closer to Jean’s, the scent of his cologne impossible to ignore.

Jean presses his lips together and stares ahead. For the rest of the train ride, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t even think about how much he doesn’t want to go to this stupid dance tonight.

Instead, he clings to the hope that at some point, he’ll understand the reason he’s being forced into this situation. If he doesn’t, then Jean will be stuck in this trap forever. 

And if forever refers to the chestnut mop of hair that’s tickling his neck, Jean needs to put an end to it as soon as possible. 

Chapter Text

Jean’s tie is too tight.

The solid black accessory clings to his dress shirt as he follows Eren through the quiet corner or Eren’s neighborhood. It’s a healthy walk from the nearest train stop. A generous breeze accompanies them, but beads of sweat still build in his armpits. Jean clutches the cotton material and unsticks it from his torso, creating some airflow.

He feels ridiculous being all dressed up while Eren is still in his everyday attire. Having Vera make minor adjustments to his hair and clothes while Eren watches from the couch with the goofiest smile falls into Jean’s personal top five most embarrassing life moments. But he also didn’t want to change at Eren’s house and risk both of them being in a state of undress behind closed doors. He has to play smart.

Eren’s house is certainly bigger than Jean’s in this world. For one, it’s multiple floors rather than Jean’s which is a single unit in a multistory building. The Jaeger residence is its own entity with a front door and yard, but it’s sandwiched in a row of houses all connected to one another. More congestion from this supposed city life.

Eren guides Jean inside, his hand on Jean’s back. Jean takes in his surroundings from the cobalt green welcome mat to the hardwood flooring to the open space into a living room furnished with mostly whites and creams. Succulent plants are propped on the windowsill while ferns and snake plants sit in larger vases scattered in corners and on wooden shelves. This home exudes a cozy vibe, like an old cabin in the middle of an abandoned field. He doesn’t dislike it, but he struggles to connect a calming atmosphere like this to the erratic and ill tempered boy that’s still touching him.  

A man with round spectacles reads a leather clasped book on an ivory three seater. He looks up at the sound of Eren closing the door. Jean recognizes him from the photograph the Scouts recovered from the Jaeger basement in Shiganshina, but it’s surreal to see him in person.    

“Hi Dad,” Eren says.

Grisha Jaeger closes his book and heads over to them. “Hello.” He offers Jean a warm smile. “Hi Jean. Looking good.”

Jean shrinks into himself. “Thank you.”

So this is Grisha Jaeger. Up close, there's little resemblance between him and Eren. They have the same eyes, but not much else.

It’s like Jean’s meeting an urban legend. Grisha is the central piece that connects Eldia’s society within the walls to the expansive world outside of them. He’s the reason Eren inherited the Attack Titan. It was Grisha’s determination prior to his death that allowed the Scouts to uncover so many secrets about titans and their origins. 

But standing before him, all Jean sees is a regular guy. He wonders if this is how Grisha conducted himself back in their world or if this is a side effect of living in a universe where his life isn’t threatened due to who his ancestors are.     

“I finished ironing your shirt,” Grisha says to Eren. “It’s in my bedroom.”

“What about everything else?”

He gently squeezes Eren’s shoulder. “I’ll show you where they are.”

“Awesome,” Eren replies. 

Grisha makes for the staircase by the entrance. Eren trails behind him, but stops once he notices that Jean’s not with him. 

He turns around. “Are you coming?”

Jean shifts his gaze between Eren and Grisha. It’s uncomfortable being in Eren’s house at all, but he’ll feel even more out of place if he wanders anywhere near Eren’s room. Eren being in Jean’s room already crossed every boundary Jean can conjure.    

“I’ll stay here.” He smiles to sell the nonchalance in his tone, more for Grisha’s sake than Eren’s. 

Eren smiles back and nods, then follows Grisha to the second floor. Jean sways awkwardly, his feet cemented to the shag area rug. He’ll feel intrusive if he sits on their furniture, especially since he wasn’t invited to.

Muffled voices seep through the ceiling. The words are indistinguishable, but it’s clearly not a friendly conversation. Eren yells, then Grisha yells back. As if Jean isn't uncomfortable enough. 

He forces himself deeper into the living room, distracting himself with the peaceful decor. The yelling continues, but Jean blocks it out when he stumbles across a set of shelves built into the wall. Books fill the top two rows, but the lower two above a white storage cabinet hold numerous framed photographs.

Most of the pictures have Eren in them. A recent portrait with a blue background, a younger Eren feeding a small goat, a baby Eren wearing a birthday hat, the list goes on. One that piques Jean’s interest is the one with an Eren no older than three settled on Grisha’s hip as a dark haired woman hugs both of them. They smile at the camera, Eren’s the biggest.    

That has to be Eren’s mother. Back at home, Eren’s mom was eaten by a titan before Jean met him. There were also no photographs of her, so this is Jean’s first real glimpse. Eren mentioned her name before, but Jean can’t recall it. Cara or Carla or Camila or something like that. 

Another photo of Mrs. Jaeger sits at the center of the bottom shelf, this one a solo shot from her wedding day. Her long hair is tied back, hazel eyes shining as brilliantly as her smile. 

She’s pretty. Really pretty. Jean studies her face, hypnotized by her beauty, until it hits him that she looks way too much like Eren and ejects that thought immediately. 

These pictures are the only sign of Mrs. Jaeger’s existence in this house, which sets Jean uneasy. It’s fair to assume she’s dead in this universe as well, but he’s not heartless enough to ask outright.   

“That boy.”

Jean’s heart stops as he spins around. Grisha, seemingly more elusive than he appears, is back. Jean steps away from the display shelf. If his instinct about Eren’s mom is correct, he feels like he defaced a sentimental shrine just by looking at it.  

“Sorry,” he blurts out. “I was just-”

Grisha holds a hand up. “No, it’s fine.” He relaxes into a smile. “Well, for me at least. Can’t promise Eren won’t be embarrassed. He hates that birthday picture.”

Jean subtly checks Grisha’s hand. No wedding band. He expected it, but he’s not proud to be right. 

“He should be down soon,” Grisha says. “Just styling his hair.”

Jean nods. He stands awkwardly again, lost for what to say next. Jean’s not a shy person, but making small talk with Grisha is not something he’s prepared for as Eren’s rival, let alone as his alleged boyfriend.

Luckily, Grisha fills the silence with an appropriately timed sigh.  

“I don’t know why he’s so worked up over this,” he says. “It’s not like this is your first date.”

That explains the yelling. Jean can’t pretend he’s never lashed out at his mom over something minimal. He’s a teenager, after all. And Grisha doesn’t seem the argumentative type.

Jean gives a weak shrug. “I guess he’s really passionate about dancing.”

“Maybe. He never cared for it as a child, though.”

Rattling footsteps echo by the staircase. The uneasiness of the rhythm doesn’t go unnoticed. Eren’s nervous. Or excited. Most likely both, all thanks to Jean. 

“I’m ready.”

Eren steps into the living room. Jean turns his way, his eyes widening once he takes his first proper glance. 

Eren looks…good. He’s sporting a black button up with matching black pants. His leather shoes are meticulously polished, far nicer than Jean’s. The sole burst of color in Eren’s outfit is his tie, bright sunflowers coating every bit of fabric.

His hair is also neatly styled. Unlike the usual mess that falls atop his stupid little head, this time it’s pushed out of his face. He has nice bone structure underneath that unruly mane. If it weren’t for those eyes he’s memorized through years of bickering up close, Jean would swear this is an entirely different person. 

Even though he’s sucking in his lip, not appearing the least bit confident, this is easily the best Eren’s ever looked.

Jean could kill him.   

How dare Eren upstage him. If Jean knew Eren would put this much of an effort into his appearance, he would’ve let Vera tinker with his a lot longer. So not only is he going to an annoying school dance with an even more annoying date, but now he’s going as the less attractive half. That is absolutely not acceptable. 

Jean's still staring, the heat in his face rising exponentially. Eren must interpret his anger for something else, because he twists his nervous expression into a softer one.   

“I like that reaction,” he says, moving closer. 

Jean tries to step backwards, but his back hits the shelves of the Jaeger photo display area. He stumbles, only to be set upright by a giggling Eren. Eren beams at him, which has Jean’s throat going dry, before looking back at Grisha.

“Uh, Dad? Can you take a picture of us?”

Grisha fetches his phone from his pocket. “Of course.”

Eight photos and a headache of a walk to the station later, Jean and Eren are back on the train. The dance is being held at a hotel downtown, a decent distance from Eren’s house. This gives them plenty of time to talk before they arrive.

Too bad Jean is too frustrated to talk.

Every time he looks Eren’s way, even out of his peripheral vision, Jean wants to smack him for having the audacity to clean himself up this much. It’s a school dance, but Eren swore it’s not meant to be super fancy, otherwise Jean would’ve worn a suit. But what a hypocrite! What’s he trying to look so nice for, anyway? Only insecure people alter their appearances this much for an event as shallow as a school dance.  

Jean averts his gaze from Eren’s face before he gets too pissed off and curses at him on this crowded train. 

Something falls to the floor, landing between Eren’s legs. He scrambles to pick it up, but not before Jean sees. 

It’s a black box, no bigger than his palm, tied with a little red bow. Eren shoves it back into his pocket and tries to play it cool. 

Jean presses anyway. “What’s that?”

“Oh.” Eren hunches his shoulders. “It’s a surprise for later,” he mumbles.

Jean’s not convinced, which Eren picks up on instantly. 

“Seriously. Forget you saw it.”

Jean sighs and leans his head against the window. “Okay.”

It’s the only conversation they share on the train. They’re both too uncomfortable to force words out, though for different reasons. Jean’s just glad he’ll be reuniting with his friends soon and shall be saved from this agony. 

He finds them quickly in the hotel ballroom. They’re sitting at the round table closest to the dessert stand. Probably Sasha’s idea. The whole crew is here, all dressed appropriately. Mikasa looks pretty in her wine colored gown, but Eren’s over the top ensemble still gnaws at Jean’s brain, leaving him no energy to pay her a second glance. 

“We’ve been waiting for you,” Marco says, beaming with his little purple bowtie. “Sasha insisted not to go on the dance floor until we were all here.”   

Jean suppresses an eyeroll. That’s exactly what he wants, more fucking pictures. 

Sasha’s a lot pickier than Eren and Grisha. Instead of eight, she snaps at least twenty group photos. Jean smiles for two, only because Connie tickles him. For all of them, Eren’s body is pressed disturbingly close to his. Jean doesn’t take a proper breath until it’s over. 

“We all look so cute,” Sasha gushes as she flips through her phone with Eren and Mikasa. 

The boys break off quickly, Armin not by choice. Annie sneaks in out of nowhere and literally drags him by his shirt collar to the dance floor, which he doesn’t seem too bothered about. Reiner leaves to find Historia, no doubt to ask her to dance. Bertholdt rushes behind him insisting it’s a bad idea. Jean doesn’t have to know anything about the dynamics of this world to share that notion. Connie heads for the refreshments table, leaving Jean with Marco.    

Marco frowns. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Jean answers.

“Your face says otherwise.”

He looks at Eren again, immediately regretting it. Eren’s staring back at him, that innocent teenage bliss reflecting in his gaze. Jean still doesn’t know how he’ll get out of slow dancing with him tonight. If the dance is four hours and an hour is sixty minutes and a minute is sixty seconds, carry the zero and Jean is royally fucked.

He grunts. “Let’s get this night over with.”

*

Jean’s miserable. 

He should’ve known better than to rely on Marco to keep him company. His freckle faced angel of a best friend can’t resist a catchy beat. Marco’s out on the dance floor clapping his hands and bopping his head with Mina Carolina. 

Jean’s stuck by himself at the refreshments table, downing cup after cup of fruit punch. His bladder is upset with him, but he pushes past the discomfort.  

Jean stares at Marco from across the room, harsh enough to drill a hole in his back. Marco and Mina make a cute couple, even if they kinda look like siblings, but Jean would prefer if Marco charmed the ladies at literally any other time.

Not that Marco can do much. The teacher chaperones are strict tonight, all of them walking around with rulers to ensure no slow dancing gets too intimate. Levi leads the charge, already separating Sasha twice from a blond boy Jean doesn’t recognize. He also disciplines Connie. Not for dancing too close to a girl, but because his desire to shake his butt in the middle of the dance floor is an eyesore for everyone involved. 

Erwin’s with Levi. He has his own ruler, but isn’t using it. He’s too busy laughing at Levi’s self-appointed role as the Dance Police.  

Erwin can find Levi’s behavior amusing all he wants. Jean finds it comforting. If Jean can’t get out of dancing with Eren, at least he won’t have to worry about Eren getting too close.

Speaking of Eren, he’s dancing with Mikasa and Armin, smiling like this is the best night of his life. Every once in a while he shuffles over to check on Jean, to which Jean insists he’s fine. Eren follows up with a kiss on the cheek, then disappears to the dance floor once more. It’s only a matter of time before Eren comes by to abduct Jean for himself, but he seems content with his friends for the time being.

At least Jean isn’t alone in his suffering. Historia rejected Reiner’s request to dance, so now he’s being comforted by Bertholdt. Jean can’t relate to wanting to express affection for someone through awkward body swaying and unnatural hand placement, but a small part of him feels bad.

Another swig of fruit punch shoots down Jean’s throat. It’s the final blow that pushes his bladder over the edge. A bathroom break isn’t a terrible idea. Between Eren flashing him googly eyes and the shitty music blasting through the ballroom, Jean’s head is on the brink of exploding.

He spends more time in the bathroom than necessary. In his defense, there’s a built in lounge area sectioned away from the stalls. The leather couch is dyed vermillion, pushed up against the wall adorning the stained glass window. It squeaks when Jean plops down on it, but it’s comfortable. He can nap here. He probably would if there weren’t a hotel worker tending the bathroom. He’s not in the mood to be reprimanded.

Jean walks in the opposite direction of the ballroom. The dance will still be going on by the time he gets back, whenever that may be. It won’t miss him. He'll miss it even less. 

This hotel is more like a mansion. Lots of cocktail rooms and miniature libraries dispersed on the main floor, each with their own style and purpose. This dance is the only event happening tonight, so most of these rooms are empty. Jean takes his sweet time exploring them. Everything looks too expensive to touch and potentially break, so he admires from afar.        

He reaches a dead end after making one too many turns. There’s an exit to a staircase, but he guesses the upper floors are strictly guest rooms. Against the back wall is a large painting of center city. Jean recognizes it from his day trip with Eren. It’s more alluring in a picture than in person. Jean can fixate on the twinkling lights and gorgeous skyline instead of the restless noise. 

“Jean.”

Eren speeds over, his annoyingly combed hair bouncing with each step. Jean presses his lips in a firm line. The bastard must have used a ridiculous amount of gel to prevent it from getting messed up while he dances. Judging from his flushed cheeks and slight shine on his forehead, Eren’s been optimizing his time on the dance floor. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Why’d you leave?”

“I had to use the bathroom,” Jean answers. While not the full truth, it’s not a lie either. 

“The bathroom’s next to the ballroom.”

Touché. 

Jean glances back at the painting. “I got lost.”

“Oh.”

The fragility in Eren’s voice is cold as ice. Jean’s eyes dart across the painting like he’s searching for a hidden message. It’s the only thing in his line of sight, yet his fixation is hollow. He can’t properly analyze the artist’s intent with an Eren-sized distraction cramming his brain.    

“Is it because of me?”

Jean faces him again. “Huh?”

“You didn’t seem that excited about dancing with me,” Eren says, pouting. “I know you promised, but I don’t want to force you.”

Jean presses his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Why must he fall for Eren’s manipulation tactics now? He was doing so well. But here they are resorting to their dynamic that Jean knows best, a contest for who will cave first. A contest Jean loses every damn time. 

Jean’s always the one who worries about taking his disdain too far, even when Eren deserves worse. Why can’t he be more like the Eren back home, only caring about himself? It’d save him from the guilt that’s looming over him. 

But Eren looks so damn hurt. Normally Jean would rejoice, but not in this case. It’s not fair. Eren always knows what to say to get under Jean’s skin, whether it’s to provoke a fight or to cut at his deepest insecurities. Being a couple here doesn’t remove that ability. If anything, Eren’s only gotten better at it. 

Jean should tell him off. Tell Eren that no, he doesn’t want to dance. Not tonight, not ever, and especially not with him. He’ll be in a different universe tomorrow anyway. Might as well go out with a shred of integrity. 

But when he zeroes in on Eren’s somber expression, the venom he wishes to unleash stays caged on the tip of his tongue. 

“This just isn’t my thing,” he says. “I don’t like dancing in front of big crowds.”

Eren’s face softens, but is still visibly upset. He dips his head and nods. Jean almost places a comforting hand on Eren’s shoulder, but stops himself because that’s way too weird. 

He really needs to get back to his real life before Eren turns him into some spineless softie.   

For what it’s worth, at least Eren is understanding about Jean’s refusal to dance. It didn’t transpire as he expected, but it looks like Jean will escape this evening dance free.  

“How about right here?” Eren asks. 

“What?”

Eren peers around. The hallway is empty, as are all the rooms in this secluded wing. He tentatively positions Jean’s hands on his waist. Then, with pleading eyes, he wraps his arms around Jean’s neck. His fingers interlock against Jean’s skin, sending a chill that Jean feels down to his toes. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers. Their faces are so close that Jean feels Eren’s breath against his lips. 

Jean’s stomach tightens. This is his karma for not standing his ground. Leave it to Eren to find a silly loophole in Jean’s declaration that he doesn’t like dancing in front of a crowd. 

His hands lay limply on Eren’s waist. When he thinks about dropping them, Eren yanks him down and presses their foreheads together. They each take a slow breath, Jean’s at half the speed as Eren’s.

Jean doesn’t get the chance to answer. Eren takes initiative and sways to an imaginary beat. Jean doesn’t reciprocate, but he doesn’t resist the natural pull of Eren’s lead on his body. Their feet move less than an inch each way, but Jean’s legs go numb all the same.  

“Yeah,” he finally chokes out. If he’s too weak to talk himself out of this, he may as well not act like a complete doormat. “I guess this is fine.”

With a smile, Eren shuts his eyes. He separates from Jean’s forehead just to plant a kiss on it, a soft exhale filling the tight space between them once he pulls away. His still flushed face falls into Jean’s shoulder. It almost feels like a headbutt. But Eren’s tight hold around Jean’s neck conveys plenty of affection.

“Thank you,” he mutters into Jean’s shirt. 

Jean looks at the ceiling, his heartbeat growing more erratic. “For what?”

He kisses the cotton concealing Jean’s shoulder. “Just…thank you.”

Jean’s not sure how long they dance like that, only that it’s more than he bargains for. Eren continues the lazy swaying of their bodies, his smile deepening while Jean's shirt cushions his cheek. His eyes remain closed. If they weren’t still moving, Jean would assume Eren’s fallen asleep. But he keeps dancing, way too long for Jean’s comfort level.  

Granted, ten seconds would be too much. People have been knocked unconscious with sleeping medicine in less time. It’s a miracle Eren’s cologne hasn’t worked that effect yet. Its scent shrouds Jean, potent enough to poison his brain. He’ll probably smell more like Eren than himself by the time this night is over. And with the coping of slow dancing with his arch enemy causing him to lose track of time, Jean has no clue when that will be.    

But his arms are getting sore and soon he’ll have a legitimate excuse for putting a stop to this ridiculousness.   

To his surprise, Eren beats him to it. 

“Jean?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I give you your surprise now?”

Right, that little black box he caught Eren with on the train. It’s too small a package to be another bouquet of sunflowers, so that’s at least one step in the right direction. Plus, anything is better than continuing this dance.

He drops Eren’s waist instantly. “Okay.”

Eren pulls away and sucks in his lower lip. He studies Jean’s face, his gaze lingering a moment too long on his mouth. Eren nods like he’s hyping himself up, then reaches for his pocket. His hand trembles. A shudder cascades down Jean’s back with the same intensity.

The sound of Eren’s nails clutching the cardboard grates his ears. It’s too quiet in this hallway. Suddenly the repetitive pop music in the ballroom doesn’t seem so bad. 

Eren’s about to hand the box over, but is cut off by the sound of giggling. He and Jean both jump. The box flails in Eren’s hands, but he secures it before it hits the floor. 

The giggling resumes, and Jean registers that it’s coming from a cocktail room around the corner. Perhaps it’s his desire to halt this little rendezvous with Eren, but curiosity gets the best of him. 

Eren seems just as nosy because he’s already migrating toward the sound. Jean’s not surprised. Eren loves to insert himself into other people’s business. 

As Jean rounds the corner, the laughter gets softer. It’s playful, innocent. He catches up to Eren who’s channeling his inner spy, only leaning his head slightly into the entranceway. Eren’s lips are parted, his eyebrows furrowed like he doesn’t believe what he’s seeing. Jean gets closer to see for himself, then twists his expression into a replica of Eren’s. 

It’s Levi and Erwin. There’s no music playing, but they glide across the carpet in perfect harmony. Levi’s got one hand in Erwin’s, the other on Erwin’s shoulder. They’re smiling, their bodies close enough to meld with one another.

Jean blinks three times, as if the scene before him will change into one less shocking. 

He gets the opposite. Levi twirls under their joined hands, face wrinkled with unadulterated bliss. When he completes a full circle, Erwin lifts him into the air, hugging him around the waist. Levi throws his arms around Erwin’s neck and kisses him hard, only pulling away to smile against his mouth.    

It’s rude to stare, but Jean can’t look away. He’s never seen Levi so enamored. His skin gets a nice glow when he enjoys a cup of well made tea, but that's it. 

And Erwin. Jean knows the former Commander to be all business. He’s strong, calculated, and has more bravery in one testicle than Jean has in his entire body. Erwin even died by leading a suicide charge because he was convinced it was humanity’s best hope of having a future. Yet here with Levi, Erwin beams like he never wants to leave this spot. 

Jean ponders. Levi and Erwin always seemed close in the Survey Corps, but he chalked it up to them being loyal comrades. But Levi looked so broken when Erwin died, almost like he lost a piece of himself. 

And in these alternate universes, they’re always together. Erwin leading away a grumpy Levi, just for Levi to be all smiles moments later with a fresh batch of roses. Or Erwin popping into Levi’s classroom to invite him to a staff meeting, insisting Levi attend that very minute.

Holy shit, Jean’s an idiot.   

“Ohhhhhhhhh,” he says. “That makes so much sense!”

Levi and Erwin break apart, Erwin setting Levi back on the ground. Between the two, Jean can’t tell whose face loses color faster. Eren looks at Jean like he’s the dumbest person in the world, which, to be fair, Jean deserves.  

Jean waves with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Ignore me.”

Levi doesn’t return the gesture. “What are you doing here?”

“We were dancing,” Eren says, taking a step back.

“That’s what the ballroom is for.”

Eren shrugs. “I could tell you the same thing.”

Jesus. It’s like Eren wants to compete with Jean over who can make the biggest ass out of himself. Talking back to an authority figure, especially Levi Ackerman of all people, after intruding on a highly intimate moment is dumb even by Eren standards. 

Erwin gives a sheepish smile and grabs the back of his neck. Levi crosses his arms with an unpleasant scowl. 

“We won’t tell anyone,” Eren assures. He gestures to himself and Jean. “I mean, we understand. Obviously.”

Jean side eyes him, so desperate to correct that ludicrous use of 'we'. But he’s got a bigger issue to deal with. 

“Yeah,” he tells Levi. “I doubt I’ll even remember it by this time tomorrow.”

If only they knew how true that is. 

Erwin nods. “Very well. Mr. Ackerman, I think we should head back.”

Levi still doesn’t appear pleased, but gives in anyway. “Right.” On their way out, he casts a cold stare over the boys. “Take care, you two. Have fun tonight.”

Eren fully enters the room and collapses on the sofa. Jean follows but keeps his distance. Eren lets out a breath to fill the silence, then cranes his neck back. 

“Mr. Ackerman and Mr. Smith. Wow.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Jean mutters. 

“They look hot together, you have to admit.”

“Uh, sure.”

Eren flashes a cheeky smile and jumps to his feet. “Well, I think that’s enough excitement for one night. Wanna get out of here?”

Jean raises a brow. “You want to leave?”

“I already got my dance.” He gently plays with the ends of Jean’s hair. “And I’d rather go somewhere with you that you’d enjoy.”

Jean perks up. “Can we go to the arcade?”

“Again?” A hint of amusement reflects in his gaze. “You really had fun, didn’t you?”

Jean doesn’t answer, but he does blush.

Eren squeezes Jean’s biceps. “Sure. Anything for my Jeannie.”

He kisses Jean’s cheek. Jean’s starting to think Eren likes doing that a little too much. 

“We should invite the others this time.” Jean will have a lot more fun at the arcade with people he cares about. If he enjoyed it in the company of the equivalent of a human mosquito, surely he’s bound to have a blast if Marco, Connie, and Sasha come. 

“I’m fine with that,” Eren says.

Four of them agree to ditch the dance. Sasha chooses to stay with that blond boy Jean learns is named Niccolo. Jean knows nothing about the guy, but Sasha looks happy with him, which swells his heart. Sasha may be reckless at times (especially when food is involved), but Jean loves her like a little sister. It’s too bad Niccolo doesn’t exist in their world back home. Sasha can use some added happiness.  

Reiner and Bertholdt stay behind as well. Reiner’s too upset about Historia, and Bertholdt offers to hang with him for moral support. But Marco, Connie, Mikasa and Armin are all smiles when the proposition is offered.  

Six energetic teenagers pile into the train. Jean appreciates having friends who agree an arcade is superior to a school dance. 

Surprisingly, Eren is the most eager of all. Hearts dance in his eyes as he sits next to Jean. He threads their fingers together and smiles, peppering a few more kisses to Jean’s cheek. Jean won’t protest with Mikasa sitting with them, but he’s ready to jump out of this train. 

Toward the back, Jean catches three guys staring at them. They’re older, maybe twenty or so. Something about them unsettles him, but he’s not sure what.

His attention returns to his own group when Armin speaks up. 

“Mikasa and I are gonna set the record for most tickets won in a single night.”   

Eren snickers. “Please.” He puts his head on Jean’s shoulder. “You don’t stand a chance against us.”

“Fucking disgusting,” a voice calls from the back.

It’s that same group of guys. Jean’s not sure which one of them spoke up, but he senses all three share the same sentiment from how they’re grimacing.  

Eren cocks his head. “Excuse me?”

“Keep that shit to yourself,” the redheaded one in the middle says. He points back and forth between Eren and Jean. “There are children around.”

Jean suspected they were being judged, but not for this. If it were Eren’s love for PDA that bothered them, that’s one thing. But the vitriol in which this guy speaks tells the full story. It’s not how Eren chooses to express affection with Jean that angers him, it’s that he’s expressing that affection with Jean. A boy.

Jean’s not even gay and he feels offended, so he can only imagine what’s going through Eren’s mind. Even on a normal day, Eren has a short temper. But a comment like that will fuel his anger to the tenth power.     

Eren scoffs and squeezes Jean’s hand tighter. “Says the guy that’s cursing at a bunch of high schoolers,” he hisses. “Does that make you feel tough?”

“Eren,” Mikasa warns. “Don’t.”

“No.” He opens his shoulders toward the three bigots. “Any more of you assholes have a problem with me?”

“Everyone should,” the one on the left says. “Your kind is what’s wrong with our society. Parading your lifestyle in public like it’s normal.”

“Lifestyle?”

Eren leaps from his seat. Jean and Mikasa do too, the concern on their faces evident. The rest of their friends are too stunned or scared to move. 

The three hecklers get up too, each sporting smug grins. Jean doesn’t like where this is going. He’s not going to say Eren is wrong to be mad, but they’ll be at their stop soon and these guys will be long forgotten. 

Eren approaches them with his chest out. “Say that shit again.”

Jean tugs on his wrist. “Come on, Eren. It’s not worth it.”

“Yeah,” the jerk in the middle says, “listen to your boy toy.” The one on the right emits an ugly cackle.

Eren clenches his jaw and steps closer. “He’s not my boy toy.”

“Does bitch work better for you? He certainly looks like he loves taking it up the ass.”

“Fuck you!”

Eren swings, knocking the guy backwards. The one on the left punches Eren in retaliation, then it’s three against one. Mikasa gets in the middle to prevent them from hitting Eren, while Jean fights to pull Eren away. 

Jean knows it’s useless. He’s been in more fights with Eren than he can count. When Eren’s this worked up, nobody can get through to him. Eren will stop when he wins or dies. 

A few passengers watch on in horror. A young child starts crying. Most people pay no mind, like this is something that happens every day. 

Jean grits his teeth and tightens his hold around Eren. Eren breaks free and pounces on the main instigator, gathering blood on his knuckles as he smashes the guy’s nose. Mikasa tries to break them up, but is unsuccessful. 

Jean attempts again to save Eren and is welcomed with a punch to the face. He yelps and falls on his heels. One of the guys, no clue which one, kicks him repeatedly. His ribs, his face, everywhere. His eyes shut at the first taste of blood. The blows hurt physically, of course, but it’s the underlying message that cuts the deepest. 

This is personal. Jean’s getting the shit kicked out of him because of who he is. Or, at the very least, who this asshole thinks he is. This level of rage is unmatched. For a moment, Jean worries he may die here. His assailant surely thinks he’s better off dead.   

“Jean!”

The guy is pushed off of him, so Jean opens his eyes. Still weak on the floor, he watches Eren pin the guy down and land hit after hit. Eren’s aggression from before is nothing compared to this. He looks like a rabid animal, like he won’t stop until he tears every limb off the guy’s body.

As they fumble on the ground, that little black box slips from Eren’s pocket. Jean reaches for it. A sharp pain sears through him and he’s tempted to drop his arm, but he cups the box and pulls it to his chest.  

Meanwhile, Mikasa holds her own against the other two guys. All it takes is a couple of solid punches to knock them both out. When she’s finished, she pulls Eren off the third with impressive strength. This one isn’t unconscious, but that’s probably to his detriment. Eren showed him no mercy.

Jean regains enough strength to stand up. He tucks Eren’s box in his pocket before wiping away the blood from his mouth. His cuff stains red, covering a good portion of his wrist. He hopes he didn’t lose a tooth. 

He meets Eren’s gaze. Neither says anything. Jean doesn’t know where to start. Between his fresh bruises and pounding headache, there’s plenty of material to cover. 

He sees it on Eren’s face. Regret. That tells Jean he probably looks even worse than he feels. But regret won’t alleviate Jean’s pain. If anything, it strengthens it. Because it proves what he believed all along: none of this was necessary.

The train doors open, so Jean bolts out. This isn’t the stop for the mall, but he doesn’t care. The night’s already ruined. 

The others follow him, much to his chagrin. Jean keeps walking, not looking back. Eren calls for him. 

“Jean.”

Jean’s speed increases at the same rate as his agitation. He loosens his tie with unnecessary force. His dress shoes smack against the cement sidewalk as he storms far away from Eren’s bullshit.

“Jean!”

A tender hand wraps around Jean’s forearm. He spins around, his eyes immediately locking with Eren’s helpless ones. His friends keep a safe distance, all huddled together.

Jean retracts his arm. “Get off me!”

Eren flinches. The Jean of this universe must never yell at him. Well, this Jean is more than happy to make up for that.  

“This is your fault!” Jean snaps at him. “You can never just walk away!”

“They were saying shit about you,” Eren says. His tone is embarrassingly weak. “Do you expect me to ignore that?”

“Yes! If you did, none of this would’ve happened!”

Eren’s eyes fall sadder than Jean’s ever seen them. “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

“Well, mission not accomplished.”

Jean walks away again, but doesn’t get far. Eren cuts in front of him. Desperately, he grabs Jean’s biceps.

“Jean,” he says, “I told you that I never want to hold back when I’m with you. I don’t care what anyone says. I’ll always defend our relationship because it means everything to me.”

Jean pushes him. “We have no relationship!”

The words hit Eren harder than any punch will. He sucks in a breath, his lip quivering. He searches Jean’s face for any hint of facetiousness. 

Jean won’t give it to him. 

“I’m tired of this shit!” he continues. “I’m tired of you, I’m tired of all of it! I can’t do this anymore!”

Eren’s whole body trembles. He looks past Jean, his face pale and sickly. God only knows what their friends look like behind Jean. Jean’s too pissed and his body aches too much to care who hears this. 

Five days has been more than enough. This nonsense with Eren ends now. 

“You don’t mean that,” Eren whispers. “You’re just angry.”

“Oh, I mean every word.”

Eren’s eyes plead with his. “Jeannie,” he says, reaching for Jean’s hand. 

Jean swats it away. “Don’t call me that. I’m not your Jeannie. I’m not your anything.”

Eren shakes his head. The vibrancy that his eyes carried all day fades into nothing. It’s like Eren’s body is present, but his soul evaporated in the wind. If it’s sympathy he wants, he’s asking the wrong person.  

“Please don’t do this,” he says. “Be mad at me all you want, but don’t do this.”

Jean grunts and tries to leave again. Eren gets in his way, because of course he does, the stupid sunflowers on his tie taunting Jean like a bad dream. 

“Jean, talk to me.”

