Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Given his mountain of insecurities, Eren should resent having such talented friends. But he’s too busy being impressed to be burdened by jealousy.

Jay’s new Instagram post has him speechless. They always do, to be fair. Jay’s modest about his baking, which Eren finds quite endearing. If he had even an ounce of Jay’s skills, he’d open his own bakery and never shut up about it.

But Jay has outdone himself this time. His new creation is a plate of twelve pistachio muffins. They’re a beautiful shade of mint green topped with a thin layer of vanilla pudding mix. And, of course, a careful sprinkling of pistachio nuts to finish it off.

They look exquisite, like something a world class baker would whip up instead of a high school junior. If Eren’s jealous of anything, it’s that he’ll never taste anything in real life as delicious as the baked goods Jay shares on his page. 

Eren didn’t even know Jay liked pistachios. There’s still so much Eren needs to learn about him. Wants to learn about him. 

He switches to Discord and drafts a message.         

Ren 🐢🧁

THOSE MUFFINS LOOK AMAZING OMG

I’M OBSESSED

Jay 🥀

Really? You’re not just saying that?

Eren grins at his phone. Always so modest. 

Ren 🐢🧁

YES IDIOT

My stomach is literally growling holy shit 😩

Jay 🥀

Well thank you 😭 I worked really hard on them

If I could I’d mail one to you

Ren 🐢🧁

I know ♥️

He swallows hard, second-guessing the heart. Eren’s still trying to navigate how befriending a straight boy is supposed to go. Jay knows Eren is gay, and he hasn’t treated Eren any differently after finding out. But Eren still worries sometimes that he’ll take things too far and scare him off.

He can’t lose Jay. Their friendship is his escape. His peace. Jay is the perfect distraction for everything wrong that goes on in Eren’s life.

So much of a distraction that he accidentally walks right into someone while staring at his phone. Eren looks up to apologize, but the words fall flat on his tongue when his eyes lock with an intense shade of hazel.     

Jean Kirstein sneers at him. “Watch where you’re going, dickhead." He shoves Eren again for good measure before retreating into their classroom.

Eren keeps his chin up, but it’s a struggle. High school was hard enough before Jean entered the picture, transferring from god knows where. And while Jean doesn’t antagonize Eren as much as other students do, he’s still an insufferable shit that’s too in love with himself to realize how mediocre he actually is.

Eren follows Jean into Mr. Ackerman’s math class. He sinks into the front seat and angrily types away at his phone.     

Ren 🐢🧁

I hate school so much

People are such assholes

Jay 🥀

I KNOW

Some fucker just walked into me and didn’t even apologize

Ren 🐢🧁

WTF

The rage surging through Eren is likely palpable for anyone sitting near him. This is the one downside of having online friends. Their friendship only exists on Eren’s phone. In the real world, Jay is off fending for himself and Eren can’t do anything to help. Jay’s going through enough without some jerk at his school making things difficult for him.    

Ren 🐢🧁

Let me into that school so I can kick his ass

Jay 🥀

Do you even know how to fight

Ren 🐢🧁

It’s the thought that counts

Jay 🥀

LOL nah it’s okay. He’s a loser anyway 

Ren 🐢🧁

All people are losers according to you 😂

Jay 🥀

Not you 😋

That fluttering sensation tickles Eren’s chest again. He used to suppress it, mainly when he and Jay first started talking, but now he embraces it. Especially knowing there’s a chance that one day, Jay will stop responding to his texts. The thought terrifies him, but it’s not uncommon for online friends to fall out of touch. 

So until that day comes, Eren wants to cherish this friendship to the fullest. There are few things that excite him these days. He owes it to himself to let Jay be one of them.  

Besides, it’s not like Jay has to find out. The one upside to having online friends is that they’ll never know that you’re blushing unless you tell them.

Ren 🐢🧁

☺️

Jay starts typing a response. Eren’s smile cuts into his cheeks. 

“I’m sure whatever has you smiling is quite fascinating, Mr. Jaeger.”

Eren’s eyes go wide as he peers up at Mr. Ackerman. Blood rushes to his face, intensifying even more when he hears snickering from the kids behind him. Jean’s laugh is particularly distinct. Asshole. 

“But not in my classroom,” Mr. Ackerman finishes, gesturing to Eren’s phone.

Eren straightens in his seat. “So you admit you want us to be miserable.” 

He normally wouldn’t joke around with a teacher, but Mr. Ackerman is one of his favorites. He’s the perfect balance of firm but fair. And he always encourages Eren to try harder, both with school and with extracurriculars.    

Mr. Ackerman offers a curt nod. “My salary depends on it.”

Eren slides his phone into his pocket, Jay’s message going unread. He doesn’t want to cut their conversation short. If it were up to him, they’d talk all day. Anything less is a disappointment.

But such is the sad story of Eren Jaeger’s life. Everything is a disappointment. 

*

Eren watches from backstage with awe. 

Light casts over Armin like a shadow. A warm glare reflects in his square frames. His blond hair morphs into an illuminating gold. He holds his own, commanding the stage like a seasoned Broadway star. It’s mesmerizing how easily he slips into character. He’ll be even more convincing on opening night once he’s in costume and makeup.

Ponyboy Curtis isn’t a complete 180 from Armin’s everyday persona, but taking on the lead role in the school play requires a level of confidence Armin doesn’t usually possess. But on stage, he’s a natural. 

“The doctor gave it to us straight all right,” Armin monologues to the imaginary crowd. Even his accent is perfect. “I tried thinking maybe…maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe I’ll wake up at home and everything will be okay. But it was just getting harder and harder to keep lying to myself.” 

Thomas Wagner, the actor cast as Two-Bit Mathews, enters the stage next and engages with Armin. Eren’s transfixed by their performances. They make it look so effortless. Their movements, their expressions. Some people are just born to be on stage. 

He wonders what that’s like.  

“You should’ve auditioned,” Mikasa mutters from behind him.

Eren doesn’t look back at her. They’ve had this discussion more times than he can count. 

“I’m not good enough,” he says.

“How do you know if you never tried?”

That’s not true. Eren tries. He tries every day. He memorized the entire script for The Outsiders in a single Saturday. It wouldn’t have mattered which part he got cast for. He just wanted to be part of it somehow. He wasted his first two years of high school working as a stage crew member when what he really wanted was to be on stage. He refused to let another year go by. 

He rehearsed lines in his room over and over until he could recite them in his sleep. He doubts anyone at this school practiced harder for those auditions than he did.

But when auditions rolled around, Eren never went. He talked himself out of it. It was foolish to assume he was cut out for the big stage. Knowing the lines means nothing if he’s too nervous to speak them out loud.    

“Sorry,” Mikasa says, breaking him from his thoughts. “It’s just kinda depressing seeing you like this.”

Eren sucks in his lip. “I know.”

He can’t help but wonder. Everyone cast in this play is talented, but still. What if he had auditioned? Maybe he could’ve landed a small part. He wouldn’t have gotten the big applause at curtain call like Armin certainly will, but it’s not about the validation. Eren’s dreamed of being in plays since Armin’s family took them to see Into the Woods when they were kids. Even if he can’t make a career out of it, he’d love to know how it feels to be on stage. Just once, that’s all he needs.

But because of his self-doubt, that dream will have to wait.

Finally, he turns to Mikasa. He hates the pity in her gaze, the frown tugging at her painted lips. His friend has too much compassion for her own good. Eren appreciates it, he really does, but not right now. 

“I’ll audition for the next one. Okay?”

“You said that last time,” Mikasa counters.

“And this time I mean it.”

“Hello?” Mr. Smith, the drama instructor, calls from the seats. “Lights? Where are my lights?”

Mikasa’s face goes pale. “Shit. Eren.”

Eren jolts around. “Sorry,” he squeaks out, then fiddles with the lights panel. 

The stage goes dark, signaling for the crew to move the props around. When everything is in place, Eren hits his mark to turn the lights back on. If he’s not brave enough to work on stage, he can at least be competent enough to work behind it.  

*

Eren gets home late. Mostly due to how much he has to clean up after rehearsal. But he takes his time walking through the quiet streets of Shiganshina. He does every Thursday. The more time he spends out of the house on Thursdays, the better. 

Though he’s lived here his whole life, Eren’s attachment to this house is miniscule. There are a few childhood memories woven into the four-bedroom, three-bathroom landscape that probably felt special when he experienced them in real time. But now, at sixteen, Eren can glance up at the colonial home at the corner of Garrison and Marley and feel absolutely nothing. His thoughts are blank, as white as the brick contrasting against the black shutters. 

He doesn’t announce his presence when he steps inside. There’s no point.

He’s always hated how cold the marble floor feels beneath his feet even when he has socks on. He hates how every sound travels through the expansive main floor, from locking the door to setting down his backpack. Hates that a single light in the kitchen is left on for him. Like Eren needs the reminder that he’s not the only one who lives here.

Though on nights like these, it sure feels like he is.

He does what he normally does. He heats up some frozen waffles, eats alone at the kitchen island, and suffocates in the silence. Even the ghosts that haunt this cursed house steer clear of him. They simply meld into the walls, taking Eren’s last bit of sanity with them.

When he’s done eating, he retreats to his bedroom upstairs. The only room here with a semblance of personality, and that’s mostly because it’s the only room that isn’t painted white. He’s surrounded by burnt orange, a color he’s not particularly fond of. But his mom picked it out when she was pregnant with him, so it never felt right to paint over it.

Eren has homework, but he can’t be bothered with that right now. He’ll wake up early and get it all done during study hall if he has to. For now, he just wants to crawl into bed and hide from a world that’s never been kind to him.

He relaxes under his warm blanket. With a cozy pillow tucked beneath his head, his stresses don’t feel as heavy. They diminish even more when his phone chimes. 

Eren knows who it is. It has him smiling before he even reads the message.   

Jay 🥀

Are you home yet?

Jay knows about Thursday nights, how Eren's dad works late at the hospital those nights so Eren spends his evenings alone. Under different circumstances, it wouldn’t be so bad. But Eren’s relationship with his father has always been complicated. Thursday nights just highlight those complications more than usual.

Ren 🐢🧁

Yup, just got in bed

Jay 🥀

All good?

Ren 🐢🧁

Not really

Jay 🥀

I’m sorry

I wish I could be there

How badly Eren wishes the same. He’d love to know Jay, really know him. Hang out together and watch movies and stuff. Maybe Eren can introduce him to some of his favorite theater shows. And Jay can teach Eren how to bake, assuming Eren doesn’t burn down the kitchen.

A proper friendship. One that exists in the real world as much as it does through text message.

But it’s silly to cling to a wish that won’t come true. He and Jay will never reach that point. Eren doesn’t even know where Jay lives. Hell, he doesn’t even know what Jay looks like.  

Ren 🐢🧁

Don’t say sorry

Just talking to you is enough

He doesn’t mean to come across as desperate, but he can’t help himself. Jay brings out a side of Eren that’s foreign even to himself.

Jay 🥀

I hope so

Ren 🐢🧁

I do wish I had one of your desserts though lol

Jay starts typing, then deletes the message. Types again, same thing. A full two minutes pass before Eren’s phone pings again.

Jay 🥀

One day I promise I’ll make something for you

Eren reads it at least five times. He can’t tell if Jay is just being polite or if he’s being serious. 

Because if he’s being serious…

Ren 🐢🧁

Really?

Jay 🥀

Of course dumbass

Whatever you want

Ren 🐢🧁

Then I want a red velvet cupcake

Jay 🥀

Predictable

But sure, you got it ❤️

Eren’s jaw nearly hits his chest. He takes a deep breath before he forgets how. One emoji, one simple emoji, and it has him grinning at his phone like an idiot. 

No, he’s not going to overthink this. Jay is straight, he told Eren as much. Plus there’s the whole ex-girlfriend-that-he’s-not-really-over situation. Interpreting that heart as anything other than a friendly gesture is going to bite Eren in the ass. He’s better off pretending that Jay never typed that in the first place. 

But he did type a heart. And Eren saw it. And now his own heart won’t stop racing.

Screw it, it’s Thursday. Eren’s tired and he’s annoyed and he’s insecure and he’s all alone. The least he can allow himself is some delusion.

A boyish grin spreads across his face without permission. 

He’ll pretend it means something. He’ll pretend that Jay is blushing and beaming at his phone the same way Eren is right now.

Just for tonight.

Chapter Text

“Now let’s break down a process we all know very well. Digestion! Get it? ‘Break down’?”

Dr. Zoe has too much energy. Fridays drag on long enough without an over-enthused teacher trying to get a group of tired high schoolers to crack a smile. Some do, to Dr. Zoe’s credit. Usually it’s the brown-nosers like Armin Arlert or Eren Jaeger. But for someone like Jean Kirstein, Dr. Zoe’s attempts to liven the mood are just a headache.