He’s a blink away from crying, but holds strong. He has to breathe twice as fast to do it. Jean hates that pathetic look on his face. Even when being slapped with reality, Eren refuses to accept the truth. If walking away won’t work, maybe fresh honesty will.  

“What do you want me to say?” he asks, raising his voice. “That I’m happy? That I want to be with you? You’ll be waiting the rest of your damn life to hear it because it’s not going to happen. I’m miserable every time I’m around you. You’re annoying, impulsive, and so damn selfish that it hurts to even look at you. Everything good that’s ever happened to me was taken away because of you.” As he spits out each sentence, his anger worsens. “And if I’m being completely honest, Eren, my life would be a whole lot better if you weren’t in it.”

Eren parts his lips, his eyes wide. A pained expression overtakes him. Either Eren loses the fight to hold back his tears or no longer cares. 

Jean’s been on numerous missions with Eren over the last year. He’s seen Eren cry when he was moments from death. He’s seen Eren distraught when they almost lost Armin. But he’s never seen Eren like this. This level of hurt can only come from one thing: heartbreak.

Eren rushes past Jean and into Mikasa’s arms. Jean didn’t even notice she was standing so close. The rest of his friends hang by their original spot, but their faces have a pit forming in Jean’s stomach. They look nearly as betrayed as Eren, Marco especially.  

Jean switches to Mikasa, who holds Eren tight. Jean leans back, expecting another episode of her beating him in Eren’s honor. If that happens, she may finish what that loser on the train started.

But the hits don’t come. Mikasa just stares at Jean, her gray eyes casting a look of disgust. 

“How dare you.”

Her arms stay around Eren as she walks him in the direction they came, the others following suit. Only Marco hangs behind. He marches up to Jean with a fury that has Jean shrinking into himself. 

Marco holds his arms out. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Jean opens his mouth, but stays silent. Marco’s scolded him a few times during their cadet days, usually because Jean said or did something immature. But it’s never been this hostile. 

“I didn’t mean to make him cry,” Jean finally says.

“Well you did,” he snaps. “I don’t know what your problem is today, but if this is how you wanna act, then I want nothing to do with you. Hope it was worth it.”

Marco scoffs and races off to catch up with the others. Jean slumps his posture. He’ll take ten more beatings from Train Guy and Mikasa put together over the way he feels right now. Losing Eren is no big deal, but Marco? Jean spent the last year trying to make him proud. Even if everything resets tomorrow, he’ll carry the scar from disappointing his best friend for as long as he lives. 

“That wasn’t wise.”

The voice would startle Jean if he didn’t instantly register who it belonged to. Unfortunately, he’s heard more than enough of it since this whole thing started. As if this can’t get any worse.

He turns around with a disapproving scowl. “What are you doing here?”

Pixis points his thumb at the convenience store behind him. “This is where I work my night shift.”

Jean gives a sarcastic snort. “Of course it is.”

“You know you shouldn’t have said that.”

Jean clicks his tongue. A lecture from his less than useless spirit guide is the perfect way to top off his shitty evening. 

“What was I supposed to do?” he says. “It’s not like I can pretend I’m okay with this for all of eternity.” 

“I told you to stop running from your problems,” Pixis replies. “The more you do, the worse this will get.”

Jean clenches his jaw. “Why can’t you just tell me what I have to do to get out of this? Do I need to beg? Do you want money?”

He reaches in his pocket to pull out his wallet, but comes across a different object instead. Eren’s box. Jean forgot he snagged it on the train. He takes it out and rotates it in his hand.

It shouldn’t matter what’s inside. Jean and Eren are no more. Whatever Eren meant to gift him no longer holds value. But something tells him to open it. Maybe it’s his guilt over Marco. Even if Marco isn’t around to see it, Jean wants to prove to himself he isn’t the callous monster Marco believes him to be.

He undoes the red ribbon and twirls it around his finger. Licking away blood residue from the corner of his mouth, he removes the black lid. The first thing Jean sees is a tiny card. A short message is etched in cursive print.

Jeannie,

Thank you for choosing me. Wherever souls are meant to end up, I hope ours always find each other.

Berry       

Discomfort comes in the form of sweat. It plagues Jean’s neck, seeping beneath his shirt collar. He flips the card over and shoves it to the side, revealing the real surprise Eren wanted to give him.

It’s a necklace. A pendant, to be specific. A silver strawberry. E + J is carved on the front.

Jean closes his fist around it. It’s heavier than it looks. If it weren’t meant to be worn around the neck, it’d make a nice paperweight. Not that Jean would ever wear it.

As he fiddles with it, he notices a small latch on the side. He pushes his thumb against it and the pendant opens. It splits into two equal parts, and that’s when Jean realizes it’s not a pendant, but a locket. 

The right half is a picture of him and Eren taken from the side. Given what just happened, it’s weird to see them so happy. Eren has his legs wrapped around Jean’s waist as he kisses Jean’s cheek. Jean’s eyes are closed, his smile full and bright with his tongue between his teeth. 

It’s hard to look at, so Jean doesn’t. He shifts his attention to the left half of the locket, but that proves to be even worse. 

There, right in the center, are three little words that have Jean’s stomach churning in torturous quantities. 

I love you

Chapter Text

Jean slams the locket shut. He tries to forget what he just saw. The words he just read.

It doesn’t work. Eren’s heartbroken expression, his deparate pleas for Jean to not abandon him replays in his head. Eren was completely blindsided. How could he not be? If his actions today are any indication, he and the Jean from this world have a near perfect relationship. 

Well, had. 

His alternate self probably would’ve loved this stupid locket. It’s gaudy, sappy, and way over the top. A perfect gift for a pair of dramatic teenagers that swear they’ll be together forever. 

Jean did them a favor. He may have gone about it the wrong way, but a relationship between him and Eren never would’ve worked out in the long run. They’re too fundamentally different. Once those early relationship jitters wore down, Eren would’ve opened his eyes and realized the same thing. Jean just beat him to it. 

“That’s a nice necklace,” Pixis says. “Where’d you get that?”

Jean sneers at him. “Like you don’t know.”

Locket in one hand and box in the other, Jean spins on his heel. Tonight is more disastrous than he anticipated, and that’s saying something. Right now, he wants to go home, climb in bed, and count down the hours until he wakes up somewhere else and can pretend his trip to this universe never happened.

“Where are you going?” Pixis calls out.

Jean looks over his shoulder. “Home,” he answers coolly. His rage from earlier rises back to the surface as he picks up speed.

When he faces forward, he notices the ladder a second too late. His forehead collides with the metal, the clang from them connecting ringing in his ears. 

Jean falls to the cold cement. Locals pay no mind and walk around him. This is a strange universe, and not just because people seemingly leave unoccupied ladders in the middle of the sidewalk at night. 

Still, Jean feels reminiscent of the last time he ended up like this. The first instance started due to a fight with Eren, and here he is again after another fight with Eren. This one wasn’t as much of a fight as it was Jean berating Eren and Eren just taking it, but Jean still counts it.

His grip around the locket loosens, but he doesn’t let go. Jean’s vision fades before his sense of touch does. As he slips out of consciousness, he positions his knuckles against the pavement so the silver strawberry can still rest comfortably in his palm.  

*

Jean wakes up in the same bed as yesterday, only this time without Eren. For that, he considers this a win. But he’s puzzled as to why he isn’t somewhere else. 

He’s not even sure how he got home after the ladder incident. If his head weren’t on fire, he would’ve thought he dreamt the whole thing. 

Maybe Pixis carried him back and explained to Vera what happened. Jean hopes not. He’ll never live down the shame.

Speaking of shame, if this is still the same universe, then his friends are likely still pissed at him. Perhaps that’s why he’s here another day, to make things right with them. From how furious Marco was, it won’t be easy. It’ll be even harder with this massive headache. If Jean’s stuck in this universe until he rights his wrongs, then surely he can take the day to rest and work on repairing his friendships tomorrow. That shouldn’t harm anyone.

He rolls out of bed to check on Vera. She’s at the round dining table, still in her pajamas. She sets out napkins and utensils for two, pausing when she notices Jean emerging from his bedroom.     

“Morning, sweetie,” she says. She cups his bicep. “How are you feeling?”

Jean rubs his eye. “I’ve been better,” he admits.

“I know.” She pulls him into a hug and rubs his back. “I’m sorry. These things just take time.”

Jean relaxes. Sometimes the best remedy is a mother’s embrace. Luckily, Vera’s damn good at them. She’s nurtured Jean to good spirits ever since he was small. Even when Jean’s dad died, Vera worried more about comforting Jean through his grief than dealing with her own. Jean doesn’t always agree with her parenting tactics. It can’t be healthy to never put her needs first. But she’s the best mom the world has to offer. Yes, he’s biased. Doesn’t mean he’s wrong.

Vera smiles when she pulls away. “I made your favorite.”

Jean’s eyes light up. The pain in his head takes a backseat to his excitement. He rushes to the kitchen and sees the stuffed omelette gorgeously plated on the counter. 

“Yes,” he cheers.

Onions. Potatoes. Carrots. Pumpkin. Cabbage. The signature conglomerate of Vera’s cooking abilities, presented in the form of a delicious omelette. Part of why Jean struggled with his weight so much as a child is because he ate too many of these.

He almost trips over himself as he races back to the dining table with his breakfast. He grabs Vera’s plate as well, saving her the trip. He mutters a quick thank you before digging in.   

Vera chuckles. “I can always make seconds. Just let me know.”

“Oh, I will be.”

Jean scarfs down three omelettes. That last one is probably a mistake. His stomach will be upset with him later. But it’s been so long since he’s had a taste of home. He’ll sacrifice his own comfort for that any day.

“Thank you, Ma. I needed this.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Vera replies. She covers his hand with hers. “I want to do my part to make things easier for you.”

Jean’s scared to ask. He must’ve told her a bit of what went down yesterday, but he can’t remember. He doesn’t want to offer more information than needed, just in case Vera’s in the dark to the extent of his issues. But with how extra attentive she’s been this morning, she must know most or all of what happened. 

“We should probably get going within the next hour,” she adds. “Your clothes are on my bed.”

That catches Jean’s attention. She never mentioned any plans outside of the dance yesterday. It’s Sunday, so there shouldn’t be school. Errands, maybe?

She frowns. “What’s wrong?”

Jean dips his head. Whatever Vera’s referring to, Jean has no interest in going. Getting jumped by a bunch of homophobes, breaking up with his non-boyfriend, and losing his best friend is eventful enough for one weekend. The omelettes may have cheered him up, but he still can’t muster the energy to pretend he’s not exhausted.  

“I’m not really in the mood to go anywhere today,” he says. “Can I stay home?”

Vera squeezes his hand. “Jean, I know this has been hard. I don’t want to force you, but I think you’ll regret not following through with this. Think about what it would mean for Eren.”

“I don’t want to think about Eren!”

Vera flinches and lets go. Jean mentally slaps himself. He almost physically does it too. His mom is just trying to be nice. But Eren is Jean’s biggest trigger at the moment. That outweighs his ability to be patient with Vera’s compassion.

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

Vera nods, appearing more understanding than Jean deserves.

She caresses his head. “Well, I’ll be going either way. You can let me know if you’re joining when the time comes.”

While Vera cleans up, Jean retreats to his mom’s room. He doesn’t plan on going with her, but he may as well grab the clothes she laid out for him. The ironing board is still out, propped in the center of the floor. A button up shirt and dress pants lay out on Vera’s bed. Jean does a double take when he sees them. 

It’s the same outfit he wore last night, sans the tie. He’s not completely surprised. He and Vera clearly don’t come from money in this universe if their cramped living situation is any clue. But Jean’s shirt was stained from blood and dirt. It can’t have been easy to wash all of it out. He’s tempted to swallow his pride and wear it as appreciation for his mom’s efforts. 

But that raises a question in itself: where does Vera plan on taking Jean that requires him to dress up?

His first guess is church, even though they’re not religious. Jean likes to believe heaven exists for the sake of his father and Marco and all his comrades who died, but can’t commit to the idea. To Jean, a true heaven would be the allowance of those he’s lost to live long and fulfilling lives on earth. Vera’s never said it outright, but Jean reckons she feels the same.

Still, he’s lost for other ideas. Plus it’s Sunday, so that checks out. Jean would rather not attend a religious service, but if it’ll make Vera happy, he’ll comply. It beats spending another day with Eren, at least.

He takes a brisk shower, then changes into the freshly ironed outfit. He dedicates extra time in the mirror to ensure his hair looks nice. Ash brown strands fall past his ears. It’s been a while since he’s had a proper haircut, but he can’t bring himself to shorten the length yet. Longer hair looks nice on him, in his humble opinion. 

When he steps back out into the living room, Vera’s relief is palpable. Jean smiles at her because he’s a closeted mama’s boy, welcoming her hug with open arms. 

“I love you, Jean boy.”

He pats her twice on the back. “I love you too.”

Vera changes into a lovely fuscia blouse with black pants, and then they’re off. Though they live in the city, Vera does own a car. Jean won’t miss having to take the train. 

The car ride is quiet. Jean would speak, but Vera doesn’t appear to be in the chatty mood. He wants to ask why they’re even going to church if she’s so unenthused about it, but all that will do is cause tension. 

Each time Jean spots a church, he assumes it’s the one they’re going to. But Vera drives past them all. Four different churches with four different denominations and not one of them is the correct one. Jean’s in disbelief that this city is even big enough to have four churches. 

Finally, the car slows down. Vera flips on the turn signal, waiting for the oncoming traffic to clear before she can safely turn into the parking lot. Jean looks out at their destination, expecting to see a chapel or a divine statue. Even a cross will suffice. But he gets none of that.

Instead, he sees a brick building housed with a single sign: Eternal Freedom Funeral Home.

Jean’s heart sinks.

Vera pulls into the lot, and Jean has to force himself not to scream. Because he knows. He can’t explain how, but he knows why he’s here. This isn’t the same universe he visited yesterday after all. This one is much, much darker. 

And he refuses to accept it. 

“No,” he whispers as Vera settles into a parking spot.

She turns to him. “Jean boy?”

“No, no, no,” he repeats, shaking his head. “I’m not going in there.”

Vera places a gentle hand on his arm. Jean waves it away.

“I’ll be with you,” she says. “You won’t be alone.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Jean says between frantic breaths. He shields a fist over his mouth. “You can go in. I’m staying here.”

“Jean.”

“I’m serious, Ma. Just go.”

“I don’t want to leave you here.”

“Go.”

She concedes with a sigh. “Okay. I may be a while, so please come in if you change your mind.”

Jean nods as she steps out, even though he has no intention of doing that. No, if he knew, he would’ve stayed home, cooped up in bed with his hands over his ears and insisting this isn’t real. 

He can’t be dead. Jean literally just saw him. Yelled at him. Tore his heart into pieces. It’s not Jean’s proudest moment, but that’s not the point. Eren was alive. He is alive. Jean doesn’t care what this universe throws his way. Eren Jaeger is alive and just as insufferable as Jean’s always known him to be.     

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Jean’s spirit nearly leaves his body as he realizes he’s not the only one in the car. Pixis now occupies the driver’s seat, sporting a black top hat a size too big for his shriveled up head. Jean double checks. The car doors are still locked.  

“How did you get in here?” he gasps. “Actually, never mind that. What did you do?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Pixis replies.

“Save it.” Jean gestures to the funeral home through the windshield. “What the fuck is this?”

“I believe that sign says Eternal Freedom Funeral Home.”

Jean scoffs. “Thanks, asshole. I know how to read. I want to know what I’m doing here.”

Pixis’s face turns cold. “I warned you that what you do in one universe dictates which one you end up in next.”

“So this is my punishment?”

“You told Eren your life would be better if he weren’t in it.” Condescension oozes from his smile. “Congratulations, Mr. Kirstein, you got your wish.”

“Don’t pin this on me,” Jean argues. He unbuckles his seatbelt and turns in his seat toward Pixis. “This is seriously messed up. You and your stupid higher powers killed Eren to prove a point?”

“Of course not. Eren was always destined to die in this universe, young as he was. Just like there are a handful of universes where you don’t make it past sixteen either. It's tough, but that's life. All I'm responsible for is bringing you here.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

Jean grits his teeth and peers out the windshield again. So this is a funeral or wake of some sorts for Eren. It’s not like the idea never crossed Jean’s mind. With the severity of their military work, it’s not a guarantee that everyone survives. And with Eren being as reckless as he is, Jean swears it's only a matter of time before that recklessness catches up with him. But it's not meant to happen like this.  

“How did he die?”

“Does it matter?” Pixis counters.

Jean takes a slow breath. He supposes it doesn’t. Whatever the reason, Eren isn’t coming back. Sixteen years, that’s all he gets. Just because he’s still alive in the world Jean calls home, that doesn’t mean his existence here has lesser meaning. Grisha must be devastated. Mikasa, too. Everyone, really. Likely the Jean of this world as well.  

He looks back at Pixis. “I can’t believe this. You have a sick sense of humor, you know that?”

Pixis clicks his tongue. “Again with blaming everyone else but yourself. You said those words to Eren,” he says, pointing at Jean, “not me. You meant them, didn’t you?”

Jean opens his mouth, then pauses. His mind wanders to last night, the venom packed in the words he fired at Eren. Each statement harsher than the last, a row of bullets shooting off one by one into Eren’s chest. Jean may as well have killed Eren himself, even if the two universes aren’t connected apart from location. 

“I mean,” he says, posture breaking, “I meant it. But not like this. I didn’t mean I wanted him dead.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” If there’s one declaration Jean can give with full certainty, it’s this. “I’m sure.”

Pixis exhales through his nose. Jean surveys the cars piling into the parking lot. If he and Vera arrived any later, they would’ve had trouble finding a space. Eren has a lot of people who care about him, it seems. Jean wonders if the turnout would be the same if he were in Eren’s place. He doubts it, especially after last night.

“Look,” he says, “I learned my lesson, okay? Can you just transport me to tomorrow already? I don’t care which universe, just one where the bastard’s alive.”

Pixis drops his jaw, an offended wheeze brushing past his lips. “You can’t bargain with me.”

“Nothing else seems to get through to you. Please? I’ll try to do better.” He shakes his head again. “No, I will do better.”

For a second, Pixis appears to contemplate the proposition. He wrinkles his white mustache, making him look like a private detective paired with that ridiculous top hat. Ultimately, his golden eyes fall sad as they land back on Jean. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Jean knew better than to get his hopes up. He suppresses the urge to vomit. From the moment he spotted the funeral home, nausea dominated his stomach. He wants to open the door to get some air, but he can’t look weak in front of his spirit guide. Especially when said spirit guide won’t ease him through this.

“Even if I could,” Pixis continues, “that would just be helping you run from your problems again. And while I know you look at me as the bad guy here, I really do want to see you succeed.”

Jean huffs and looks out the windshield again. “And the only way that’s going to happen is if I go in there, isn’t it?”

“Jean, you were brought here today for a reason. The best thing you can do for yourself is see it all the way through.” He pats Jean’s head, which is the opposite of comforting. “Good luck.”

Jean turns to answer him, but Pixis has already vanished. 

“Damn it,” he mutters.

He leans back against the headrest and reflects. Vera said she’ll be a while, but even if she leaves early, she’ll gladly stay if Jean requests it. He really doesn’t want to go in there, though. Jean’s seen more dead bodies than anyone his age should. It never gets easier. 

But Pixis’s warning looms over him. If Jean doesn’t do this, he worries that the universe he gets sent to tomorrow will be even worse. 

So, he takes a deep breath, undoes the top button of his shirt, and steps out of the car.  

He follows a small crowd toward the entrance. Two men in suits greet him and point where to go. The funeral home is one level with lots of closed off rooms, but there’s one that’s open at the end of the hall. As Jean heads that way, he passes a small table stacked with fake candles and cards with little angels on them. The cards have Eren’s name, his birthdate and deathdate, as well as a short bible passage. Jean slides one into his pocket. Not for himself, but for the Jean that will be mourning this Eren long after today.

He finds Vera off to the side in the main room. She’s crowding around an end table full of Eren’s baby pictures with a group of older ladies. She perks up when she sees him, graciously excusing herself from the group to greet her son.

She smiles sadly. “Jean boy. You all right?”

“Not really,” Jean answers, avoiding eye contact. “But I have to do this.”

Vera takes his hand. “Come on. Eren’s parents want to meet you.”

Jean’s eyes widen. Did she say parents, plural? 

Does that mean Eren’s mom-

His question is answered when he turns to the center of the room. Eren’s in a closed casket, much to Jean’s relief. A professional photo of him sits atop. It’s just as Jean saw him yesterday, chestnut hair falling in his face and a joyous smile like he’s got the world at his fingertips.

Eren Jaeger, permanently sixteen. 

Next to the casket are Eren’s parents. Grisha’s eyes are a dull gray, a deep contrast to the guy Jean met the day before. Admittedly, his focus is on Eren’s mom. She’s pretty in pictures, but she’s breathtaking in person. Silky raven hair drapes down her back. Even in distress, Jean still senses a kind disposition from the way she stands. 

They wrap up talking with an older couple when Vera brings Jean over. Mrs. Jaeger notices them first, her hazel eyes brimming with affection as she takes them into view. 

“Is this Jean?” she asks Vera.

Jean swallows hard and takes a step forward. “Um, hi.”

She breaks into a relieved smile. “Oh, hi.”

Then she hugs him the same way Vera hugged him this morning. Jean’s torn between feeling awkward about being touched by a stranger and feeling like he can fall asleep if he tries hard enough. The warmth in Mrs. Jaeger’s touch is almost soothing enough to forget why he’s here. 

She pulls away and brushes her thumbs along his forearms. “Thank you for coming. I’m Carla. This is my husband, Grisha.”

Grisha opts for a handshake. “Hello, Jean. I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances.”

“Me too,” Jean says, because he means it.

Carla fights back tears as she cups Jean’s face. “You’re so handsome. And tall.”

Jean’s face heats up, but he conjures a smile. “Thank you.”

She studies Jean like she wants to memorize him. Jean feels like the titans Hange captured to examine for scientific research. But he’s not going to make the day worse for a woman who just lost her only son, so he allows it.

Tears stream down Carla’s cheeks, though not as many as Jean would expect from a face carrying this much hurt. She’s probably cried herself dry. 

“You made him really happy,” she says.

Jean bites the inside of his lip. The nausea is back. If they knew what went down between him and Eren last night, they’d probably kick him out. Jean doesn’t deserve their appreciation. 

Someone new steps in to offer condolences. Jean feels sorry for the Jaegers. It’s like each time someone approaches them, they have to be reminded that their son is dead. 

Grisha smiles at Jean and Vera. “Excuse us,” he says before he and Vera offer attention to the other visitors. 

The knot in Jean’s stomach loosens. That’s probably as hard as today will get, and he pushed through it. Pixis better reward him tomorrow or Jean will be filing a complaint with the powers that be. 

Vera tugs his sleeve. “I see someone I know from work. Do you want me to introduce you?”

Jean winces. “Not really.”

She smiles and rubs his arm. “Okay. I’ll be back.”

When she’s gone, Jean takes a final glance at Eren’s casket. Even though his eyes are locked on it, he can’t fathom that Eren’s lifeless body is concealed within it. Jean pictures Eren asleep, his hands crossing over his chest. Jean wants to reach in there and shake him awake, tell him to stop fucking around. He got the attention he desperately craves. Continuing this charade is just cruel. 

Jean wants to believe the Eren he knows is still in there.

He presses a hand to the wood. He’s not sure what he expects to happen, but he’s disappointed when nothing does. Jean shuts his eyes and spins away from the casket, refusing to look at it a second further. 

While Vera chats with her coworker, Jean slags around the room, observing all the mini displays in Eren’s memory. He hangs near a deserted one, the one without any pictures. This table is a dedication to Eren’s love for astronomy. It even has a diorama of the solar system that Eren crafted out of clay. From an artist’s perspective, it’s not very good. But the passion is there. Sometimes that’s more important.  

“Depressing, isn’t it?”

Jean looks to his right, fear settling in. “Mikasa.”

He has no reason to be scared. The Mikasa that was repulsed by his behavior yesterday isn’t the Mikasa that’s standing next to him. But Jean’s got his guard up, just in case.

Mikasa scans the room with a sigh. She clutches the strap of her bag that crosses over her body. “I get this is more for his parents than anything else, but Eren would hate everything about this.” She eyes Jean with concern. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay. You?”

She shrugs. “I’ve been better.”

Aside from Eren’s parents, Jean feels the worst for Mikasa. She always holds Eren in such high regard, more than he deserves. Jean knows just how gutwrenching it is to lose someone who holds that much importance in one’s life. It’s how he felt when Marco was ripped away from him.

“They found his journal the other day,” she adds. She gives a half smile. “He didn’t do a great job of hiding it. He kept it under his pillow. That’s how they found out about you.”

Jean nods. He was wondering why Carla was so emotional meeting him, outside from the obvious at least. “Oh.”

Mikasa grabs it from her bag and offers it to Jean. “Do you want it?”

“They gave it to you?”

“They wanted me to give it to you at school in case you didn’t come. It’s not like they knew what you looked like.”

Jean accepts the leather notebook and traces his finger over the front. It feels wrong to take Eren’s journal when there are so many people who will appreciate it more. But it would feel even more wrong to deny the Jaegers’ request. 

“Thank you,” he tells Mikasa.

She nods. “Look, I know we only hung out together because of Eren, but if you ever need to talk…”

Jean can tell she’s struggling, so cuts her off. “Yeah. You too.”

Mikasa starts to cry. It breaks his heart. It hurts even more when she throws her arms around him. It’s the first time they ever hug. Jean can smell her hair, her perfume. The girl of his dreams is wrapped around him, offering her undivided attention and care. 

Jean used to wish for this moment. Now that it’s here, he’s too dejected to hug back. He simply leans his head on hers and lets her cry into his shoulder, Eren’s journal the only barrier between their broken bodies. 

*

That night, Jean sits up in his bed. Eren’s journal sits in his lap, still unopened. He’s been fighting the urge to read every last page. His gut tells him this may be his only chance to discover any clues to getting out of this situation. There’s no doubt at this point, Eren is his key to getting back home. Jean’s just not sure how Eren’s meant to get him there. 

But this feels intrusive. The Eren of this universe is dead, so it’s not as serious of a betrayal, but reading his most intimate thoughts must be crossing a line still. And he’ll have to face Eren tomorrow, here’s hoping. How can he do that after studying the pages of his private journal?

Then again, Pixis told him to see all of today through. Maybe this is part of it.

Before his conscience can talk himself out of it, Jean flips the notebook open. He reads every page, careful not to miss a single word. The early entries are pretty basic, mostly complaining about school or his parents. Little doodles of constellations scatter along the pages, as well as a few entries about the discoveries he makes while stargazing. 

Then, Jean finds what he’s looking for. 

March 18th

I think I have a crush on Jean.

I’m not even sure how it happened. We barely talk. And when we do, it’s mostly surface level. Besides, I think he has a thing for Mikasa.

But I notice when he’s with his friends, he smiles a lot. And I realized that I really like seeing him smile. It looks nice on him. And then I started staring at him way too much and now I can’t stop myself. Every time he’s in the room, I find myself looking at him. 

I just want to know more about him. He acts like a dick sometimes, but I think it may be an act. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking. 

It’s useless either way. I doubt he’s into guys. Hell, I didn’t even know I was into guys until now. I had a feeling I wasn’t attracted to girls, but I never put much thought into it. Of course the first person I develop a crush on is someone I have zero chance with. Story of my life.

Jean keeps reading. As the days pass, more and more entries include his name.

April 1st

I talked to Jean today. We stood next to each other in the lunch line so I just went for it. I made a comment about how the pizza looked like it was made of rubber and he agreed! I think he might have even laughed. I don’t know. I was too nervous to look at him. But I’m proud of myself for making progress! At least now I know he doesn’t hate me. 

This crush is getting worse by the day. Why does he have to be so damn cute? Even when Ms. Ral calls on him in class and he doesn’t know the answer! He just says “Huh?” and it’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen and I can’t take it anymore. Why must I crush on someone so unattainable?

Sigh. Pray for me.

April 13th

Jean and I got partnered in Ms. Ral’s class to practice problems for the exam. Neither of us are great in math, but we actually worked well together! I knew the things he didn’t, and he knew the things I didn’t. And when I solved one of the problems by myself, he told me I was smart! I am not exaggerating when I say it took everything in me not to grin like a dumbass. 

But seriously, why would he say that? I’m no smarter than he is. And he had the audacity to smile at me when he said it. Like boy, do you want me to combust in front of you?

I’ve got it bad, I know. I’m trying to work on it. I hardly know Jean anyway. But if he smiles at me like that one more time, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.

April 30th

Went to Annie’s party. It was pretty fun. Armin challenged Bertholdt to a dance contest for Annie’s love. It was meant as a joke, but I know there was more to it. Armin won anyway, which made me proud. Reiner also asked Historia out in front of everyone, which was really fucking awkward since she said no. But then Sasha insisted we play manhunt, which was a great way to lighten the mood.

Now onto what’s most important: Jean hugged me!!!! It was when he was leaving, and granted, he hugged everyone goodbye, but I’m delusional and choose to believe he hugged me a little bit longer than he did everyone else. He even did that hot thing tall guys do and cupped his chin over my head! My gay little heart exploded and is still in recovery. But really, how am I supposed to interpret that? Are straight guys really this oblivious?

God, he smells so good. Now I’m going to want to hug him all the time, which is obviously not going to happen. Stupid Jean.

The beginning of May highlights how Eren and Jean grow closer. Subtle glances in class, waving to one another when they pass in the halls, even texting late at night. Eren swooning over him in diary format is both wholesome and disgusting. Jean knows how this story ends, but he still reads in anticipation of when the big moment arrives.

And then, it does. May twenty-first, to be exact. 

I KISSED JEAN!!!!!!

Okay, technically he kissed me. He just grabbed my face and did it. I’m not sure what possessed him to do it. We were just sitting there, laughing. Next thing I know he’s kissing me. 

His cheeks were so red when he pulled away. I think he was worried he did something wrong. Is it wrong that I found his nerves adorable? Either way, I initiated the second kiss to reassure him. To say it was perfect would be an understatement. I genuinely felt like I was floating. It was my first time kissing someone. I’m so glad it was with Jean. If the way he smiled at me after it happened means anything, then I have a lot more of that to look forward to in the future!   

Jean keeps reading. Nearly every entry involves him in some capacity now. Dates with Eren to the movies, how they came out to their friends, and Eren’s feelings growing exponentially by the day. 

His heart pangs for the Jean of this world. Now that Eren is gone, these memories are all he has. Jean doubts that’s enough, not when he can tell how into each other they were just through the words crafted into Eren’s journal. 

September 2nd

I’m in love with Jean.

I don’t care how ridiculous it sounds. I may be a teenager, but I feel it in my heart. It’s scary, because he can break my heart at any time. Even though I don’t think he would do that, I still have that fear. 

He’s my best friend. Everything good that happens to me, he’s the first person I want to tell. Even when life throws something terrible at me, he’s the one I want to vent to. I put all my trust in him because he has such a kind heart. He takes care of me. I can always count on him to be honest with me. I’ve never felt so understood by somebody before. I can’t explain it. We just get each other.  

I’m in love with Jean Kirstein. I’m so in love with him that I don’t know what to do with myself. I can’t believe I found something so rare at sixteen, but I’m so grateful. If it were up to me, I’d spend the rest of my life with Jean. I can die a million times and come back a million and one, each time my heart searching for his. 

I never want to lose this feeling. I’ll do whatever I have to do to protect this relationship. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I know nothing will ever come close. 

I’m not sure how I’ll tell him. Maybe I can write him a letter. Or give him an engraved necklace. Or maybe I should just man up and say it to his face. 

Ugh. Let’s be honest, there’s no way I’m doing that. To tell the truth, I don’t think I’ll be able to tell Jean I love him until he says it first.

God, I hope he says it soon.

Jeannie, if you’re reading this, two things:

1. You’re in big trouble as you know you’re not allowed to read this
2. I love you so damn much you horsefaced idiot  

It’s as Jean reads the last sentence that he finally realizes he’s crying. Eren’s journal vibrates in his trembling hands, his tears spilling onto the pages. He closes it, not wanting to read any further. He curses to himself for thinking this was meant to steer him in the right direction. 

No, all this does is push Jean back to last night, his eyes locked with Eren’s defenseless ones, the mystery of the black box still hidden in Jean’s pocket. How he chose anger over compassion. How that choice led him to what’s easily been his hardest day yet.  

Jean wipes his eyes and speaks to Eren in a whisper.

“You idiot.”

Chapter Text

The courthouse hallway is brighter than Jean remembers. An unnatural white light seeps through the windows, casting a heavenly glow over the otherwise morbid atmosphere. It’s freezing. The hairs on Jean’s arms stand up beneath his dress shirt.

He kneels beside his unconscious body. Though it’s technically his real body, the one Jean’s desperate to return to, there’s a disconnect. For someone who’s been knocked out cold, this Jean looks a lot more peaceful than the Jean next to him feels. 

He wishes they could switch places. The unknown of when (or if) he’ll wake up is daunting, but at least he’ll get ample rest. More importantly, Jean can’t ruin the lives of everyone around him if he’s unconscious.

Six days. Six whole days of things progressing from bad to terrible, all at the result of one common denominator. Even before that, if he wants to be honest. It was easy blaming Eren for all his problems. But now, holding the hand of the Jean that used to be, Jean can’t find anyone more at fault than himself.       

“Cut the bullshit, Kirstein. Wake up already.”

Jean looks around. This hallway’s abandoned apart from him and his comatose self, but the words amplify in his ear as if whoever says them is right in front of him. 

“It’s been two days. Are you really too weak to get up after two fucking days?”

Jean knows that voice. 

“Eren?”

Jean knows Eren isn't dead, not permanently at least. But it’s nice to have proof. The smug tone in Eren’s voice doesn’t even disturb him. Jean’s gone a full day without hearing it, without seeing that stupid button face and unkempt brown hair, without smacking the back of that obnoxious little head.  It was only a matter of time before they reunited. And now that Jean’s certain that he’ll need Eren’s help to return to the body that lies at his side, he’s thankful it’s sooner than later. 

Jean’s attention shifts back to said body, only to realize that it’s no longer there. Neither is the marble flooring that platformed his knees. The windows, the damask wallpaper, the entire courthouse vanishes. 

Darkness takes its place, shrouding Jean in despair. It’s like his soul has been drained from his body. Looking out, he sees nothing. A deep sea of emptiness.    

“Come on,” Eren says. “I know you can hear me.”

Jean leaps to his feet. He tries to follow Eren’s voice, but he can’t figure out where it’s coming from. It orbits around him, constricting him like a tight bandage.

“Eren,” he calls out. 

“You know I didn’t push you that hard.”

If Jean didn’t have Eren’s voice memorized, this would make him think he’s talking to someone else. There’s a fragility in the way Eren speaks. His signature self-righteousness is still there, but it’s surface level. Jean's not used to it. He doesn't like it. 

“An-And you were hitting me too,” he continues. “It’s not like I knocked you to the floor for no reason.”

Jean keeps walking. He has no idea if he’s going in the right direction. Eren’s voice doesn’t get louder or softer.

He cups his hands over his mouth. “Eren! Where are you?”

The air grows colder. Jean spins in circles, searching for any visible trace of Eren. But no one else is around. He’s tangled in a shadowy abyss with just a faceless voice to comfort him. 

“So why do I have to be the bad guy?” Eren argues. “You’re the one that punched me first. This is your fault.”

Jean’s convinced his mind is playing tricks on him. He’s officially driven himself to insanity. Eren isn’t really there. He’s never been there. Jean pushed him away, and now he’ll be taunted by that decision for all of eternity.

With trembling hands, he covers his ears. 

“Stop.”

Eren’s voice drowns out his request. 

“This is all your fault. So…So you need to wake up and tell everyone that you’re not really hurt.”

“Just stop it,” Jean pleads.

Eren’s tone grows harsher. “Stupid horseface. Why aren’t you opening your eyes?”

“I said stop it!”

Armin lets out a yelp and shields his face. Jean stares at him wide eyed while taking heavy breaths.

It was just a dream. It didn’t feel like one. Jean’s mouth seems to agree with him since it appears to have yelled at Armin upon waking up. The poor boy is as white as Jean’s knuckles that are actively clutching his comforter. 

They each take a moment to calm down. When Armin relaxes, his face twists into a gentle smile.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Jean answers awkwardly. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Jean nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m…”

His face falls as he surveys his surroundings. Bewildered eyes glance over the tea colored wallpaper, bits peeling from the corners. The wooden floors with nails sticking out. The double windows that peer out to the open field that Jean frequents with his horse, Buchwald.  

“I’m home,” he whispers.

Armin smiles. “Yeah. We brought you back here yesterday.”

Jean’s grip on his comforter tightens. His comforter. Tucked into the bed that he’s claimed for a year. His bed. The drab interior of this room never looked so cozy. His room.

He won’t let himself get his hopes up. He needs to be sure.

“Armin,” he spits out, “what military branch am I a part of?”

Armin cocks his head. “The Scout Regiment. You don’t remember?”

“And Reiner’s the Armored Titan?” he asks, his desperation increasing. “And Bertholdt the Colossal? And Annie’s the Female Titan?”

“Well,” he says sheepishly, “I have the Colossal now, but yes.”

“Yes!”

Jean cradles Armin’s head and plants a fat kiss on his cheek. A hearty laugh escapes his lips.

“Oh my God! I’m home!”

He gives Armin a good shake. Armin, who went numb the moment Jean’s lips touched his skin, slowly snaps out of it. He’s back to sporting a sweet smile. 

“Good to see you’re feeling better.”

Better is an understatement. Whatever hell Jean endured for the last six days, it’s finally over. He’s back where he belongs. Though this life, this world, isn’t always pretty, he’ll never take it for granted again.

Then it hits him. Marco.

Jean’s smile drops, his excitement cut short. He knew if he wanted to get home, he’d inevitably have to lose Marco again. But it hurts more than he hoped. It doesn’t help that they ended on such a sour note. His last chance at seeing his friend and Jean blew it. It doesn’t erase the bond he created with Marco in this universe, but still. 

It would’ve been nice to have the opportunity to make things right. Or better yet, to say goodbye. 

“Jean.”

Mikasa stands in the doorway. Her red scarf is wrapped symmetrically around her neck. It’s a symbol of her devotion to Eren, but Jean’s happy to see it. She didn’t have it in the other universes he’s visited. He really is home.

Jean can barely get her name out before Mikasa charges at him and traps him in a firm embrace. She collides with his ribcage, knocking the wind out of him. Jean’s always respected Mikasa’s strength, but he forgot until this moment exactly how strong she is.

Mikasa exhales. “Thank God.” She squeezes him tighter. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

When Jean’s done gasping for air, he hugs her back. It feels weird, doing this with her. But if he’s been unconscious for a while, it makes sense that she was worried. He’d be worried too if one of his comrades were in his position.

“Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

“We were all scared,” Armin adds. “Eren too, even though he’ll never admit it.”

At that, Jean lets go. Mikasa’s hold on him lingers, but eventually retreats her hands to her lap.  

“Eren,” he says. “Eren’s here?”

Armin and Mikasa exchange confused glances. Jean’s not surprised. The last time they saw him and Eren together, disaster occurred. But they don’t know what Jean knows now. They don’t know what he’s experienced. The conclusion he reached. 

He won’t tell them, obviously. They’ll think he’s crazy. Jean doesn’t need their approval anyway. He’ll just demonstrate his new outlook on his relationship with Eren through action. 

“Yeah,” Mikasa tells him.

“I need to talk to him.”

“What for?”

Jean leaps out of bed and starts running. He doesn’t bother to put shoes on. He’s got one objective on his mind: find Eren and set things straight.

“Wait, Jean!”

Mikasa and Armin chase after him. Armin has no chance of catching up, but Mikasa definitely does. But for as strong as she is, Jean outranks Mikasa in speed, both with ODM gear and on foot. 

Jean kicks it into high gear, racing around every corner of the Scouts’ dormitories with swift determination. 

“Jean,” Mikasa urges, “you shouldn’t be running around. You need to rest up!”

“No time!” Jean calls over his shoulder. 

It’s his fatal mistake. That split second of not looking out in front of him is all it takes for Captain Levi to step into frame. Jean stumbles into him and thanks his lucky stars that of the two, he’s the one that falls to the ground. 

Still, that disapproving glare from Levi is not his ideal consolation prize. Levi is intimidating enough as is. But in the rare instance where Jean has to look up at him, that intimidation increases tenfold.  

“I see you’re back to your usual antics, Jean,” he mutters.

Mikasa’s close enough now to offer Jean a helping hand. He accepts and rises to his feet with a forlorn expression. 

“Sorry, Captain.”

Levi sighs, then takes Jean into proper view. “Well, it’s nice to see that you’re doing better. Will you be up for our training exercise later? I don’t want to push you if you still need rest.”

“No,” Mikasa says.

“Yes,” Jean says at the same time.

She frowns. “Jean, you shouldn’t overwork yourself.”

“I feel fine.” 

After everything, Jean craves a return to normalcy. Levi can throw the most brutal training exercise his way and he’ll accept it with a smile. Jean already anticipates the adrenaline that will soar through his bloodstream when he puts on that Scouts uniform. He’s gone too long without it.   

He turns to Levi. “I feel fine,” he repeats.

Levi nods. “Very well. If that changes even a little bit, let me know. I’ll see you after lunch.”

Levi continues his stroll to wherever he’s going, then Jean remembers where he’s supposed to be going. Before Levi gets too far, he calls out to him. 

“Captain, have you seen Eren?”

“He’s out by the stables,” Levi answers without looking back.

Armin’s finally caught up, but Jean’s immediately back to running, much to Mikasa’s chagrin. 

“Jean!”

He’s not sure which one of them says it, but he tunes them both out. He sprints outside and rushes for the stables, the grass tickling his bare feet. He passes Connie and Sasha on the way. They try to greet him, and Jean is more than grateful to see them, but for now he offers a quick wave and keeps it moving. 

The smell of hay calms him as he enters the stables. All the horses are here, happy and healthy. Jean offers some tender pats to Buchwald. Buchwald leans into his touch, even going as far as licking Jean’s hand when he’s finished. After today’s training, Jean will take him for a nice ride on the trail. They both deserve it.

And then Jean sees him. At the far end of the stables, tending to his own horse, is the one person that Jean hasn’t been able to shake for the last week. The last time he saw this Eren in particular, Jean’s eyes brimmed with hatred. Now, he’s not sure he’s even capable of carrying that level of hostility anymore.  

“Eren.”

Eren looks his way and, upon realizing it’s Jean, softens his expression to one that’s almost childlike. 

“Jean. You’re awake.” He says it like he doesn’t believe it’s true.

Jean gives a weak shrug. “Yeah.”

His insides may burst. He’s got Eren back. And while Jean isn’t delusional enough to believe they’ll suddenly become best friends in this universe, he’s also not delusional enough to believe that nothing will change between them. If Jean makes the effort, they’ll get there in time. With the chance of death always looming over the two of them, he doesn’t want to spend more time arguing with Eren than he has to. 

Because whether or not he planned for it to happen, Eren is important to him. In his own twisted, annoying, and bratty sort of way, Eren’s existence gives Jean purpose to become a better man. It’s good to have a rival, someone to strive to be stronger than. Even if Eren pisses Jean off like it’s his calling in life, Jean can no longer say he doesn’t appreciate it. 

It sucks that it literally took seeing Eren dead for Jean to feel this way, but he’ll do everything in his power to prolong his Eren dying for as long as possible.  

Emotions overpower him, so he marches up to Eren and catches him in a hug. His arms snake around Eren’s waist and pull him close. Eren squirms in his grasp, but Jean’s not letting go that easily. 

“What the…” he mumbles into Jean’s pajama shirt. 

Jean closes his eyes. He leans his head on Eren’s. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “For everything. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Get off me!”

Eren shoves Jean away and yeah, Jean should’ve expected that. Just because he reached this epiphany about Eren doesn’t mean Eren reached the same one about him. But it’s been a while since he’s been near an Eren that didn’t want to embrace him 24/7. He momentarily forgot just how ugly their dynamic was from both sides, not just Jean’s.  

Hair disheveled from breaking free, Eren’s skin flushes scarlet as he scowls at Jean. 

“Ever hear of personal space, you suicidal maniac?”

Mikasa and Armin enter the stables. Jean’s glad they missed his botched hug attempt. Mikasa probably would use it as evidence that Jean should stay in bed today as he’s clearly delirious. He wouldn’t be able to argue it, either. 

“Will you just let me apologize?” he asks Eren. “I know we’ve had our differences, and I know I played a big part in that, so-”

His question goes unfinished. The wheels in his brain turn at a snail’s pace. His jaw hangs open as he processes the last ten seconds.  

“What did you just call me?”

Eren huffs. “A suicidal maniac. Just like you’ve always been. You’re lucky Mikasa’s here to protect you otherwise I’d send you right back to the hospital.”

“Oh, come on, Eren,” Armin says. “You were worried about Jean just like the rest of us.”

“Was not.” He throws a dismissive gesture Jean’s way. “Just because everyone else wants to treat this idiot like he’s God’s gift to humanity, doesn’t mean I have to.”

Time keeps moving, yet Jean stays frozen. The conversation transpiring between Eren, Armin, and Mikasa may as well take place light years away. That’s how distant he feels from the reality laid out in front of him.  

Connie pops into the stables next, Sasha close behind. 

“I thought I heard Eren bitching,” he says. “Should’ve known Jean had something to do with it.”

“I wasn’t bitching!” Eren argues.

Sasha narrows her gaze on Jean. “Should you be out of bed right now?”

Jean feels lightheaded, and he’s pretty sure it’s not injury related. He can’t get the words out, which doesn’t matter as Mikasa opts to speak for him. 

“No,” she says. “He shouldn’t.”

Connie shrugs. “He looks fine to me.”

“Walking around after just waking up from a coma is irresponsible and dangerous.” Jean doesn't know if she’s speaking to him or Connie. Either way, it comes out as a threat.

“Does that really apply to Jean though?” Connie says. “I mean, doesn’t having titan shifting abilities make him recover a lot faster than the rest of us?”

The walls fully close in on Jean. The color drains from his face, leaving a hollow shell of the boy who moments ago was ecstatic to be home. It’s like dangling a carrot in front of a starving horse. Jean’s not home, not even close.   

“Titan shifting…” he whispers, “abilities?”

They all turn to him, eyeing his demeanor with suspicion and concern. Jean’s temples start throbbing uncontrollably. For a second, he thinks he may die. It’s sharp, prickly, like he’s being zapped with electricity. 

Then his surroundings change.

He's outside, in a small village town. It looks familiar, but Jean can't place his finger on where he is. 

The first thing he registers is the noise. People are screaming. They’re running. Children are crying. Yet for some reason, Jean’s running in the opposite direction of everyone else. So is Mikasa.

Mikasa.

Jean looks at her, sees the panic in her eyes. Her scarf bounces as she runs. Jean does his best to keep up with her.

But her face, it’s so young. Younger than even their days as cadets. Her black hair is nice and long, getting in her way as they keep running. 

Jean looks down at his own body. This is definitely not his present day body. He doesn’t have the definition he gained when he first enrolled in the military. He can’t be any older than ten or eleven. But that doesn’t make sense. 

The sound of destruction curses his ears. Buildings being smashed in, blood-curdling screams overtaking the atmosphere. Jean overhears a frantic mother as she carries her child through the havoc. 

“The titans!” she shrieks. “They’re coming to get us!”

Paranoid, Jean looks ahead. Sure enough, there are titans everywhere. It takes less than a second for him to catch a civilian getting eaten by one. He’s lost many fellow soldiers this way, but a sickness builds in his stomach from watching it happen to innocent people who never signed up for this life.

Given his age, this must be that day. The one that started it all.

He must be in Shiganshina. The day the walls were first breached by Bertholdt and Reiner. 

So why are he and Mikasa running toward the danger instead of away from it?

He gets his answer in the worst way possible. 

Vera.

She’s trapped under a collapsed house. Her legs are broken. His poor mother, unable to run from a large titan approaching them with a hideous smile. 

Jean screams for Vera, but no words come out. Surely he can save her. He’s strong enough. Mikasa’s strong enough. But when they try to lift the debris she’s crushed under, they can’t do it. Why can’t they do it?

Vera urges them to run. Like hell Jean would leave her here. His mother is all he has. He’d rather die than give up on the woman who’s loved him unconditionally his entire life.

He’s thrown over someone’s shoulder. A blond man from the Garrison district. Jean blanks on his name, but he kicks and claws and tries to get free. The man doesn’t release him. He doesn’t release Mikasa either. Jean yells and cries and curses for Vera, but his words fall silent among the chaos that engulfs him.

Vera offers a final plea, that Jean and Mikasa protect each other. That they escape. That they live long lives.

Jean’s face is stained with tears. He shouldn’t watch what comes next, but he does. 

When Vera gets eaten, he screams harder than he ever has, even more than he did as a newborn. A fraction of his heart dies off along with her. His mom, his home, it’s all been taken from him in the blink of an eye.    

The scene finishes, then Jean’s transported to an abandoned forest. There’s only two people here: Jean and his father. God, how long has it been since he’s seen his dad? He should feel relieved, but he’s terrified. 

Jean’s on the ground, his father pinning him down. He’s screaming, crying, confused. Jean’s dad assures him it’s for his own good and that he’ll be the key to saving everyone. His dad holds a serum to Jean’s forearm and injects Jean with its contents. 

It happens in a flash. Jean transitions to a pure titan and ravages his father to pieces. He leaves no remains. Every bit of Jean’s father ends up in his stomach, as if he never existed in the first place. 

Jean’s human form emerges from the titan’s skeleton, more tears streaming down his face. Somehow, he knows what he’s done. His wails rustle the trees, creating a haunting disturbance to an otherwise quiet evening.  

And just like that, Jean snaps back to the present. 

And then, he faints.

*

“You’re not training today.”

Jean slurps his stew. “Well I’m not lying in this bed all day.”

“Jean,” Mikasa says, “you fainted.”

“From shock, not exhaustion.”

He’s back in his room. Mikasa and Armin sit on opposite sides of his bed. A meal tray sits in his lap, graciously offered by Mikasa. The stew is okay, as is the bread, but nothing substantial. If there’s one thing he’ll miss about the other universes he’s been too, it’s their greater variety in cuisine. 

“I saw…” he says. “I saw what happened in Shiganshina. My mom…”

“Jean,” Armin says.

Jean’s teeth chatter as he fights the words out. “I saw my dad. I…I ate him.”

Neither of them respond. Jean drags his spoon against the bottom of the bowl. The screech that results is unpleasant, but at least it fills the silence. 

He dips his head. Pixis’s face flashes in his mind. Of course when Jean actually needs him to appear, he’s nowhere to be found. 

“You old drunk,” he spits. “What exactly is this supposed to teach me?”

Mikasa places a hand on Jean’s free one. “Just eat for now and relax.”

Armin adds, “We should eat too before we miss our opportunity.”

Mikasa nods, then focuses again on Jean. “Promise you’ll skip training today.”

Jean looks down at their joined hands. Mikasa gives him a purposeful squeeze. It’s weird. He thought he’d be more excited that the girl he’s crushed on for years is touching him like this. He’s thankful for her affection and care, but his heart isn’t swelling. His skin isn’t tingling. His face isn’t heating up. They’re just two friends holding onto one another. Nothing more, nothing less. If Mikasa and Armin switch places, Jean will likely feel the same way he does now.  

“Not happening,” he says.

Dissatisfaction spreads across her face.

“I’m serious, Mikasa,” he tells her. “I have to.”

“One day of rest won’t kill you.”

“No, but it’ll make my life a lot more complicated.” His eyes plead with hers. If they’re as close in this universe as his memories indicate, she may listen if he offers sincerity instead of rebellion. “Trust me. I promise I feel fine.”

She glances at Armin, who responds with a friendly shrug. 

“The doctor cleared him to participate if he’s up to it.”

Jean can tell she still isn’t pleased, but two against one seems to work in his favor.

“Fine,” she says. “I’m going to get lunch.”

She’s out of Jean’s room without saying another word, clutching her scarf as she exits. Armin gets up too, but gives Jean a final smile when he reaches the door. 

“We’ll see you soon.”

Jean smiles back. “Thanks.”

He capitalizes on his little free time after eating to rest. It’s the least he can do to ease Mikasa’s worry. But when training hour rolls around, he heads to the stables with a spring in his step. Training may not go the way he anticipated now that he’s aware of his shifting powers, but he’s ready for anything. 

The Scouts gather on their respective horses and ride to the training grounds. This must be taking place after the reclaiming of Wall Maria because attendance is depressingly low. The only Scouts remaining are Jean, Mikasa, Armin, Eren, Connie, Sasha, Captain Levi, Commander Hange, and Floch Forster. It’s not the outcome Jean would ever wish for, but it’s the cards he's been dealt. These are all the people he can count on. Even Eren, though he still hasn’t warmed up to Jean since their interaction earlier.

They don’t encounter any titans, which alleviates the stress Jean was carrying. He’s not sure how the mechanics of this universe-hopping thing works, but dying in any of them can’t mean good things for the Jean who’s still in a coma somewhere. Jean’s confident in his abilities to take down any titan that poses a threat, but the best way to stay safe is to not have to deal with them at all.

They settle into a field with a plethora of tall trees. Like usual, they warm up with exercises utilizing their ODM gear. Jean just so happens to be the most skilled at this, so this is the perfect way to be reintroduced to his squad. 

It’s like he never left. Jean glides through the trees, wind breaking through his growing hair. His movements possess an innate elegance, like he becomes one with nature. The trees aren’t simply a prop for him to move, they’re an extension of his body.

He soars high and low, adding as many spins and flips as he can. His smile is cemented to his face. Being back in his element after an agonizing hiatus will draw that out of him.

On Levi’s instruction, Jean and the others retreat to the ground. Levi heads straight for him, Hange hovering over his shoulder.        

“Feeling alright, Jean?”

Jean nods. “Yes, sir.”

Hange breaks into a grin and takes over. “It’s your first day back, so we’ll keep it simple.” They raise an index finger. “Let’s work on polishing up your hardening. I still think we can build up your stamina so you can do it instantaneously.”

Another nod. “Okay.”

This is the part he was dreading. He can handle the ODM exercises no problem, but Jean has no experience as a titan shifter. It took Eren months to grasp the different techniques of controlling his titan. At least he had a lack of training to blame back then. But the Jean of this universe should have everything mastered by now. No way will a novice like Jean be able to duplicate that skill. 

Still, he has to try.

Jean migrates near the bottom of a cliff, far enough away from his comrades. The rest of them hang in the open field. Hange is in the front, keeping a keen eye on Jean’s movements. 

Jean knows how this works. Titans transform by drawing blood. He doesn’t have a blade on him, so he’ll have to bite his hand like Eren does. He hopes his teeth are sharp enough to break skin. 

He holds his hand in front of his mouth, takes a deep breath, and bites down.

“Ow!” he cries out. “Fucking hell!”

It hurts, to put it mildly. Jean throws all his strength into that bite. He waits for a transformation to happen, but a long pause passes and he’s still the same Jean. 

He checks his hand. No blood.

Damn it.     

“Quit stalling, Kirstein,” Eren heckles in the distance. 

Jean grits his teeth. Just how hard is he going to have to injure himself for this to work?

Everyone’s staring at him. He can feel Levi’s stare burning a hole through his forehead. The only thing that keeps Jean from giving up is the knowledge that everyone is counting on him. If they’ve made it this far because of Jean, then he must have succeeded at this before. If the Jean from this universe can do it, there’s no reason why he can’t do the same.

He bites down harder, so much so that he worries he may have fractured a tooth. But when the blood touches his gums, he knows he did it. 

Jean doesn’t have time to celebrate, however, because his body mutates in a flash. A second skin cocoons him, his original skin molding with this new one. His body heats up. His vision weakens. Suddenly he’s much taller than he was seconds ago. The other Scouts now look like little specks of dirt.  

The sensation is strange. Jean’s body is still intact. Physically, his titan form feels like a separate entity. But mentally, they’re one. 

The Attack Titan. It’s Jean’s to control. To guide. To get him through whatever the hell Fake Pixis and the forces that brought him here want Jean to see.

Jean takes another long breath, then gets into proper stance. 

Showtime.

Chapter Text

Jean’s skin feels hot. Each minor movement he makes as the Attack Titan requires more energy than he anticipates. He peers out at his comrades. They’re silent, waiting for Jean to do what he was asked to. He can no longer distinguish who’s who, except for Hange since they’re running his way cheering with arms thrown in the air. 

Now for the difficult part. Hardening. Jean hoped once he transformed, he’d know what to do on instinct.

Wishful thinking.

Jean closes his eyes and imagines shedding his titan skin into that crystallized substance. He stretches the muscles across his back and flexes the ones in his arm. Nothing happens, so he stretches further. He lets out a whine when it begins to hurt, then is rattled by the scream that leaves his titan’s mouth. 

In front of him, Hange’s yelling something, but he can’t make out what. He feels his body weakening. It’s a struggle to keep his head upright. His titan takes several steps forward, though Jean’s not doing anything to maneuver it. 

Severe pressure piles onto him. His eyelids drop slowly, then he blinks himself awake. Then it happens again. And again. Each time he does it, he’s closer to Hange than he was previously. 

The Attack Titan roars again, this one sounding like a battle cry. But Jean’s not trying to battle anyone. That’s not on the training agenda. Besides, he’d never fight a fellow Scout under these conditions. But he may not have a choice.

He yanks himself backward, trying to free himself from his titan skin. If he gets out, then nothing catastrophic can happen. The Attack Titan can’t operate without using Jean as a vessel. But Jean’s energy is spent and the harder he tries, the more he feels himself losing control of his titan. 

He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until he’s awakened by a harsh crash. It lingers in the shape of a hole in the ground the size of the Attack Titan’s fist. Hange’s not too far from it. Had the punch landed even a few meters to the left, the Section Commander would’ve been crushed. 

Jean’s paralyzed. He’s fallen victim to the Attack Titan’s power. And his comrades may get killed because of it. 

It’s an out of body experience. Jean can’t do anything but watch himself go ballistic on everything and everyone around him. He notices his comrades yelling, but to him they sound softer than whispers. 

Jean slips in and out of consciousness. It gets more difficult with each attempt. The only reason he doesn't give up is because things will get even worse if he fully submits to the Attack Titan. But he’s not sure how much fight he has left in him. If he doesn’t save himself soon, no one else may be able to.  

Just then, one Scout flies high above him, blades at the ready. Jean locks eyes with him and freezes. Eren’s expression is twisted in anguish, maybe even rage. 

He speeds toward Jean using his ODM gear. When he gets close, Jean catches his reflection in Eren’s green eyes. But not as the Attack Titan, as himself.

Jean looks older. His hair is longer. He even has facial hair, a faint beard tracing his jawline. All traces of warmth and compassion are drained from his hazel eyes.

In a flash, Jean’s mind drifts away again. Only this time, he’s fully present. He’s back in Shiganshina. Mikasa’s there too, but so are his other comrades. He’s pleading with Captain Levi to save Armin. There’s yelling, punching, even Mikasa attacking Levi with her sword. The atmosphere shifts again and Jean’s crying and hugging a newly revived Armin. 

The scene changes once more. Jean kisses Eren harder as they fumble around in his bed. Eren’s underneath him, face flushed and hair spread across the pillowcase. To the left of Eren’s head are their joined hands, fingers locked and grasps tight. Eren’s free hand grips Jean’s bicep like he needs the extra support even though he’s the one lying down. 

Jean brushes his nose against Eren’s when he pulls away. Eren cups his cheek. His thumb is soft against Jean’s cheekbone. Jean whispers that he loves him. Eren whispers it back. 

Eren’s crying. They both are. Jean presses their foreheads together and closes his eyes, letting go of Eren’s hand so he’s free to explore Eren’s body. He kisses Eren again, his tears trickling onto the other’s face. Eren’s hands roam to Jean’s back, pulling him into a hug that’ll be tough to get out of.    

Another scene change. Jean’s not sure where he is this time. It doesn’t look like anywhere he’s been before. The sky is crimson with clouds of smoke that seem to stretch forever. 

Jean’s in his titan form, but this one is different. He can’t see what he looks like, but the interior does not resemble that of the Attack Titan. He’s also way larger than the Attack Titan. He’s even taller than the Colossal Titan. 

Speaking of the Colossal Titan, Jean’s looking over thousands that look just like it. They’re in a synchronized march, trampling anything and everything in their path. Buildings are destroyed, disastrous fires are igniting, and people are screaming for help. 

Women and children. The elderly. Men that sacrifice themselves to keep the vulnerable safe. Jean watches all of them die. These Colossal Titans kill them and keep moving. Tens of millions fall victim to this atrocity. Maybe hundreds of millions. 

Thunderous vibrations ricochet through the expansive lands. Nobody can withstand the havoc. If it’s not the titans that get them, the fires certainly do. The titans don’t stop. They can’t stop.

After all, Jean’s the one controlling them.   

Jean orders them to continue until the rest of the world’s population is wiped out. Innocent or guilty, doesn’t matter. They’re in Jean’s way of achieving a life of peace for his friends. Jean’s turned into the devil to save those he cares about. As he watches the people of the world get crushed to death, people from countries he’s never been to, never even heard of, he gives no reaction. He’s just doing his job. 

Blips of his visions play out of order. Connie announcing that Sasha’s been killed. Jean beating the shit out of a helpless Armin. Jean using the Jaw Titan to break the hardening of another shifter, claiming that one for himself. 

It doesn’t stop. They all rush through Jean’s brain at once. This is his future, he realizes. This is the person he’s going to become in this world. 

The last thing he sees is a Scout flying into the mouth of his larger and scarier titan. It takes a moment to realize it’s Eren. He’s gained some muscle compared to their younger years. His hair is long enough now to be pulled into a messy bun. Eren’s got his sword raised and he’s ready to strike. Green eyes are filled with tears as he charges at Jean. 

Jean doesn’t resist. He just keeps his gaze on Eren until he’s beheaded in one clean motion. The world falls quiet, then Jean allows himself to die.  

The visions end, and Jean’s heart pounds as he takes a full breath of oxygen. Levi’s got him by the neck, teeth clenched in fury. The Attack Titan’s outer shell collapses to the ground. There’s a slice at the nape where Levi cuts Jean out from. 

“What the hell was that?” he snaps at Jean. 

Jean doesn’t answer. He can’t. His eyes bulge open as he reflects on the hell he just saw. The hell he's going to cause. 

Even when Levi kicks him repeatedly, even when Levi throws him into a holding cell, Jean can’t shake it. When he saw the ocean for the first time, he was mesmerized by how much of the world he was in ignorance of. But here, in this universe, he’s destined to destroy it. 

He can’t make sense of it. Why would he do something so horrible? There’s no justifying it. He doesn’t want to justify it. 

He doesn’t want to believe that he’s capable of becoming the devil. All he’s ever wanted to do is feel like an important member of his team. To avenge Marco’s memory. What would the Marco of this universe think if he were alive to see it? 

“Oy.”

Levi opens Jean’s jail cell and throws a tray of food on the floor.

Jean has no clue how long he's been locked in here. He's also on the floor, hugging himself and shivering, making no effort to accept the meal. 

“Eat, brat.”

Jean lets out a shaky breath. “I’m not hungry.”

Levi narrows his brows. “Are you defying me?”

Jean looks up at him. Levi’s lack of amusement isn’t scarier than his vision of the future, but it’s not his objective to ruin the captain’s afternoon. He inches closer to the tray and forces himself to snack on the small bread loaf. 

“That’s better,” Levi says. “You’re lucky you’re being fed at all after what you pulled.”

“Yeah,” Jean mutters between chews. 

Levi enters Jean’s cell and sits on the edge of the bed. He studies Jean with disdain. 

“I told you to let me know if you weren’t feeling well enough to train today.”

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you? If Hange hadn’t moved out of the way in time, it’s possible you’d be on trial for murder right now.”

Jean tenses up at the word. Murder. Yes, Jean is a murderer. The worst that’s ever lived. What Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie did, it all pales in comparison to what the Jean of this universe will do in a few years. 

“Hey,” Levi says, softer this time. “What’s on your mind?”

Jean looks his way. Levi’s frustration is replaced with concern. Jean must be wearing his terror on his face for his superior to do a complete 180 in the blink of an eye. 

He sets the bread down. Even a handful of bites is too much for his stomach to digest. He fits his trembling hands in his lap, balling them into tight fists. 

“I shouldn’t have this power,” he says, avoiding Levi’s gaze. “You should give the Attack Titan to somebody else.”

“And why do you say that?”

Jean wants to tell the truth, but he can’t. For all he knows, talking about the future will alter it to something worse. 

“Jean,” Levi says, “you’re a big reason why we’re even able to have this conversation right now. I put my trust in you from the very beginning, and I told myself I’d never regret it. And I don’t regret it. Not for a second.”

“But it’s not over yet,” Jean whispers. “Things can still go wrong.”

“And if that happens, we’ll deal with it. You can’t carry the burden of what you think might happen. You just have to do what you feel is best and trust your instinct. Sometimes you’ll choose wrong, and that’s okay. God knows I have.”

Jean turns to him. There’s a hint of sadness in Levi’s expression as he stares toward the ground. 

“But if you dwell on the past and what you could’ve done differently,” he continues, “things you wish you would’ve said, all that’ll do is hinder your future. The best thing you can do after a major misstep is to remember why it’s important for you to keep moving forward.”   

“Are you talking about Commander Erwin?”

The question slips out before Jean can stop himself. He wants to blend into these cement walls. Asking his squad captain about his potential former lover is a violation of so many military policies. Even forgetting the difference in ranks, Captain Levi has never been the type to discuss his emotions. It’s ludicrous to think he’ll open up to Jean about this.

Still, Jean’s curious. Based on his vision, the way in which Armin inherited the Colossal Titan happened the same way it did in his original universe, through Levi choosing to inject him with the titan serum instead of Erwin. 

Erwin died at Levi’s call. That must’ve shattered Levi, though he does his best not to show it. Jean wonders if the two were even a couple in this universe or if they bottled in their feelings because they knew they could die at any moment. It’s not his place to ask, so he keeps that question to himself. 