He jots scribbles in his notebook to appear busy, tuning out the sound of Dr. Zoe’s voice in favor of the ticking of the clock above the door. Its cadence is too slow. Jean swears he’s been sitting here for at least an hour. Though when he glances at the clock, only twenty-two minutes have passed.

Even prisoners aren’t tortured this badly.  

Maybe he’d hate it less if this were a different class. Like chemistry. He took it last year at his old school and found it pretty useful. The science behind it all helped Jean build a better understanding of the baking process. Cooking too, but baking is Jean’s first love.

But of all the sciences, anatomy is the last class he wants to sit in. He’s tired of learning about the human body. He’s spent the last six months learning nothing but that. All the ways it can function. All the ways it can fail you.     

“Jean.”

“Hmm?”

Dr. Zoe peers at him over their glasses. “Do you know the answer?”

Jean doesn’t even know the question. He stares at Dr. Zoe like a deer in headlights. He tries to formulate a response that won’t make him sound like a complete dumbass, but the only sound he makes is that of him dropping his pencil into his notebook. 

Dr. Zoe casts a disapproving look. “Pay attention, please.”

Jean rests his chin in his hand, grimace taking shape as a few students laugh under their breaths. Even that little shit Eren Jaeger fights back a grin. Bold, seeing as Jean can break that twig in half without even trying. One day he should. Losers like Eren have no concept of how the real world works. Jean doesn’t mind being the one to teach him.

The lecture resumes. Jean doesn’t get called on again. Which is good since he still can’t muster the strength to pay attention. It’s not like school is actually relevant. Jean’s not going to college. He’s not smart enough for it anyway. He always planned on working in his mom’s diner once he graduated. He already worked there part-time and the customers loved the desserts he prepared. There was no other path for him. Jean’s future was perfectly set.

But now…

The sharp ring of the classroom telephone pierces through Jean’s heart. It struggles to keep pace with the pounding in his ears. He’s been dreading this moment for months, imagining this exact scenario so often he lost count. And while there’s a slight chance this phone call isn’t related to him at all, Jean knows that it is. 

His world goes quiet as Dr. Zoe answers the phone. He clenches his hands into fists beneath his desk, holding on to his last few seconds of hope that his worst nightmare isn’t coming true.    

And then, Dr. Zoe hangs up and looks right at him. 

“Jean. You’re leaving.”

Jean keeps his face neutral as he packs up his things. He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone. Doesn’t say goodbye on his way out. Just walks through the empty hallways like a zombie until he reaches the front office.

Pépé waits by the secretary’s desk. When he sees Jean, he forces a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He has on the same sweater and lounge pants he wore to bed last night. He threw on his old fishing hat, which means his white hair is an uncombed mess under it.    

“Hey kid.”

His voice is gentle. No hint of the jolly, overly animated grandfather Jean’s known for sixteen years. If his suspicions are true, he doubts he’ll ever see that version of Pépé again.

The walk to the car is silent. Jean welcomes it and rejects it at the same time. Facing reality is the last thing Jean wants to do. He wouldn’t mind living in ignorance a bit longer. But the sooner Pépé gives it to him straight, the sooner Jean can process it. 

He slides into the passenger seat as Pépé gets behind the wheel. Pépé doesn’t turn the car on. He just rests his hands in his lap and lowers his head.  

“Just say it,” Jean tells him. “I can take it.”

He waits for the words. She’s dead. Months of chemotherapy and bedrest and uprooting their entire existence have amounted to nothing. Jean’s prepared for this. He swears he has. The doctor warned them in advance they had a tough road ahead. That doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Pépé takes a deep breath. “She’s back in the hospital. She has pneumonia.”

“What?” Jean asks in disbelief. 

“Yeah. That happens sometimes. The trials leave her immune system so weak that she’s more susceptible to catching it. Which also means she's less likely to overcome it.”

Jean doesn’t know what to say. Of all his concerns he had about his mother’s condition, this never once crossed his mind. An ovarian cancer diagnosis carries enough severity on its own. He figured if his mom passed, it would be the cancer itself that took her out. Now he also has to worry about a damn respiratory infection?

“Look,” Pépé says, “your mom’s a fighter. We both know that. But the doctor says it’s not looking good.”

Jean suppresses his rage before he unleashes it on Pépé. Taking things out on his grandfather solves nothing. Pépé has been struggling just as much watching his daughter go through this, even though he tries to hide it from Jean.

But damn, it’s just not fair. Jean’s mom is only forty-one. Before this all happened, she was thriving. Her diner was a Trost staple. The food was always exquisite. She befriended her frequent customers. She even offered leftovers to the homeless on a regular basis.

And she did it all with a smile. If there’s one thing Vera Kirstein is known for, it’s for having a heart of gold. 

And this is how the world repays her. 

“How long?” Jean asks.

“I don’t know,” Pépé replies. “According to the doctor, could be days. Could be hours.”

Jean stares out the window, dreaming of a time when he wasn’t counting down the seconds to his mother’s death. Not only is he losing her, but he’s losing her in the worst possible way: slowly and painfully. 

He feels Pépé’s hand on his knee. “I’m sorry, honey.”

Jean doesn’t answer. He knows if he tries to, he’ll succumb to tears. And he’d rather save those for another time.

*

Jean has never liked hospitals. The excessive use of white creeps him out. He’d hate to die in one of these places, void of any personality or joy. Not to mention the food tastes like shit. Jean cooked better meals as a five-year-old using his Easy-Bake Oven.

Mémé is already in the room at Vera's bedside. Jean holds his breath before he and Pépé enter. At first, he keeps his gaze solely on Mémé. He’ll never get used to seeing his mother hooked up to IVs and a bunch of other equipment he can’t even name.   

“Hi sweetie,” Mémé says cautiously.  

Jean nods. “How is she?”

Once the words leave his lips, he finally turns to her. It’s an instant punch to the stomach. He hasn’t recognized his mom for months now, but this is the worst it’s ever been. Not because of the hair, or lack thereof. It’s the withering away of everything that makes Vera the person she is.

Her eyes are closed. It’s probably for the best that she's sleeping. If she were awake, she’d certainly be in pain. An oxygen mask takes up the lower half of her face like she's some sort of machine.

She’s essentially skin and bones now, which is a drastic transformation for a foodie like her. More importantly, Vera had a true zest for life. Nothing kept her down for long. Now she’s too weak to do much of anything except sleep.

“She’s resting,” Mémé says. Jean doesn’t call her out for stating the obvious. There’s really no right thing to say.

He turns back to his grandparents. “Can I have a moment?”

Pépé squeezes his shoulder. “Of course.”

They trickle out of the room. Jean takes the seat next to his mom’s bed that puts his back facing the door. He doesn’t need anyone walking by seeing what he looks like. 

He takes a moment to study her. He watches the light rise and fall of her chest, his stare harsh enough to burn a hole through her. He can’t look away even if he wants to. He needs that confirmation she’s still alive. 

He slips his hand toward hers. It’s covered in bandages and connected to an IV, so he can’t hold it properly. But as he places his fingers over hers, he’s taken aback by how cold they are. Vera was always warm. Her hands. Her smile. Just her in general. Jean would question if it’s really her beneath that oxygen mask if her name weren’t written on her hospital bracelet.

“Hi Mom.”

Vera’s breathing remains steady. Other than that, she doesn’t move. 

“Can you hear me?”

Nothing. Not even a twitch of the hand. Jean blinks his tears away before they slip past his eyelids. Though there’s not much he can do about the wobble in his voice.

“I guess it doesn’t matter if you can or not,” he tells her. “I don’t really know what to say anyway.”

This isn’t his first time in this situation. Vera’s spent many nights in the hospital over the last several months. Three of those times, doctors warned Jean’s family it might be her last night. Jean’s done the goodbye speeches. They’re never easy. Though this is the first one that Vera isn’t awake to hear. 

“I love you,” he chokes out. He rubs her delicate hand. “I’m sorry you’re hurting. I wish I could make it better.”

This is the part where Vera assures him it’s okay. That he’s strong and brave and that she’s so proud of the man he’s turned into. That she wants him to keep going and to look for her in every rainbow. That he’s the best thing that's ever happened to her and every ounce of pain she’s ever endured in this life was worth it because she got to spend this life as his mom. 

But Vera says nothing.

This time, Jean lets the tears fall. 

He gently lays his head in her lap, something he hasn’t done since he was a little boy, and sobs into her hospital gown. He waits for her breathing to stop, for her heart rate to flatline, for the last bit of warmth he feels curling into her to pass on with the rest of her.  

That’s all Jean can do at this point.

*

When Jean opens his eyes, there’s a strain in his neck. He stretches it out while rubbing the exhaustion off his face. 

Nurses move in and out of the room, tending to Vera. She’s still asleep, still breathing, still alive. Jean slides back in his chair to give them room, though the distance he puts between himself and Vera is agonizing. He wants nothing more than to hug her, even if it’s for the last time.

Moonlight seeps through the window. Jean would find it beautiful under any other circumstance. He must’ve been in here for hours. For all he knows, it may already be Saturday. Whatever. It’s not like he has school. Even if it were a weekday, he still wouldn’t go. Jean shouldn’t be anywhere but here.

Once the nurses leave, Pépé steps in. He appears to have aged a decade in the few hours since Jean’s seen him. Pépé is actually in great shape for his age, though that's less obvious these days.  

“Jean,” he says. “We need to get going.”

“No,” Jean pleads. He looks back to Vera, then again to Pépé. “I can’t just leave.”

Pépé frowns. “I need to get Mémé home and the hospital won’t let you stay without an adult present.”

Jean wants to protest, but he can’t. His grandma’s needs are just as important as his own. And it’s not her fault the hospital doesn’t allow minor visitors unsupervised. It just doesn’t feel right leaving without Vera.

“We can come back first thing tomorrow,” Pépé says. 

Jean nods and swallows down the sentiment that crawls up his throat: they may not get a tomorrow.

“Fine,” he mutters instead. He faces Vera once more, perhaps for the final time. He kisses her hand, then kisses it again. 

Then he shuts his eyes and stands up. If he doesn’t turn away now, he’ll never be able to. On his way out, Jean doesn’t even wish that Vera lasts to the morning. Because that’ll just be for his benefit, not hers. 

All he wishes is for her pain to go away, even if that means increasing his.

*   

Four months in this house and Jean still can’t call it home. It doesn’t help that he’s barely unpacked anything. Just the essentials. If he starts to unpack and remodel this shabby bedroom to match his tastes, that’s the same as admitting that this is his new reality. 

At least this house is familiar. Vera grew up in this house. This was actually her old bedroom. Jean’s spent many Christmases in this home. So many cherished memories live in this space. But it’s still not his space. 

Of course, it beats the alternative. If Mémé and Pépé didn’t have a house big enough for Jean and Vera to move into, Jean doesn’t want to know what would’ve happened to them. It’s the only reason Vera can afford her cancer treatments. If she’s suffering as much as she is right now, Jean may have actually died of a broken heart watching her go through her battle unmedicated. 

He can’t sleep. There’s no point in trying. Pépé can enter at any moment with news from the hospital. The news no kid wants to hear but Jean fully expects to hear within the next twenty-four hours. 

He’s broken. He’s angry. He wants to scream and cry and hide from the world all at once. If he bottles this in any longer, he’s going to explode.

Jean pulls out his phone. He shouldn’t, but he opens his chat window with Hitch. Their messages have been getting less frequent as time goes by. Jean’s not even sure he misses her anymore. He misses talking to her at the very least. She was the one that comforted him in her arms when he first learned about Vera’s diagnosis. 

Funny how quickly that changed.

He sends two messages before he can talk himself out of it.    

Jean

Mom’s in the hospital again. I think this is it

I don’t know what to do

Minutes pass. He’s tempted to throw his phone at the wall. He’s wanted to do that plenty of times since their relationship fell apart. Maybe they were always meant to break up and Jean moving away just expedited that. But it couldn’t have happened at a worse time.

Finally, after eight long minutes, Hitch responds.     

Hitch

Sorry to hear that

Jean flips over and punches his pillow. The bed creaks beneath him, shattering his ears. Back when Hitch actually gave a shit about him, she would've called him after receiving a message like that. Or at least send him a more meaningful text than the one Jean got. Not responding at all would've hurt less.

And yet, Jean pathetically waits for her to text again. Just a sign that she still cares about him. She wasn’t just his girlfriend or his first love. She was his friend, someone he could count on. If he can’t even have that anymore, what the fuck can he have?

After punching his pillow into oblivion, Jean reaches for his phone again. This time, he pulls up a different text conversation.  

Jay 🥀

I can’t do this

Ren answers instantly. 

Ren 🐢🧁

What’s wrong?

Jay 🥀

My mom

Ren 🐢🧁

Do you want to talk about it?

Jay 🥀

Not really

Just help me take my mind off it

Ren 🐢🧁

Can do

Want to see a cute photo of my friend’s cat?

Jean smiles. Ren always knows how to lift his mood. It’s a bit scary that someone he only knows online understands him this well.  

Jay 🥀

Yes please

A black cat with bright yellow eyes takes up the screen. Ren must’ve taken the photo on the floor since the cat’s nuzzling its face against the rug.

Jean’s face lights up. He doesn’t have any pets due to his mom’s allergies, so he lives vicariously through his friends. And while he says this every time, this may actually be the cutest cat he’s ever seen. 

Jay 🥀

Okay I’m in love with her

Ren 🐢🧁

Her name’s Fallon

She’s a demon but she’s fucking adorable 

Jay 🥀

I doubt that

You must’ve pissed her off somehow

Ren 🐢🧁

Oh sure, take her side

I’m telling you she’s evil 😭

Jay 🥀

That face is too cute to be evil

I’m Team Fallon, sorry

Ren 🐢🧁

Wow

The betrayal

I’m hurt

Jay 🥀

Can you blame me

You know i love cats

Ren 🐢🧁

I guess not

You are forgiven 

The weight on Jean’s shoulders fades into nothing. Even though it’s temporary, he’s grateful for it. Months of anguish and heartbreak and resentment building within him and Ren demolishes it in a single conversation. 

If it weren’t for Ren, Jean would have lost his sanity by now. All thanks to a chance encounter. One of his tweets about a popular reality show called Fake or Break went viral and Ren just happened to reply to it. They tweeted a bit back and forth until they switched to DMs. After a few weeks they moved to Discord. Now they talk every day about anything and everything.

Jean doesn’t have any friends at his new school. Not real ones, at least. He has people he hangs around with, but nothing like the bonds he had back in Trost. Ren’s the closest friend he’s made since moving away. At this point, Ren’s one of his closest friends period.   

Jay 🥀

Do you have plans tomorrow morning

Ren 🐢🧁

Do I ever have plans lol

Jay 🥀

True lol

Stay up with me?

He can’t get through this alone. And maybe it’s not fair to ask Ren to share his stress. But he’d do the same for Ren. In fact, Jean does it every Thursday night. And he’ll do it for all the Thursday nights to follow. He’s never even met Ren and he’d take a bullet for him. When someone that special enters your life, you do all you can to keep them around.   

Ren 🐢🧁

Of course

Jean smiles again. The rest of the night can play out terribly. Hell, Pépé can barge in right now and say the words that’ll shatter Jean’s world forever. None of that will change what Jean’s feeling right now.

Because right now, as brief as it may be, Jean feels like his old self again.   

Chapter Text

If Eren’s dad were here, he’d scold Eren for demonstrating such poor posture. 

He slumps deeper into his seat as his friends talk around him. He punches away at his phone, excitement cutting into his cheeks each time Jay replies. They’ve been texting endlessly since Friday night and have now carried their conversation into the school week. Eren couldn’t reply during his classes, so he’s using his lunch period to make up for lost time. 

“Why aren’t you eating?”

At first, Eren assumes Mikasa’s talking to him. He’s about to tell her to mind her business but Armin cuts him off.  

“I’m a little busy.”

“Doing?”

Armin taps his fingers against the lunch table in a steady rhythm. “I’m going over my lines in my head.”

Mikasa pauses, likely to cast her signature judgmental glare. “And that’s more important than that perfectly crafted milkshake next to you because?”

“Because I need to practice. Eren, will you run lines with me after school?”

“Sure,” Eren says, finally looking up from his phone. Armin has his script in front of him, opened to a random scene. “You can come to my house.” He turns to Mikasa. “You too.”

“Can Annie come?” Mikasa asks.

Eren grimaces. “Annie hates me.”

“No she doesn’t.”

“She kind of does,” Armin mutters.

Mikasa does her best to look offended, but Eren sees through it. While he’s excited that at least someone in their trio of queer outcasts has found love, he’s well aware that Mikasa’s girlfriend isn’t his biggest fan. Not that Annie seems to be a fan of anyone other than Mikasa, but that’s not the point. 

Mikasa dismissively swats at the air. “Whatever.” She fixates back on Armin. “What do you need to run lines for anyway? You already have the whole thing memorized.”

“It’s not just about memorizing,” Armin replies, digging his index finger into his script. “I need to perfect my line delivery.”

“Armin, we already know you’re destined for Broadway. Even Mr. Smith says so.”

“Well excuse me for trying to make that destiny a reality.”

The table falls silent. The noisy cafeteria takes over the conversation. Four tables down, Reiner Braun has Floch Forster in a headlock. They’re both laughing, along with the rest of the table that has more occupants than it does seats. Eren doesn’t understand meathead humor, nor does he understand how people like that parade themselves as the top of the high school food chain. Perhaps that’s why the only two friends he has are the same ones he’s had since second grade.     

Armin clicks his tongue at Mikasa. “Why aren’t you bothering Eren? At least I have food. He hasn’t even gotten anything yet.”

Mikasa smirks and pushes the bangs out of her face. “I don’t want to interrupt him while he texts his boyfriend.”

Eren glares at her. “Stop it.”

Armin perks up in his seat. “He didn’t deny it.”

Great. In a split second, the atmosphere shifts from Armin versus Mikasa to Eren versus both of them. Once they get started, there’s no slowing them down. Which, perhaps, is his karma for teasing Mikasa relentlessly about her crush on Annie before they started dating. But at least there was some truth behind his teasing. When it comes to Jay, his friends can’t be more wrong.  

“There’s nothing to deny. Jay and I are just friends.”

“So you are texting him,” Mikasa says. 

Eren glances back at his phone. Jay’s messaged him again. He suppresses the giddiness that desperately wants to rise to the surface. 

He’s just excited. Eren hasn’t connected with anyone new in years, at least not on this level. He already knows Armin and Mikasa like the back of his hand, so there's nothing more to learn. With Jay, it’s different. Every day he finds out something new, like that they share the same zodiac sign. Or that Jay has an unhealthy yet endearing love for silly animal videos.

Eren looks back to Mikasa. “We’re just friends,” he repeats.

Armin snorts. “Tell that to your face. Even Mikasa doesn’t smile that much when Annie is around.”

“That’s because Mikasa doesn’t smile.”

“Neither do you.” With a taunting grin, he slides his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Until now, at least.”

Heat rushes to Eren’s face. His lunch table is in the center of the cafeteria, pathetically vacant compared to every table around them, but he feels oddly claustrophobic. He’s being smothered by incorrect assumptions. Just because Eren is gay, that doesn’t mean he has to fall for the first guy that’s decent toward him. Sure, Jay is sweet and thoughtful and talented, and of course Eren admires the hell out of him, but that’s all it is. Admiration. If he’s stupid enough to actually develop feelings for Jay, he’s setting himself up for disappointment. 

Maybe that’s why his heart clenches a little tighter.

He scoffs. “Man, fuck you guys.”

Mikasa’s smile turns sympathetic. “We’re just messing with you.” 

“Well stop.” Eren slips his phone back in his pocket. “Jay’s straight. And I don’t even like him like that.”

“Good,” Armin says. “For all you know, he could be some forty-year-old creep.”

Eren scowls. “He’s not.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

He doesn’t care how childish he sounds. Nor that he’s being hypocritical. If Mikasa were to meet someone online, he’d have plenty of suspicions and concerns for her safety. But when talking to Jay, Eren can tell he’s the real deal. Jay is honest and respectful and listens to Eren’s frustrations, rarely asking for anything in return. 

And in the negative one percent chance that Jay is lying about his age, Eren’s already taking precautions. Jay still doesn’t know his real name or where he lives. They’ve never seriously discussed meeting in person, not that Eren expects them to. At least not for several years. And that’s assuming they’ll still be friends by then.

This interrogation has rid him of his already minimal appetite, but he can’t sit here any longer. He kicks out his chair and heads for the lunch line. It’s halfway through the period so there’s only one kid in front of him. He scans the lunch options. Nothing looks particularly appetizing. It’s impressive how this school can afford new uniforms and equipment for the football team every year but can’t afford to feed its students anything edible.

The least offensive option is a grilled cheese sandwich with a small chocolate chip cookie on the side. It’s the only one left. Eren won’t eat the whole thing, but he can pick at it until the bell rings. It’ll give him an excuse to ignore his friends if they tease him about Jay again.

He reaches for the tray, only to stop when another hand grabs it the same time as him.

To his right, he’s displeased to find Jean Kirstein studying him. An awkward silence passes, neither of them taking their hands off the tray. 

“Can I help you?” Jean says. The snideness in his tone does not go unnoticed. 

“You can help by letting go.”

Eren doesn’t mean to say it. And if he does, he means to say it under his breath. But it comes out at full volume, surprising them both. 

“What’d you just say to me?” Jean snaps at him.

Eren’s tempted to say it again. Give Jean a taste of his own medicine. How badly Eren would love ripping out those stupid ear piercings and watching his blood paint the floors. Jean was never Eren’s favorite person, but he’s been testing his patience more than usual lately. And Eren is not in the mood for Jean’s bullshit right now.

He masks his anger and lets go, sacrificing the last grilled cheese to get away from the infuriating sight in front of him. 

“Nothing,” he says sarcastically. 

He shifts to the rest of the food options, deciding which one will turn his stomach the least. But then Jean speaks again. 

“That’s what I thought, asshole.”

At that moment, Eren’s last bit of restraint jumps out the window. 

He sneers at Jean. “That’s all you’re good for, running your mouth. I bet your mother is real proud to have raised a degenerate like you.”

Jean’s eyes go dark. It’s weirdly satisfying. Jean walks around school with a permanent scowl on his face, but it was always a look of annoyance, not fury.

Right now, he looks like he genuinely wants to kill Eren.

The first punch knocks Eren off his feet. The left half of his face goes numb. He swallows down the blood that forms at the corner of his mouth. 

When Jean climbs on top of him, a crowd forms around them. They cheer and chant as Jean punches Eren again. Eren punches him right back, catching Jean off guard. He takes the opportunity to switch their positions. It earns him a big reaction from annoying spectators.  

His mini victory is short-lived, though. Jean socks Eren in the gut and almost makes him throw up his nonexistent lunch. He falls on his back, dread pooling in his stomach as Jean hovers over him. Jean’s rage has only intensified. Face bruised and bloody, he raises his fist again, ready to knock Eren unconscious.         

“Hey! That’s enough!”

Mr. Smith holds Jean back the same time Mr. Ackerman steps in between them. The crowd groans that their free entertainment is cut short. Eren’s relieved however, though he won’t admit that out loud.

But when Mr. Ackerman turns to him, that relief vanishes.

Mr. Ackerman pulls him to his feet. Eren keeps his head down, avoiding eye contact. It doesn’t help. He still burns with embarrassment under Mr. Ackerman’s steel gray stare.

“Come with me,” he says.

Eren follows him out of the cafeteria. On his way out, he catches Mikasa’s and Armin’s bewildered faces. He offers them a weak shrug. It’s the best explanation he can think of.  

He enters Mr. Ackerman’s empty classroom with the wind knocked out of his sails. Twenty-five desks are available for his choosing, though Eren just sits on the floor against the wall. He finally looks at Mr. Ackerman, who’s holding a cold compress. 

He offers it to Eren. Some of his frustration has subsided, but not completely. “What the hell were you thinking?” 

Eren pouts like a child and shields the compress over his eye. “He attacked me first.”

“I was standing right there, Eren. You antagonized him. Jean may have started it but you weren’t exactly shutting it down.”

A tired sigh leaves Eren’s lips. Any pride that he had for standing up to that jerk is long gone. He knows he overreacted.  

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t know why I did that.”

Mr. Ackerman paces the room, settling in the center with his hands on his hips. “You know you’ll be suspended for this, right?”

Eren goes still. He’s never even been in detention, now he’s being suspended? His dad is going to lose it when he finds out. Eren’s not scared of his dad, but Grisha Jaeger doesn’t need a reason to hate Eren more than he already does. 

Mr. Ackerman relaxes upon observing Eren’s expression. “It’ll be okay. I’ll make sure you’re written up for in-school suspension. You’ll come to school an hour early for the rest of the week and sit in detention. And I’ll make sure it won’t go on your permanent record.”

Okay, that’s not too bad. The hardest part will be waking up an hour early every day. Eren’s the type to set five alarms and roll out of bed at the last minute. But his punishment could be a lot worse, so he’ll take what he can get.   

Eren nods. “Understood.”

Mr. Ackerman pauses. Then, with a heavy sigh, he crouches down to meet Eren at eye level. 

“Listen, I know high school can be tough.”

Eren appreciates what his teacher is trying to do, but he’s not in the mood for a condescending pep talk. “Don’t try to relate to me, Mr. Ackerman.”