The question he does ask catches Levi off guard, however. His eyes widen and his posture goes rigid. It lasts less than a second, but that nonverbal cue says far more than the response he actually gives.   

“I’m speaking in general,” Levi tells him.

Jean nods. “Right. Sorry.”

Levi looks away, his grey eyes somber. Jean thinks he sees a tear, but that may be a trick of the light. 

“You’re free to leave after you’re done eating.”

“Huh?” Jean says. “I thought I’d be staying here for at least a few days.”

“That was my initial plan. I changed my mind.”

“Oh.” Jean surveys his captain with a newfound pity. While he’s terrified by what his visions are telling him, he’s not certain he’d be better off if he were in Levi’s place instead. “Thank you.”

Levi exits the cell without looking back. 

*

This day drags forever. Jean keeps his distance from everyone, ignoring Mikasa’s protests to allow visitors. He knows if he gives her the chance, she’ll yell at him about how she was right all along and he shouldn’t have gone to the training exercise and blah, blah, blah. He deserves it, but that doesn’t mean he needs to hear it.

The confines of his room can only assist so much, however. When night rolls around, he’s in desperate need of fresh air. A chance to clear his head. The image of those titans trampling millions of civilians under his control has haunted him for hours. He can’t escape it, but he has to try. 

He sits on the back porch step that stares out at the open field. Poor Buchwald never got the chance to ride with him today. Jean is in no state of mind to operate a horse. Maybe the Jean that will be here tomorrow can let him out. If he’s sadistic enough to commit mass genocide, then he’s probably not disturbed enough by it to hold back from doing leisurely activities. 

The stars are out. Jean has no clue what time it is, but at least he’s closer to tomorrow. Of course, tomorrow may just bring him more torment than he’s already experienced. 

He seems to be moving backwards. He followed through with going to Eren’s funeral. He accepted that he doesn’t actually hate Eren. Pixis said this would make his situation better, but Jean can’t fathom how this is better. 

What is it that he’s missing?

“Why are you out here?”

Jean rolls his eyes. Eren doesn’t see it since he’s behind Jean, but it would’ve been nice if he did. Maybe then he’d get lost.

He knows he shouldn’t think this way. Just this morning, Jean was ready to throw his tumultuous past with Eren behind. He still wants that. But reconciliation is impossible to focus on after what he saw. Jean’s not in the mood to talk to anyone, especially Eren.

“Shouldn’t you be locked up?” Eren says to Jean’s back.

Jean shrugs. “Got let out on good behavior,” he mumbles.

“I doubt it.”

He’s annoyed. Jean can tell from his tone. But he refuses to look Eren’s way. If their eyes meet again, Jean may have another vision. One even worse than the last one, as scary as that is to imagine.

“Did you come here to stargaze?”

“What the–”

Eren spills out a symphony of startled noises, which confirms Jean’s hunch. Jean keeps his lifeless eyes on the sky. The view is pretty, but he fails to find what’s special about it to make Eren want to come out here every night.

“I don’t need to answer to you,” Eren says, sounding as authoritative as a bratty child.

It’s the perfect opportunity to walk back inside, but Eren doesn’t take it. Whatever his attachment is to this damn sky, it must be stronger than his disregard for Jean.

The wooden step creaks as he sits next to Jean. He leaves a wide gap between them, but not wide enough. His profile occupies Jean’s peripheral vision.  

“What happened earlier?” he asks. “I know you’re a dumbass, but that was reckless even for you.”

“I don’t need to answer to you,” Jean throws back at him. His words carry less than a tenth of the frustration Eren’s did when he said them.

Still, Eren doesn’t counter. The conversation dies, just like that. Jean’s comforted by the silence. He can tune Eren out and pretend he’s out here alone. Eren may as well be his second shadow. Unsettling, but at least he’s quiet and poses no threat. For now, anyway.

As time goes on, however, the silence nags at him. Without Eren’s snarky commentary, the only voice that Jean hears is the one in his head. It gets louder and louder. Pretty soon he doesn’t even see the stars anymore. The sky's the color of blood again. The blood of everyone murdered at his command.

The scene comes back to him slowly, in pieces. First the screaming. Then the titans. The fires. Eren.

Jean snaps out of it. He pushes his tongue between his teeth. He doesn’t bite hard enough to draw blood, but as long as he inflicts pain on himself, that gives him something else to focus on.

What he doesn’t account for is how holding the power of the Attack Titan affects how he feels pain. Jean can hurt himself, but he recovers just as quickly. Nothing that produces lasting damage.

He switches it up. He pinches his wrist. He chews the inside of his cheek. He even stops blinking, causing his eyes to water. But the demons that lurk beneath his already frazzled surface grow closer to claiming victory.

Eren either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care because he keeps quiet. Jean guesses the former. After all, Eren’s greatest love hangs above their heads. Jean doesn’t understand it, at least not fully. But maybe if he tries to, Eren will be willing to talk to him.

It’s worth a shot. Jean will take Eren giving snippy one-word answers over being kept prisoner to the hell this universe locked him in.

He surveys the stars again. Some are brighter than others. Some are larger than others. Jean wonders how they get like that, what makes the biggest and brightest so special. Not that he’ll ever be able to relate. If Jean were a star, he’d be small and weak. The type that’s only seen if you squint your eyes hard enough. He’s there. He’s part of the team. But he’ll never gain the respect and admiration from others like Marco and Levi and even Eren do.

There’s one pattern in the sky that catches his attention. It’s loud, calling for Jean like a long-lost friend. It’s strong, pulling Jean with an unmatched gravitational force. He’s seen this little W shape before. He’s even more impressed with his wizard counterpart for replicating it in an art piece now that he’s seen it in person.

He points to it. “That one’s Cassolonia, right?”

“Cassiopeia,” Eren answers, sounding offended that Jean botched the name that badly. “And how do you know that?”

Oh, you know, Jean thinks to himself. Just that time I woke up in a parallel universe where we had magical powers and gifted you my magnum opus of paintings full of constellations for our three month anniversary. Oh, did I mention we were dating?

He slumps his posture. “Doesn’t everyone know that?”

Eren pauses. He observes Jean’s face, his demeanor, like he’s determining if Jean is bullshitting him. He doesn’t answer, but there’s less tension in his jaw as he peers back at the constellation filled sky. Jean takes that as an invitation to speak again. 

“What’s that one next to it?” He points to the one southwest of Cassiopeia. It resembles a house turned on one side.  

“Cepheus.” Eren points out at a third constellation. “And that one’s Andromeda. It looks extra bright tonight. Its visibility is best in the fall, especially November.”

Jean watches Eren with a lopsided grin. “You really know your stuff.”

Eren scowls at him before turning away again. He tilts his head toward the ground, lips curled into a little pout. Jean wasn’t trying to make fun of him, though he can see why Eren may have interpreted it that way. 

But as long as Eren stays put, Jean has a chance at saving the situation. He just has to speak in a way that makes it clear to Eren that he’s not being judged.

“Why astronomy?”

“What?”

“Why do you like looking at the stars so much?”

Eren hesitantly lifts his head up. He zeroes in on the stars again, like he’s waiting for them to tell him the answer. 

“I just like it, I guess,” he says with a shrug.

Not an answer that opens the door for fruitful conversation, but it’s a valid one. It’s not like Jean can pinpoint why exactly he loves art so much. He just does.

Next to Eren’s hip, the one furthest from Jean, there’s a leather book resting on the porch. Jean’s heart stops. It’s the same notebook Mikasa gave him yesterday. Eren’s journal. The contents inside must be different, obviously, but seeing it again startles him.

Eren notices quickly. He follows Jean’s gaze to his journal, then slaps his hands over it.  

He grimaces at Jean. “What?”

Jean holds his hands up and shakes his head. While it’s instinct to have a counter remark to fire at Eren on the tip of his tongue (and oh, he has a good one this time), he can’t resort to his old ways. Arguing Eren won’t help. It never does.  

Eren scoffs. “What’s with you today? You’re more annoying than usual.”

“Why?” Jean asks. “Cause I’m trying to be nice?”

“Yes. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve never done ‘nice’. So I don’t get why you’re starting now.”

Eren’s words hang in the air long enough for Jean to craft a well thought out response. Something wise like Pixis’s strange but philosophical phrases. 

But when he speaks again, Jean doesn’t care about sounding profound. So, he chooses to be honest. 

“It just doesn’t seem worth it anymore,” he says. “Fighting with you.”

Eren holds his gaze without blinking, his stare harsh enough to cut glass. Jean doesn’t match Eren’s intensity. He just lets Eren do as he pleases. It seems to work because Eren eventually relaxes his shoulders. 

“It’s my journal.”

“Huh?”

Eren places the leather notebook in his lap. “I write my thoughts in it. Mostly about my day, but I also like to keep track of the constellations I see.”

Jean knows all of this, of course, but it’s nice to “earn” this information from Eren. 

“Do you ever write about me?” he teases. He doesn’t expect it to be anything romantic, but surely Eren must’ve mentioned him once or twice.

“Every damn day,” Eren tells him. “Wanna see?”

Jean nods, then Eren is flipping through the pages. He stops on one of his latest entries and passes his journal to Jean.

Jean scans the page with a creased forehead. He spots his name easily, but he can’t decipher the words around it. It’s not a handwriting issue, either.

“What language is this?”

“German,” Eren clarifies. 

Jean gawks at him. “You know German?”

German’s an old language that died off centuries ago. At least, that’s what Jean was taught in school. Who knows how true that is considering there’s an entire world of people and cultures on the other side of the ocean he knows nothing about?

Eren fidgets in his seat and breaks eye contact. “My dad taught it to me. He collects ancient texts. My last name is German, you know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It means hunter.”

Jean wants to comment how fitting of a surname that is for someone as tenacious as Eren, but opts against it. More than anything, he’s just impressed. He never knew someone who could speak multiple languages. He wonders if the original Eren knows German too. 

Jean points at the sentence in Eren’s journal that contains his name. “What does this say?”  

Eren follows Jean’s finger, then suppresses a laugh as he translates. 

“Jean has to be the biggest idiot in the world,” he reads. “See that word ‘Dummkopf’? It means idiot. Or dumbass, if you prefer.”

Jean knows what Eren’s doing. He’s trying to insult Jean, whether in good fun or not. Either way, Jean’s not the least bit offended. He and Eren are talking somewhat civilly. He won’t let Eren laughing at his expense ruin it. 

He finds the word Eren mentioned. Dummkopf . He repeats it to the best of his ability, which must not be that great because Eren snorts into his hand. 

“Holy shit,” he giggles, “that’s the worst German accent I’ve ever heard.”

Jean rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Eren points to a different word. “Try this one. ‘Welt’ . It means world.”

Jean does, then Eren laughs even harder. Jean can tell he’s trying to hold back out of respect, but Jean’s German must be that tragic because Eren nearly starts choking. When he can't hold it in anymore he lets go, laughing freely into the evening air. 

Jean’s not sure how his German sounds any differently from Eren’s, but he’s not upset at the outcome. He’s never seen Eren like this, so animated and carefree. Maybe he’s always been there and Jean just never cared to meet him.  

He gives Eren a playful shove. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

Eren beams as he shakes his head. “I’ve heard titans speak more coherently than that.”

He laughs again, and this time Jean does as well. They share the moment like a secret, something they can only partake in because no one else is here to disturb it. It’s nice. Finding common ground with Eren is easier than Jean expected it to be.

But all good moments have to end, especially in a universe as cruel as this one. Eren abruptly stops laughing, then twists his face into a sour expression.  

“This doesn’t make us friends,” he says.

Wow. They really are similar. If Jean still had his old mentality, he’d probably say the exact same thing. 

But that old mentality is long gone, so instead he offers Eren a soft smile. “I know.”

“I don’t even like you,” Eren adds.

“I know.”

“I’ll strangle you if you try to hug me again.”

“Noted.”

Eren yanks his journal from Jean’s grasp. “Ugh,” he says, leaping to his feet. “You piss me off.”

He makes his exit. Jean’s smile widens. It wasn’t a long conversation, but it was nice to have a brief moment not worrying about his visions of the future. It may be a nice enough moment to carry him through the rest of the night until he sleeps. Then he can wake up tomorrow with a fresh mind, track down Pixis and demand to know what was the point of sending him to a universe where he inherits the Attack Titan. 

Wait. The Attack Titan… 

Jean turns around. Eren opens the door to head inside, so Jean blurts it out.  

“You saw it too, didn’t you?”

Eren freezes in the doorway and spins toward Jean. “Saw what?”

Of course. He’s not going to get the answer he wants. Not here, at least.

“Never mind,” Jean answers weakly.

Eren rolls his eyes and heads inside for real, leaving Jean to think things over. And the more he thinks it over, the more confident he is that he’s right. 

Eren’s change in behavior from feisty to unusually emotionless. What Jean perceived as a fake act of nonchalance may not be so fake.

“For someone who loves being referred to as the hope for humanity, you sure do a great job at making things worse for those around you.”  

Jean said those words to Eren that night in the outdoor corridor. Eren looked so defeated when he said it, like he agreed with Jean but couldn’t say it aloud. 

Then there’s the first alternate universe he visited, the one with Jean as a member of the Military Police. Eren told him he wasn’t doing well, that he was scared, that he needed to confide in Jean about something extremely important. And because Jean was only thinking about himself at the time, he brushed Eren off. 

Jean’s positive he knows what Eren wanted to tell him now.

It's more imperative than ever that he returns to his old life, because there’s no doubt the original Eren is dealing with the same turmoil of witnessing an unspeakable future. Worse than that, Eren’s going to subject the world, Jean’s world, to genocide if nobody stops him. 

And for that, Jean has to make it out of this. He’ll do whatever Pixis asks of him, no matter how humiliating. He needs to get home. He needs to get to Eren. 

Because deep down, Jean knows he’s the only one who can save him.

Chapter Text

A soft breeze kisses Jean’s face. It’s a nice contrast to the hard surface he’s sleeping on. For as crucial of a discovery he made last night, the least the higher powers could’ve done was send Jean to a universe with comfortable mattresses. 

He stirs awake and is met with a large oak tree enveloping him with shade. The grass that cushions his back feels softer now that he’s aware he’s outside and not in a shoddy bedroom. Jean pauses to bask in the tranquility that only Mother Nature can provide, then sits up. He cracks both his upper and lower back, relieving any lingering pressure against his vertebrae. He shakes his hair free of grass blades and leaves. To his disgust, a Roly-Poly falls out as well. 

His breath hitches as he realizes he’s not alone. Not too far ahead, someone sits with their back to Jean, staring out at the gorgeous landscape. Jean’s mouth curves into an instant smile. He’d recognize that black hair anywhere.    

“Marco.”

Marco turns around, his features serene as ever. His smile mirrors Jean’s. “Well rested?”

Jean doesn’t answer. He’s too shocked to stand up, so he rushes to Marco on his knees. 

Marco twists his face in confusion. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but Jean cuts him off with a hug.    

Jean takes a deep breath. “Holy shit,” he whispers, clutching Marco tighter. 

Marco hesitates, but soon hugs back. Jean would keep squeezing even if he didn’t. He went two universes without seeing Marco, and the thought that he’d never see his best friend again crossed his mind more than once. He’d never forgive himself if that disastrous night where Marco denounced their friendship was their last interaction. Jean may not deserve a second chance, but he won’t refuse it now that he has one.

Marco chuckles. “Did you have a bad dream or something?”

With a laugh of his own, Jean lets go. He lightly punches Marco’s shoulder. “Maybe I just felt like giving my best friend a hug. Is that so bad?”

“It’s out of character,” Marco teases, “but I wouldn’t call that a bad thing.”

Jean shifts his attention to the scenery Marco was looking out at. It’s an open space dominated by green. Trees, hills and moss, even the river off to the side has flecks of green because the trees are so tall. A quaint village is just past it, the stone houses organized in a pattern Jean’s very familiar with. Even though it’s been a while, he knows where he is. 

These are the outskirts of Trost. His hometown.

Jean is conflicted. Of course, it’s always comforting to return home. He doesn’t do it often, but he cherishes every visit. After all, it’s his hometown. 

But that’s the problem. Trost is his hometown, not Eren’s. If his relationship with Eren is the driving force of him cycling through these alternate universes, he can’t figure out why he woke up in one that plants him away from Shiganshina.     

Especially after last night. It’s great that Marco’s here, but Jean needs to prioritize finding Eren. Getting to Shiganshina by foot is out of the question, and it doesn’t look like Buchwald’s here with him. 

He brainstorms a few solutions, none of them great, when he notices another aspect of this universe that’s puzzling.  

“There’s no walls.”

“What?” Marco asks.

Jean peers around. The land behind him carries to the neighboring villages dispersed along the horizon. But there’s no wall that separates those areas from Trost. Trost is its own entity, an extension of Wall Rose. Those other villages should be contained within Wall Maria if Jean calculates the measurements in his head correctly. It’s not as if the walls have been breached like in the past, they simply don’t exist. 

If that’s the case, then titans must not exist in this universe. So this is what Trost looks like when there’s no threat of titans. It’s peaceful, a nice reminder of why Jean joined the Scouts in the first place. Maybe one day, his village back home can have this same peace.  

“Why would there be walls outside?” Marco presses. 

Jean allows these new conditions to sink in. He can’t change them, so there’s no point in questioning them. There’s a reason why he was brought here today, even if he doesn’t know it yet. All he can do is let things play out and learn to adapt.

He hums. “Interesting.”

Marco does his best to not look offended that his question goes blatantly unanswered, but Jean knows him too well and sees through it. Jean smiles at him for reassurance, then gives him a playful noogie for double reassurance. They share a giggle, which is more than enough for Jean. 

Marco smooths out his hair when Jean releases him. “Do you want to head back to your house now?”

“Not yet.”

Jean can’t wait to see Vera again and hug her after being haunted by Titan Shifter Jean’s memory of her dying, but his selfish needs must be put aside. Being selfish will just keep him further from his goal.  

“Can we, uh, walk around town for a bit?”

Marco, the angel that he is, answers without hesitation. “Sure.”

For the most part, Trost looks the same. Same shops, same cafes, same people. Houses are more spread out now that they’re not confined to any wall barriers, but that’s the only noticeable difference.   

It’s silly, but he looks around for Eren. It makes no sense for him to be here, but Jean’s also dealing with traveling from universe to universe, some that deny the laws of physics he’s been taught. Anything is possible.

He freezes each time his eyes land on a mop of brown hair. Or a set of green eyes. None of them are Eren, obviously, but disappointment floods him all the same. 

It’s becoming an obsession. No one that resembles Eren is in the farmers’ market, especially not the elderly gentleman filling his basket with various selections from the berry stand. But a pit forms in Jean’s stomach as he scans the options.

Strawberries. Blueberries. Raspberries. Blackberries. And boysenberries, whatever those are.

Jean looks around, just in case. If he were to find Eren anywhere, this would be it. He’s certain.     

No Eren, but Jean won’t let that derail him. They’re fated to meet today at some point. Jean just has to be patient. 

He and Marco continue through the farmers’ market. Marco buys a few apples, mentioning that Jean’s mom will put them to good use. Jean allows it even though he’ll look like a terrible son for not getting Vera something while his friend does. He’s never had the pleasure of seeing Marco and Vera interact. He’ll set aside his pride if it means he can look forward to that. 

They round the corner and stroll down a row of small stores. A nicely decorated flower shop is to his right, a full collection of sunflower arrangements displayed by the front entrance. Jean gives a quick glance, then focuses again in front of him. If he didn’t avert his gaze at that moment, it would’ve become too hard to look away at all. 

His legs feel hollow. He’s taking the steps, walking side by side with Marco, but an emptiness builds in his chest, soon spreading to every chamber of his body. It’s a sensation he’s unfamiliar with. Calling it uncomfortable is too generous. Jean’s not sure why a batch of dopey sunflowers can evoke this drastic of an internal reaction, but he doesn’t like it.  

Whatever the reason behind it, there’s no point in dwelling on it when there are greater matters at hand. He returns to the present, absorbing the sights and sounds that Trost has to offer. 

Incessant chatter rings through the air. It’s hard to distinguish conversations from one another, but the longer Jean listens, the more he notices a pattern. This area is overpopulated with girls, and they’re all overly enthusiastic. They run in and out of clothing stores, giggling and gossiping with one another. About what, Jean isn’t sure.

“Should I style my hair up or down?” one girl asks.

“I bet he’s even cuter in person,” says another.

“Do you really think he’ll find what he’s looking for in Trost?”

“Ah, I can’t take this! I’m too nervous!”

“What do you think he smells like?”

“Damn it, I don’t know how to waltz.”

The hysteria only grows louder. Jean looks to Marco to see if he has any knowledge of decoding rabid girl talk. Marco laughs to himself, but that’s it.

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea to go in there,” Marco tells him, pointing to a men’s fashion store. “I think I outgrew my old suit.”      

Jean’s about to agree, but stops himself when he spots someone at the end of the line of shops. It’s not the person he’s been hoping to see, but it’s the next best thing.  

He nudges Marco. “You go. I’ll stay here.”

Marco frowns. “Are you sure?”

Jean nods. With a smirk he adds, “There’s a cute girl over there. I want to introduce myself.” It can’t be further from the truth, but Marco doesn’t need to know that.

Marco perks up. “Which one?” 

Jean points back in the direction of the flower shop. There’s a few girls over there, so he’s not gesturing to anyone specific. Marco’s mind can fill in the blanks for him. 

It seems to work. Marco gives a nod of approval. 

“Nice.” He pats Jean on the back. “Best of luck.”

As soon as he’s gone, Jean tails it in the opposite direction, straight for the mustached man sweeping dirt away from the entrance to an under-crowded cafe. Their eyes meet when he gets closer, and Pixis breaks into an easy smile. 

“Hello, young man. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Jean wastes no time.

“I saw it.”

“Saw what?”

“It.”

Pixis clicks his tongue. “Ah.”

“That’s why you sent me there, isn’t it?” Jean asks. “That’s what all of this is about. I’ve figured it out.” He leans closer and drops his voice. “Eren’s gonna commit genocide.”

Pixis takes a questionable pause. He observes Jean, his lips pressed in a tight line. He’s thinking hard about what he wants to say. 

For as much as Jean wants to scream at him (because really, what kind of spirit guide keeps quiet on information this heavy?), it won’t help. He accepts that Pixis will say whatever nonsense he chooses, and that’s just how it will be. 

Pixis strokes his chin. When he’s done pondering, he sets his broom against the cafe’s display window. 

“Well, nothing’s set in stone, right?”

“I need to get home,” Jean says. “I need to stop him.”

Pixis nods. “That’s a noble plan.”

Jean can’t contain his excitement. “So that's it, then? I can go home?”

A demoralizing sigh escapes Pixis’s lips. 

“You’ve made great progress,” he says, “I’ll give you that. But a brief conversation on the porch without lashing out at Eren isn’t good enough to free yourself.” He tops off his remark with a prophetic eyebrow raise. “But it’s a start.”

It’s not the answer he hopes for, but it’s also better than one he expects from Pixis. Jean already knows he’s on the right track, but having confirmation fuels him to want to do even better.   

“So that’s how I win this? I just need to keep befriending Eren? Have him warm up to me?”

“If that’s how you choose to interpret it,” Pixis says, stifling a laugh. “Only took you seven days,” he mutters from the corner of his mouth.

“Great.” Jean bounces on his toes. “I’ll go find him right now. Where is he?”

“Oh,” Pixis says, “the prince won’t be arriving until later tonight.”

Jean’s jaw drops. 

“The what? ”

This time, Pixis gives a proper laugh. “He has other objectives tonight, so your window of opportunity to talk to him will be limited.” He pulls a folded sheet of paper from his uniform pocket and hands it to Jean. “Better make it count.”

Jean’s expecting it to be a letter. Or a schedule. Or about five other things. What he doesn’t expect to see when he opens it is an invitation. 

Prince Eren is seeking a bride, and we are hoping that she is in Trost!

On behalf of the Royal Family of Eldia, you are cordially invited to assist Prince Eren on his quest to find his true love in the form of a celebratory ball!

When: Saturday at sundown

Where: The Reiss Estate, Grand Ballroom, Trost

All residents of Trost are welcome. Single women between the ages of fourteen and eighteen are especially encouraged to attend.    

It’s the dumbest thing Jean’s ever read. He goes over the words again, because there’s no way he reads this correctly. 

Prince Eren.

A bride.

Celebratory ball.

He purses his lips in disgust. “This is a joke, right?”

“I’m afraid not,” Pixis says. 

“Why is he looking for a wife? He’s sixteen!”

“I suppose you’ll have to ask him that.”

Jean groans. He shoves the invitation into Pixis’s chest, not wanting to touch that cursed paper for another second. 

He should’ve known. Just because he’s moving in the right direction, that doesn’t mean the rest of his journey will be easy. But this seems impossible even by Pixis’s standards. How is Jean supposed to improve his relationship with Eren during a ball in which the idiot will be meeting hundreds of girls in hopes he’ll find one to marry? The concept is already ludicrous without adding Jean to the mix, and Jean refuses to disguise himself as a girl to get quality time with Eren.

Well, at least he has the day to figure out what the hell he’s going to do. He’s going to need it.

Pixis tilts his chin in the direction behind Jean. “Best you be off.”

Jean turns around and sees Marco. He still has the apples, but no suit. Jean bids Pixis a quick farewell and rejoins his friend. 

They leave for Jean’s house. On their way out, Marco shifts his attention between Jean and Pixis, who’s gone back to sweeping the cafe’s entrance area. 

“Who was that you were talking to?”

Jean shakes his head as he fights back a smile. “Just some weird drunk guy. You know that girl I wanted to talk to? She’s his granddaughter. He wasn’t happy that some random guy was trying to flirt with her.”

“Bummer,” Marco says. 

Jean shrugs. “No big deal. Couldn’t find a suit?”

Marco shrugs back. “Didn’t have my size. I’ll just have to pray my old one fits for the ball tonight.”

“Right,” Jean says through his teeth, not caring how fake his smile is. “For Prince Eren.”

Marco smiles toward the sun. “I wonder if we’ll have the chance to talk to him. I know we’re not the top priority for his visit, but it’s not like the Royal Family comes to Trost often. I hope we at least get to say hi.”

Jean suppresses a grunt. If he wants a chance of getting back home, he and Eren will be exchanging a hell of a lot more than a quick hello.

*    

Vera peppers several kisses into Jean’s cheek. He doesn’t dress up often, so she gets extra emotional when he does. 

“My Jean boy is so handsome,” she gushes.

This is the part where Jean rolls his eyes, but not today. He’s got his mom back. Happy, healthy, and, most importantly, alive. When the choice is between Vera’s motherly devotion and her lifeless body, there’s no question which one Jean prefers.

Marco’s suit fits after all, apart from the pants that run a smidge too short. But paired with long black socks, no one will notice unless they intentionally look for flaws in his outfit. 

Vera kisses Marco’s cheek as well, which makes Jean’s heart happy. He always assumed they’d get along if they had the chance to meet. Vera mentioned to Jean before that if she and his dad had more money, they would’ve had another child. Of course, Jean was all they could afford, and they were more than satisfied with the son they had. But observing Vera and Marco together, Jean senses his mom views Marco like a second son. It makes sense. Marco is the closest thing Jean has to a brother.

Vera doesn’t accompany them to the ball. She’s not enamored with the Royal Family like most of Trost, plus she likes to sleep early. Dancing and socializing into the late hours of the night is not Vera’s idea of fun after a full day on her feet doing house chores. Jean reckons he inherited his disdain for dances from her.

Still, his attendance tonight is mandatory. Not in the literal sense, but in what it means for his future. Tonight may be the night that Jean sets everything into place so he can return home and save Eren. His Eren. The one that’s likely being tortured by his own mind at this very moment.

Women and girls are certainly in the majority at the ball. There are plenty of guys too, but a lot of them creep Jean out. He has nothing to base his assumption on, but many of them seem to be lurking in the shadows to scoop up the girls who will inevitably be rejected by Eren. Jean feels sorry in advance for any girl that has to deal with that nonsense.     

He and Marco tentatively make their way through the ballroom. They look out of place, two kids simply taken aback by the grandeur of the estate’s interior. Dozens of chandeliers hang from the ceiling, stocked with crystals that probably cost more than all the houses in Trost put together. Dining tables are lined with a cream silk, possessing a sheer so immaculate Jean’s too scared to touch it. 

It’d be more impressive if this weren’t for such a shallow occasion. Eren’s not the most charming individual, but is he that bad at getting a girl to like him that he has to throw a party to succeed at love? If the girls swooning outside the shops earlier gives an idea, he’s popular enough in this universe to have nearly any lady of his choosing. And the Jeans that dated him in the other universes seemed to love Eren to substantial amounts. So what is it about this Eren, a literal prince, that makes him so unlucky in the dating department?

Damn it, Jean’s getting sidetracked. It doesn’t matter why Eren is such an incompetent lover. All that matters is that Jean gets ample time to talk to him.   

“This is fancy,” Marco says, his head craning in every direction. 

Jean breaks from his inner thoughts, but “Yeah,” is all he can bring himself to say.

He takes several steps back when he realizes he’s standing way too close to a giant ice sculpture. He tilts his head up and grimaces upon seeing it’s a statue of Eren. It’s beautifully crafted, Jean admits, but incredibly vain. Ice Eren sports a half smile, crossing his arms in a detailed tunic and perfectly tailored trousers. How princely.

“That’s amazing,” Marco says.

Jean suppresses an eye roll. “That’s one word for it.” 

His annoyance increases the longer he stares at the sculpture, so he peers toward the center of the ballroom. Past the dancing couples are girls in pastry shaped gowns standing in a line, their complexions ranging from ghostly pale to scarlet red to sickly green. Grisha and Carla Jaeger, the presumed king and queen, make their way down the line and exchange greetings with each prospect. 

Carla’s radiance conquers the atmosphere. She was already pretty, but she’s breathtaking as a member of royalty. Her ivory green chiffon gown complements her skin to perfection, and her dark hair is styled in an intricate braid. She walks with elegance, commanding attention even though this isn’t her event. 

Grisha still looks like Grisha, just in fancier clothes. His navy cloak drapes to his shins, his hands covered by white gloves. He doesn’t possess that same charm Carla does, but he acknowledges the eager girls with a pleasant smile and sincere eye contact. 

And then, Jean sees him.    

“There he is,” Marco says.

Eren follows behind his parents, his smile small and shy. Jean studies him, every minor movement. The way he slightly bows his head as he greets each girl. The way he maintains his smile as one girl invades his personal space yet his eyes plead for help. The way he ignores the strand of chestnut hair that falls into his face even though it’s clearly bothering him.

Jean supposes Eren looks the part. Princes are meant to be composed and approachable. The girls in line all seem pleased to meet him (as are the ones who have already met him or will later tonight). It’s not hard to understand why.

Eren in royal attire isn’t in tune with his character, but Jean can’t say it looks bad on him. As a matter of fact, Eren looks rather handsome. The main colors of his tunic are navy and burgundy. Two colors he doesn’t often wear, but perhaps he should start. The matching trousers and cloak complete the outfit, heightening Eren’s appearance to one more than deserving the title of Prince.

The sight steals a breath from Jean. Eren Jaeger being royalty has to be the most absurd outcome from any of these universes so far. Those are two things that don’t mix. The Eren he knows is in no position to run a country.

Yet right now, Jean’s buying whatever Eren is selling. Eren’s nerves may be obvious (to Jean at least), but there’s something exuding from him that prevents Jean from looking anywhere else. It’s as if Eren is shrouded with a hypnotic aura, one that Jean falls victim to immediately. Must be some sort of etiquette training.

Jean sighs. “That’s him, all right.”

He parts his lips and watches Eren move down the line. With each girl he’s introduced to, Jean’s frustration increases. It’s ridiculous he has to get through all these hopeful and naive girls to get to Eren. They all gawk at him like he’s the rarest of diamonds. How is he supposed to get Eren alone when so many people here look like they’ve already practiced calling themselves Mrs. Jaeger?

Marco squeezes Jean’s shoulder. “Well, we shouldn’t hover. He’s not really here to see us.”

Eren nears the end of the line. In the split second it takes for him to move from one girl to the next, he glances off to the side. Jean’s right in his field of vision. 

When their eyes meet, a chill runs down Jean’s back. This feels strange. He’s known Eren for four years. They’ve been through hell and back together as comrades, regardless of their ability to get along. But this is the first time he’s in front of an Eren with a higher rank than his own. Eren is a prince. Jean is a commoner. That abrupt shift in power imbalance is more intimidating than he anticipated. 

The best Jean can conjure is an awkward smile and an even more awkward wave. Eren squints in confusion, but follows up with a curt nod. He returns his attention to his potential suitors as if the interaction never happened. 

Jean shouldn’t take it as a rejection, but he does. He’s not sure why Eren looked surprised to see him. He knows Jean is from Trost. Why wouldn’t Jean be here?

Maybe Eren's embarrassed by the whole ordeal and doesn’t want to be seen by anyone he knows. Jean would be mortified if he had to broadcast to an entire village that he can’t find a bride. Not that marriage is anywhere on Jean’s mind, but still. 

Marco leads Jean toward a table with different fruits. They didn’t have dinner yet, and fruit is unlikely to fill them up, but Marco is a sucker for kiwis. As Jean grabs a small mango slice, he overhears a conversation between two girls standing near him and Marco.