Mr. Ackerman offers a rare smile. “You don’t think I got bullied when I was your age? Kids made fun of my height and—” He looks off to the side. “—well, a few other things. But it gets better. I know it doesn’t feel that way right now, but it does.” He squeezes Eren’s shoulder. “I promise.”

Eren lets the words sit for a moment. There’s probably some truth to them. But it’s not just high school. It’s everything. The torment he faces from idiots like Jean barely scratches the surface as to why his life feels so vacant. But he doubts Mr. Ackerman is equipped to unpack sixteen years worth of disappointment and isolation.   

So instead, Eren simply answers, “I hope so.”

*

“This can’t be happening! They put people in the electric chair for killin’ people! What are we gonna do?”

Eren sets the script down and rolls onto his back. “All right, I’m with Mikasa. You don’t need any more practice.”

Armin huffs. They’re rehearsing lines in Eren’s living room. The coffee table is pushed out of the way so they can lay on the floor. It’s just the two of them. Mikasa already had plans to see Annie and Eren didn’t care to have Annie in his house. She was technically invited since he’d never exclude Mikasa, but either Annie declined or Mikasa decided to skip for everyone’s benefit. 

That’s the tough part about friends getting into relationships. Not everyone meshes well. At least he and Armin can count on each other. Armin is aroace and has no interest in relationships (outside of teasing his friends about theirs), and Eren has no dating prospects and doesn’t see that changing for a very long time. Definitely after high school at least. 

So, as the single Pringles they are, they spend Monday afternoons going over the script for The Outsiders. Monday is literally their only day off from play rehearsals yet they’re still all about the play. But even Eren has his limits. They’ve been practicing for hours and his jaw is starting to hurt. Plus, Armin has nailed every line delivery with ease. If he were anyone else, Eren would accuse him of using this practice session as an excuse to show off.

But Armin’s a perfectionist just like Eren. They just utilize their perfectionism differently. That’s why Armin scored the lead role and why Eren didn’t score anything.         

“Fine,” Armin says. “Want to watch a movie?”

“Sure.” Eren springs to his feet. “Let me get some snacks.”

Armin follows him into the kitchen. Eren rummages through the cabinets for anything movie appropriate. There’s a half eaten bag of pretzels, some leftover holiday cookies, and a box of pound cake.

“Your pantry is so empty,” Armin says. His tone is half disgust, half pity. 

Eren settles for the pretzel bag. “Dad hasn’t been grocery shopping.”

“A house this big yet there’s no food.”

“Life of a doctor,” Eren says with a shrug. He tries to mask his feelings, but he figures Armin sees through him. Either way, Armin doesn’t comment on it. 

They get comfortable on the living room sofa. The pretzel bag sits between them. Eren flips through the numerous streaming services his dad pays for, unable to land on one. 

“So what are we in the mood for?”

“Honestly I’m fine with anything,” Armin says, reclining in his seat.  

Eren’s about to flip to Netflix, but is interrupted by the front door opening. At first, he assumes Mikasa let herself in, possibly cutting her date with Annie short. But then he hears the familiar sound of leather loafers announcing their presence on the marble floor. 

“Oh. Dad,” he says. A tiny smile forms on his face. “You’re home early.”

This is a rare occurrence. Grisha Jaeger usually gets home after Eren has dinner. Except Thursdays, when he doesn’t come home at all. Eren’s used to faring on his own, and he understands Grisha works more because he’s a single parent, but he won’t pretend he doesn’t miss him. 

Grisha kicks off his shoes in the entryway and adjusts the Mancini bag over his shoulder. “Yeah. Someone came early for their shift so I stepped out. Hi Armin.”

“Hi Mr. Jaeger.”

“We were about to put a movie on,” Eren pipes up. “Do you want to watch with us? We can put on—”

“Eren,” Grisha says, holding his hand out. “I just walked through the door. Give me a minute.”

Eren deflates into himself. Shame chruns in his stomach. It’s his own fault for getting his hopes up. He doesn’t even know why he bothers. 

Grisha checks his watch. “Shouldn’t you be doing homework anyway?”

Eren turns to Armin, who looks just as awkward as Eren feels. Things usually take an awkward turn when Grisha’s around. Armin and Mikasa are used to it, but Eren wants to crawl into a hole and hide every time.

They communicate silently. Armin frowns while Eren gives an apologetic shrug. He feels terrible, but he’ll feel more terrible if Armin has to sit through this any longer. 

“I should go,” Armin announces. 

“No,” Grisha says, almost too quickly. He sighs. “Armin, you know you’re always welcome here.”

“Yeah, but I do have a lot of homework to get done.” He eyes Eren hesitantly. “And I left most of my textbooks at home, so…”

Eren nods and says nothing else.

Grisha nods as well. He still hasn’t moved from the entryway. “Right. Well, it was nice seeing you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Armin says to Eren. He gathers his belongings, offers Grisha a quick goodbye, and rushes out without looking back.

The silence that follows is deafening, though Eren makes no effort to speak. His father always shuts him down when he does anyway.

Grisha steps into the living room, setting his bag on the floor. He approaches Eren tentatively.

“Eren, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

Eren stays silent. He picks at a loose piece of fuzz on the couch. He wants to believe Grisha, but he’s been burned too many times to fall for it. For Eren’s whole life, it’s been just the two of them. Yet Grisha can’t make it more obvious he’d rather be alone than have Eren for a son.

Grisha’s lips part slightly. “What happened to your face?”

Eren scowls and looks away, doing his best to hide his bruises. He fights back the tears. Grisha can pretend he’s concerned all he wants. Eren’s not letting himself be embarrassed twice in a row.

“Eren.”

Eren storms out and runs upstairs. Grisha calls after him, but Eren doesn’t turn back. He’s spent sixteen years alone. An extra night of solitude won’t damage him any further.

He slams his bedroom door. Locks it behind him. Jumps into his bed and longs for the life he’ll never get. He imagines what it would be like to have a father who doesn’t resent him. One who actually looks forward to spending time with him.  

The worst part? Eren can’t even blame Grisha for hating him. If anything, he commends his father for bottling it in for so long. He’s never said the words out loud, but Eren expects they’ll slip out one day, once Grisha has finally had enough.

The words won’t even hurt at that point. It’s more painful continuing to hold on to that sliver of hope that Grisha actually gives a shit about him. That there’s a slight chance he doesn’t regret Eren’s existence. But how can he not? Eren’s the reason that Grisha’s life is permanently changed for the worse.

That’s all Eren is. A plague. His existence is a curse to his own family, and he’s reminded every day with a dad who can’t stand being in the same room as him.

He’s not going to cry. He’s wasted too many tears over this. Today, he wants to forget how much he hates himself and enjoy the few good things his otherwise sad life has brought him.

His enjoyment comes in the form of an unanswered text.

Jay sends him an image over Discord. Eren’s mouth waters just looking at it. Six red velvet cupcakes take up the screen, adorably decorated with cream cheese frosting and red sprinkles.    

Jay 🥀

Here, you get an exclusive sneak peek before I post

Ren 🐢🧁

OMG

Those look amazing 😍

Jay 🥀

I made them in your honor

I’m naming them Ren Velvet Deluxe ❤️

Not in the actual caption though bc that would be weird lol

Eren’s heart clenches so hard it may actually bust open. He’s doing his best to compose himself when Jay talks to him, but how can he when his friend is just so…sweet?

Ren 🐢🧁

Aw 😊

I feel special

Jay 🥀

You should

I know I already thanked you like ten times

But seriously

Thanks for helping me out this weekend

Eren smiles. Yesterday, Jay finally opened up about what was going on with his mom. Eren knew she had cancer, but apparently she was admitted in the hospital on Friday for pneumonia. It almost killed her. But Jay says she’s steadily recovering, a surprise even to her doctors. Cancer can still take her at any moment, but Jay is choosing to be optimistic, so Eren is too. 

Ren 🐢🧁

You know I’m always here for you

Jay 🥀

I know

Eren thinks of what to type next. He wants to say something witty. Or at least something interesting that’ll keep Jay wanting to talk to him. But before he can come up with anything, Jay messages him again.

Jay 🥀

I’m always here for you too

Just to be clear

Like if you ever need anything

Please tell me

Even if you just need to vent

I promise I won’t judge

With each message, Eren’s stunned further into silence. Jay’s never been so forward before. They definitely grew closer over the weekend, but Eren didn’t realize how close until now. This isn’t something you say unless you truly value the friendship you have with somebody.

Jay values Eren. Values their friendship. So much that he wants to be there for Eren at all times.

Eren doesn’t know how to respond to such a declaration. He knows how he feels, which is the exact opposite of how he wants to feel. But he can’t help it. He can deny it to his friends all he wants, but he can’t deny it to himself.

I think I like you, he types out.

He deletes it before pressing send. Jay means well, but Eren doubts he wants to hear everything on Eren’s mind. It also serves no purpose. There’s no point in confessing to someone who’s not interested in guys. That just makes things awkward for both parties.

So even though it pains him, Eren keeps his feelings inside, vowing to never let them out. Like father, like son.

Ren 🐢🧁

Will do ☺️

Chapter Text

“What’s got you smiling back there?”

Jean looks up from his phone. “Huh?”

Pépé’s face lights up in the rearview mirror. “I haven’t seen you smile like that in weeks.”

Him pointing it out only makes Jean smile more. He holds back a giggle like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

But Jean can say the same thing about Pépé. This is the liveliest he’s been in a while. Truthfully, Vera defying the odds and surviving her pneumonia has put them all in better spirits.

“I’m just texting my friend,” he says.

“Is it Hitch? Are you two back together?”

“No.” Jean ignores the mixed feelings festering in his stomach at the sound of her name.

“Girl at your new school?”

This time Jean actually does giggle. He perks up in the backseat. “Why are you assuming it’s a girl?”

“I was a teenage boy once too, you know,” Pépé says. “I’d recognize that look anywhere.”

Jean furrows his brows. “What look?”

“Oh, leave him alone, Louis,” Mémé says, lightly smacking Pépé on the arm. “Don’t embarrass him.”

“Right.” Pépé nods at Jean through the rearview. “Carry on, honey.”

Jean returns to his phone, still confused about what his grandfather is referring to. He fails to see the significance of finding Ren’s texts amusing. Who wouldn’t smile while debating which Disney Princess would win the Hunger Games? For the record, the correct answer is Mulan, but Ren’s relentless defense of Elsa is highly entertaining.    

Ren 🐢🧁

She can literally freeze everyone to death

And sing a whole ballad while doing it

The capital would love her

It’s moments like these that have Jean wishing he knew Ren in real life. He imagines how animated Ren would be as they challenge each other with their silly debates. Ren’s probably the type that speaks with his whole body when he gets worked up, pacing the room and bouncing off the walls while Jean’s dying of laughter.

He can picture it so clearly, even without knowing what Ren looks or sounds like. Admittedly, Jean would love to know those things. It’d be nice to put a face to the name. He and Ren have shared so much with one another, it seems strange that they’ve never shared the most basic aspect about themselves. But Jean’s aware there are dangers about befriending people online, and with dangers come boundaries. He doesn’t want to cross any that will make Ren uncomfortable.

Maybe one day they’ll hit that milestone. But Jean accepts that it likely won’t happen for a very long time. For now, he’s just happy to know someone he can depend on no matter what.

He peers out the window. Familiar street lights and buildings come into view. They’re almost there.  

Jay 🥀

We’ll be at the hospital soon

Can I text you later?

Ren 🐢🧁

Of course!

I hope it goes well ❤️

Jean smiles again, relieved Pépé is too busy driving to call him out on it. Every day, he’s blown away by how kind Ren is. Probably kinder than Jean deserves. If Ren found out Jean picked a fight with someone at school today, he’d likely be disappointed. Ren has a good head on his shoulders. Even if Eren deserved that beating to the highest degree, Ren would’ve done the mature thing and walked away.

Pépé pulls into the hospital parking garage. At this point he should be compensated with his own parking permit. It’s kind of messed up that people are expected to pay every time they want to visit their sick loved ones.

Jean hugs his cupcake tin against his stomach. He hopes Vera likes them. Sweet as she is, she’s also his harshest critic. She’s never mean about it, and she showers Jean with praise every step of the way, but her inner foodie loves to give Jean tips for improving his skills.     

Above all else, he’s just excited to see her. Saturday was rough and she spent most of it resting, but she was up and alert yesterday. It was something of a modern miracle. He really thought this was it. But Vera clearly still wants to be here, and her determination is stronger than any disease. So as long as he has her, Jean won’t take a single minute for granted. 

When he steps into her hospital room, her smile is the greatest gift. She still looks fragile, traces of fatigue lingering within her eyes, but her spirit shines through all the same.

“Hi Mom.”

“Oh, hi my love.”

Vera holds out her hand. Jean sits beside her and takes it, Pépé and Mémé greeting Vera from behind him. Normally they kiss Vera when they see her, but it’s not advised while she recovers from a respiratory infection. There are two chairs on the other side of Vera’s hospital bed, but they stay standing. Jean assumes they prefer to keep their distance since it hurts too much to not interact with their daughter the way they want.

Vera is too focused on Jean to notice. She cups his cheek, her small hand cold against his skin. Jean covers it with his own.

Vera’s smile drops when she notices Jean’s bruised lip. “What happened?”

“It’s not important,” Jean says. The last thing Vera needs to know is that he fought some punk at school. He reaches for the tin in his lap. “Look, I made you something.”

He removes the lid, revealing his newest batch of red velvet cupcakes. Inspired by Ren, of course, but he doesn’t mention that part.

Jean scrunches his face. “There were six in here.”

He’s two cupcakes short. He turns to the most likely suspect.

Pépé holds his hands up. “Don’t look at me.”

Mémé, on the other hand, doesn’t even bother to hide her guilt.

Jean frowns. “Mémé!”

“Relax,” Mémé says. “Your mom’s not going to eat all of them.”

Vera offers a gentle laugh. “I’d probably enter a sugar coma if I did. I’ll take one for later, though. I could use some real food for a change.”

She places a single cupcake on her food tray. 

“This looks lovely.” She beams at Jean. “Though that’s no surprise.”

Her sincerity tugs at his heartstrings. He can’t imagine a world where that’s taken away from him.

“How are you?”

“I’m in good spirits today,” Vera says. “Obviously I feel much better just seeing you.”

Her hand finds his face again. She drifts toward Jean’s left ear, the one that has both a lobe and helix piercing.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to these,” she teases. “You used to be so scared of needles.”

Jean flushes, but doesn’t pull away from her touch. “Yeah, when I was like, five.”

Okay, maybe Jean is still a little scared of needles. But when he first learned about Vera’s cancer diagnosis, he had so much pain and frustration inside him and he needed a way to unleash that. Out of the options he considered, getting a few ear piercings seemed the healthiest. He doesn’t hate how they turned out either. Girls at his new school think they look badass. Jean’s not looking for a girlfriend, but the attention is nice.   

Vera fixates back on Jean’s lip. “Will you tell me what happened now?”

Jean drops his shoulders. He knows she won’t let up until he tells her the truth. And if there’s one thing Jean won’t do, it’s lie to his mother.

“I got into a fight.”

She frowns. “Jean boy.”

“He started it,” Jean says. He doesn’t mention what exactly Eren said. He’s taking that to his grave. “And since I stood up for myself I doubt he’ll start anything with me again.”

She doesn’t lecture him, which is good. He already dealt with that with Pépé the moment he walked through the front door. But there’s hesitancy in Vera’s expression, like she knows there’s more to the story.

“School is fine, Mom,” Jean insists. “I’ve made friends.”

“You bet he has,” Pépé chimes in.

Mémé smacks him again. “Stop it.”

“You should invite them to the house sometime,” Vera tells Jean. “I’d love to meet them.”

“Oh.”

Jean should’ve seen this coming. It’s not that he’s lying about making friends at school. Reiner and his gang embraced Jean almost right away. But for some reason, Jean’s not enthused about any of them meeting Vera. The only new friend he wants to introduce Vera to is Ren, but that’s never happening.

“Um, sure,” he says. He squeezes her hand. “But you need to get better first.”

Vera offers a pointed grin. “That’s the plan.” She sounds like she means it.

Jean doesn’t know how she does it. If he had to deal with half her struggles, he would’ve died a long time ago. But Vera confronts all of it head-on with a smile. She never complains. She never gets upset. She simply refuses to give up. Vera Kirstein is a tough cookie. If cancer is going to take her, it’s going to have to work a lot harder.

His thoughts are interrupted by his phone buzzing in his pocket. Jean takes it out to turn it off, perplexed as to who would be calling him anyway. Jean doesn’t do phone calls. Well, he did with Hitch, but he’s certain she’s not the one calling.   

When he surveys the caller ID, an emptiness rushes through him. Which is probably not the correct way to react to his best friend calling him, but he can’t help it. Any time Marco reaches out these days, that empty feeling returns.

“You can answer it,” Vera says.

“No,” Jean replies. He lets it go to voicemail. “It’s just Marco. I’m here with you right now.”

“Oh, Marco.” Compassion fills her tired eyes. She’s always loved Marco like a second son. “I miss that boy. You should answer.”

Jean knows he should, but it feels wrong to excuse himself away from his ailing mother. He only has a few hours with her before Pépé and Mémé take him home. Marco can surely wait.

As if reading his mind, Vera says, “I’ll still be here when you get back.”

Maybe if he one hundred percent believed that, he’d show more confidence when standing up. But his posture is weak and his mind is shaky as he steps out of the room. He bites his bottom lip as he finds a spot by the window at the end of the hall that offers semi-privateness. He slides to the floor and dials Marco’s number.

He answers on the first ring.

“Jean.” There’s a muted urgency in his voice. Jean only recognizes it because he knows Marco so well.

“Yeah,” Jean says, running a hand through his hair. “What’s up?”

“Um, are you all right?”

Jean pauses. “What are you talking about?”

Another pause, then, “Hitch told me about your mom.”

The knot in Jean’s stomach tightens. Whether it’s anger or guilt or something in between, he feels his face growing hot.

“Well,” Marco clarifies, “she more so asked me if I’ve heard any updates.”

“Oh,” Jean says. He can’t think of anything else to say.

For a few seconds, neither of them speak. It’s pathetic how Jean struggles to communicate with someone he’s known since preschool. He and Marco used to tell each other everything. Literally nothing was off limits. But apparently, a few months of separation is all it takes for Marco to feel like a stranger. It doesn’t feel like Marco and the rest of Trost are just a couple hours away. It feels like they’re part of another galaxy.

Finally, Marco speaks. “So your mom…”

“She’s fine,” Jean answers. “For now, at least. She’s still in the hospital but she should be discharged later this week.”

“Good,” Marco says with an exhale. “I got worried. Why didn’t you tell me she’s back in the hospital?”

For that, Jean has no explanation. He should’ve told Marco. If he were still living in Trost, Marco would’ve been the first person he told.  

“I don’t know,” he admits.

Marco pauses again. “You know I’m here for you, right? Now more than ever. I don’t care how far you move away, you’re still my best friend. Connie and Sasha too. We miss you, dude. And if you need help, we’d rather hear it from you than from Hitch.”

All true. Of course Jean knows this. But opening up has never come easy for him. It’s even harder when he’s so many miles away.

Jean dips his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Are you still visiting next week?”

“Maybe.” He planned to, but that was before Vera got hit with pneumonia. “I guess it’ll depend on how Mom’s doing.”

“It’d be nice to see you. School hasn’t been the same without you.”

Marco means well, but Jean wishes he wouldn’t say things like that. Being far away from the only life he’s ever known is difficult enough.

“I’ll let you know, okay? I’ve got to go.”

“Okay,” Marco concedes. “Tell your family I said hi.”

“I will.”

Jean doesn’t feel any better after that call. He doesn’t like keeping his distance, but it’s hard to stay in touch with his friends without addressing the elephant in the room. Jean’s mom is sick, and he doesn’t know if she’ll get better. And though he wants to hold on to hope, it’s easier said than done. It’s actually really fucking hard.

He ignores the voice in his head telling him not to check Instagram. He signs into his personal account, not the one he uses for his baking posts. He scrolls through his main account several times a week, and he regrets it every time. Social media is just a reminder of what he’s missing out on.

He goes to Marco’s profile. His latest post is from a few hours ago. It’s of Connie and Sasha at their old lunch table, making goofy faces at the giant chocolate cake slice sitting between them.

Jean can hear this picture. Connie and Sasha groaning like they’ve never encountered something so delectable. Marco laughing as he aims his camera at them. It’s as if nothing has changed, like Jean is still there.

Only he’s not. While Jean’s stuck in his own personal hell, his friends are going on with their lives. He can’t blame them. It’s not fair to want them to mourn his absence forever. But he won’t pretend it doesn’t hurt.

He ignores the voice in his head a second time when he pulls up his contact list. He’d rather not have this conversation in the middle of a hospital, but if he doesn’t address this now, resentment will weigh him down. He’s already angry enough at the world without adding another stressor to his plate.

Unlike Marco, Hitch doesn’t answer as promptly. Jean almost thinks she’s going to let his call go unanswered. She’s glued to her phone 24/7, so not answering is the same as deliberately ignoring him. But she picks up on the fourth ring.

“Hello?”

Jean doesn’t hesitate. “Why’d you tell Marco about my mom?”

“I didn’t know it was a secret. I thought he already knew.”

Okay. Fair. It’s natural to assume Jean would tell his best friend. But Jean doesn’t care about logic. Not right now.

“Yeah well,” he says, “you’re the only person I told.”

Hitch sighs, then she goes quiet. The silence drags so long that Jean worries she hung up. But when he checks the screen, their call log is still going.

When Hitch does speak, her voice carries a tone of defeat. “Listen, Jean.”

Jean doesn’t respond, so she keeps going.

“I don’t think we should talk anymore.”

Jean isn’t surprised she feels this way, but he is surprised she’s saying it out loud. Getting Hitch to be honest with him these days is like pulling teeth. If Jean weren’t so desperate to hold on to just one thing from his former life, he would’ve cut contact himself. Hitch isn’t good for his well-being. At this moment, he questions if she ever was.

Then, as if she can’t twist the knife any deeper, she follows up with, “I’m kind of going out with Marlowe now.”

“Marlowe?”

It comes out as a yell. A few hospital staff members patrolling the hallway glance his way. He sinks into himself and turns to the wall.

But frankly, they’re lucky that he didn’t react worse. Marlowe Freudenberg is a sophomore like Hitch. They all used to hang out together. They ate at the same lunch table as Jean’s other friends. Jean and Marlowe sometimes played basketball together after school. At times he suspected Marlowe may have had a thing for her, but she assured Jean nothing was going on. Jean believed her. 

“So as soon as I move away,” he says, “you just run off with someone else? Is that why you broke up with me?”

“Of course not,” Hitch replies. “We only became official a week ago.”

She says it like it’s supposed to make him feel better. No wonder why she was so distant when Jean told her about Vera. Marlowe was probably right next to her when she responded. She probably tossed her phone to the side after throwing Jean a little sympathy bone and went back to having his hands on her—

God, he doesn’t even want to think about that.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I didn’t want to upset you. You’re already going through so much and—”

Jean slices her words with a laugh. “Wow. I really loved you. How sad is that?”

“Jean,” Hitch sighs, “that’s not fair. I thought I’d be able to handle long distance, but it was too much. Things between us changed. You changed.”

“Of course I changed,” he says, his voice cracking. “My mother is fucking dying and I can’t do anything about it.”

He holds back his tears. He’s not wasting them on an ex-girlfriend who’s long moved on from their relationship. In reality, she’s doing him a favor. Now Jean can at least stop clinging to a dream that things can go back to how they were.

This is his new life now, and his new life is one without Hitch Dreyse. His first love is now only a memory. Maybe one day he’ll look back on it as a good one.

“I’m sorry,” Hitch says. Whether she means it or not, Jean doesn’t care. Not anymore.

“Goodbye,” Jean tells her. “You’re right, we shouldn’t talk anymore. Enjoy your new life with Marlowe.”

Hitch starts to say more, but Jean hangs up on her. He promptly blocks her number, then all her social media accounts. He’s done. For good this time.

When he finishes, it hurts to breathe. Pressure builds in his ribcage, absorbing his energy like a parasite. But the finality looming over him offers a small comfort.

Jean turns his phone off and slips it back in his pocket. He stands up and brushes off his clothes. Then he heads back to Vera’s room, his priorities aligning with each step. If the rest of his life is going to shit, he can at least cherish the few good things he has before losing those too. 

Chapter Text

Eren slips through the auditorium doors, doing his best to stay quiet. It’s a long walk down to the front rows. His shoulder blades feel it with every step as the weight of his overstuffed backpack digs into them. 

Mr. Smith is on stage with the main cast, directing them on line delivery and stage movements. For as serious as he is during regular school hours, the theatrics pour out of him after that final bell. Eren’s been part of the stage crew for three years and he’s still not used to it. He bets Mr. Smith would knock Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde out of the park. 

Eren slides into the third row all the way to the left. He places his bag in the seat next to him and gets comfortable. 

Armin’s practicing lines with Louise, a girl who passes more for his sibling than the two boys cast to play his brothers. But Louise is in her element as Cherry the same way Armin is as Ponyboy. This is her first main role in any of the Shiganshina High plays, though you’d think she’s been a scene stealer for years.