“He didn’t even make eye contact with me,” one says.

“At least he talked to you,” the other says. “When it was my turn, he just shook my hand and kept moving.”

“I get why he’s single now.”

“I am never falling for a prince again.”

Jean bites his tongue. He can’t cause a scene here. But he really wants to give these girls a piece of his mind. It’s one thing for him to talk shit about Eren. It’s another for complete strangers to do it. As true as their accounts may be, Jean’s sure Eren wasn’t being rude on purpose. He’s only rude to Jean because arguing is what they do best, but he's polite when he meets new people. It’s not fair that his nervousness is being misconstrued as disrespectful.

The girls continue complaining about Eren as they leave. Jean may have popped a vein in his temple. 

Marco snorts. “Sounds like the prince is rather picky.”

“Yeah,” Jean says with a clenched jaw. 

Marco bites into his kiwi slice. “Well, I guess he has to be. He’s not just choosing a bride. He’s choosing the future queen of Eldia. It can’t just be anybody.”

Jean holds back from laughing. Why is everyone here acting like it’s totally normal for a sixteen-year-old Eren to go on a quest for a bride? The Eren he knows would find this just as comical. Knowing what Jean knows now, Eren needs therapy, not marriage.   

“Excuse me.”

A raven haired girl with kind eyes smiles at Marco. It takes a moment for Jean to recognize her as Mina Carolina since she’s not donning her signature pigtails. 

“Would you like to dance?” she asks nervously.

Marco’s cheeks flush. “Oh.” He peers at Jean. “Um…”

“Go,” Jean tells him. “Don’t worry about me.”

Marco’s relief is evident, but he still surveys Jean with worry. “Are you sure?”

Jean yanks Marco by the arm, pulling his ear next to his mouth. 

“A pretty girl just asked you to dance with her,” he whispers. “Don’t be rude.”

With that, he lets go of Marco and pushes him toward Mina. 

“Have fun.”

The blushing pair moves toward the dance floor. Jean beams like a proud father. Marco’s a good guy that deserves a good girl. If he can’t have it in Jean’s world, then Jean can at least support it in this one. 

Besides, being left alone gives him the courage to be reckless. Marco won't condone what Jean plans on doing, but that’s okay. Marco doesn’t understand, nor is he meant to. This is between Jean and Eren, and that’s how it will stay. 

Eren finishes greeting that last batch of girls and now begins mingling one on one. Jean watches him sway across the dance floor, sparing discussions with girl after girl. Eren’s discomfort is palpable even from where Jean stands. Even when he’s only talking to one girl, hundreds of eyes are on him at all times. Jean doesn’t even care now about talking to Eren as a means to get back to his original world. Right now, he just wants to talk to him out of pity. Eren can use some comfort, and he’s more likely to receive it from a familiar face. 

He waits for an opening. He finally gets it when Levi and Erwin, dressed as royal guards ( Fucking hell, Jean thinks to himself), pull him aside to tell him something. Whatever it is, surely it can be handled later. 

Jean rushes over before he regrets it. And oh, does he regret it the moment he reaches them. Eren, Levi, and Erwin look at him in a way that clearly indicates that Jean is not welcome to intrude on their private conversation. Levi appears the most offended. Jean’s lucky he’s standing furthest away from him, otherwise he guesses a swift punch in the gut is in his future.   

“Um…” Eren says.

Jean gives a nervous smile. “Eren,” he exhales. “Hi.”

Sweat builds in his palms. He’s been pumping himself up about this all day, what he plans on saying. He practiced multiple times to the point of memorization. But now, standing before Eren, he’s an anxious mess. 

What the hell is wrong with him? Prince or not, it’s just Eren. Jean knows him better than anyone else in this room, including Grisha and Carla. All Jean has to do is mention freedom and Eren will be grinning from ear to ear. 

“Are you not going to bow to the prince?” Erwin says.

“And show some respect,” Levi orders. “You are to address him as Your Highness.”

Only Levi Ackerman can make such a declaration without Jean laughing in his face. Levi as a Scouts captain is intimidating enough. Levi as a guard hired to protect the Royal Family is out of Jean’s worst nightmare. 

It physically pains him, but Jean bows. 

“Your Highness,” he says, unnatural as it feels, “I need to talk to you.”

Eren takes a moment to size Jean up. For a moment, Jean thinks he’s going to say no. If that happens, all restraint goes out the window. He’ll take a full beatdown from Levi and Erwin to get Eren to take him seriously. 

Ultimately, Eren relaxes. 

“All right,” he says. “What’s your name?”

Jean blinks twice, as if he mishears. But Eren’s eyes carry genuine curiosity. He’s being serious. 

Jean laughs, not sounding the least bit amused. “Eren, it’s me.”

“Your Highness,” Levi cuts in. 

“Whatever,” he spits. His eyes soften as he looks into Eren’s. “Don’t you recognize me?”

Eren gives an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Maybe we’ve met before, but my duties call for me to meet a lot of people.”

Erwin wraps an arm around Eren and addresses Jean. “I’m sorry, sir, but the prince doesn’t have time to entertain this silly charade.”

“Wait,” Jean begs. 

“Your Highness,” Levi says, “there are still several young ladies you have not met yet. Shall we?”

Eren nods, looking as lively as Jean does when he catches the flu. The three turn their backs to Jean and walk away without a goodbye. 

No. This can’t be how it ends. Pixis brought him here for a reason, and it’s Jean’s job to see it through. Eren not remembering Jean may make it more difficult, but it’s not impossible. 

If Eren doesn’t remember him, Jean will make Eren remember him. 

“You like to watch the stars at night.”

His voice projects across the ballroom. It’s louder than he intends, but it gets Eren’s attention. Eren stiffens as he spins around, mouth open and likely full of questions. 

Jean clears his throat. He has the attention of mostly everyone in this damn ballroom, which has his face heating up. But as long as he has the attention of the one who matters most right now, that’s all that he needs to push through.

“Cassiopeia is your favorite constellation,” he says, taking a step forward. “You like that you can see it year round. You have two best friends from childhood: Mikasa and Armin. You have an old leather notebook that you write in every day. Your dad taught you how to speak German.”

With every step forward, he exposes more of the secrets that hide within Eren’s eyes. Eren stares at Jean, scared and confused, but not taking his gaze off him for a second. 

“You’re impossible as hell to deal with,” Jean continues. A playful snicker brushes past his lips. “You have a terrible temper. You never back down from a fight, even when you’re outnumbered.”

He’s standing before Eren now, close enough to touch. He doesn’t, but the thought to smack the back of his head comes to mind. He can’t bring himself to do it, though. Eren comes up to Jean’s nose, but he looks exceptionally small right now. 

Jean flashes a lopsided smile. “But you’re also really loyal. When you care about someone, you’re not afraid to show it. And you won’t hesitate to risk your life to protect them.”

Eren scans the room quickly, then immediately focuses back on Jean. He sucks in his bottom lip. Jean’s close enough to notice he’s trembling. 

“Come on, Eren.”

Eren doesn’t answer to that, so Jean tries something else. 

He smiles again, gentler this time. “Berry?” he says. “It’s me, Jeannie.”

Eren’s pupils dilate, and that’s when Jean knows he has him. It took uttering those silly nicknames to achieve the results he wanted, but a win is a win. 

Eren takes a quiet breath. The room is silent, or maybe Jean’s just tuned everyone else out. He locks in on Eren, giving him as much time as he needs. 

But just when Jean thinks he’s getting a hug, a proper hello, heck, even a “horseface” insult, Eren’s demeanor turns cold. 

“Guards.”

In a flash, Erwin and Levi tackle Jean. They don’t punch or kick him, but getting knocked to the ground by Erwin’s stocky body takes a toll on Jean’s ribcage. He cries out in pain as Erwin pins his arms behind his back.

The next thing he knows, he’s being lifted into the air. Erwin’s carrying him out of the ballroom, Levi close by for backup. Jean spots Marco and Mina, the two watching in shock. Jean tries to wiggle free, but the more he fights, the harsher Erwin grips him.  

“Eren!”

Eren scowls at Jean as he’s being escorted out. No words spoken, just the pure irritation conveyed in his stare. 

“Eren!” Jean yells again. “Don’t let him do this to me! I know you remember me!”

His pleas go unanswered, especially once Erwin slaps a hand over his mouth, but that won’t stop him from trying. Jean repeatedly screams Eren’s name, damaging his vocal chords, until he’s long carried out of the estate and thrown onto the cold pavement.  

Chapter Text

Jean dusts the dirt from his suit as he jumps to his feet. The tall double doors leading back into the Reiss Estate taunt him with their golden glimmer under the lantern lights. Jean stares it down as if he’s crazy enough to force his way back inside, but his recklessness is what landed him in this predicament in the first place. And with Hange and Moblit in charge of guarding the entrance, Jean’s desire to kick the doors down drops even lower. There’s a chance he can take Moblit physically, Hange definitely, but he respects them too much to try.

They don’t look Jean’s way. Their gazes are locked straight ahead as they stand on each side of the entrance. They don’t speak. They don’t even smile, which is unheard of for Hange. That tells Jean how high the Royal Family is regarded in Eldia, and how badly he screwed everything up.

He sighs and retreats into the shadows. The night can’t end here. Jean won’t allow it. But there’s only one way to resolve the situation, and Jean can’t do it alone. So he’ll wait. His accomplice will show up eventually.

The double doors swing open, and Jean thinks his miracle has arrived. But as the figure grows closer, his face coming into view, Jean swaps relief for shame.

“Oh no.”

The moonlight casts a soft glow against Marco’s face. He even appears to have more freckles than usual. Such a sweet face, one that can put the angriest of men at ease. Yet right now it’s twisted in frustration, reserved strictly for Jean.  

Jean sports a scared smile. “I can explain?”

“What the hell was that?” Marco presses. 

Jean pinches the air. “A minor miscalculation.”

“This isn’t funny, Jean. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Seeing as he’s the one that’s been kicked out of a ball in which all of Trost was invited, yes, Jean has a decent idea of how catastrophic his actions were. He’s not about to tell Marco that since Marco doesn’t seem to care for an actual answer, and Jean’s answer is bound to piss him off anyway. 

Marco takes a heavy breath. “It’s a mess in there. Prince Eren is furious. He stormed out of the ballroom and claimed that the ball was canceled. The king and queen went after him. They assured everyone that he’d come back, but I don’t know.” He shakes his head as he scans Jean’s face. “You better hope he does, or you’re about to become the most hated person in Trost.”

Jean’s shoulders drop. Head hanging, he kicks at the nearby rocks. He knew he angered Eren from the look on his face as Jean was being manhandled by Erwin, but hearing it from Marco has him feeling worse than scum. The point of talking to Eren at that very moment was to cheer him up, yet Jean accomplished the exact opposite. If he gets a second chance tonight, he has a lot of ground to make up.

“Was that stuff even true?”

Jean looks up at Marco. “What stuff?”

“About the prince watching the stars? And knowing German? How do you even know all that stuff about him?”

After embarrassing the both of them, Jean would’ve answered any other question Marco threw at him. Marco can ask to take Jean’s place as Vera’s only son and leave Jean homeless and parentless and it’ll be a done deal. But of course, Marco has to ask about the one thing that Jean can’t tell him.

He really should’ve thought twice before pulling that stunt. It’s not just Jean that has to deal with his missteps in these universes. The other Jeans are the ones that will have to clean up his messes after he leaves. Jean’s heart hurts for the commoner Jean from Trost that will forever be known as the guy who made an ass out of himself in front of the prince. Not only that, but potentially caused a rift between himself and his best friend. 

“Where’s Mina?” Jean asks, desperate to change the subject.

Marco’s quiet. He studies Jean with downturned eyebrows. 

“What?”

“I never told you her name.”

Damn it. This hole Jean’s digging gets deeper and deeper. 

“Oh,” he mutters. “Well, she looks like a Mina, don’t you think?”

Marco frowns. “Jean, what’s going on? You’re scaring me.”

“Nothing,” Jean insists.

Marco casts a look of doubt.

Jean averts his gaze. “Well, nothing I want to talk about.”

He fiddles with the inside of his pocket. It doesn’t feel good to keep Marco in the dark, even if it’s for the best. 

Jean was so elated when he woke up this morning and saw Marco. Today was supposed to be his day for redemption, and he couldn’t even do that right. Maybe that night of Marco denouncing their friendship is how things should’ve ended between them. At least that way hurts a lot less than keeping secrets from him.  

“Fine,” Marco says, combing his fingers through his hair. “I can respect that. Anyway, Mina’s inside. She’s really nice, so obviously she understood why I had to cut our time short tonight.” He then beams for the first time since stepping outside. “But she already agreed to meet me again.”

“Wait, what?” Jean asks. “Why are you cutting it short?”

“Uh, my best friend got thrown out of the ball,” Marco answers. “Not saying you didn’t deserve it, but I’m not going to stick around here and make you walk home alone.”

“No,” Jean cuts in. “That’s exactly what you need to do.”

Marco tilts his head. “Why?”

“Because you shouldn’t have your night ruined from me being a dumbass.” He points toward the estate. “Cute girl. In there. You should be with her, dancing. And when the night’s over, you should be walking her home.”

Marco’s mouth hangs open. He struggles to find the words. Jean can’t help but smile. Marco’s getting a free pass to go back to the party and dance with Mina, which he would be doing anyway if not for Jean’s shenanigans, but he’s still visibly conflicted about abandoning Jean. Jean already knows he doesn’t deserve Marco as a friend, but he’s more convinced of it now than ever. 

Jean cups Marco’s shoulders. “You like her, don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Marco says. “I just met her.”

Jean lightly shakes him. “Well, you like her enough. And, as your best friend, it’s my duty to make sure that you succeed with the ladies. You leaving now will only be hurting both of us.”

Marco’s innocent disposition is more prominent with the allure of the moon framing his face. His brown eyes are as expressive as they are big, like a kitten searching for shelter in a rainstorm.

“You promise you’ll be fine?”

“Promise,” Jean tells him. “Don’t worry about me. Tomorrow you can come over and tell my mom all about how I made an ass out of myself at the Royal Ball.”

Marco chuckles. “That’s an understatement. If I were you, I’d never show my face again. I’d probably change my name too. Maybe even shave my head.”

Jean presses his lips in a tight line. “Okay, thanks for that, Marco,” he says, dripping with sarcasm. “Back inside you go.”

Marco nods and heads in the direction he came. Hange and Moblit are still guarding the doors, just as stoic as they were when Jean first noticed them. It must get boring posing as statues for an entire evening. 

Marco takes two steps before turning back around. 

“Just tell me one thing,” he says. “Why’d you do it in the first place?”

“Huh?”

He shrugs. “It just seems like such a drastic effort to get the prince to talk to you. I didn’t know you cared that much.”

Drastic is a good word. Desperate may be better. Not that Marco needs to know that. The more information Jean offers, the more questions he’ll get in return. 

“Got caught up in the moment, Marco. That’s all.”

Marco’s smile is fake, which pains Jean more than any injury. He leaves without saying anything else, a slight dejectedness to his step. The only thing that relieves Jean’s guilt is the knowledge that Marco will be happily dancing with Mina soon enough, the tension between him and Jean forgotten until at least tomorrow.

With Marco gone, Jean peers around. The clock is ticking, especially if Eren is at risk of calling the night off. Jean needs to set a new plan in motion ASAP. But a certain someone is still missing. 

“All right,” he says to the open air. “I’m alone. You can come out now.”

At that, there’s a strong tug to the back of his collar. Jean clutches at his neck, doing his best to ensure his oxygen supply isn’t fully cut off. He loses his balance as he’s pulled behind a large bush and stumbles to the ground.

Pixis crouches beside him. Jean’s never been more happy to see that bald head in the entirety of this adventure, but still. That hurt.  

“Was that necessary?” he whispers.

“After the stunt you just pulled?” Pixis whispers back. “Absolutely. What’s the matter with you?”

“I needed to find a way to talk to him, didn’t I?”

“And look where that landed you. What made you think that relaying a bunch of private information to the prince who already confirmed he doesn’t know you was the way to go? All you succeeded at was making yourself look like an obsessed stalker.”

Jean pouts and looks away. “Well, when you put it like that…”

Pixis smacks the side of Jean’s head.

“Ow!”

“Be grateful,” Pixis warns. “I went easy on you.”

Jean holds back from retaliating with a cheeky remark. One, because even he can admit he deserved the slap. Two, if that was going easy on Jean, he doesn’t want to learn the full strength of an omniscient spirit guide, even when using an old drunk as a vessel.

“So what’s our next move?”

Pixis lifts his hands. “Woah, woah, woah. What do you mean ‘our’?”

“The night’s not over yet,” Jean says. “I can still talk to Eren and clear the air if I can get back in the estate.”

“And you just assume that I’m going to help you?”

“I’m sorry,” Jean hisses, “let me go ask my other spirit guide for assistance.”

“You got kicked out, Jean,” Pixis says. “There are guards blocking every entrance. Even the windows are guarded.”

Jean looks back at the estate, which is difficult with this stupid bush in the way. His thighs burn from the semi squat he’s in. 

He didn’t see them earlier due to the darkness, but Pixis is right. The estate is surrounded by royal guards. There’s at least one next to every window and door. 

Jean rolls his eyes. This is a bit much. Sure, the Royal Family needs protection, but it doesn’t get much safer than Trost. Their only threat right now is a sixteen-year-old boy looking to speak with the prince to fulfill his responsibilities as he teleports between different universes. Surely they can scale back a notch.  

“Sneaking you back in will be a lot harder than you think,” Pixis says.

Jean scoffs. “Yeah, right. I know you have supernatural abilities. You’re always appearing and disappearing whenever I turn my head.” With a smirk, he crosses his arms. “Besides, I’ve figured you out.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. You sent me to this universe for a specific reason, just like you did with the others. And in all those other universes, no matter how badly I fucked up, I still left with more insight on my situation than I did coming in. So this one shouldn’t be any different.”

Pixis narrows his brows, seemingly curious what Jean is hinting at. “I suppose.”

“Except I still don’t get why I’m here,” Jean says. “I didn’t achieve anything. The goal is to get closer with Eren, but our circumstances in this universe have made that practically impossible. But if it were impossible, then I wouldn’t be here at all, right? So I know I’m going to succeed, I just need a different approach. That’s where you come in. Does that make sense?”

Jean rambles the words so fast that he’s not even sure if that makes sense. His left leg starts to cramp, so he sits on his butt. He can already hear Vera’s shock over him dirtying his suit (“Good heavens, Jean boy! What did you do?”). He’ll make it up to her, somehow.

Pixis stares at Jean, offering that ambiguous expression that’s as certain in a conversation with him as the sun rising every morning. Jean stares back, no longer intimidated by Pixis’s weird mannerisms. 

Ultimately, Pixis grins with delight.

“You’re getting smarter. That’s dangerous.”

Jean smiles too. At least there’s one person in this universe who hasn’t given up on him. 

“Very well,” Pixis says. “I can’t help you once you’re alone with Eren, but I can place you in the best position to make it happen. Just this once, though. I don’t want you getting dependent on my abilities instead of your own.”

“Thank you,” Jean gushes. “I’ll do it right this time, I swear.”

Pixis places a warm hand on Jean’s head. “For your sake, I hope so.”

Jean blinks, then his surroundings change. He’s no longer outside, nor is Pixis with him. If he’s back in the estate, it’s a part he’s unfamiliar with. 

It’s overflowing with the color red. Red rugs and red bed sheets. The bed against the back wall is large enough for Jean to swim in. Mosaic curtains hang from the four posts, making Jean feel poorer than he already does. A single arch head window stretches the length of the wall, offering a pleasant view of Trost’s evening charm. 

It even smells rich in here. Jean pinches his face at the strength of the fragrance, even though he finds it pleasant. Old books and leather, mostly. And some really expensive soap. 

This is a bedroom. A guest room, more likely. Jean has an inkling of who is sleeping here tonight, though he desperately wants to be wrong. As relieved as he is to be back in the estate, Pixis had to make it difficult by sending him to the worst possible location. 

If he can sneak into the hallway…

No, that’s a terrible idea. If the outside of the estate is surrounded by guards, the inside is likely flooded as well. There’s probably one right outside the door, ready to strike anyone who violates proper conduct.

Jean’s not a guard, but he’ll guess trespassing into someone’s private room violates about a dozen established protocols. 

Muffled voices seep from the hall. They’re quiet at first, then they grow louder. Panic jolts through Jean like lightning. He locks his knees together and whimpers as he scopes out a hiding spot. 

Perhaps he’d think of something more clever if he had more time, but his gut tells him to slide under the bed, and he’s in no position to negotiate. He conceals himself from view, doing his best to maneuver along the hardwood without making noise. His lungs hurt from his unnatural breathing: slow and with a hand shielding over his mouth.

The door bursts open, and Jean’s heart spasms. Pairs of feet stagger in his direction. He worries he may not be as hidden as he thinks. But it’s too risky to move. A slight scuffle of his suit against the floor and he’s ruined.

“Eren,” someone says, “there’s hundreds of people here tonight.” 

It’s a woman’s voice. Carla.

“Girls,” she emphasizes, “wanting to meet you. It’s rude to leave them all hanging.”

The mattress creaks above Jean’s head. Eren sits on the edge, his legs close enough for Jean to touch. 

Jean’s eyes widen. He shoves his hand harsher against his mouth. He is so dead. Not even. He’s about to suffer a fate worse than death.

“I said I just need a breather,” Eren mutters.

The mango Jean had earlier churns in his intestines. Eren’s acting this way because of him. He sounds stressed. Tired. Jean wants now more than ever the ability to go back in time and stop himself from ruining everything. It clearly wasn’t worth it. 

“We can’t afford a breather,” another voice tells him. Grisha. “This is the sixth ball we’ve hosted for you and you still haven’t settled on any prospects. Are you telling me there’s not even one girl that’s caught your eye?”

Eren takes a long pause, long enough that Jean suspects he may not answer at all. Jean prays he does because the last thing he needs is for this room to be filled with silence. That leaves too much room for error.  

Finally, Eren gives in. “I didn’t say that.”

“That Lady Historia is quite pretty,” Carla says. “You seemed to like talking with her.”

Another pause. “She’s nice,” Eren answers, offering as much enthusiasm as someone who just found out they have a terminal disease. 

“I was getting acquainted with her father,” Grisha says. “He owns this estate. Good man. Wouldn’t be the worst choice of an in-law.”

This time, Eren doesn’t respond. The temperature beneath the bed escalates, so Jean’s not in the right frame of mind, but he counts a full minute in his head. 

Carla fills the silence. “Eren, if you don’t have an open mind about this, it’ll never work.”

“We just want what’s best for you,” Grisha adds.

Jean may pass out under here. His body is overheating, plus he feels lightheaded. He won’t last much longer like this. Soon, he’ll need a huge gasp of air that he can’t afford to take. 

Please, Eren, he prays. Just agree with them so all three of you can leave and I don’t have to spend my last moments next to one of your discarded socks. Also, you’ve been here less than a day. Why are there already socks under your bed?!

Eren sighs. “I get it. Just give me a few minutes, please? Tell the girls I was so overwhelmed by their beauty that I needed to get away for a bit.”

Though Jean can’t see it, Eren’s condescension leaks so heavily that he almost blows his cover and laughs. Even as the literal Prince of Eldia, world at his fingertips, Eren can’t help himself from being a smug little shit.

“Fifteen minutes,” Grisha says.

“Thirty.”

“Twenty.”

Eren hesitates, but ultimately concedes. “Fine.”

Damn it. Jean won’t survive twenty minutes, especially if Eren’s the only one in here. Maybe Eren will surprise him and be one of those people that shamelessly talks to himself when no one’s around. Jean can only hope.

He hears Grisha and Carla close the door behind them. Now the waiting game starts. It may not be so bad. Eren’s a lot of things, but perceptive isn’t one of them. It’s possible Jean can fall into a coughing fit under the bed and Eren won’t even notice. 

Eren stands up and curses with such hostility to cause a vibration in Jean’s chest. He throws his cloak to the floor. The velvet smacks the hardwood like a whip. To Jean’s terror, a decent chunk slips beneath the bed frame, disastrously close to his trembling forearms. 

Eren mutters to himself, too quiet for Jean to decipher. All he can register is that Eren’s pissed, which doesn’t take a genius to figure out. 

As Eren stirs to silence, Jean uses that time to reflect. He’s been too preoccupied with not getting caught that Eren’s displeasure toward tonight’s event, the one held in his honor, slipped past him. He sensed Eren was uncomfortable, but Jean attributed it to nerves. But that conversation with his parents paints a different picture. 

Jean doesn’t judge Eren for lacking excitement. It’s silly to search for a wife at their age, no matter how many people go along with the charade. But something troubles him. Eren’s feelings about tonight seem to be stronger than a mere lack of interest. Eren appears annoyed, frustrated even. And with Grisha mentioning that this is the sixth ball they’ve thrown for Eren, Jean guesses his antics from earlier only play a minor role in Eren’s current agitation. 

Why throw an event in the first place when this is the end result? Jean thinks that after the second or third, someone would take notice that this formula isn’t working. Why aid in Eren’s stress when he doesn’t need it?

Jean tries to work out an answer in his head, but is cut off by Eren dropping to his knees beside the bed. Eren peers underneath and grabs his cloak, then immediately drops it. His eyes lock on Jean’s, both lost and horrified. 

Jean stares back, his eyes as wide as Eren’s. Jean hears the timer in his head count down to his impending doom. 

Please don’t scream. Please don’t scream. Please don’t scream.

Eren screams.

He drags Jean out from under the bed. Punches, kicks, Eren deals several blows to Jean from all angles. Jean doesn’t fight back since attacking the prince in his room will make him look even worse, but being on the receiving end of Eren’s wrath is not for the weak.     

“Guards!”

“Wait,” Jean chokes out as he clutches his ribcage, “I can explain.”

Eren kicks him in the face. Whatever prince’s boots are made of, they hurt like hell. 

Levi and Erwin rush in. Puffing out his chest, Erwin points at Jean. 

“Hands behind your head!”

Jean whines, but obeys Erwin’s command. One of his arms feels like rubber since Eren kicked his bicep, but he rolls onto his stomach and lays his hands on his head, fingers lacing together. Erwin pounces and scoops Jean up, pulling him into a standing chokehold. It’s perfectly executed, to Jean’s chagrin. All it’ll take is one motion for Erwin to snap his neck.

Levi bares his teeth. “Didn’t we already toss you out, punk?”

“I’m sorry,” Jean pleads. He cups Erwin’s arm that’s increasing pressure around his neck. “I’m sorry. I just needed to talk to the prince.”

“Like hell I want to talk to you!” Eren snaps at him. His hair loses all sophistication, clumps of messy strands falling in his face. “You embarrassed me in front of everybody! My parents saw that gimmick you pulled, asshole!”

Erwin grunts and squeezes Jean tighter. Jean thought he was at his limit before, but this is pushing it. His words come out in frantic gasps.  

“I know. I’m really sorry. I was desperate.”

Eren scoffs. “No kidding. Only a desperate homo would make a spectacle like that.”

Jean pauses. Not for dramatic effect, but because he needs to work twice as hard to inhale enough oxygen to stay conscious. When the chance of suffocation hits 90 percent instead of the previous 99, he speaks again. 

“Excuse me?”

“When a girl acts like that around me,” Eren says, “at least that’s acceptable.” He scrunches his face. “But people like you disgust me. I bet you’ve been stalking me for months. How else would you have known those things about me? My parents don’t even know some of what you mentioned.”

Jean wheezes. This is not the direction he expected this altercation to go. Jean doesn’t mean to be offended, but he is. After the way Eren acted around him those first five days of Jean’s journey, he’s the last person to throw out an accusation like that.

Jean may faint if he tries to say all that, so he utters the small bit his body allows.

“I’m not gay, you dumb fuck!”

Levi slaps him. The sound of the impact alone is enough to bring tears to Jean’s eyes. That’s bound to leave a mark.

“How dare you speak to Prince Eren that way,” he says.

“Oh,” Jean counters, “and you’re gonna let him talk about gay people like that?”

“Like what?” Eren says. “Telling the truth? Homosexuality is immoral. Anyone that engages in it is destined for hell.”

Jean drops his jaw. The pressure against his neck loosens, so he takes a proper breath. Erwin still has him in a tight hold, but at least Jean no longer has to worry about his life flashing before him.

He may be testing his luck, but he can’t let Eren’s comments slide. Erwin and Levi may hate him in this universe, but Jean still admires and cares about them. 

He casts Eren a look of disapproval. “How can you say that in front of your royal guards? Look how quick they are to protect you.” He gives Levi the side eye. “Damn good at it, too.”

Eren looks at Jean as if he’s an idiot. “What’s it matter if I say it in front of them?” 

Jean looks at Eren as if he’s an even bigger idiot. “Cause they’re dating each other?”

Eren freezes. Levi does too. Erwin lets go of Jean completely. 

Jean watches idly. Of the three, he’s not sure who looks the most surprised, though Levi is the strongest contender. Either he and Erwin aren’t actually a couple in this universe, or their relationship is meant to be a secret. Going off of the prominent blush on Levi’s cheek, Jean guesses the former. 

And, oh , Jean just revealed that secret to the person they’re meant to protect. 

Jean pinches the bridge of his nose. He just knows Pixis is watching this mess unravel, judging the hell out of Jean for being even more of a dumbass than he was already pegged to be. 

Maybe he’s impressed. Jean would be impressed by his ability to cause havoc everywhere he goes if it weren’t so humiliating. 

Eren’s gaze shifts between Levi and Erwin. “What?”

Levi regains his composure and clears his throat. “That’s blasphemous. Erwin and I are coworkers, nothing more. Right, Erwin?”

Erwin answers with a panicked nod. Naturally, Eren doesn’t buy it.

Eren’s jaw quivers. “You guys are…”

“No,” Levi cuts in. “Eren, we’re not.”

“I thought his name was Your Highness ,” Jean mumbles with an eye roll. 

Levi shifts his attention toward Jean with overwhelming belligerance. And, yeah, now Jean’s life flashes before him. 

Levi tackles him to the ground. He digs his fingers into Jean’s neck, squeezing with all his might. 

“I’ll murder you, you little shit! I’ll kill you with my bare hands!”

To be fair, this isn’t a terrible way to die. If Jean’s going to go out, it may as well be after he potentially fractures the relationship that Eren has with Levi and Erwin, as well as the relationship Levi and Erwin have with each other. What good is he alive if this is how things play out when he tries to do the right thing?

“Levi,” Eren cries out. 

Levi doesn’t let up, not at first. But Eren grabs him from one side, Erwin the other. It takes a strong effort to save Levi from becoming a cold blooded killer, but they get the job done. 

“Levi, stop!” Eren yells as they yank Levi off of Jean. “That’s not what you’re hired to do.”

Levi steadies his breathing. His anger dissipates, but only in action. His face still indicates his hatred for Jean, which Jean knows he fully deserves. Maybe that’s why Jean makes no effort to get up. He stays flat on the floor like the vermin he is. 

Levi dips his head. “My apologies,” he says, likely designated for Eren. It certainly isn’t for Jean.

Eren flares his nostrils at the helpless Jean on the ground. He puckers his lips as if he’s about to spit on him, but rounds off the gesture by blowing air through his mouth. 

He turns to Levi and Erwin. “You two go. I want to talk to this guy one on one.”

“Absolutely not,” Erwin says, then flinches upon realizing he just gave the prince an order. He places a hand on his heart. “Your Highness, with all due respect, he’s already shown to pose a threat to your safety.”

Eren looks down at Jean again. “I don’t think he’s much of a threat right now.”

His tone indicates that it’s not up for debate. Levi and Erwin glance at one another, then at Jean, then at Eren. It’s clear they disagree with his wishes, but as the hierarchy of the Royal Family is constructed, they have little choice. 

“We’ll be on the other side of that door,” Levi assures. “If he tries anything-”

“I know,” Eren says. He offers a gentle smile. “Thank you.”

Slowly, the two make their way out. Levi looks back a final time, offering Jean a silent warning not to cross him. Jean keeps his face neutral, not wanting to do anything to set Levi off. 

And then they’re gone. And now Jean’s alone. With Eren. This is the exact situation he wanted the entire day, though it didn’t arrive in a neatly wrapped package with a pretty bow. 

But this is Jean’s final chance to make progress in this universe. If he doesn’t, he dreads what awaits tomorrow. It’ll likely be even more unsettling than the way Eren’s glaring at him. 

This won’t be easy, but he has to try. He owes it to himself. More importantly, he owes it to the Eren that’s at home waiting for him. The real Eren that exists inside the rough exterior of the prince standing before him.

Jean knows he’s in there. Now it’s his job to let him out.   

Chapter Text

“You look pathetic.”

Jean gives a half smile. “I’ve had worse days.”

“What’d you say your name was?” Eren asks. “Johnny?”

“Jean,” he clarifies. He sits up and unbuttons his suit jacket. “J-E-A-N.”

“That’s a dumb name.”

“And Eren isn’t?”

Eren puffs his cheeks out. “My father named me after his best friend who died when they were younger. He was a good man.”

“I was named after my grandfather,” Jean counters. “He was also a good man.”