Eren watches with a mix of admiration and envy. As Armin speaks, Eren mouths the words along with him. He studies the inflection in Armin’s voice, the emotion Armin pours into every word. Fists tighten in his lap, harsh enough to leave crescent-shaped incisions in his palms.

Whenever he watches Armin act his heart out, Eren feels foolish for holding on to his dream of being on stage one day. If that’s the level of talent required to make it, Eren will never get there. All the practice in the world means nothing if those ahead of him keep practicing and improving too. Some people just have that it factor. While Eren wants to be one of those lucky few, he’s exhausted his quota for hopeless dreams.

“That was good,” Mr. Smith says when they finish. “Do it just like that.”

Then, as if he has a sixth sense, he spins in Eren’s direction. 

“Eren. You’re here early.”

Eren jolts in his seat. It was unrealistic to expect he’d go undetected, but he wished to get through more than just one scene read before being called out. The stage crew isn’t meant to show up for another thirty minutes.

His excuse fades on the tip of his tongue. He can’t admit that he’s here to study his peers, to understand what it means to be a performer. So, he just stares at Mr. Smith like a bumbling jackass.   

“You know what,” Mr. Smith says, snapping his fingers, “this is perfect. Samuel and Daz are both out today. Can you stand in as Johnny?”

Of all the things Eren expects to hear, that isn’t one of them. 

He springs to his feet, nearly tripping over himself. “Y-you want me to run lines with everyone?”

It’s not a small part either. Johnny Cade is arguably the heart and soul of The Outsiders. If Eren weren’t such a wuss, it’s the part he planned on auditioning for. But the part went to Samuel with Daz as the understudy. After seeing Samuel in rehearsals, Eren knows even if he did audition, he didn’t stand a chance.  

“You don’t need to be great at it,” Mr. Smith says. “It’s just practice. Need a script?” He extends it toward Eren like he’s actually close enough to grab it. 

Eren’s legs wobble. The taste of cotton fills his mouth, his throat dry and heavy. His mind is in a daze as he slowly exits the aisle and approaches the stage. 

All eyes are on him. The sweltering stage lights are off, but his face heats up all the same. He refuses to meet anyone’s gaze, even Armin’s. He just keeps his focus on the script Mr. Smith holds out for him.      

Mr. Smith smiles with enough enthusiasm to light up a stadium. “Great, we’re just getting started. Page ten, scene with you, Two-Bit and Pony.”

Armin and Thomas give assuring nods. Eren swallows hard. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. Like Mr. Smith said, it’s just practice. It doesn’t mean anything. Eren’s not actually performing for a crowd. He’s just a stage crew member who happens to be in the right place at the right time. 

That’s all he’ll ever be.

Johnny is the first to speak for this scene. Eren clears his throat and reads aloud, the script trembling in his hands. 

“What’s that?”

“Marcia’s number,” Thomas says, slipping into an accent like someone returning to their hometown after many years away. “I musta been outta my mind.”

Eren’s barely listening. His hearing is overpowered by the sound of his own heartbeat. It pulsates in his ears, a slow torture that can break down the strongest of prisoners. 

“I’m gonna go,” Thomas says. “See you on the flip side.”

“Bye,” Eren and Armin answer in unison. Eren cringes. Just the utterance of a single word is enough to highlight the gap in talent between them.

He quickly glances at Mr. Smith, expecting to see him cringing as well. But while his teacher’s looking back at him, his face is neutral. Of course it is. Why should he care about Eren’s performance when Eren isn’t part of the cast? All Eren has to do is read lines and return to his rightful place as a crew member.

Armin speaks again. “I’m really glad we didn’t have to fight.”

“I-I couldn’t take it again,” Eren says, waiting for the floor to swallow him whole. “I’d rather…I dunno…”

Armin sighs through his nose. “Don’t be like that, Johnnycake.” A surprised noise escapes his lips. “Oh, sorry,” he says in his normal voice. Instantly, he slips back into character. “Don’t talk like that, Johnnycake.”

Eren’s so taken aback that he forgets to say his next line. Armin’s the best actor in this entire school. He breathes life into Ponyboy in a way no one else can. Yet here he is, stumbling over his lines. And while his mistake is nothing egregious, he rolls it off his back and keeps going. And everyone around them is just as attentive as they were before he messed up. 

Eren snaps out of it. “I gotta do something,” he reads with a hint of conviction. 

No one compliments him, but no one chastises him either. The chains tying him to his doubts begin to loosen. Uncertainty is replaced with security. This is a safe space. Even if he bombs, it’s fine. Everyone here has the same goal: put on the best show they can. If Eren can help by getting through this scene read, he’ll do it.

“Maybe I’ll sleep here in the park tonight. Listen to the water in the little fountain like it’s a waterfall somewhere in the mountains.”

His grip on his script loosens. His gaze drifts to Armin, who’s standing across from him.

“There ought to be some place without greasers of Socs. With just people.”

Something flashes in Armin’s blue eyes. They’re bigger. Brighter. He offers a little half smirk.

“Like out in the country. We used to drive out there with the whole family.”

Eren looks off to the side. “I walk in my house and nobody says anything. I walk out, nobody says anything. Like they don’t know who I am—or don’t care.”

The words cut at him deep. He and Johnny are too similar in that regard.

“Shoot,” Armin says, “you still got the whole gang.”

Eren shakes his head. “It’s not like having your folks care about you.”

His part is done. Armin closes the scene out with a monologue for the audience. Eren exhales softly, grateful he got through that without wetting himself. 

When he turns back to the group, he’s startled by Mr. Smith staring at him. Even as Armin speaks his lines, his attention is solely on Eren. His thick eyebrows slant downward, his even thicker biceps folding across his chest.

Eren burns under his intense gaze. He waits for Mr. Smith to say something, or at least to stop staring at Eren like he’s a complicated math equation. Was he truly that terrible? Surely Mr. Smith encounters worse attempts during the audition cycle. Maybe it’s just more obvious when he’s up against a prodigy like Armin.

Eren breaks away first. He focuses back on Armin, who’s a star as always. The other cast members applaud him by snapping their fingers. Armin gives a polite bow.            

“That was great,” Mr. Smith says. “Let’s run through that one more time. Armin, I saw you smile a little bit during that. I like the playfulness, but not for this scene. Johnny’s opening up to Ponyboy here, try to keep it serious.”

Armin nods. “Got it. Sorry.”

They go through the scene once more, then they pivot to other ones. Occasionally Eren is required, and he reads for Johnny to the best of his ability. He avoids looking at Mr. Smith just in case he’s being silently judged again. But Armin shoots him a few thumbs ups throughout. It puts him at ease, though not entirely.

Soon the rest of the stage crew rolls in and the second half of rehearsals kicks off. Eren relegates himself back to his actual role behind the curtain. He hits all his marks, but apart from that, his mind is elsewhere.

He can’t stop thinking about those brief thirty minutes where he got to stand in as a proper cast member. Sure, he was nervous as hell the entire time, but it sparked a glimmer of adrenaline within him. Toward the end, Eren would even say he was having fun. He was surrounded by people like him, people who truly loved theater and the beauty of reinventing some of the best stories ever told. In that moment, short as it was, Eren felt like he belonged. 

Oh well, it was nice while it lasted.    

Two hours later, Mr. Smith breaks into two slow claps. 

“Okay, that’s a wrap for today. Nice work, everybody.”

The crew is responsible for cleaning up. Luckily, since The Outsiders doesn’t call for a lot of props and set designs, it never takes long. But it’s Thursday, so Eren takes his sweet time. Mikasa and Armin have already gone home. Pretty much everyone has. He’s alone backstage putzing with the furniture. He moves a couch to the left, a lamp to the right, anything to appear busy. Anything to keep him away from home just a little bit longer. 

“You know, it’s only scary at first.”

Eren’s soul almost leaves his body. Even if his back weren’t turned, Mr. Smith’s commanding voice would still shake him from his thoughts. He spins around and hopes his guilt isn’t showing on his face. He technically hasn’t done anything wrong, but Mr. Smith’s towering stature sometimes tricks him into thinking he has.

“I’m sorry?”

“Performing,” Mr. Smith clarifies. He takes a step forward. “The more you do it, the more the nerves are replaced with excitement.”

Eren doesn’t understand where this is going. He’s still not entirely certain he isn’t being lectured. When Mr. Smith steps forward again, he takes one step back. Well, tries to. The backs of his knees hit the couch he was pretending to put away. 

“Don’t get me wrong, even professional actors get nervous before a big show sometimes. But as soon as they step out on that stage, their love for the theater outshines anything else.”

“Okay.” Eren looks at the floor, then back at Mr. Smith. He plays with the hem of his shirt as he has no clue where to put his hands. “Why are you telling me this?”

Mr. Smith offers a slight grin. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice that you went through that whole read through without once looking at the script?”

Did he? Eren was so overwhelmed reading for Johnny on the spot that he blocked out any frivolous details. Is that why Mr. Smith kept watching him? Eren assumed he was being judged, but what if it was the opposite?

What if Mr. Smith was actually…impressed? 

Heat rushes to his cheeks. “Oh,” he says, clearing his throat. “Well, I help Armin with lines sometimes, so…”

“Eren,” Mr. Smith replies, “you’ve been on the stage crew since your first year. And while I appreciate the work you do, I don’t want you thinking it’s all you have to do. If you want to branch out, this is the perfect place to do it.”

It’s everything Eren needs to hear. But now that he has, it doesn’t give the reassurance he expects. Mr. Smith means well, and given he’s way more experienced than Eren, he’s probably correct. Still, that seed of doubt refuses to detach itself from Eren’s head. It’s one thing to feel safe in front of the rest of the drama club. It’s another to feel safe in front of a packed audience. 

“Auditions for the spring musical are in March. Do you like to sing?”

Technically, the answer is yes. Eren likes to sing, but not in front of people. The most he’ll do is belt his heart out to his favorite show tunes with Armin and Mikasa. But that’s just for fun. He’s in no position to sing in front of others. Fighting his fears to get on stage is terrifying enough without adding singing into the mix.

“I’m not any good,” he says, though Mr. Smith makes a face that implies he doesn’t believe him.

“Let me be the judge of that. Plus we’re doing Mean Girls, so there are a few non-singing male roles you can audition for.”

Eren winces. “Mean Girls?” He supposes it’s fair to do a female-centric musical since the current production leans heavily male, but Mean Girls feels like such a safe choice. Especially since they did Legally Blonde last spring. 

“That’s still supposed to be a secret. Don’t tell anyone.” Mr. Smith pauses, then sighs. “Just, think about it, all right? Auditions are open to everyone and all levels of experience. Don’t auto-reject yourself. You’ll never know unless you try.”

Eren nods. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Mr. Smith’s words linger long after he leaves the backstage area. They sink into Eren’s skin, leaving goosebumps in their place. They echo in his ear. An invitation to a world he’s always dreamed of entering. A chance to belong. 

He can do it. He can practice hard before his audition, even lose sleep over it. He’ll put in the work, step out on that stage more prepared than everyone, amaze his drama instructor and book his first ever role. His dream doesn’t have to end yet. He can still become somebody he’s proud of.

Maybe if he repeats that sentiment enough times, Eren will actually believe it. 

*

Ren 🐢🧁

Any fun new recipes to distract me with tonight?

Eren sends the message before he walks through the front door. This day was exhausting, just like the rest of his school week. He can use some cheering up from Jay.

The house is always colder when he’s the only one there. Eren combats this by heating up some canned soup. He only eats half, his low appetite preventing him from enjoying more. It isn’t even good. The chicken pieces taste like rubber. But there’s nothing else worth eating in the kitchen’s depressingly bare pantry, and Eren doesn’t feel like waiting for any of his frozen meals to cook in the oven.

Interestingly, he’s relieved Grisha isn’t around tonight. They still haven’t resolved what happened on Monday. That’s typical seeing as they never really resolve anything. They don’t argue often. They don’t talk enough to argue. But when they do, time simply passes as if it never happened. 

But Eren remembers every dispute. Every time Grisha dismisses him for work. Every time he acts like Eren is an unwanted pest rather than his own son. Pretending it’s in the past may work for Grisha, but it doesn't for Eren. But bringing those frustrations up to Grisha won’t do anything. Grisha has to actually care for that to happen.

Upstairs, he quietly opens the door to Grisha’s bedroom. Even when he’s not home, Eren still worries about getting caught sneaking in here. It’s been months since he’s last done it. The familiar quickening of his heartbeat presses against his chest. He pushes through it and approaches the wooden nightstand by the far corner of the room.

Eren was four when he first discovered Grisha’s greatest keepsake. He was too young to understand why it was tucked in a drawer, but he understood he probably shouldn’t be caught with it. To this day, Grisha still hasn’t figured out that Eren knows about it. Or if he has, he pretends that he hasn’t.