From this angle, Eren looks more like royalty than ever. Staring down at Jean like a royal subject, nose in the air, he’s in complete control of the room and this conversation. Jean can stand to equalize their dynamic, but he doesn’t want that. For this to work, Eren needs to feel like he has all the power. He’ll never open up to Jean otherwise.

Eren lets out a dramatic sigh. “Well, Jean, you’ve got me. What do you want to discuss?”

There’s a lot Jean wants to discuss, but he won’t overwhelm Eren with anything too heavy. For now, he’ll start small.    

“How are you?”

Eren grimaces. “Seriously? You did all that bullshit back in the ballroom just to ask me that stupid question?”

Unfazed, Jean answers, “Not completely.”

Eren crosses his arms. “I’m listening.”

Jean pauses. Eren may say he’s listening, but being open to Jean’s compassion is easier said than done. His guard is still up. It’s obvious by his stance. One bad comment from Jean and Eren may call the whole thing off. 

But Grisha only granted Eren twenty minutes of solitude. If Jean doesn’t act fast, he’ll lose any chance of making progress. In this instance, the risk is worth the potential ramification.  

“You just looked like you needed a friend.”

“We’re not friends,” Eren asserts.

“I know. I’ve just never seen someone look so uncomfortable at their own event.” Jean gives a small shrug. “Thought maybe you could use a distraction.”

“Well I don’t need some homo to save me,” Eren snaps at him. 

“I told you I’m not gay,” Jean fires back.

“Nothing you’ve said or done tonight convinces me otherwise.”

He turns away from Jean. His boots click against the hardwood as he makes for the window. He slides down the wall and sits crosslegged, still sporting that angry pout. 

“Still,” he says. “I don’t care what happens to you, but Levi and Erwin, they’re like family to me. Are they really…”

The flames in his eyes are extinguished. Jean’s further away from Eren than before, but it’s only now that he notices Eren’s lip quivering. His panic spreads through the room, traveling along the hardwood and into Jean’s palm that’s pressing into it. 

Eren pulls his knees in and hugs himself, cocooning his body into a tiny ball of worry. He shakes his head in disbelief. The more he does it, the more the mask slips off. The angry and short tempered Eren Jaeger vanishes from sight. All that’s left in his place is a scared little boy.

It cuts into Jean like a sharp knife. It’s like Eren’s heart invaded his chest and claimed a spot next to Jean’s. Everything Eren feels, no matter the universe, no matter their relationship, Jean feels it too. Seeing Eren this shaken up hurts, so much so that it’ll probably hurt less if Jean just steals all of Eren’s pain for himself.   

This bedroom feels even bigger now, like Eren’s another planet away. Jean’s no use sitting where he is. Eren may kill him for it, but his gut tells him that it’s safe this time.

Eren squeezes himself tighter as Jean approaches. Jean tries to leave a suitable distance between them when he sits against the wall, but Eren leans away anyway. 

Jean doesn’t speak. Not yet. Eren has to let him in first. Right now, the best Jean can offer is his company. 

To his surprise, Eren caves quickly. He keeps his eyes ahead, not sparing Jean a glance, taking in one deep breath after another, but he gets the words out. 

“They can’t be,” he whispers. “I won’t let them. They’ll go to hell.”

“Says who?”

Finally, Eren turns to him, eyes wide with fear. 

“Says the church. The scriptures. My pastor.”

“All things created by man,” Jean tells him. “None of which are the actual word of God, should you believe in that.”

Eren scans Jean’s face. “You don’t believe in God?”

There’s a hint of betrayal in his expression. Jean’s not sure if he should be surprised or furious. It’s not like he’s never known religious people. There are plenty of them back home. But the most devout usually belong to the older crowd. That’s fine, it’s their choice. But the idea that a sixteen-year-old can be surrounded by so much of it that he’s this taken aback upon meeting someone who may not share the same beliefs has Jean wanting to burn down every church he comes across in this universe.

He can’t tell Eren that. No point in adding to his hurt. But Jean can still be honest. 

“I’ve seen too many terrible things in my life to believe there’s someone out there watching over me.”

Eren leans the opposite way, his face now much closer to Jean’s. Jean wonders if Eren even realizes or if he did it subconsciously. 

“What if you’re wrong?” he asks. “You’ll go to hell for eternity if you keep living like this.”

Annoyance metastasizes at the center of Jean’s forehead. Eren either sucks at listening or just chooses to ignore the truths that come from Jean’s mouth. He’s already denied being gay twice. Once should be enough. 

Still, maybe he can use this to his advantage.  

Instead of clarifying his sexuality for the third time, Jean gives a dismissive shrug. 

“So be it.”

Eren’s jaw hangs open. This must be the first time anyone’s challenged him on his views. That must be a perk of being literal royalty, having your word treated like gospel. Though in this case, perhaps it’s a setback. 

“I don’t want to be welcomed into heaven if that means people who are different are excluded,” Jean continues. “Not my idea of paradise.”

Their gazes remain locked on one another. Jean refuses to be the first to look away. Whether Eren cares for his opinion or not, Jean needs him to know that he’s serious and won’t be changing his mind.

Eren face softens, just a little. There’s a good chance he’s about to say something. Jean can tell from the pressing and unpressing of Eren’s lips.    

Ultimately, Eren dips his head and shuts his eyes.

“That’s wrong.”

“Is it?”

He shakes his head. “A man shouldn’t love another man. It’s a sin.” His voice trembles as he speaks.

Jean pauses to study him. Eren’s breathing has gained speed. It’s understandable that someone with Eren’s beliefs can panic upon learning two people he cares about are in a same sex relationship, but the level at which he’s expressing it crosses into extreme territory. In Jean’s opinion, anyway.

That’s when it clicks.

The endless parties. The pressure by Eren’s parents. Eren’s slight vulnerability when Jean called him out in the ballroom, just to switch to disdain moments later. Eren not taking interest in any of the hundreds of girls he’s met. Literally everything Jean has learned about Eren in these other universes.

This isn’t about Jean. It’s not even about Levi and Erwin. This has always been about Eren and Eren alone.    

Jean thinks back to that night on the train. Those three pricks that ridiculed them. Eren was furious and he had every right to be. The hatred thrown at him and Jean was reprehensible, a form of violence where the verbal hurts more than the physical. Though the night ended on an awful note, Jean never swayed his stance that holding such animosity for a complete stranger due to something so trivial was as alarming as it was offensive.

It never crossed his mind that Eren could think that way about himself. 

He watches Eren cowering with denial. Maybe this is Jean’s purpose for being here, to talk sense into him. It’s a hard task, and unlikely to be solved in the span of one evening, but maybe all Eren needs is to have one person let him know he doesn’t need to carry this shame. 

Jean inches closer, keeping his focus on Eren’s disheveld hair instead of the eyes that are forming their first few tears. 

“If it’s such a sin,” he says gently, “why would God create gay people in the first place? You’re basically saying he’s casting a sentence to hell on people for the fun of it.”

Eren sniffles before meeting Jean’s gaze. 

“He does it to test us,” Eren chokes out. “To see who is devoted enough to him to not give into temptation. If we don’t give in, we’re rewarded.”

His words hang in the air, then Eren freezes. It appears he didn’t intend to use the word ‘we’. Jean doesn’t call him out on it, but the color drains from Eren's face all the same. 

“Er-” Jean stops when he catches his mistake. “Your Highness-”

“Call me Eren,” he cuts in. “You sound like an idiot when you try to sound proper.”

He doesn’t mean to, but a small smile tugs at Jean’s lips. It’s his first real reminder of the Eren he knows since arriving in this universe. A small victory, but Jean cherishes the brief happiness it brings him. 

“Eren,” he says. “Why would someone choose to give into temptation if it only makes their lives more difficult? People will judge them. They can’t get married. They can’t even have children. It's not something they choose. It's just how they are.”

“If you don’t give in,” Eren repeats, “you’ll be rewarded. You live a nice life, and you go to heaven. It’s not hard if you want it enough.”

He says it like he’s memorized it. Like he’s been forced to say it his entire life.  

“If that’s the case,” Jean presses, “why are we at your sixth ball to find a wife?”

Eren gasps. His eyebrows twist into a downward slant, the veins in his neck protruding. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says through his teeth. “There’s a lot of pressure on me to choose the future queen. I need to be certain of my decision.”

“Name one girl you met tonight that caught your interest.”

“Lady Historia,” Eren answers without hesitation. “Her father owns the estate. She comes from a nice family. Plus, she’s pretty.”

“You’re just repeating what your parents said. Name a girl that you’re interested in.”

Eren covers his ears. “Shut up!”

Jean obliges. It’s evident he went a step too far. Eren doesn’t yell at him any further, which is a miracle in itself.

Eren lowers his hands, balling them into fists as he rests them at his sides. He straightens his legs out and fixates on his boot. A clear tactic to avoid Jean’s gaze, though Jean doesn’t dare mention it. 

“You don’t get it,” Eren mutters. “It’s on me to continue my bloodline. I have a half-brother from my dad, but the Royal Family runs through my mom’s side. I’ve got a couple cousins that can take over the throne if needed, but I need to produce an heir. Lots of them, if possible.”

He’s right, Jean doesn’t get it. He’s not in Eren’s position, so there’s no way for him to fully grasp the severity of this. 

But it’s not his job to understand. His job is to be here for Eren, which he has every intention of fulfilling. And if being gentle won’t work, Jean needs a new approach.   

“So do it,” he says. 

Eren looks at him. “What?”

Jean keeps his tone casual. “Go out there and ask for Lady Historia’s hand in marriage. Your kids will be cute, assuming they take after her.”

A shattered cry leaves Eren’s lips. No tears grace his cheeks, but Jean guesses they’ll arrive any second.

He inspects Jean’s face. For what, Jean can’t say. But Eren keeps searching, seemingly not happy with whatever answers he’s getting or not getting. 

And then, he breaks.  

“I…can’t.”

Then the tears come. Jean wants to wipe them away. Pull Eren into a hug. Rub his back the way Vera does when Jean’s sick. Something.

Instead, he does nothing. 

He reaches to touch Eren’s shoulder, but Eren shielding an arm across his face talks him out of it. Eren doesn’t want to be seen like this, so he probably wants to be comforted even less.  

“God,” Eren whines into his sleeve, “what is wrong with me?”

Jean moves closer until his thigh presses against Eren’s. 

“Nothing,” he tells him. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Eren looks toward Jean again. Most of his tears have transferred to his sleeve, as well as a bit of snot, but the evidence lies within his reddened eyes and flushed cheeks. His little face is stained with tear streaks.   

“Then why do my parents always give me that look when I tell them I haven’t decided on a wife yet? Like they’re disappointed in me?”

Jean doesn’t answer. Not because he won’t, but because he can’t. He can’t fathom having parents that are anything but supportive. His father loved him unconditionally up until he died, and Vera has always been Jean’s biggest fan. As much as he wants to comfort Eren through this, he simply doesn’t know how.   

“I’m trying,” Eren whispers. “I’m trying so hard. I just want to be normal and make them proud of me. I want my country to be proud of me.”

“Hey,” Jean cuts in. Reluctantly, he places a hand on Eren’s back. His touch is so light that he barely feels Eren’s tunic. “The person you choose to marry has no impact on whether or not you’ll make a good king.”

Eren sniffles again. His face pinches in anguish. “Two men can’t lead this country. They just can’t.”

“Eren-”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Jean frowns. This isn’t how he wants their night to end, but he will only make things worse if he pushes the subject further.  

He removes his hand from Eren’s back. “Okay.”

He starts to stand up, but Eren clamps a hand around his wrist. 

“Wait.”

Jean gawks at Eren like he’s a newly discovered species. He was not expecting that. 

Eren looks away. “I didn’t say leave,” he mumbles. “I just want to talk about something else.”

Jean offers a soft smile, not that Eren can see it. After the craziness of today, Eren inviting Jean to stay with him in his own aggressive and indirect way is a nice turn of events.  

“All right,” he says. Anything in mind?”

Eren shrugs. “You called me Berry earlier.”

Jean’s face heats up. He thought they moved past that embarrassing monologue. Apparently not. 

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

It’s true, he doesn’t. He never figured out where that nickname originated from. It’s not as obvious as Jeannie. 

His eyes trace over Eren’s features. Tan skin. Button nose. Pouty lips. Full cheeks. The soft arch to his eyebrows. And of course, the green eyes whose color Jean’s only ever seen in undisturbed nature. 

“I guess your face is kinda shaped like a blueberry.”

Eren snaps his head toward him, emitting an offended wheeze. 

“It is not.”

“Yes it is,” Jean teases. "Your cheeks are pretty chubby.” He pokes one to prove it.

Eren swats his hand away. “Well your face resembles a horse.”

“Hilarious,” Jean says, dripping with sarcasm. “Never heard that one before.”

Eren scowls. “You know what I want to talk about? All that stuff you happened to know about me. I can chalk up you knowing about my interest in astronomy to being an obsessed stalker-”

“I didn’t stalk you!”

“-but how do you know about Mikasa and Armin?”

Jean opens his mouth, then closes it before he says anything. He ponders. He’s already fucked everything up for himself that going a bit farther likely won’t hurt.

He relents into an amused grin. “You’ll never believe me.”

Eren doesn’t look impressed. “Try me.”

Jean tugs at his shirt collar. The room feels a lot warmer. Narrower. It’s like he’s back under the bed sacrificing his oxygen for safety. 

He can’t believe he’s doing this. He can hear Pixis screaming in his ear to not do something so reckless. It’s stupid. Jean knows it’s stupid.

But if there’s one thing Jean’s learned about himself today, it’s that he and stupid are the best of friends.    

“I’m, uh,” he says, “not from here?”

“Trost?” Eren asks. “So you’re from Shiganshina, like me?”

“No. I’m not from this world.”

He can tell Eren’s not following. Who would, honestly?

Before Eren contorts his brain into an aneurysm, Jean elaborates.

“I’ve been waking up every day in a different universe from the last. I’m always me, just a different version of me. In the universe where I’m from, I’ve known you since we were twelve. We’ve never really gotten along, but I’m trying to change that. So yeah, I’ve learned quite a lot about you over time.”

Silence. Eren stares at Jean like he’s speaking another language. Green eyes dance over his face, seemingly searching for a hint of facetiousness. Jean doesn’t give him that, obviously. So, Jean’s confession gets lost in the quiet of the bedroom.  

At least, until Eren breaks into laughter.

“You’re joking,” he says into the hand he uses to muffle his giggles.

Jean rolls his eyes. Stupidity wins again. 

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

“How can I?” Eren says. "What you’re saying doesn’t make any sense.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Sure.” 

Eren’s back to his smug self. It’s as if he wasn’t just a sobbing mess over his repressed sexuality issues. Jean supposes this is better, but it doesn’t feel like it. 

He smirks up at Jean. “So tell me about this universe that you come from. How do we know each other?”

Bastard. 

Jean’s in a bind. He can simply not answer, playing into Eren’s suspicions that the whole thing is a farce. Or he can be honest and risk getting laughed at again. 

Eren, he thinks to himself, you’re lucky I don’t hate you anymore.

“We’re comrades in the military,” he says. “I’m still from Trost. You’re still from Shiganshina. But Eldia has been dominated by these creatures called titans. They’re big, some up to fifteen meters.”

Jesus, even Jean wouldn’t believe this. It really is insane how badly he’s been screwed by the world he was born into. This universe has never even heard of titans. He’s just making more of a mockery out of himself. 

Still, that damn mouth of his won’t shut up. 

“And,” he adds, “they, uh, eat-”

“Humans.”

Jean’s eyes shoot open. Eren’s posture goes rigid. He’s back to wearing that feared expression again, this time for a completely different reason. 

“They eat humans, don’t they? They kinda look like humans too.”

Jean can’t muster the energy to speak. The roles have reversed. Now he’s the one in disbelief over what he’s hearing.  

“I’ve dreamt about them,” Eren tells him. “It’s a recurring dream. It always starts the same. My mom-”

Jean perks up. “Was crushed under your house?” he interrupts, remembering his vision of Vera. “Legs broken?”

Eren nods, face flushing paler by the second. “And then she gets eaten.”

Jean takes a slow breath. Eren does too. Jean can’t find the words again. There’s really nothing to say apart from the obvious. 

“It’s not a dream,” he settles on. “Where I’m from, it actually happened.”

At that, Eren sinks into himself. His demeanor is stoic, which Jean is unsure how to interpret. He can only imagine what’s swimming through Eren’s head right now. It can’t be easy to learn there’s a universe where your mother suffers such a cruel fate, even if she’s perfectly fine in this one.

“I dreamed I was in the military, too,” he says. “We all wore green capes.”

“That’s our military branch,” Jean tells him. “The Scout Regiment.”

Eren nods. “I can never remember anyone’s faces, aside from Armin and Mikasa of course. One of the guys kinda looks like Levi, but I’m not sure. But I remember some things. There’s a bald kid, a girl with a ponytail that eats a lot of bread…”

Jean smiles. He misses Connie and Sasha. He hopes they haven’t gotten into too much trouble with him gone. 

“And there’s this one douchebag who’s always pushing my buttons,” Eren continues, “asking for a fight. It’s like he’s obsessed with me. Tall, long face, and his hair kinda looks like…”

It’s at that moment he meets Jean’s gaze again. Jean can see the pieces connect in Eren’s mind, his world opening up. 

Jean gives a weak smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Eren answers, still wide eyed.

The pressure on Jean’s shoulders dissipates. While it didn’t happen the way he expected, Eren now believes him. He can kiss the floor out of sheer happiness. But he can do that later. Right now, he’s on borrowed time. 

“So why is this happening to you?” Eren asks.

Jean hesitates, but he’s made it this far. If he wants to get back home to his Eren, he’s got to be honest with this Eren. Even if it won’t be pretty. 

“Because of you.”

Eren’s zeroed in on Jean, hooked onto every word. It gives Jean enough confidence to push through the hard part.  

“The Eren back where I’m from is planning on doing something very, very bad.”

“The Rumbling,” Eren says. 

“The what?”

Bashfully, he tucks a patch of hair behind his ear. “That’s what it was called in my dreams,” he mutters. “The wipeout of humanity. I always wake up at that part because it's too scary. I turn into the devil or something.”

The Rumbling. So that's what it's called.

Damn. Jean didn’t even consider Eren knowing about that. A part of him now regrets bringing any of this up. He remembers how badly it messed with his head upon learning about his own alternate self pulling an act as unforgivable as mass genocide. Now he’s recruited Eren into that same torment. 

“I’m not a murderer,” he tells Jean. 

“I know you’re not.” He gives Eren a gentle shove. “Which is why I need to get home and stop your stupid ass from doing something you’ll regret.”

“How will I know if you’ve succeeded?”

For that, Jean has no answer. He’s yet to return to any universes he’s already visited, and there’s no way of knowing if he’ll be able to visit other universes at all once he’s back in his original one.   

He watches Eren apologetically. “I guess you won’t.”

Eren’s disappointment is evident, but he still nods. Jean worries for this Eren once today is over. If this is a recurring dream, it may tear at him little by little, especially now that he knows it’s true and will have no way of knowing if the genocide prophecy is seen to fruition or if Jean stops him after all.

If Eren’s dwelling over the same thing, he doesn’t let it show.   

“So, what are the other universes like?” he asks. “Are we comrades there, too?”

Jean nearly chokes on air. He didn’t anticipate this part coming up. It’s like the powers that be want him to combust from humiliation. 

“No.” He glances toward the ceiling. “Actually, we’re, um…boyfriends?”

He only peers back down when he hears that laugh again. Eren’s in a fit of giggles, which is somehow more embarrassing than him being disgusted at the idea of dating Jean. 

“So I was right,” he says. “You are gay.”

Jean wants to strangle him.

He huffs. “No. Just because I am in those universes, doesn’t mean I am in mine. I like girls.”

Eren shrugs. “You could like both.”

“I don’t.”

Eren doesn’t even pretend to appear as if he believes Jean. Why this is the hill he chooses to die on, Jean will never know.  

“Are we happy?”

The question catches Jean off guard. “Huh?”

Eren’s cheeks are now a light pink. He plays with the fabric of his pants. 

“In the universes we’re dating…” he says, “are we happy?”

It takes Jean a moment to process what Eren’s asking. It’s a simple question, but Jean knows there’s an underlying reason behind it. When he registers what Eren’s getting at, he smiles. 

“Yeah. We’re really happy. You especially. You couldn’t keep your hands off me.”

“I doubt it,” Eren scoffs, though his blush spreads to his nose.

“I mean, I am hard to resist,” Jean teases.

Eren shoves him, which makes Jean laugh. He thinks Eren may be laughing as well, but Eren keeps his head down so it’s hard to be sure. 

When Eren lifts his head, he faces Jean with timid eyes. 

“Will you tell me about them?” he asks. “Our different lives together?”

The sincerity exuding from him pulls at Jean’s heartstrings. This is a different Eren than the one he first encountered today. This one is a lot closer to Jean’s Eren. Stubborn as hell, but a pretty cool person if you’re able to break past his self imposed barriers. 

Jean’s glad he managed to accomplish that tonight. It just makes his desire to get home and save Eren that much greater.

So, Jean relays to Eren the five universes he visited in which they were a couple. He goes into as much detail as he can recall. The Berry and Jeannie nicknames. The letters they wrote for each other. The pictures and videos. The three month anniversary gifts. Their day at the arcade. And, of course, their slow dance in the hallway. 

For Eren's sake, Jean only focuses on the happy parts. He doesn’t mention leaving Eren on read. Or Mikasa beating him up after making Eren cry. And he definitely doesn’t mention the break up. 

Eren doesn’t need to know any of that. Those moments all stem from Jean’s impulsive actions. They don’t reflect on the Jeans of those universes, and they definitely don’t reflect on their relationships with their respective Erens.

Besides, Eren gets more animated the more Jean speaks. He beams with glee as Jean explains the new forms of technology in the futuristic worlds, as well as the different spells they cover in wizarding school. But he’s at his happiest when Jean discusses the details of their relationship in each universe.     

Jean skips over the day of Eren’s funeral (duh), but he does mention the universe he visited yesterday. Jean having the Attack Titan isn’t as relevant as their talk on the porch, so he focuses on that, especially Eren sharing his diary with Jean. 

He tries saying Dummkopf again, and just like last night, Eren bursts into hysterics. Jean insists there’s no way his German can be that terrible, but it has Eren’s face wrinkling with a teenage innocence he’s not used to seeing. That’s what counts. 

The whole time he talks, Eren doesn’t take his eyes off him. He looks at Jean with a new appreciation, eyes as big and bright as the moon. When Jean’s done, he cheekily pokes the tip of Eren’s nose, earning another giggle from him. 

Jean giggles too. He can’t help it.

But then, Eren abruptly stops.

Maybe he remembered he’s supposed to hate Jean. Maybe he decided he doesn’t believe Jean’s wild story after all. Maybe it’s because their faces are a lot closer than Jean remembers them being before he started speaking. Maybe it’s a combination of all three.    

Eren blinks repeatedly and leans back. “Shit, what time is it?”

“Uh…” Jean scans the room for a clock, but can’t find one.  

Eren rolls up his sleeve and checks his watch. When he sees the time, he jumps to his feet. 

“I've got to go before my dad comes to look for me.” He hikes the cloak from under his bed and fixes his appearance in the mirror with rapid speed. He turns to Jean, now standing, and frowns. “I’m sorry.”

“No worries,” Jean tells him, because it’s true. This conversation went miles better than he could’ve ever hoped. “Good luck tonight.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it.”

Eren gives a shy smile. “So do I.”

If Jean jumps, he’ll probably float to the ceiling. There’s no telling how many days left he’ll have to endure this, but he has no doubt that tonight put him one step closer to getting back home. 

He’s so high on the events that just transpired that it takes him a moment to notice Eren frantically scribbling something on the desk by the bed. Jean’s already at the door, but he pauses before his hand reaches the knob. 

Eren finishes, then looks where Jean was standing earlier. And oh, Jean senses the panic from the other side of the room when Eren realizes he’s gone. It vanishes when he spots Jean by the door, but those two seconds of blatant worry have Jean grinning to himself. 

“Here,” he says, handing Jean a sheet of paper. 

“What’s this?”

Eren’s answer comes at the same time Jean reads it. 

“An invitation for the Jean whose body you’re borrowing.” He looks off to the side, his complexion a bright scarlet. “I thought tomorrow, maybe I could treat him to a…secret date. While I’m still in Trost.”

Jean parts his lips. “Eh?”

Eren switches to a stern expression. “I stand by my sentiment that you look like a horse, but I guess you’re kind of cute. And the real Jean can’t possibly be as stupid as you, so-”

“Hey!”

“Just put it somewhere that he’ll see it when he wakes up.” Eren fidgets where he stands. “Please?”

Jean sighs first, then smiles. After embarrassing Eren at his own ball, especially knowing what he knows now, how can he say no? 

“You know,” he suggests, “this Jean may not be gay.”

With pursed lips, Eren scans Jean from head to toe. “I’ll take my chances,” he says coldly. 

Jean nods. “Okay.” He secures the invitation in his pocket.

“Great,” Eren says. “Um, do you mind leaving first? I shouldn’t be seen with you. Levi and Erwin can escort you out.”

“Sure.”

Jean twists the door handle, but waits to open it. Before he leaves, he wants to give Eren one last glance. 

“Well, bye.”

“Bye,” Eren repeats, his voice so tender it wraps Jean’s heart in a soft hug. 

And with that, Jean slips out the room, leaving Eren behind until destiny reunites them tomorrow. 

Levi and Erwin are where they said they’d be. Only, they’re not doing much guarding. They’re talking. About what, their voices are too low to decipher. But Jean doubts it’s as funny as their giggles would suggest. 

He also catches Erwin’s fingers brushing along Levi’s wrist. For someone that almost murdered Jean less than half an hour ago, Levi sure seems carefree. His smile is big and full of teeth as he stands on his toes, inching his face closer to Erwin’s.  

If they want this relationship kept a secret, they’re doing a terrible job at hiding it. 

“Oh yeah,” Jean says, “you guys are totally not going out.”

They break apart. Erwin opts for surprise, Levi annoyance. 

“All right, I’ve had it.”

Jean doesn’t protest as he’s carried out of the estate, even though he feels ridiculous being hoisted over Levi’s shoulder. Levi gets a few jabs into Jean’s ribs, but he holds strong. Jean’s only priority is ensuring he doesn’t lose Eren’s invitation. 

And when Jean’s butt hits the pavement for the second time this evening, hand clutching that sacred sheet of paper deep in his pocket, he wears the biggest smile.

Chapter Text

This new universe tastes like dirt.

As Jean opens his eyes, his senses returning to him, he realizes it’s not the universe. He literally swallowed dirt while he slept. He scrapes his sleeve against the tip of his tongue in hopes to rid himself of the residue. It works, but replacing the taste of dirt with the taste of cotton isn’t something he’s awfully cheery about.

Jean sits up and peers around. He’s outside, naturally. This marks two days in a row of not waking up in a comfortable bed. This is his reward for the monumental progress he made with Eren last night? While the Jean of the previous universe gets to wake up to a wholesome date invitation from the Prince of Eldia, this Jean wakes up smelling like grass and with rocks digging into his back.

The tree above his head offers ample shade. That’s the only perk about this location. It takes Jean less than a second to notice he’s no longer in Trost. The outskirt of his hometown has a plethora of grasslands, but they carry a serenity that this place doesn’t. Wherever Jean is, he doesn’t know, but his gut screams that the quiet surrounding him isn’t to be trusted.

A soft shuffle comes from his left. Jean jumps. He was so wrapped up in taking in this new universe that it slipped his mind that he may not be alone.

His heart drops when he locates the source of the sound. Tucked under a blue blanket is a small animal, one that Jean’s never seen before.

Its features are almost dog-like, though the colors are off. It has pink fur, its floppy ears dyed black at the tips. A set of bottom fangs pokes out of its closed mouth. It sleeps soundly, completely ignorant to the anxious mess sitting beside it.

What the hell is that thing?

Jean woke up next to a wild animal. He loves horses and cats and farm animals, but he spends enough time in the wilderness to know that animals can be unpredictable. And given that Jean has no clue what species this pink ball of fur is, he can never be too careful.

He scoots away, doing his best to not make a sound. If he sneaks away, then there’s no harm done. Jean has no visible marks on him, so he’s unlikely at risk for infection. Hopefully this animal doesn’t carry any diseases transmissible through air.

Jean’s stealth rivals that of a trained assassin. Little by little, he slides on his butt along the miserable dirt, the pink furred wonder too consumed by dreams to notice. All goes well until his thigh lands on a backpack, most likely his. He has no clue what’s inside, but he hits it at just the right angle for some of its contents to rattle.

The animal awakens instantly.

On instinct, Jean lifts his arms to cover his face. The animal doesn’t lunge, but it does climb out from under the blanket. Black, beady eyes fixate on Jean. It looks confused, but Jean won’t assume. For all he knows, that’s the look it makes before it skins someone alive.

Luckily, it can’t be that dangerous. Even with Jean sitting down, it only comes up to his waist. It looks more like a pillow than a predator.

Now out of the blanket, Jean gets a better look at it. It’s on the chubbier side that under different circumstances, Jean would find cute. Baby blue polka dots adorn its body with an equally baby blue ruff surrounding its neck. It stands on two legs, two sandy colored paws supporting its weight. Its face is harsh, twisted into a permanent scowl.

Jean keeps his guard up. He can’t underestimate an opponent due to its size. Captain Levi is living proof of that.  

The animal takes two steps forward. Jean scrambles backward. The animal blinks in response, tilting its head to one side.

And then, it speaks.

“Snubbull?”

Jean flinches. A talking animal wasn’t on his radar of strange things that may transpire today. His mind spirals as he tries to calculate how a universe like this will bring him closer to Eren.

Then a terrifying thought strikes him.

What if this pink creature is Eren?

Jean ejects that notion. He refuses to believe that Eren’s feisty self is trapped in that tiny body. No good can come from touting Eren around all day as a personal pet. Even though this little one kind of pouts like Eren does when he’s grumpy.

“Snubbull,” it repeats.

Jean doesn’t know what that word means. A secret language, maybe?

“Bless you?” he asks.

It walks closer. Jean freezes. The animal approaches with caution, not giving any indication of aggression. It sniffs Jean’s pant leg, then looks up at him with a vacant stare.

Jean’s face must not be that pleasant, because the animal retaliates with a sharp chomp to his leg.

“Agh!”

Its teeth sink deep, no doubt breaking skin. Jean shakes his leg, but this thing won’t let go. It growls and holds tight. Jean’s suffered harsher injuries in combat, but it still hurts. 

An extra powerful kick does the trick and he breaks free. As the animal flops to the ground, Jean rolls up his pant leg. Miraculously, he’s not bleeding. He should still find a hospital and get checked out to ensure he hasn’t contracted anything.

The animal gets up and growls again. It balls its little hands into fists and slowly approaches Jean again. 

Jean holds out his hands. “Stay back,” he says. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

It pauses. It observes Jean’s worried expression, its own angered expression dissipating. Then, to Jean’s shock, it sits down and cries.

Its sobs are heartbreaking. That’s the cry of someone as scared as Jean was moments prior. It may be a tactic to get Jean to lower his guard, but it works like a charm. 

“Wait,” Jean says, moving closer. “Don’t cry. Are you lost? Where’s your family?”

“Hey! You!”

Jean turns in the direction of Eren’s voice, a huge smile overtaking him. He’s relieved their reunion in this universe is not long after he wakes up. Now they can spend the full day together. That allows plenty of progress to be made.

Also, Jean’s just happy to see him. With the small bits he’s learning about Eren, he’s come to really enjoy having him around. He’s not sure he can call Eren a friend yet, but he won’t oppose using that title in the future. 

Eren struts through the tall grass wearing a red and white cap. Jean fights back a laugh. The cap is a bit too big for Eren’s head, the bill falling over his face. Eren adjusts it upward, just for it to fall in his face again a second later.  

The animal beside Jean also seems interested in Eren. It’s stopped crying. Jean worries it may attack Eren next. He’s not even sure if Eren sees it. 

As Eren gets closer, the animal leaps up. Jean’s about to tell Eren to watch out, but the animal doesn’t charge at him. Instead, it stands in front of Jean with its arms out. It gives Eren a warning growl. If Jean didn’t know better, he’d think this animal was trying to protect him.

Eren steps out of the grass, and Jean’s eyes nearly pop out of his head when he spots a second little creature at Eren’s side. The grass shielded it earlier, but now Jean gets a proper look at it. It’s definitely a different species than the animal that bit him. This one looks like a baby dinosaur wearing a skull for a mask. It’s also clutching a bone in its right hand. Perhaps trophies from another animal it slaughtered? 

“Hey,” Eren says again.

“Hi,” Jean answers, still puzzled.

The pink animal growls again, but Eren doesn’t seem intimidated. On the contrary, his eyes light up and he rushes over.

“Wow! A Snubbull!” He bends down to study it. “Is it yours?” he asks Jean.

Jean blinks twice. “Uh…”

The animal looks back at Jean with a blank expression. “Snubbull.”

Eren pulls out a red gadget from his pocket. It looks like a cell phone but wider. He flips it open and directs it at the animal. 