Sadness washes over him before he pops the drawer open. The portrait is face down as usual. Eren wonders why Grisha even keeps it if he does everything to avoid looking at it. But Eren’s grateful he does. Without it, the hole in his heart would be much larger.

He wipes away the dust coating the back of the frame before flipping it around. He memorized the image years ago, enough to replicate it in his dreams. But it takes his breath away every time he sees it.

Carla Jaeger smiles at him, her hazel eyes dazzling in the dim lighting of Grisha’s bedroom. She’s turned to the side, highlighting the gorgeous lace wedding veil draping her shoulders. She leans on the white pillar of a garden gazebo. The hunter green flowers mixed into her bouquet match the boxwood in the background.

Her happiness radiates all these years later. There’s a kindness in her eyes that Eren has yet to see in anyone else. He wishes he got to experience it himself instead of through a photo. It’s his own fault that he can’t.

It took Carla and Grisha several years to conceive. When she finally saw that second line after hundreds of pregnancy tests, she was overjoyed. She’s the one who suggested the name Eren. She wanted a Turkish name for her baby since Grisha’s German heritage was already covered through their last name. Grisha didn’t object. He was just so happy to start a family with the love of his life.

They got everything ready. Decorated the nursery, took maternity photos, threw the baby shower. At the time, there was no reason to suspect anything was wrong.

Until Carla went into labor. The day everything changed.

From the bits Grisha’s told him, it’s a miracle Eren didn’t die along with Carla. But that’s never been a comfort for Eren. What’s miraculous about killing his own mom? The baby Carla desperately wished for is the one who took her away from this earth. She never even got to hold him.   

It feels weird to miss someone he’s never met. Most days, his life carries on as normal. But every now and again, he gets the urge to sneak into Grisha’s room and stare at her picture. Point out all the features they share. Which, aside from their eye color, is practically everything. No wonder why Grisha can’t stand looking at Eren. He’s forced to remember what was taken from him whenever he does. 

Eren imagines what Carla’s laugh sounded like. What perfume she liked to wear. All these curiosities that will never amount to anything more. It’s probably not healthy to obsess over these things, but he can’t help himself. He doesn’t have any memories of his mother. These curiosities are all he has.

A stray teardrop splashes on Carla’s wedding dress. Eren wipes his cheek. He’s not here to cry. He just wants a moment with her. Wants a moment to silently tell her he’s sorry and that he’s been paying for what he’s done every day. Probably will for the rest of his life.

Eren takes a slow breath before he forgets how. Pressure builds in his chest, desperate for release from a scream or a sob. Eren does neither. He lets the agony consume him. He owes that to Carla at the very least.

When he can’t take it any longer, he places her portrait back in the drawer. He leaves Grisha’s room and drifts toward his own. The orange paint is so loud that the heaviness of his chest spreads to his temples. He hides under his comforter, ready for the world to speed through the rest of the evening.

He pulls his phone out, expecting a text from Jay. But his lock screen has zero notifications.

He opens their chat conversation. No, Eren definitely messaged him. Over thirty minutes ago to be precise. Jay knows what Thursday nights are like for Eren. He’s usually the one to message first just for that reason. And even when Eren messages first, it doesn’t take long for Jay to reply.   

Ren 🐢🧁

Are you there?

Another ten minutes passes before he tries again.

Ren 🐢🧁

Jay?

Nothing. Is Jay ignoring him? Things seemed fine earlier in the day. They texted as usual. They cracked jokes. They sent memes. Eren didn’t think anything was off. 

Maybe Jay figured it out. Eren tried to keep his crush to himself, but he’s never been in this situation before. He must’ve done something to tip Jay off. And of course, Jay is now weirded out and wants nothing to do with him.

Or, even worse, maybe Jay just got bored of him. He probably has lots of other friends online. He’s much more charismatic than Eren. People gravitate toward him. Perhaps someone more interesting came along and he’s texting them now instead of dealing with Eren’s annoying problems. 

Ren 🐢🧁

I’m sorry for bothering you but I’m alone rn and I don’t want to be

He feels so desperate. Worse, he feels stupid. It’s possible there’s a logical explanation to all of this. Maybe Jay is busy. But if that were the case, wouldn’t he have let Eren know? If he truly cared about Eren, surely he wouldn’t want him to suffer alone without warning.

Regardless, this is concrete proof that Eren is wasting his time falling for Jay. Eren’s more invested in this friendship than Jay, that’s been clear since the beginning. The sooner he shuts these stupid feelings off, the better. 

Ren 🐢🧁

Text me when you see this

I hope you’re okay

And if I did something wrong I’m sorry

Chapter Text

It feels good to relax, even if it’s temporary.

Jean’s at peace curled up on his grandparents’ sofa. His head rests on the middle seat, right next to Vera’s thigh. If she weren't so fragile, he’d rest in her lap like he used to as a child. But for now, just being with her is enough. Just spending time with her, Pépé and Mémé, enjoying each other’s company instead of worrying about hospitals or illnesses. They've earned it  

He isn’t even annoyed at having to watch another episode of The Dot Pixis Show. Vera’s been obsessed with it for years, though Jean doesn't see the appeal. Talk shows aren’t his thing in general, but something about Dot Pixis’s humor just grates his gears. It’s as sloppy as his signature disheveled appearance. Jean suspects the guy’s a closet alcoholic. But hey, Vera loves him, and Jean’s too happy to have her home to complain.

She’s still hooked up to an oxygen concentrator, provided by the hospital for at-home therapy. Vera assures she's fine with it and it keeps her comfortable. Jean believes her, but seeing her with one still scares him. Even after being discharged, Vera’s pneumonia looms over this house like a dark cloud. He just wants this to be past them, though there’s no telling how long that will be.  

He looks up at her, just thankful she’s here and in better spirits. Bliss encompasses her tired face as Dot Pixis cracks a joke, if you can call it that. Jean just calls it embarrassing. But his mother smiling and laughing is worth all the cringe.

The next interview guest is some actor Jean’s never heard of. Kenny something. His rugged face and slicked back hair give the impression he’s some sort of mafia boss.   

Vera perks up. “Oh, he’s handsome.”

“Mom,” Jean groans, prompting Mémé to snicker in her knitting chair. 

“What? He looks a bit like your father.”

Jean doesn’t see the resemblance, though his perspective is skewed. His father died when he was a young boy. He only has a handful of memories to fall back on. The gaps are filled with all the photos Vera's saved over the years.    

“Maybe if you squint your eyes,” Pépé says from his recliner. “And then shut them.”

This time they all laugh. It feels nice. Maybe because it’s genuine. They’re not plastering fake smiles to avoid the elephant in the room. This is what normal families do. They laugh together. Jean won’t mind if they do this more often, and not just for his benefit. 

Abruptly, Vera’s laugh morphs into a cough. It’s husky and sounds painful. The rest of the laughter subsides instantly, the shift in the atmosphere palpable. 

Jean springs up. He reaches for her arm. “Mom. Mom, are you okay? Do you need some water?”

Vera’s cough fades. She waves him away. “No thank you. I’m all right.”

It’s only when Jean exhales he realizes he’s been holding his breath. That scared him way more than it should have. Everything with Vera scares him these days. She senses it too, even though she won’t admit it. Jean’s constant paranoia can’t be good for her. But he isn't a medical professional, so he doesn’t know what’s worth worrying over and what isn’t. And if it involves his mother, Jean will always worry.   

“I think I need to use the bathroom though,” Vera says.

Jean nods and rises to his feet. “Okay, sure.”

“Sit back down,” Pépé tells him. “I’ll take her.”

“It’s okay. I can do it.”

“Pépé’s right, lovely,” Vera says softly. “You stay here.”

Jean drops his shoulders. He sits down and grabs the remote. He keeps his eyes on the television so he doesn’t need to see Pépé help Vera into her wheelchair. She can walk short distances, but her doctor says it’ll take time before she’ll make a full recovery. It’s best she conserves as much energy as possible so she doesn’t take a turn for the worse. 

Pépé disconnects Vera’s tubes from her oxygen concentrator and connects them to the tank strapped to the back of the chair. Jean knows Vera isn’t in any pain, but those brief moments when she’s not connected to oxygen spike his blood pressure every time. All it takes is a single second for something to go wrong.

He hates this. He’s happy Vera is here, but he hates the complications that come with it. He just wants her healthy. But that feels a lifetime away. 

With the TV paused, Vera’s wheeled out of the living room. Jean slumps into the sofa. It’ll be a while before they return, even though the bathroom is right around the corner. This is just their new normal whether Jean accepts it or not.  

Mémé’s soft voice cuts through his thoughts. “Don’t take it personally. No mother wants to be dependent on her child.”

Jean frowns. “But she needs help. Is it wrong that I offered?”

“Of course not. But your mother still wants to feel like your mother, if that makes sense.”

Jean stares at the floor. The iron gray carpet is a perfect reflection of the thoughts swarming his head. Mémé’s probably right. She’d know better than anyone. But Jean’s the most capable one in this house for the job. Pépé is in good shape, but like most elders, he has his limits. It feels wrong that his grandparents act as Vera’s primary caretakers. 

“Just keep being you,” Mémé says. “She’s already so much happier just being home with you.”

His lips press into a tight line. “This isn’t her home.”

He excuses himself to the kitchen. While preparing a glass of water, he rubs his eyes. No tears, but he senses them coming. 

The day was going so well. The news of Vera being discharged was the best surprise when he got back from school. And while nothing catastrophic has happened (yet), moments like these remind him not to celebrate too early. There are still a lot of hurdles he and Vera and their family need to push past. Jean doesn’t know how he’ll push past his own if he’s constantly left behind. 

He only returns to the living room when he hears Pépé and Vera leave the bathroom. His eyes stay dry as he approaches Vera on the couch. Her smile is so bright, like she’s not suffering at all. 

He offers her the glass. “I know you said you didn’t want water, but I got you some anyway.”

“Thank you,” Vera replies. “That’s very sweet.” She turns to the TV. “Did I miss anything?”

Jean smiles and sits beside her. “It’s right where you left off.”

Luckily, the rest of the evening passes without any other coughing incidents. Vera’s oxygen keeps her at ease. Mémé finishes knitting a sweater for her friend’s dog. Dot Pixis closes out his talk show with an eye-twitching monologue. And Jean squeezes his mom’s hand in hopes that good health can be transferred through touch. 

Because of her low energy, Vera needs to sleep before the rest of them. Pépé and Mémé help her get ready for bed. She sleeps in Pépé’s old study on the first floor since relying on stairs is out of the question. 

Jean waits alone in the living room. He tries to stay positive even in exclusion. His feelings don’t matter. What matters is that Vera is here, that she’s slowly getting better. She wasn’t even expected to be discharged until next week, but her persistence sped up the process. Now Jean gets his time back with her. He gets to tell Vera good morning and good night. Gets to enjoy family dinners with her even if her appetite is a fraction of what it once was. He shouldn’t take these little things for granted.  

Pépé returns ten minutes later. “She’s ready.”

Jean makes for the study. When he and Vera first moved in, Pépé offered to replace his desk and bookshelves with decor suited for Vera’s tastes. But she politely declined. Vera was insistent that a place to rest her head was all she required. 

She’s true to her word. She’s perfectly content bundled inside Mémé’s old cherry red afghan, her head propped up on a pair of plush pillows. Pépé and Mémé wish her pleasant dreams and step out to allow Jean a moment with her.  

Jean smiles. “You look cozy.”

She runs her fingers along the afghan’s fine detailing. “This is a nice blanket your Mémé made. It’s nice and warm.”

Jean sits on the edge of the bed. “Can I get you anything?”

Her mouth twists into that gentle smile that touches Jean’s heart every time. “You are such a sweet boy. But I promise I’m fine.”

Sincerity drips from her tone. Not that Vera’s the type to ever be insincere. But having that affirmation relieves Jean in ways he can’t express. So he does what comes naturally. 

He places his hand over hers. “I’m really happy you’re here.”

“Me too, lovely. I’ve missed you so much.”

He brings Vera’s hand to his lips, then to his cheek. “Sleep well, okay? I’ll see you in the morning.”

Vera nods. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

He didn’t anticipate that it’d still be hard leaving her. Because deep down, the small chance that Vera may not have a tomorrow nags heavily at him. But what can he do? Overprotectiveness won’t heal Vera any faster. If anything, it’ll do the opposite. Vera’s best medicine is knowing that her son is doing well. 

Knowing that, Jean leaves the room. He casts a final look over his shoulder. Vera’s already closed her eyes, ready for sleep to consume her. Jean hopes her dreams are as kind to her as she is to the rest of the world.

In the hallway, his grandparent’s voices linger from the kitchen. Jean walks toward the noise, then stops in his tracks. They’re not talking, they’re crying. Mostly Pépé. His sobs are muffled, but the pain behind them is excruciating. 