“Snubbull,” the gadget says, “the Fairy Pokémon. Although it looks frightening, it is actually kind and affectionate. It is very popular among women. This Snubbull belongs to Pokémon trainer Jean Kirstein.” 

Jean’s speechless for multiple reasons. He learned this little one is called a Snubbull. He learned he’s a Pokémon trainer in this universe, whatever that means. Oh, and that little gadget referred to Jean by name.  

Eren stuffs it back in his pocket. “Jean Kirstein, huh? That’s your name?”

“Yes,” Jean answers after an embarrassingly long pause.

He points at himself. “Eren Jaeger. How about we top our introduction off with a battle?”

Jean’s nerves settle. Typical Eren, always wanting to use his fists. It’s so predictable that Jean has become endeared to it.

“Oh no,” he says with a chuckle. He rises to his feet. “I don’t want to fight you. I’m turning over a new leaf. I’m not as violent as I used to be.”

Eren rolls his eyes. “Not us. Our Pokémon. My Cubone against your Snubbull.”

“Pokémon?”

Is that what these little things are called?

Jean crouches down to survey Eren’s tiny companion. Its eyes are black like Snubbull’s, though more difficult to see beneath the skull mask. It’s smaller than Snubbull too, but just as chubby. Its cream colored belly highlights that fact, the rest of its body light brown.  

Come to think of it, it looks just like that stuffed animal Eren pointed out back at the arcade. He even called it a Cubone, too. Said something about always playing with one when he was younger. 

Is that what this world is? Another game that kids play? Jean seems to have more autonomy in this one, and he can’t see any awkwardly flirting children hiding in the clouds. 

Well, at least that’s one mystery solved. If this is a world Eren has familiarity with, it can’t be that bad. 

“Cubone!” Cubone cries out, bonking Jean on the head with the bone it’s clutching.

“Ow!” Jean covers his hands over where he was just hit. He grits his teeth. “What was that for, you little demon?”

Bonk.

“Cubone!” Eren says. “Save it for the battle.”

Jean retreats to Snubbull. He’s not risking getting hit a third time. If that fancy gadget is correct and that Snubbull is his, then that means it’s Jean’s job to protect it. 

He scoops Snubbull in his arms. Immediately, Snubbull curls into his chest. Jean’s heart melts. Snubbull really is quite cute, even though it almost took his leg off before. 

But maybe it only did that because of Jean’s behavior. If they’re really trainer and Pokémon, then Snubbull may have been confused that Jean was suddenly afraid of it. He bit Jean after smelling him, after all. Maybe it smelled his fear. 

Or, a scarier thought, maybe it could tell he’s not the same Jean that was here yesterday.

Either way, for as long as Jean’s in this universe, Snubbull is his responsibility.   

He tilts his chin towards Cubone. “He’s not battling anything,” he says. “We’re not interested.”

“What do you mean?” Eren asks.

Jean hugs Snubbull tighter. “I’m not gonna force animals to fight each other. That's barbaric.”

Eren pouts. “But I challenged you.”

“So?”

“You can’t reject a challenge to battle. That’s against the rules.”

“What rules?”

Eren pulls out that gadget again. He presses a few buttons, then it speaks once more.

“A challenge for a Pokémon battle is non-negotiable. If one trainer challenges another for battle, the other must accept unless he or she is out of Pokémon to battle with. Trainers are allowed to negotiate what is exchanged or not exchanged after the battle is completed, be it money, items, or bragging rights.” 

With a smirk, Eren clicks his gadget shut and slides it back in his pocket. He adjusts that stupid hat and waits for Jean to speak.

Jean wastes no time. 

“That’s so stupid,” he says. “So I can be an inch from death and if some dumbass kid challenges me to a battle I’m legally obligated to participate?”

“Yes.”

Jean scoffs. “I hate this world already.”

“Snubbull.”

Snubbull lifts its head and stares at Jean. So much innocence reflects in that little face and Jean can’t handle it. He doesn’t want to force someone so small and defenseless to fight and risk getting hurt. 

But if he defies the rules, that may not fare out well for him. This is about getting close with Eren anyway. He can’t start their day together on such a sour note. 

“So, what?” he asks. “Do we throw them in a ring and watch them punch each other?”

Eren scrunches his face. “What’s your problem? Have you never battled someone before?”

Jean stays silent, which says more than any words can.

“Oh my God.” Eren glances down at his Pokémon. “Listen up, Cubone. This is their first battle. Be gentle with Snubbull, okay?”

Cubone nods. “Cubone.” It seems Pokémon are only capable of saying their names. What a strange world. 

Jean presses his lips in a tight line. His stomach is in knots. Too much can go wrong. 

“Uh,” he says to Snubbull, “are you okay with this? I don’t care what the rules say. I can outrun him if we need to escape.”

Snubbull smacks a tiny paw against Jean’s cheek. Message received.

“Okay then,” he says, setting Snubbull on the ground. 

Snubbull puffs its chest and approaches Cubone. Cubone stands with matching intensity. Jean’s still not sold on the idea, but a part of him finds this comical. It’s like watching two toddlers trying to bully each other. 

Eren rests his hands on his hips. “I’ll even let you go first.”

Jean cocks his head. “I thought the Pokémon were supposed to be fighting.”

“They are. But you have to give Snubbull an attack.”

“Huh?”

“Any attack. He’s got four, doesn’t he? Just pick one from his move set.”

“What’s a move set?”

Eren and Cubone face palm simultaneously. Jean won’t allow his ego to bruise, but it’s not a great feeling being called stupid indirectly. It’s not his fault he doesn’t know what he’s doing. This world has too many rules to keep up with.

“It should be in your Pokédex.”

Jean holds back from asking what a Pokédex is. He has a brain, ineffective as it is sometimes, so the least he can do is use it. A Pokédex is probably that little gadget Eren was using earlier. A fancy technology-sounding name for a fancy technology-ish contraption. If he and Eren are both Pokémon trainers, then it’s safe to assume Jean has one of them as well. 

He checks his pocket and sure enough, there’s a Pokédex identical to Eren’s. He opens it up and fiddles with the buttons. It takes a while to get the hang of it, but he lands on Snubbull’s profile. 

Snubbull

Level: 25

Gender: Male

Height: 56 cm

Weight: 7.5 kg

Move set: Scary Face, Bite, Lick, Headbutt

There’s other information present, but he can check that later. This small portion offers enough to get through this battle. He hopes.

“Uh…” he says to Snubbull. “Bite, I guess.”

On command, Snubbull sneaks around Cubone and bites his tail. Cubone yelps in pain, and Jean instantly feels bad. He struggles to find the point of this, even if Snubbull has the upper hand at the moment.

To his surprise, Cubone recovers quickly. He wiggles his tail, freeing himself from Snubbull’s powerful jaw. He jumps to safety and returns to a fighting stance.   

“Cubone,” Eren calls out, “Bone Rush!”

Cubone hauls his bone in Snubbull’s direction. It’s a perfect hit, smacking Snubbull right in the face. Snubbull tumbles backwards, a weak cry escaping from him. 

Jean wants to run in and save him, especially when Cubone’s attack cycles around a second time. Snubbull takes another hit, this one more damaging than the first. 

His face is bruised badly. His little arms tremble as he forces himself back up. Jean will give Snubbull credit, he’s tougher than he looks. Even though this is a clear mismatch, he’s still trying his best. Reminds Jean of a certain someone he knows.   

Jean tries a new move. “Headbutt.”

Snubbull rushes for Cubone head first, not showing any indication that he’s hurt. He lets out a little growl as he approaches. 

While his tenacity is admirable, Cubone beats Snubbull in speed. He leaps out of the way just in time. Snubbull, overpowered by momentum, crashes to the ground.  

“Great dodge, Cubone,” Eren says. “Finish it off with Bonemerang!”

Jean counts one, two, three strikes of Cubone throwing his bone before Snubbull is knocked out. He lays on the ground, the energy drained from his tiny body. It’s over.   

“Snubbull!” Jean cries out.

He races to his Pokémon and pulls him back into his arms where he belongs. Little Snubbull whimpers, which slices Jean’s heart in half. He had one job, to keep Snubbull safe, and he failed. 

“Are you all right?”

Snubbull’s eyes open slowly. Poor little guy looks exhausted. He murmurs his name one last time before nuzzling into Jean’s shirt, shielding his face from view. He’s still breathing, so Jean isn’t too worried. 

If anything, he guesses Snubbull’s pride is hurt more than anything else. He fought his hardest, yet it wasn’t good enough. Whether it was for himself or for Jean, Snubbull really wanted that win. Jean has an ego too, so he understands the devastation that comes from losing. But that’s irrelevant right now. Snubbull’s in too weak a state to continue like this.    

Eren pats Cubone on the head, then approaches Jean. He grabs the discarded blue blanket off the ground. With a fond smile, he covers Snubbull's body. 

“Your Snubbull has strong potential,” he says. “Cubone just has more experience. Don’t get discouraged.”

Jean turns away. “I don’t care about experience. Snubbull’s hurt.”

Cradling Snubbull in one arm, he grabs his backpack over by the tree. There’s some berries, some dual colored balls, and a first aid kit.

“I’m not sure if this stuff is even safe to give him.”

Jean refuses to cry, but he’s tempted. He can’t spend the day walking around with a wounded animal. It hasn’t even been an hour, but he’s grown attached to this Snubbull. Jean hates seeing him in pain. He hates even more that Snubbull’s pain is due to something he wanted no part in. He should’ve refused, regardless of the consequences. 

“Wanna come with us?” Eren says. “My dad’s clinic isn’t that far from here. He’ll get Snubbull to perfect health in no time.”

“Clinic?”

Eren nods. “My dad’s a Pokémon doctor. He has his own practice. That’s why I was out here, actually. Cubone and I were scouting for injured Pokémon.”

Jean peers down at the sleeping Snubbull in his arms. The choice is obvious. Dr. Jaeger was a renowned physician in his original universe prior to his passing, so there’s no reason to doubt his abilities to treat Pokémon. Jean’s just relieved that Pokémon doctors exist. If these little guys have to be subjected to fighting, they deserve top medical care. 

Besides, following Eren to his dad’s clinic is an easy excuse to spend time with him. That’s what all of this is about, right?

Cubone sings as he leads Eren and Jean through the tall grass. His song isn’t anything special given that the lyrics are simply his name on repeat, but Jean finds it charming. He wonders if Snubbull ever sings like that with Pokémon trainer Jean when they travel to new locations. 

“How long have you had him?” he asks Eren.

“Three years.” Eren flashes a proud smile. “My dad let me become a Pokémon trainer on my thirteenth birthday. I found Cubone not long after. We’ve been friends ever since.”

“You two seem close.”

“Yeah.” Eren’s face falls for a split second. He pauses before adding, “We understand each other.”

Jean has an opening to question Eren about it, but doesn’t. Eren’s body language screams discomfort. Gaining all the answers isn’t important, just the right ones. If the best Jean gets today is more playful banter with Eren, so be it. It’s not like he doesn’t enjoy it. 

“So why do you wear that hat?” Jean asks. “It doesn’t even fit your head.”

Eren snorts as he readjusts it. “I won it in a contest. I was one of the last people to win, so I didn’t get a choice of size. I don’t know, I kinda like it.”

“Well it looks ridiculous.”

Shamelessly, Jean steals it from Eren’s head and places it on his own. He can’t spend too much time fixing its positioning since he needs both arms to hold Snubbull, but he can already tell it fits better on him than it does Eren. 

Jean’s not a hat guy, but this one is pretty comfortable. The sweatband is damp, no doubt due to Eren, but Jean doesn’t mind. He’s dealt with way worse hygienic conditions as a Scout. The cap offers decent shade too. Maybe Dr. Jaeger’s clinic sells little hats he can buy for Snubbull.  

“I think it looks better on me,” he teases.

He waits for Eren to protest, to snatch his hat back, but he doesn’t. He just stares at Jean, lips parted, hair messier than usual. He faces forward again and hunches his shoulders.

“I think it does, too,” he says.

“Oh,” Jean replies. “Thanks.”

Eren’s cheeks are tinged red. Jean feels guilty. Maybe the hat was to protect Eren’s skin from the sun. He can’t remember if Eren burned easily back in their universe. He doesn’t think so, but that may be a side effect of Eren’s titan shifting abilities. 

Jean motions to remove the cap, but Eren cuts him off. 

“You can keep wearing it,” he mutters. Then he races to catch up to Cubone.

Jean and Snubbull hang in the back. He can walk faster, but he can still see Eren, so there’s no point. He doesn’t want to wake Snubbull up if he doesn’t have to. Little guy needs all the rest he can get. 

Eren was right. Grisha’s clinic isn’t too far from where they came. It’s a moderately sized building in the middle of an open field, surrounded with a large fence. It’s professional looking, not that Jean expected anything less.

Out in the front grass are two Pokémon playing with each other. A blue one and a green one, rolling around and giggling. The blue one, a small, amphibian looking Pokémon with orange gills, spouts a burst of water in the air from its mouth. The green one cheers, the little leaf that spurts from its head dancing in the wind.    

Also sitting in the grass are Mikasa and Armin. Jean should’ve figured they’d be here. 

“That was quick,” Mikasa says. 

Armin perks up. “Did you find anything?”

“Just this guy,” Eren says, gesturing back to Jean. He’s still a decent bit ahead of him. “Jean, this is Mikasa and Armin.”

Jean smiles. “Hello.”

Armin’s gaze drifts to Jean’s chest. “Is that a Snubbull?”

He and Mikasa get up to take a look. They keep a comfortable distance for Snubbull’s sake. Snubbull’s still asleep, but if he wakes up, he probably won’t appreciate being ogled by two strangers. 

“We battled earlier,” Eren says. “He gave a good fight, but he’s hurt pretty bad. I’m gonna have Dad look at him.”

Jean nods. He wouldn’t mind talking more to Mikasa or Armin under any other circumstance, but Snubbull’s needs are top priority.   

Mikasa gives a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. Dr. Jaeger is the best. Your Snubbull’s in good hands.”

Armin smiles too, then Jean thanks them with a smile of his own. Then he, Eren, and Cubone head through the front door, leaving Mikasa and Armin with whom Jean presumes are their Pokémon. 

Grisha is in the lobby when they arrive. He perks up upon seeing Eren, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.  

“You’re back,” he says. He turns to Jean. “And you brought a friend.”

“Dad, this is Jean,” Eren says. Jean’s chest may or may not have fluttered from Eren’s lack of denying their friendship. 

Grisha bows his head. “Hello, Jean. I’m Dr. Jaeger.”

His gaze switches between Eren’s hat, which is still on Jean’s head, and Eren. Jean can see him try to figure out why Jean’s wearing it. He doesn’t answer Grisha’s unspoken question, even though the explanation is simple. But it’s hard to speak when he feels like he’s being inspected the way Hange likes to inspect titans.

“Oh,” Grisha says, “a Snubbull.” 

He gets closer and slowly spins Snubbull toward him. Snubbull’s eyes open, but only slightly. He lets out a weak groan. 

Grisha frowns. “You don’t look so good.”

“Cubone beat him in battle,” Eren says. “He needs medical assistance.”

Grisha nods. “I see. A little potion and some rest should do the trick.” He holds his arms out. “May I?” he asks Jean.

Jean hesitates, though he has no reason to. The Grisha in front of him is not the same Grisha from yesterday, but he can’t forgive the damage that Grisha caused yesterday’s Eren. The prince version of Eren is so troubled by his sexuality, and now that it’s a new day, Jean can no longer be there for him. But King Grisha? He’ll always be there, and Jean worries his influence over Eren may be too strong to overcome.

He averts Grisha’s gaze. He has to remember this isn’t about himself or Eren right now, this is about Snubbull. He bundles his Pokémon in the blue blanket before handing him over, an ache spreading through his chest as soon as he does.

Grisha holds Snubbull close. “I’ll take him to the back. Please, make yourself at home in the meantime. There’s plenty of food and refreshments.”

He carries Snubbull behind the automatic doors that lead to the hospital wing. Jean’s almost naive enough to follow them. He wants to be by Snubbull’s side as he’s brought back to health, though that would likely derail his progress.

Jean doesn’t know how long this will take. He’ll need to find a way to distract himself before the guilt over Snubbull’s injuries becomes unbearable.  

“So,” he says to Eren, “this is a hospital for Pokémon?”

“Yeah,” Eren answers as Jean spins around, taking everything into view. “This village has a lot of wild Pokémon, but not many people. The more populated areas have Pokémon centers. Those are the big hospitals. But my dad wanted to start this clinic to help the wild Pokémon in this area when they get injured, or if they just need a safe place to rest. Sometimes trainers come by, like you, but not usually.”

Jean looks at him. “And you all live here?”

Eren gives a weak shrug. “Kinda. Mikasa, Armin, and I sometimes go exploring. It’s hard to train Pokémon in this area. The best experience they get is through battling other trainers. But my dad always has rooms available for us. Levi and Erwin pretty much live here.”

He points toward a far window. There are Levi and Erwin, cleaning the glass with two Pokémon of their own. One of them is almost as tall as Levi, coming up to his shoulder. 

“They’re not interested in battling,” Eren adds. “Their Pokémon are experienced enough. They’ve had them for like twenty years each. Now they just like to live peacefully.”

“You missed a spot,” Jean hears Levi snap at the tall Pokémon. Now that Jean has a better look at it, he finds it a little creepy. It looks more human than animal with blue clown-like horns sticking out from its head. 

“Mr. Mime!” it cheers. 

Levi curses. Erwin chuckles. 

“Hey Growlithe,” Erwin says to the orange puppy Pokémon by his feet, “can you empty this bucket and fill it with clean water?”

“Growl!”

The Pokémon, “Growlithe”, as Jean assumes, takes the bucket handle between his teeth and scurries away. Bits of water splash on the floor, which makes Levi curse even more, which in turn makes Erwin chuckle even harder.

“Do they work here?” Jean asks. 

Eren shakes his head. “They just like to help out when they can. Levi’s very particular about keeping things clean. Dad’s tried to pay him for his service, but Levi refuses as long as he and Erwin have a room here.”

“Oh,” Jean says. “So they’re dating?” He already knows the answer, but he’ll feel better if he hears it from Eren.

“Yeah. They’ve been together a long time.”

That’s a relief. Jean’s disaster from living in a universe with Levi and Erwin in a secret relationship is enough disaster for one lifetime, thank you very much. 

“Is that a problem?”

Jean snaps out of it. “Huh?”

“Does it bother you?” Eren asks meekly. “That they’re in a relationship?”

Jean’s not stupid. Well, he is, but not in this case. He knows what Eren’s hinting at. And if he’s lucky enough to have Eren to himself all day, he plans on letting his feelings on this particular matter clear from the jump. 

“Not at all,” he says. “I think people should be free to love whoever they want.”

Eren fights back a smile, but reveals a tiny one anyway. “Oh.” His cheeks are red again. “Good.”

Jean beams. This is the easiest progression their relationship has experienced yet. But he can’t get too cocky. The day is young. What’s important is that he finishes strong. If he’s lucky, he’ll even finish tonight on a greater high than the one he’s on now. 

Eren dips his head. “Wanna head back outside? There are some therapy Pokémon you can pet to take your mind off Snubbull.”

“Cubone,” Cubone chimes in.

Jean answers without hesitation.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Chapter Text

Back outside, the blue and green Pokémon are still playing in the grass. Innocent giggles fill the air, turning Jean’s heart to mush. It’ll take a lot more for him to stop dwelling over Snubbull’s condition, but this is a good start.    

They roll around like spunky kittens, no awareness for their surroundings. Eren serves as a cushion when their energy overpowers the ability to stop. They tumble right into his shins, their charming laughs never fading. Eren laughs as well while Cubone darts behind him. 

“Woah,” he says, patting them both on the head, “easy, you two.” He looks up at Mikasa and Armin, who make their way over. “What’d you feed them?”

The blue one jumps in Armin’s arms and tackles him with a huge hug. Mikasa kneels down and pets the green one. 

“These are yours?” Jean asks them.

Mikasa smiles as the green one nuzzles into her touch. “This one is. This is Chikorita.”

Chikorita nods. “Chiko!”

“And Mudkip is mine,” Armin says.

Mudkip shuts its eyes and sings its name with an open mouthed smile. It holds out a foot to Jean, prompting the cutest high five Jean’s had the privilege of experiencing. 

“They’re adorable,” he says.

His happiness is derailed when he notices that Cubone is still hiding behind Eren. He grips Eren’s pant leg with both hands, his bone forgotten in the grass.

No one comments on it. Armin and Mikasa segue into discussing which Pokémon Grisha's healed today. Eren’s attentive, though he slips a hand behind himself to pat Cubone’s head.

If they’re all treating Cubone’s behavior as normal, then it’s not Jean’s place to mention it, at least not like this. But there’s a story there. If the opportunity presents itself, he may want to learn it. He’ll definitely have enough time with Eren today to scratch the surface if he chooses. 

“I’m taking Jean to meet some therapy Pokémon,” Eren says. “Do you guys want to join?”

“Sure,” Mikasa says. Armin follows up with a nod.

For as spacious as the front lawn of Grisha’s clinic is, it’s five times as expansive behind the building. Pokémon are everywhere. Some run in the open yard. Some sit by or swim in a ceramic fountain larger than any Jean’s ever seen. Some simply nap under a healthy sycamore tree. There’s even a Pokémon playground. 

What stands out to Jean is that no two Pokémon out here are the same. He wonders how many species of Pokémon exist in this universe. Maybe even a hundred.

Armin and Mikasa trail off toward the fountain. Mudkip instantly jumps in and shoots Armin the biggest smile. Mikasa sits on the edge, Chikorita in her lap. 

In the field, Eren sticks both pinkies in his mouth and whistles the way Jean does when calling for Buchwald. Jean didn’t know Eren could do that, especially at that pitch. It punctures his eardrums. Even the sound of galloping strides approaching him can’t eradicate the persistent ringing. 

Still, Jean’s curiosity is piqued when a horse-like Pokémon with flames for a mane and tail whinnies at Eren. Eren caresses its head before moving to scratch behind the ears. 

Jean does a double take. Eren just touched literal fire without offering a whimper. This Pokémon seems friendly, so it’s not a complete surprise, but it’s hard to shut off the mechanics of the universe he was born and raised in. 

“This is Ponyta,” Eren tells Jean. “You can pet her. She loves people.”       

Jean flinches. Eren says it’s safe, so he shouldn’t be scared. Yet he is. Ponyta can decide she doesn’t like him and find a way to burn him anyway.

“It’s okay,” Eren says as if reading Jean’s mind. “Really.”

Jean turns to him. Eren’s cheeks are still flushed from earlier, but his sincerity is unmistakable. If Jean has to choose between listening to the voice in his head and the one next to him, Eren’s kind disposition makes his choice a lot easier.

He glides his fingers along the top of Ponyta’s head. She leans into his touch on instinct, which boosts his confidence. He then pets her properly, stroking the back of her neck. Her coat is as soft as it is smooth. Ponyta purrs with delight, and yeah, Jean can see how she earned the status of a therapy Pokémon.

“See?” Eren says. “She likes you.”

Jean relaxes into a smile. “Well, the feeling is mutual.”

“Do you want to ride her?”

“Huh?” Jean asks. “Is that allowed?”

Ponyta’s a lot smaller than Buchwald. It’s been too long since he’s had a casual horse ride, but he also doesn’t want to crush her beneath his body weight.  

“It is if she’s up to it,” Eren says before beaming at her. “What do you say, Ponyta? Want to take Jean on a ride through the village?”

Ponyta whinnies, then proceeds to lick Jean’s face. Seems like a yes.

Eren and Cubone fetch the reins. Jean lets Eren get Ponyta equipped since she’s more familiar with him. Once she’s secure, Eren gives Jean the go ahead to hop on. 

Jean settles himself on Ponyta’s back. She gives no indication that she’s in pain, which eliminates the last of his lingering fear. That’s best for both of them. Jean’s knowledgable enough about horses to understand the danger of riding one when afraid. 

He’s about to clutch the reins, but remembers there’s one thing he needs to take care of first. 

Eren’s smile is infectious as he peers up at them. Jean smiles back, though not nearly as wide. Balancing himself, he removes the cap from his head and places it back on its rightful owner. A faint chuckle leaves his lips as he situates it so the bill doesn’t block Eren’s field of vision. 

Eren’s not expecting it. He freezes, his only sign of life being the brief stutter he emits. When Jean finishes, the composure that he held moments before is nowhere to be seen. He tilts his head down and gives a few tender pats to Cubone, who’s hugging his leg again. 

“Sorry,” Jean says. “Just didn’t want it to potentially fly off.”

Eren nods, then looks up at him again. His gaze doesn’t quite meet Jean’s. “It’s okay.”

Jean focuses back on Ponyta, guilt seeping into his skin. He didn’t mean to make Eren uncomfortable. Then again, he has only himself to blame. Jean knows Eren like the back of his hand. Eren’s pride has always been fragile. Teasingly putting his hat back on for him likely made Eren feel small. Or, at the very least, like Jean didn’t take him seriously. 

He has no idea what Ponyta’s limits are, but he hopes this ride is a long one. The more time away from Eren, the better they’ll both recover from Jean’s blunder. 

He tugs on the reins, and Ponyta is off. She gallops at a steady pace, but picks up speed once she hops over the fence.    

Jean welcomes the intricacies of nature, his hair bouncing in the wind. For the first time in nine days, he allows himself to breathe. To feel at peace. 

Ponyta feeds off his energy. Jean steers her a little bit, but she has her own plans of where to go. Since she’s the one native to this universe, Jean won’t stop her. 

She cuts through the tall grass and leads Jean to a lake. She slows her pace, but Jean can tell it’s not from exhaustion. She wants him to properly take in the scenery. He can’t blame her. It’s breathtaking. 

They ride along the lake’s perimeter. The water is crystal blue, the sight alone as refreshing as a much needed dip on a sweltering summer day. There’s a hoard of Pokémon swimming in it, presumably a family since they all have similar spiral patterns on their tummies. Jean grins. He doesn’t have to be an expert in all things Pokémon to appreciate the cycle of life.  

Ponyta carries him to a nearby mountain range next. More Pokémon cross their paths. Jean does his best to memorize each one. He only has one day to create memories from this universe, and he wants to take as many with him as possible. Even if he can’t tell anyone else about them, he’ll appreciate the reminders of the incredible places he’s visited. 

The mountain’s peak offers a full view of the village. Grisha’s clinic sticks out in a sea of green. Eren’s right, there aren’t any other hospitals in the landscape. One man taking the responsibility to care for all the Pokémon in this village. The same man doing his best to nurse Snubbull back to health.

Jean understands where Eren gets his heroic nature from now. 

He loses track of time during his ride with Ponyta, but he couldn’t have been gone for long because Eren is still a flustered mess when he returns. To be fair, this time Mikasa and Armin are teasing him over something, but still. Eren shoves Armin for making a particular comment. There’s not much force behind it, but the tension in Eren’s expression is too great for it to be strictly playful.

Ponyta takes Jean to them. There’s added pep to her strides. She’s seemed to enjoy her adventure with Jean as much as he has. 

Eren steps back from his friends when he notices Jean. Mikasa and Armin drop their smiles, but rebound fast.

“How’d it go?” Mikasa says. 

“We had a nice time,” Jean says as he climbs off Ponyta’s back. Eren proceeds to remove her reins. “I think we’re friends now.”

Armin strokes Ponyta’s back. “As expected. Trainers that stop by here are always happier after riding Ponyta.”

Jean nods, then peers around once he realizes Mikasa’s and Armin’s hands are suspiciously empty.

“Where are your Pokémon?”

Mikasa points at the sycamore tree that shelters the sleeping Pokémon. Mudkip and Chikorita have now joined the club, their little bodies resting peacefully in the grass. 

“They tired themselves out,” she says with amusement.

Makes sense. That overwhelming energy had to stop at some point. Although, it seems most Pokémon in this yard have yet to hit their limit. Big and small, old and young, this looks more like a popular Pokémon vacation spot than a hospital. Jean wonders if any of the ones out here require medical need at all, or if they’re just here for fun. 

What’s more puzzling to him is the lack of participation from one Pokémon in particular. Cubone is cemented to Eren’s side. He’s too small to help Eren remove Ponyta’s reins, but he’s fully locked in on what his trainer is doing. Almost like he looks at Eren as a father figure rather than a trainer. 

Eren starts to walk away with the reins, but Mikasa intercepts him. 

“We’ll take that,” she says. By we, Jean assumes she means herself and Armin. 

“No,” Eren insists. “I’ll do it.”

Mikasa turns to Armin for back up. Armin perks up instantly like he’s a damn Pokémon himself.

“No, it’s okay. We’re heading inside anyway to help Levi and Erwin.” He snags the reins from Eren’s hands. “You stay out here and entertain your guest.” 

Eren’s jaw tightens. An unfortunate lashing is undoubtably brewing. But at some point while his brain conjures his choice of words for verbal assault toward Armin and Mikasa, he has a change of heart. 

“Fine,” he says. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Armin and Mikasa scurry away with the reins, either oblivious to Eren’s displeasure or pretending to be. Ponyta licks Jean’s face one last time before rejoining her group of fire type Pokémon. And then there were three: Jean, Eren, and Cubone.     

“What was that about?”

“Just ignore them,” Eren says. “Do you want to sit down? I can get you some water.”

Jean shakes his head. “We can sit if you want. I’ll pass on the water, though.”

Eren leads them to a secluded area of the grass. They sit down, their backs to the fence. Jean appreciates the view. So many Pokémon around him having a blast. A few approach him. Some happy, some curious. But once they notice Cubone’s timid self sitting with Jean and Eren, they all back off and play elsewhere. 

Eren stays neutral. He gives Cubone his hat to play with. Cubone rests it in his lap, his bone free hand pinching the brim. 

It may be a mistake to address it, but Jean also doesn’t feel comfortable ignoring the topic completely. Maybe if he approaches it with respect, it won’t be so bad. If that fails, he can find something else to talk to Eren about.       

“Your Cubone seems shy,” he says. “He doesn’t play with the other Pokémon.”

Eren offers a sad smile. Tenderly, he rubs Cubone’s back. “Yeah. He’s been through a lot.”

“How so?”

Eren slides his hand atop Cubone’s head. “See this skull he’s wearing?”

“Yeah,” Jean answers. It’s impossible not to. Cubone’s skull mask is nearly the same size as the rest of his body.  

“It’s his mother’s.”

Jean flinches. “Jesus.”

The aftershock of Eren’s comment is as daunting as the initial. Jean’s spirit breaks as he watches Cubone. He wants to rip his eyes away, not gawk at Cubone with the pity that’s no doubt reflecting on his face. But he can’t. His mind struggles to catch up with all the thoughts racing through it. So many questions. For Cubone’s sake, Jean won’t ask them all, though he’s not sure he wants the answers to all of them. 

But since Eren opened the topic for discussion, Jean figures there’s at least one he can ask. 

“So she’s, uh…”

“Dead?” Eren asks. 

He turns away from Jean, focusing solely on Cubone. Cubone’s head is tilted down, his hand still clutching Eren’s hat. Eren’s body blocks his face from view as he resumes rubbing Cubone’s back. Jean doesn’t have to see Cubone’s face to know how sad he must look. 

“Unfortunately,” Eren continues. “Cubone’s known as the Lonely Pokémon. It’s hard for him to warm up to others because he’s been on his own for so long.”

Jean understands. He wishes he didn’t, but he does. That makes it hurt even more. The day he discovered Marco’s lifeless body was the day his heart and hope shattered in two. Jean would never be prepared to see someone he held in such high regard in that vulnerable state, but he was even less prepared in that harrowing moment. He and Marco were so close to victory. supposed to survive together. They were supposed to graduate and enroll in the Military Police Brigade together. They worked hard, pushed each other to their limits so they’d guarantee themselves spots in the top ten of their class. 

All those plans, stripped away in less than a second.

Jean’s been scarred by it ever since. He can’t imagine how badly Cubone’s been scarred by his history. He’s unsure how old Cubone is, but he’s certainly too young to have seen his mother’s dead skeleton. 

Now he gets why Cubone clings to Eren. Eren must be the first person that found him after the tragedy.      

Jean musters a smile. “He seems to have warmed up to you.”

Eren tenses again, so Jean directs his gaze toward the placid sky instead. Clouds shaped like butterflies and bunnies pass over them. The most defined outline is that of a flower. It looks familiar to Jean, though he can’t put a finger on it. 

“That’s cause I know how he feels,” Eren says softly. “My mom’s not alive either.”

Jean frowns. He still doesn’t look Eren’s way. At this point he’s not confident it’s only for Eren’s and Cubone’s sake anymore. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Silence washes over them. Half comfortable, half uncomfortable. But Jean withstands it without protest. He won’t force dialogue to make himself feel better. For this topic, he has to play defense. If Eren wants to engage further, he will. If not, that’s okay too. Jean will fill any role Eren wants from him. 

“It was a long time ago,” Eren ultimately says.

Jean nods. He knows back in his universe, Carla passed away when Eren was ten. That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s the same here, but he wouldn’t be surprised.

“I found Cubone in a mountain range nearby. I almost didn’t see him because I was going in a different direction. But then I heard crying.”

Jean shuts his eyes. He knows where this is going.

Eren takes a brief pause, then speaks again. 

“He was all by himself. I know it sounds silly, but by the way he was crying, I just knew. I cried the same way when my mom died, even in the months after that. His Pokédex entry confirmed it.”

Jean hangs his head. The desire to tell Eren it’s not silly at all rests on the tip of his tongue, but doesn’t quite escape. He’s too wrapped up in his own memories from four years ago, how he knew the same way Eren did. 

Jean’s dad was sick for a while. Some days were better than others, but doctors never told the Kirsteins the news they desperately wanted: that he’d get through it. Jean used to fantasize that the stipends he’d receive as a member of the M.P. could support his dad’s medical care. Everything would work out.

But on a cold Tuesday morning, he got a letter from Vera. It wasn’t out of the ordinary. She sent Jean letters all the time, once a week at minimum. Jean had no reason to suspect anything. He hadn’t even opened it yet. All that stared back at him was his name and the address of the cadet quarters.

And yet, his stomach sank. He couldn’t explain how or why, but he just knew. 

He excused himself to his room to read it in private, his worst fear becoming a reality. He kept a brave face for Marco. For all his fellow cadets, really. Or maybe it was for himself.

But when night fell, Jean snuck out to the back porch. He hid himself in the darkness, just in case anyone followed him. Then he sobbed for hours. He only stopped when he was out of tears.

He repeated that every night for months. He still does it from time to time, as much as he wishes he didn’t. But sometimes the pain sneaks up on him without warning, and the only way his body allows him to react is to cry.

“I decided to sit down with him,” Eren says. 

Jean finally peers toward them. Their expressions are more cheerful than Jean expected. Cubone hugs Eren tight as they cuddle, and Eren smiles at him like there’s no one he loves more in the world. 

It’s a wholesome image. Maybe Jean will sketch it one day.      

“Cubone kept crying,” Eren continues, “but I could tell that my presence comforted him. Soon he was crying into my chest, so I just held him. At that moment I decided I was never letting him out of my sight. He needed me. Honestly, I needed him too.”

Neither of them rush to speak again. For Jean, nothing else needs to be said. He’s known about Eren’s struggles over Carla’s passing, but to hear those struggles aloud is a different experience. It’s like Jean’s having a conversation with his younger self. 

Abruptly, Eren’s eyes widen. He looks at Jean with muted regret. 

“God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be saddling you with such depressing stuff.”

“No,” Jean tells him. “I get it.” He offers Eren a sad smile of his own. “My dad died when I was twelve.”

Eren drops his shoulders. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

Jean shakes his head. “He was sick for a long time.”

“Still.”

A quiet sigh brushes past Jean’s lips. “I was so naive back then. I really thought he’d get better. But the older I get, the more I think my parents kept from me just how bad his condition was so I wouldn’t worry.”

Green eyes brimming with sadness trace his face. Under most circumstances, this would make Jean feel like he’s subjecting himself to be judged. This time he doesn’t, so he keeps speaking.

“I do think they expected he’d last at least a few more months, though. But I guess his body couldn’t take it anymore. He died in his sleep.” Jean picks at large patches of grass. “My mom didn’t even get to say goodbye. Neither did I.” He struggles to say the last sentence.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. It becomes harder each time. Eren grabs his hand for reassurance. Jean accepts it willingly, squeezing every bit of pain that he’s stockpiled over the years into Eren’s hold. 

Little by little, bandages wrap around his bleeding heart. Too often it’s been on the brink of falling apart, and not just because of his dad. Jean doubts he’ll ever fully heal, but he won’t deny letting these feelings out in the open for the first time alleviates him somewhat.       

“I really miss him,” he says.

Eren squeezes him back. “That feeling never really goes away. You just learn to deal with it better.”

Jean snorts. “Maybe.”

“Cubone.”

Cubone’s signature raspy voice catches their attention. He stands on his toes to throw the hat back on Eren’s head, then crawls across Eren’s lap to land in Jean’s. 

Jean’s shocked, to say the least. He’s even more shocked when Cubone hugs him. His chubby belly presses to Jean’s, and he leans his head on Jean’s chest. 

Jean smiles at him with new appreciation. Cubone has a good heart, it’s obvious. Jean pats his head, earning a smile in return.

“Looks like he’s warmed up to you, too,” Eren says. 

“As he should. I’m amazing.”

The three share a giggle, cut short when Jean notices he and Eren are still holding hands. Jean doesn’t know which of them pulls away first, nor does he know whose face is more red. He hopes he didn’t make Eren too uncomfortable. Sure, Eren was consoling him, but neither of them are innately affectionate. Getting lost in a moment of sharing parental losses isn’t an excuse. 

But Eren doesn’t make a scene aside from his initial embarrassment, so maybe the day isn’t ruined just yet.   

*

Jean spends the afternoon cleaning for Levi and Erwin. It’s just like his days in the Survey Corps, Jean doing his best to clean and Levi pointing out everything he does wrong.  

“Did you dunk your mop before cleaning this section?” he asks Jean. He gets to his knees and inspects the floor. “It still looks dirty.”

“Yes,” Jean says, mopping ferociously. “At least, I think I did.”

“You think you did?”

“I mean I did, I just don’t know if I did it right.”

Eren suppresses a laugh as he and Cubone polish the windows. Jean hoped for more teamwork between them when Eren volunteered they’d take over for Mikasa and Armin. He should’ve known Eren would throw him to the wolves the first chance he got. 

Or in this case, wolf. 

Levi leans back on his heels. “How can you not know if you did it right? Are you that incompetent that you’ve found a way to incorrectly dunk a mop? I’d be impressed if that weren’t so pathetic.”

Mr. Mime, Levi’s Pokémon, claps to himself while chanting his name, aiding Levi's agitation. Jean can’t imagine someone like Levi walking around with such a positive Pokémon for twenty years, even though Eren and Erwin assure that Levi loves Mr. Mime very much. He just seldomly expresses it while they’re cleaning. Mr. Mime isn't alone in that regard. Erwin mentioned that Levi once didn’t kiss him for an entire day because Erwin left a bowl in the sink instead of immediately throwing it in the dishwasher.  

“Babe,” Erwin cuts in. He helps Levi to his feet. “Cut the kid a break. It’s not like you were a cleaning expert when you were sixteen.”

Levi crosses his arms and frowns, though Jean senses it’s due to stubbornness.

“I was an expert in training.”

Erwin chuckles. “Yes you were. But maybe we shouldn’t scare off the next generation on day one. One day you’ll be too old and too weak to do the cleaning yourself. Someone will have to take over for you.”

“That’s a scary thought,” Levi mutters. 

Erwin turns to Jean. “I think you deserve a break. Growlithe can take it from here.”

Jean hesitates. “Are you sure?”

Growlithe cuts him off with a bark. Erwin drops a clean sponge to the ground, then Growlithe is all over it with eager paws. He shuffles across the tile floor, gathering soap and dirt to his heart’s content. Admittedly, he’s a way better cleaner than Jean. 

Jean relents with a huff, leaving the area to take space on a red two seater couch. He quietly observes Eren and Cubone, a fond smile overtaking him. They’re perfectly in sync. While Cubone is limited due to size, he doesn’t let that stop him. 

Jean’s heart pangs. He’s going to miss this world. The people will still be around, but these Pokémon are special. In one short day, they’ve brought him more joy than he’s had in a long time. Also, for purely superficial reasons, they’re adorable. 

The double doors to the hospital wing slide open. Grisha steps out, appearing proud yet dignified. As he gets closer, Jean spots a flash of pink buried within the blue blanket he’s carrying.      

“Snubbull!”

He rushes over before he can get the name out. Snubbull perks his head up. His eyes meet Jean, then he wiggles out of the blanket and cheers. He leaps for Jean, who catches him and holds tight. 

“You’re okay.”

Snubbull nuzzles his beaming face in Jean’s shirt. “Snubbull.”

Grisha smiles. “He did a great job. He was very brave.”

Jean cradles Snubbull’s head. He may not have cried earlier with Eren, but he has too much elation for his body to handle. With misty eyes, he chokes out a thank you.

Levi curses in the background. Jean spins around to find Eren and Cubone running over the spots on the floor Growlithe just cleaned. Erwin’s laugh and Mr. Mime’s hurrahs drown out any further expletives. 

“Hey little guy,” Eren says. “Feeling better?”

“Snubbull!”

God, Jean is going to miss him so much.

Cubone looks up with sad eyes. “Cubone?”

Snubbull tilts his head. He leaps to the floor and comes face to face with Cubone. They silently assess one another, and at first Jean worries that an impromptu battle is about to happen.

But then Snubbull stalks talking. Jean can’t understand what he’s saying, but he’s very animated. Cubone talks back and they engage in a conversation none of the humans can interpret. They complete it with a high five, so that’s a good sign. 

Eren bends down next to Cubone. “Were you feeling guilty for hurting Snubbull?”

Cubone doesn’t answer, but his crestfallen expression gives it away. 

Jean bends down too. “I don’t think Snubbull’s the type to hold a grudge. Right, Snubbull?”

“Snubbull!”

Snubbull motions for Cubone to follow. The two dart out of the lobby with their little legs and a fresh burst of energy. Amused, Jean and Eren trail behind them, though not before Jean thanks Grisha again for his help.

Outside, Snubbull and Cubone are on the playground, each occupying a swing. Their movements mirror one another, as do their smiles. They resume conversation as they swing. Even though Jean is lost for what’s being said, it’s easily the cutest thing he’s ever seen.  

“I think they like each other,” Eren says.

Jean beams. “Yeah. Fast friends.”

Eren bites his bottom lip before kicking the dirt. His hat slides over his face again. Jean adjusts it for him, then realizes he may have messed up because Eren freezes. Jean slaps his arms to his sides, forcing himself into restraint. 

“Maybe you can stay here a while,” Eren mumbles. He keeps his gaze on their Pokémon. “Cubone doesn’t make friends easily. It’d be nice for him to have someone to play with.”

Oh. Jean was expecting something way worse. 

“If you don’t want to-”

Jean cuts him off.  “No, no.” He smiles. “I’d like that a lot. I think Snubbull would too.”

Eren relaxes and smiles back. He tilts his head at just the right angle for the sun to catch the sparkle in his eye. 

“Great.”

*

“Where’s my room?”

It’s nighttime. Jean and Eren are still awake since they’ve been supervising their Pokémon playing all day. Right now they’re in the lobby, occupying the couch as the little ones play cards on the lobby floor. Snubbull and Cubone really hit it off. Jean bets they consider themselves best friends even though it’s only been a day. 

The others are in bed. Allegedly. When Eren showed Jean where the bathroom was, they passed Mikasa’s bedroom. Jean detected three voices coming from inside. 

“I’m serious,” Erwin says. “I don’t appreciate what you two are doing.”

“It’s not like we’re wrong,” Mikasa counters. “You see it, don’t you?”

“That’s not the point. Let them figure it out for themselves.”

“Oh, please,” Armin says. “Like you and Levi weren’t-”

Jean never heard the rest since Eren hooked an arm around his and dragged him away.

That was a while ago, he thinks. Truthfully, he’s unsure. He’s had such a great day with Eren, Snubbull, and Cubone that he's lost all sense of time. For all he knows, it may be the next morning already.   

At his question, Eren stiffens his posture. He glances off to the side.

“Oh, I didn’t think about that,” he says. “There aren’t any spare rooms.”

“Oh. Well that’s fine, I can sleep out here.” Jean offers a small laugh. “It’s better than where I woke up this morning.”

“No.”

It comes out like an order. Jean leans back, then Eren shifts to reserved mode. He sweeps his hair out of his face. He removed the red cap hours ago.  

“I mean,” he says, “you can sleep in my room, if you want.”

Jean frowns. “But where would you sleep?”

Eren sinks into himself. “In my room.”

Jean’s face heats up. “Oh.”

Eren leaps off the couch without looking his way. “I’ll get a sleeping bag.”

Jean’s slightly peeved that he’s left to wrangle up Snubbull and Cubone for bed. He’s unfamiliar with the card game they’re playing, assuming it’s a legit game to begin with. They appear to be engaged in it, but he can’t force himself to stay awake to keep them happy. They can always continue tomorrow. 

“Hey Cubone,” he says, “can you show us where Eren’s room is?”

“Cubone!”

Surprisingly, these Pokémon have top tier etiquette. Cubone and Snubbull pack the cards back in the box and tuck the deck away in the game closet. They hold hands as Cubone directs everyone to Eren’s bedroom. Jean feels himself getting a cavity. 

Eren’s room isn’t anything special. It has the standard bed, dresser, and desk setup. But there are also plastic stars scattered across the ceiling that glow when the lights are off. Jean splits between gawking in amazement and grinning like an idiot over how perfect of a decoration that is for Eren. 

Eren joins them not long after, carrying a sleeping bag and some blankets. He unrolls the bag along the floor, parallel to the bed. The little blankets lay out between the two, perfectly Pokémon sized.    

“You can take the bed,” Eren says. “Cubone and I will sleep on the floor.”

Jean looks to the bed, then back to Eren. “Are you sure?” It feels wrong to infiltrate his space like this. 

“Of course. You’re my guest.”

Eren says it with such sincerity that Jean knows it’s not worth protesting. 

Eren digs through his dresser to find Jean a change of clothing. They keep spare toothbrushes in the bathroom for the times Grisha allows other trainers to stay over when Eren and his friends are out of town. 

Jean takes his time getting ready, a new set of nerves bubbling in his gut that's now exposed due to Eren's shirt falling a little short. Why is he nervous? He has no reason to be. Maybe it’s an early symptom of the emptiness he’ll feel tomorrow when he’s another universe away, Snubbull nothing more than a treasured memory.

Jean wishes he could stay, but staying just delays him from achieving his true objective. 

He returns to Eren’s room. He should’ve anticipated that Snubbull would choose to sleep under the mini blankets with Cubone. The two are bundled up without a care in the world. Jean would rather Snubbull sleep with him, but this is an exception he’s happy to allow.     

Eren’s already in his sleeping bag, so Jean crawls into bed. As his face hits the pillow, he’s consumed by Eren’s scent. It’s not a bad smell, far from it. But it’s a reminder of how wrong this is. He can’t believe Eren Jaeger has enough charity in that feisty body to sacrifice his own sleeping arrangements for someone he just met. 

His thoughts are interrupted by quiet snores. Jean flips to his side, his face softening as he watches Snubbull and Cubone cuddle while they sleep. It’s a delusional thought, but Jean feels like a proud father. He’s always wanted kids, but pushed that desire away as a wasted dream. Where he’s from, bringing a life into the world is a burden instead of a blessing.  

Jean’s gaze drifts slightly, landing on Eren. Eren’s attention is already locked on him, catching Jean off guard.

Was he staring? Jean guesses he probably looked goofy observing their Pokémon with hearts in his eyes.   

Eren looks away and rolls onto his back. “Well, I’m tired. I’m gonna go to sleep.”

“Right,” Jean says, copying Eren’s position. “Me too.”

The glowing stars hypnotize him. Jean imagines Eren and Cubone snuggling in this very bed and watching them together. Eren probably rambles to Cubone about all the constellations that are out there in the world, all the ones he wants to see. Jean won’t be here to see it happen, but he hopes they experience a fulfilled life of traveling the world and witnessing all the wondrous things their tender hearts can dream of.

That goes for Snubbull, too. He hopes Pokémon Trainer Jean takes good care of him. Snubbull deserves it. 

Jean peers over. If these are his last few minutes in this universe, he wants one last look of what he’s leaving behind. 

But as he turns on his side again to get a proper glance, Eren rolls onto his side at the same time. Their gazes meet instantly, though neither speak. Jean’s eyes shoot open, Eren’s even more so.   

With a squeak, Eren flips until his back faces Jean, then buries himself in his sleeping bag. 

“Good night.”

Jean copies Eren once more, this time for good. He bids Eren good night, his voice so soft that he’s unsure if Eren even hears him.

Not that it matters. Jean knows he won’t be falling asleep for a while. 

Chapter Text

Bittersweet.

It’s an improvement from the ground, but Jean would’ve preferred waking up in a bed as cozy as Eren’s. His back is in better shape, but his legs feel stiff. He’s on his side, his feet hitting the end barrier even with his knees pulled up. Either Jean’s sleeping on a couch or in a crib, and he’s pretty sure the latter would break with his lanky body rolled up inside it.  

He opens his eyes to see a wall of grey velvet. He’s definitely on a couch, and he’s still in street clothes. He rolls over to check out his new surroundings. Something hits the floor, but he’s too distracted to pick it up.

No Snubbull. No Eren or Cubone either. Jean expected it, but it’s still a disappointment. 

As for where he is, Jean can’t arrive at a proper conclusion. He’s not confident this is a bedroom, but he’s not confident that it’s not a bedroom. A bed is near the left wall by the window (Jean’s annoyed his alternate self chose to sleep on this couch when there are better options), but there’s also a mini kitchen across from him. Refrigerator, stove, sink, cabinets. Jean even spots a small bathroom once he stands up and scopes the property. 

No one else is around, not even Vera. There’s no indication she lives here either. The single bed, the understocked fridge, the toilet seat still being up, it’s like this space is designed for Jean and Jean only. His own personal house, just packed in a tighter space. 

It doesn’t take long to snoop around, so he returns to the main area. He notices a notebook on the hardwood floor. That must be what fell when he rolled over. Jean picks it up, turning it over to observe the cover. No doubt this belongs to him. His name is etched in the bottom corner with permanent ink. But the rest perplexes him. 

Titans on Attack

Season 3, Episode 20

“Mi Casa’s Confession”

Written by:

Levi Ackerman
Erwin Smith  

Jean flips through the pages. This is a script. Not a great one, for what it’s worth. Maybe a play. Or possibly a television show like the ones he watched with Vera, just with real people. 

The more Jean reads, the more he realizes this is some dramatized version of the life he experienced back home, only poorly written and all over the place. Titans breaching the walls, attacking their military, and a lot of death. Jean’s disgusted that the tragedy he and his friends dealt with can be seen as entertainment in another universe. 

But this is the information he needs to piece together what universe he stumbled into. 

This Jean is an actor.

Today’s going to be rough. Jean has no acting experience. He doesn’t even like public speaking. There’s no chance he gets through this without making an ass out of himself at least once. 

His only saving grace is the possibility of having a minor role with few speaking lines, but that thought’s diminished when he examines the script. A character named Shawn has his name highlighted every time he speaks. If this script is Jean’s, then Shawn must be the character he plays. Shawn’s name appears too much for his liking. His screen time isn’t as prominent as Ereh or Rivaille, but Jean won’t be able to hide in the background easily.     

There’s two knocks on his bedroom-not-bedroom door. Perhaps it’s Vera. Jean walks through his narrow abode and rounds the corner. A medium size plant sits against the wall, leaves fresh and healthy. A gorgeous black and white skyline painting sits eye level to Jean. He wonders if it’s his work or if this Jean limits his artistic passion to acting. 

He’s blinded with light when he opens the door. Jean deduced this was his own space, but he expected it to be part of a larger building. But no, this is it. 

Pixis is in the doorway, wearing sunglasses and a suit that’s out of his budget. The sun’s rays reflect off his bald head. Beads of sweat trickle past his eyebrows. Behind him is a parking lot with a row of large white trucks piling next to each other. They’re all identical, as are the mini staircases connected to the entrances. 

Jean sticks his head out further and spins around. His living situation is the same. The door has his full name on it.    

“You’re wanted on set, Mr. Kirstein,” Pixis says.

Jean assumes this is related to his acting job. While he’d rather skip this day altogether, he has no proper argument for not showing up. Even if he refuses, he’s sure Levi will stop by and get Jean himself. Between Levi and Pixis, Jean would rather be escorted by the quirky old guy than the scary short one.

He fetches his script, then slips into the shoes by the door. He follows Pixis’s lead through the parking lot, which looks at lot larger now that those other trucks aren’t blocking the view. There are people everywhere, moving equipment and talking into headsets and grabbing food from any of the several lunch booths. This must be a huge production. Not that Jean needs more reason to be nervous.  

Pixis turns to Jean with a smile. “Nice job yesterday.”

Jean smiles back, more than he intends. He knows yesterday was his best showing yet, but the extra giddiness is unrelated to his mission. He truly had a great time with Eren and can’t wait to see him today. He can’t believe he once considered this punishment.  

Jean doesn’t recall them having many scenes together in the script, but they’re bound to have ample opportunity to spend time together. Why else would he be here?  

“Thanks.”

Pixis doesn’t respond, so Jean takes time to reflect. There’s little room for complaint. Things are going well. Almost too well. At the rate he’s going, Jean will hit the threshold for how much better his situation can get. 

And yet, he’s still here. 

Pixis raises a brow. “Something wrong?”

No, wrong isn’t the word Jean would use. But maybe he should stop patting himself on the back about progress when there’s no tangible proof he’s made any. 

“I just don’t get it,” he says. “I feel like I’m doing everything right. Eren and I are getting along great. But it’s obviously not enough for me to return home. Is there something I’m missing?”

Pixis gives one of his many dramatic pauses. Sometimes, Jean thinks it’s for the higher powers that are watching this play out, like Jean’s situation is their personal amusement. Teasing them with suspense and all that.

His lips curl into a smirk, a chuckle escaping him soon after. 

“Let’s just take things one day at a time, Jean,” he says, patting Jean on the back. “Best not to rush it.”

Jean rolls his eyes. He can’t tell if Pixis watches him do it under his sunglasses, but Jean hopes he does. For the few times his spirit guide has been helpful, Jean can think of a dozen when he’s the complete opposite. 

Yeah, Pixis is definitely putting on a show for the powers that be.

Whatever. Jean has better priorities. 

Jean registers they arrive on set when he can’t go two steps without seeing a camera. Levi and Erwin sit behind one of the center ones. Levi’s dressed in all black, even the little fancy beret atop his head. He's scowling, so nothing out of the ordinary.

Jean sees a few more people he recognizes. Armin and Reiner are off to the side. Armin’s reading his lines over while a young woman applies makeup to Reiner’s cheeks.

“Good luck,” Pixis whispers in Jean’s ear. “You’ll need it.”

Jean blinks twice. “Wait, why?”

Instead of answering with words, Pixis pushes Jean into the sea of cast and crew members. Jean turns around and searches for him, but he seems to have disappeared into thin air. 

Shit. 

Jean’s not cut out for this. Maybe if he fakes an allergic reaction, he’ll be freed from this agony. 

But then he spots Eren, and Jean relaxes a little. He’s standing with Mikasa, the two in front of a giant green sheet. They’re wearing cheap knockoffs of the traditional Survey Corps uniform. The capes are closer to puke colored than forest green, and the Wings of Freedom are upside down.

That aside, the sight sets Jean straight. He can’t back out from this. Even if he’s consumed by his own stage fright, he’ll push through because he has to. Eren’s counting on him. 

Jean shoots him a small smile. Eren doesn’t return it, but he offers a dismissive nod. His lips are pursed and his arms crossed, one hand clutching a rolled up script. Jean’s been on the receiving end of Eren’s anger too many times to not recognize it. 

Not the best way to start his day. The one positive is that Eren’s anger doesn’t seem to be directed at Jean, at least not entirely. If it were, Eren would call him out without restraint. 

Plus, when Jean eyes Mikasa, he notices she seems just as mad as Eren. 

Levi leaps from his black folding chair. The words Levi Ackerman, Director are sewn across the back.  

“Jean,” he says, dripping with sarcasm, “how lovely of you to join us. It’s not like we were all waiting.”

Oh. Jean can see why that would piss people off. So Eren is mad at him after all. 

“Sorry.” He means it for everyone, but he looks at Eren as he says it. 

Eren’s eyes soften, but the rest of his expression stays the same. 

“There’s been a change of plans,” Levi declares. “We’ll be shooting scene twelve first instead of scene twenty.”

“You can thank this one,” Mikasa mutters, throwing her head in Eren’s direction. 

Eren groans. “For fuck’s sake, will you shut up?”

“Hey!” Levi cuts in. “Remember this is my set you’re on. Drop the attitude.”

“I’ll drop the attitude when you learn to write a better script,” Eren snaps at him. He waves his in the air. “I’m not saying these stupid lines.”

“Oh dear,” Erwin says from behind the camera. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

While perhaps not morally right, Jean is relieved that Eren doesn’t seem upset with him after all. However, now he has to worry about Eren getting killed by Levi for trashing his script. Even if Jean agrees it sucks.

Eren raises his voice. “You know this shit is trash, so I don’t know why it’s so bad for me to say it out loud.”

“Because it’s not my job to create a masterpiece of cinema, Jaeger.” Levi approaches him, his sneer deepening with each step. “It’s my job to make money. We have the top rated show on Crunchyflix because I know how to give viewers what they want. And you two,” he says, gesturing to Eren and Mikasa, “is what they want.”

Mikasa scoffs. “No clue as to why.”

“Seriously,” Eren says. “If you’re going to force a stupid love story, can you at least make her character interesting? Her only personality trait is being obsessed with me. Not to mention that you basically wrote our characters as siblings.”

Armin cuts away from reading his script and raises his hand. “That’s been retconned since season two.”

Levi cuts through the tension with a sigh. “Look, this is my show, so you either do the job that I give you, or I find someone to replace you.”

“Right,” Eren mocks, “like I’m supposed to believe you’ll replace your own cousin.” He grimaces at Mikasa, who is more than happy to return the favor. “But if you do, try to find someone who can actually act.”

“Well sorry for finding it difficult to pretend to be in love with a grade A douchebag,” Mikasa fires back. 

Jean’s speechless. The idea that there’s a universe where Eren and Mikasa aren’t friends is hard enough to comprehend. But to be in one where they seem to detest one another is jumbling his brain. Jean would bet there was a greater chance of Eren transforming into a dove and flying off into the sunset than Mikasa ever calling him a douchebag.

“Method actor,” Mikasa jabs.

“Nepo baby,” Eren retorts.

Levi claps twice, harshly enough for the ground to shake. “Enough. Go cool off, both of you. When it’s time for you to film the scene, I expect professionalism. Now get out of my sight.”

Mikasa storms away, though not before giving Eren the finger. Eren throws one right back at her. 

Jean stands there awkwardly as the two make their dramatic exits. He’s about to direct his attention back to Levi, but then Eren speaks.

“Kirstein.”

Jean looks over. Most of Eren’s frustration seems to have dissipated after venting aloud. The corners of his mouth are still curved downward, but that’s nearly a smile by normal Eren standards. 

“Run lines with me after you’re done filming,” he tells Jean. “I’ll be in my trailer.”

And then he’s gone. Jean’s eyes are locked on that insulting attempt at the Wings of Freedom symbol, watching Eren fade into the crowd. 

A smile tugs at his lips without permission. Of everyone here, Eren chose to single Jean out for assistance. That has to mean something, right? There’s no way they’re not friends at this point. Maybe today is the day Jean completes his mission. 

Levi claps twice again. “Jean! Why are you not in costume?”

Oh, right. He still has to survive this hell first. 

After getting fitted into his fake Scouts uniform (which is hemmed too tightly to his body, thanks to Hange), Jean spends the next hour shooting a scene with Armin and Reiner. It’s even worse than he expects, and not because of Jean’s acting. The script is even more abysmal when acted out. 

Shawn, Armeen, and Lainah are meant to ride on horseback and keep an eye on the Lady Titan. Problem is, there are no horses. There’s no Lady Titan either. Crew members just keep bringing out random props for them to use in front of what Jean learns is called a green screen. Apparently, everything will look better in post production, but Jean doubts it. He didn’t even get to do his famous pose of standing on top of his horse before sailing away on his ODM gear. 

As for his acting skills, Jean isn’t meant for show business. It takes him a while to remember all his lines, and Levi doesn’t hold his irritation back. At least the lines start to click in Jean’s brain out of fear of being yelled at for the tenth time in one morning.

“Cut!” Levi calls out. “That’s a wrap. We got it.”

Jean sighs. Thank God. 

He, Armin, and Reiner grab water at the drinks table. Jean chugs like he hasn’t had a drink in weeks. Who knew tackling his fear of public speaking can make him so thirsty?

“Nice job out there,” he tells Armin once he finishes. Out of the three, he is by far the best on camera. 

Armin doesn’t thank him. “I hope this show gets cancelled,” he says monotonously.

“Seriously,” Reiner says. He crushes his cup before tossing it in the trash. “I had to turn down a role in the next Marvel movie for this?”

Jean doesn’t know what Reiner’s talking about, but he understands. He’s been part of this show for an hour and he’s already over it. He can’t imagine having to do this every day. His brain would rot. 

On the plus side, that was his last scene for the day, so at least the hard part is over. Now he can focus solely on helping Eren. 

Levi sashays over to them. Jean gulps. He really hopes Levi isn’t here to recruit him for an impromptu scene. He wants nothing more than to get off this shitty set.  

“Don’t get comfortable, Armin,” Levi says. “You’re shooting next with me. We’re doing the choking scene.”

Armin nods. The last bit of life leaves his eyes. “Where’s my wig?”

Jean thought this show couldn’t get any more ridiculous, but then he sees Armin being fitted into a blonde wig that drapes down his back. He returns from the costume department in a new outfit. Someone stuffed his shirt to make it look like he has breasts. It’s scary how much he resembles Historia with a few simple changes.

Then it hits Jean. Armin is Historia. Playing her, at least. No wonder why he hates working here so much. 

Reiner leans close to Jean and drops his voice. “Hey, I have a question.”

Jean turns to him. 

“If I’m attracted to Armin when he wears that wig,” Reiner says, “does that make me gay?”

Jean changes out of that hideous uniform and leaves set without saying a word.

*

Jean figures that by trailer, Eren means those identical white trucks back in the lot. He surveys each row until he stumbles upon the door labeled Eren Jaeger. Jean knocks three times. Eren’s prompt to let him in, opening the door before Jean can lower his fist.

Eren’s trailer has the same layout as Jean's, but some decorations are different. Jean smiles fondly when he spots Eren’s leather journal on the coffee table. His script is here too. The stark contrast between the two can be seen by a blind man. Eren’s journal is worn out. Frayed pages and a broken clasp. The script is alarmingly pristine. Eren couldn’t have touched it more than once.    

Eren flops onto the couch with a grunt. He shakes out his messy hair, then fiddles with it so it’s messy all over again. 

“You alright?” Jean asks. 

“Yeah.” He tilts his head toward the ceiling. “I know I shouldn’t have lost my cool, but it’s just frustrating, you know?”

Jean sits beside him. “You can always quit.”

Eren musters a half smirk. It’s genuine, Jean can tell. 

“Nah. My contract locks me for at least two more seasons. Besides, there’s plenty about this job that I hate, but it’s not all bad.”

“Well, maybe you should just focus on that,” Jean says. “The parts you actually like.”

Eren’s gaze is timid as he scans Jean’s face. “Yeah,” he whispers.

His face is a lot closer than before. He still has his stage makeup on. The pigmentation applied to his cheeks makes his bone structure appear more angular. It doesn’t look bad, per se, but Jean fails to understand why it’s necessary. Eren’s only sixteen. He’s allowed to have baby fat. 

Still, those eyes will always belong to Eren. No amount of cover up or post production effects can take them away. Green and bright like he has all the secrets to the world, yet is still desperate to learn more. 

They’re so expressive, too. Jean likes that all he has to do now is look into them to know how Eren is feeling. Right now, Eren’s relaxed. No stress in sight. Jean also detects a touch of hope. All good things.    

“So,” Jean says, “you wanted to run lines, right?” He holds up the script he brought with him.

Eren flinches back with a light wheeze. “Oh. Right.”

He leans toward the edge of the couch. Jean leans against the other edge, sitting cross legged so he can face Eren. If they’re going to practice, they may as well talk to each other rather than beside each other. 

They open their scripts to their appropriate pages. Eren sweeps any loose strands of hair out of his face. 

“Ready when you are.”

Jean nods, then clears his throat. He reads his first line aloud, doing his best to sound convincing. 

“You better pay attention, Ereh,” he says. “I’m going to show you once and for all that I’m just as worthy of being a main character as you!”

Eren scrunches his face. “What are you doing?”

“Reading my line?”

“No,” Eren giggles into his hand, “I needed you to read as Mi Casa. If I’m going to be forced to say these stupid lines, I want to practice so they at least sound believable.”

“Oh,” Jean says. How embarrassing. “Okay.”

“Scene twenty.”

Jean locates it in his script. It’s a long scene. Tons of dialogue. But he’s not nervous to read lines when his only audience is Eren. 

“Don’t look at me,” Eren says.

It catches Jean off guard. He wasn’t even looking at Eren. He’s a little occupied reading over the script. Then he realizes that Eren wasn’t being literal. That’s literally his first line on the page.

Jean finds Mi Casa’s line that follows.

“I have to look at you, Ereh,” he reads. 

“Well, I’d rather you didn’t. I can’t be seen like this.”

Now Jean’s watching him. Even in a scene with overwhelming melodrama, Eren sells it. It’s easy to see why he got the lead role. He’s a natural. The minor changes of facial expressions, the tone of his voice, Jean suddenly doesn’t feel worthy being in Eren’s presence. Their skills are a complete mismatch. 

Even so, Eren requested Jean’s help, so Jean will give his best.  

“Like what?” he asks Eren. “Crying? You’ve done that at least once every episode.”

“It’s different this time,” Eren says solemnly. “This time I’m going to die.”