Jean should turn around. He’s not meant to hear this. It’s silly, but it's never crossed his mind that his grandparents are even capable of crying. If they do, they never do it in front of him.

Instead of heading upstairs, however, he tiptoes to the kitchen. He peers around the doorway, hiding in the shadows. Mémé and Pépé embrace each other while Pépé cries into her shoulder. 

“I’m just so tired,” he chokes out.

Mémé rubs his back, her face twisting in anguish. “I know.”

“It shouldn’t be this way. She’s still my little girl.”

Jean’s feet are heavy as he walks backward. Pressure digs into his shoulders, his bandaged heart coming apart at the seams. He knows his grandparents are struggling more than they let on. They just hide it from Jean because he’s the baby of the family and for some reason that means he isn’t old enough to handle tough conversations. It used to annoy him, but as it turns out, they are a hundred percent correct.

The grief in their sobs follows Jean down the hall. It covers him like a tattoo, raw and permanent. He’ll never be able to forget their words, never be able to erase the pain on their faces. He’s lost for how to handle it. Aside from talking it out with Ren, maybe.  

Shit.

Ren. 

Jean darts up the stairs, not caring if his loud exit clues Pépé and Mémé in that he was eavesdropping. He locks his bedroom door behind him and pulls out his phone. His stomach drops when he realizes he has seven missed texts from Ren. Guilt eats at him before he opens them, then it’s intensified when he reads the last few messages. 

Ren 🐢🧁

Text me when you see this

I hope you’re okay

And if I did something wrong I’m sorry

How could Jean be so stupid, so careless? Of all the days to ignore Ren’s messages, Thursday is literally the worst one. Ren’s at home right now alone and upset and when he turned to Jean for some comfort, Jean fucking ignored him for hours. And now Ren thinks he's done something wrong or that Jean hates him when that can’t be further from the truth. 

Jean can’t type his response fast enough. 

Jay 🥀

Fuck

I am so sorry

My mom came home today and she needed assistance I completely forgot it’s Thursday

Please tell me you’re still there

I’m really sorry I feel terrible

He sets his phone on his dresser. Keeping his eyes on the screen, he fetches a pair of sweatpants and gets changed. Ren doesn’t text him back right away. Why should he? It’s not like Jean deserves a fast response.

Damn it, Jean really fucked up. He hopes Ren just fell asleep and isn’t mad at him. Actually, scratch that. He’d rather Ren be mad at him than be sad about his family problems. Jean’s fine being the punching bag as long as Ren suffers a little bit less because of it. 

He gets comfortable in bed and scrolls through Instagram. After liking Connie’s latest post of Sasha sleeping in class, a new notification pops up on the screen. 

Ren 🐢🧁

I’m here

Don’t be sorry! I’m glad she’s home

The tightness in Jean’s chest dissipates. Either Ren’s genuinely not hurt, or he’s masking it to spare Jean’s feelings. He’s too compassionate for his own good. It’s why Jean likes talking to him so much. Every day he’s amazed that someone like Ren exists. Jean wishes he’d meet someone in real life like that. 

Jay 🥀

Yeah it was kinda spontaneous, we thought she wouldn’t come home until next week

But they discharged her this afternoon

Enough about that though

Are you okay???

Ren 🐢🧁

Yeah I’m fine now

Tbh I was worried you were ignoring me

His heart hurts. Everything hurts. Mostly his pride. He vowed to be there for Ren through thick and thin. But when Ren needed him most, Jean let him down.

Jay 🥀

I would never do that

He can’t turn back time. But he can make things right.

Jay 🥀

Seriously Ren, if you ever need me I’m here

I may not answer right away but I promise I’ll always answer

You’re my best friend

And I care about you a lot

So please don’t ever think I’m ignoring you

As he types the words, his breath catches in his throat. He’s rambling up a storm but he can’t stop typing. He needs to let it all out there, needs to leave no uncertainty for Ren. Because right now, Ren is all Jean has. If he loses that, he won’t know what to do. 

An agonizing pause lapses. Literal minutes. Jean wonders if he’s said too much and scared Ren off. But at minute four, Ren finally types back. 

Ren 🐢🧁

You’re my best friend too

Sorry for assuming the worst, I get dramatic sometimes

Before he realizes it, Jean is smiling. Thank god he still has the one thing that makes his hardest days worthwhile. 

Jay 🥀

Lol don’t worry, I do too

How was your day?

Ren 🐢🧁

Actually very eventful

Ren tells him about how he was called on by his school’s drama instructor to rehearse lines with the cast of the play he’s working on. Jean knows how passionate Ren is about theater. He doesn’t discuss it often, but when he does, his love for it spills through his words. 

Jean’s happy for him. He’s even more elated when Ren mentions that the drama instructor invited him to audition for the spring musical. Surely that means he thinks Ren has potential. Not that Jean’s surprised. He’s never seen Ren act, but Ren possesses an emotional intelligence that would make it easy to pour himself into different characters. 

Ren 🐢🧁

Idk if I want to do it

Like I want to but I’m scared

Jay 🥀

Don’t be scared

If you want to you should try it

If you get cast I’ll even find a way to come to your show

Heat spreads to Jean’s neck. This is what happens when he types without thinking. 

He rushes out his next message. 

Jay 🥀

Assuming you’re okay with that 

Ren answers instantly. 

Ren 🐢🧁

Really?

That’d be so cool 😊

Okay, maybe I’ll audition

Jean smiles again. He has no idea how he’ll get to Ren’s school play when he doesn’t know where Ren lives, but at this moment, logistics don’t matter. He’ll do anything for Ren, especially when it comes to supporting his dreams.

The thought of visiting him and cheering him on while he rules the stage makes Jean’s heart skip a beat. It’s unusual, but uncomfortable. He’s had friends before, but no one’s made him this giddy from a simple conversation. Yet Ren manages to do it all the time. 

Jean thinks about Pépé, how he called Jean out in the car for grinning at his phone like a schoolboy. Ren was the cause of that. He always is. 

It doesn’t have to mean anything though, does it? It’s okay for Jean to have a friend he cherishes deeply. That’s healthy. At this point in his life, he needs someone like Ren around.

But as they continue chatting into the night, long past their bedtimes, Jean wonders if it’s normal that just having Ren around isn’t enough anymore. That it’s normal to crave more. Like hearing Ren’s tired voice through the phone. Or switching to FaceTime so he can laugh while Ren fights to stay awake.

Or having Ren next to him while he falls asleep, just so he doesn't have to say goodbye.

Chapter Text

Jay wants to visit. 

Jay wants to visit.

Eren can’t stop kicking his feet underneath the blanket. It doesn’t feel real. He may actually get to meet Jay. May actually learn what he looks like. What he smells like. 

Eren hides in his pillow, his smile cutting through the linen. He wonders how tall Jay is. The color of his eyes. Whether he smiles with teeth or not. 

Oh god, if he has piercings…

Blush overwhelms his face. The thought of Jay coming to Shiganshina to cheer Eren on at the school musical is both terrifying and heartwarming. But any fears he has are worth conquering if that means he and Jay can meet in person. 

He’s so elated that he doesn’t even get sad reading Jay’s next message like he usually does.

Jay 🥀

Sorry, getting sleepy

Eren bets Jay has the cutest sleepy face. He wishes they could skip the whole musical thing and just meet now so he can see for himself. 

Ren 🐢🧁

That’s okay, me too

Jay 🥀

Talk tomorrow?

Ren 🐢🧁

Yes please

Jay 🥀

Good

Night Ren ♥️

Yeah, there’s no way Eren is falling asleep after this.

Ren 🐢🧁

Goodnight ☺️

*

“What the hell is up with you?”

Eren snaps out of it. “What?”

Armin casts a judgmental stare behind his glasses. “You keep zoning out.”

Heat surges to Eren’s cheeks. “No I don’t.”

“Then what did I just say?”

“Leave him alone,” Mikasa says. “He’s daydreaming about his BF.”

Annie turns to Eren. “You have a boyfriend?”

“No,” Eren blurts out.

All eyes are on him. He sinks into his chair, thankful that their ticket table is being neglected. Being heckled by his friends in the middle of a noisy cafeteria is difficult enough. 

He glares at Mikasa. “No,” he repeats. 

Amusement flashes in her gray eyes. “Why were you smiling then?”

“God forbid I’m in a good mood.”

“When are you ever in a good mood?” Armin counters.

Damn it. They won’t let it go. Not like they ever let things go. Eren’s normally good at evading their speculation, but part of him wants to talk about this. Assuming it comes true, he won’t be able to hide it from them anyway. And he wouldn’t want to. This is a big deal for Eren, and he wants to share it with his friends. Annie being here isn’t ideal, but he doubts she’ll blab to anyone.    

He clasps his hands together beneath the table. “Jay said he’ll come to the spring musical if I’m in it.”

“What?” Armin and Mikasa say in unison. This time a few other heads turn their way, making Eren regret speaking up in the first place. 

Armin’s jaw hangs open. “You told him where you live?”

“Well, not yet,” Eren says with a shrug. “But I guess I’ll have to.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Annie asks. 

Eren’s getting real sick of hearing that question. “Jay’s not like that.”

Mikasa’s red lips twist into a grin. “He seriously said he’d come watch you?”

Eren nods.

She holds out her hand. “Show me the message.”

Eren leans away from her. “No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s private.”

“Oh, I bet,” Armin teases.

Their laughter gives Eren a migraine. He doesn’t know why he expected differently. His friends are incapable of taking anything seriously. Then again, he was the same way when Mikasa and Annie were still figuring things out. It seemed funny at the time, now not so much. 

With a sour pout, he pulls out his phone. His heart hammers against his chest as he pulls up his conversation with Jay. He scrolls to their messages about the musical and shows it to Mikasa. 

She surveys the screen, Annie’s chin cupping her shoulder. Eren expects amusement on their faces, but is instead met with confusion.

“Um…” Mikasa lifts her finger as if to touch the screen.  

“Don’t scroll!”

He and Mikasa wrestle for the phone. She’s a lot stronger than him, so she wins out, a harsh cackle escaping her lips. Eren turns to complain to Armin but stops in his tracks when he realizes someone is standing in front of their table.

Of course. They went all period without having a customer and this measly sophomore decides this is the perfect time to buy a play ticket. Because what is Eren’s life if not a chaotic mess?  

“Hi,” Eren exhales.

Nervous eyes scan the table. Guilt seeps through the sophomore’s stiff expression, as if he’s sorry for interrupting. He swallows hard before mumbling, “Two student tickets, please.”

“Ten bucks,” Armin says.

He pays in crisp dollar bills. Armin adds them to the money jar, which was looking painfully empty. Even though the school’s theater productions often sell out, tickets are either usually bought by family and faculty or by students the night of the show. Eren doesn’t know why Mr. Smith bothers having club members try to sell them weeks in advance at school. It rarely goes well and cements their abysmal placement in the school hierarchy.  

Still, he hands over two tickets with his practiced customer service smile. “Thanks. Enjoy the show.”

The sophomore stuffs them in his pocket and rushes away. Eren fixates back on Mikasa and Annie, who have taken the opportunity to snoop through his messages. The damage is done, so he doesn’t care about stealing his phone back. But their permanently perplexed expressions leave him puzzled. 

“What?”

They look at one another, understanding flashing within their gazes. Then Mikasa turns to Eren. 

“There is no way in hell this boy is straight.”

Eren hates the way his stomach flips upon hearing that. Shame on him (and Mikasa) for setting himself up for disappointment. “What makes you say that?”

“Hello?” She holds up the screen like it’s up for auction. She scrolls through the text conversation. “Have you read these messages? Look at all these hearts.”

Armin chokes out a laugh. Eren wants to sink into the floor. Death may be less painful than being this exposed. Sure, Jay shows some extra affection in his messages, but that doesn’t mean anything. And if it does, it doesn’t mean he’s interested in Eren. Why would he be? A guy like Jay has options, and Eren doubts he’ll ever be the first.    

“He’s an emotional guy,” he says. 

Mikasa snorts. “Eren. Come on. No guy talks like this to someone he’s not into.”

A deep sigh arrives at the front of their table. Eren goes rigid seeing Mr. Ackerman hovering over them. He really hopes Mr. Ackerman didn’t hear any of that. He has enough problems at this school without his teacher knowing about his endless gay crises.  

“Aren’t you supposed to be selling play tickets?” Mr. Ackerman asks. He shifts to Annie, displeasure creasing his forehead. “You’re not in the drama club.”

Annie narrows her brows. “Are you seriously going to punish me for helping out?”

“I don’t see much helping,” he replies.

“Do you want to buy a ticket, Mr. Ackerman?” Armin asks. 

“Or two tickets,” Mikasa says, “if you want to bring a date.”

Eren fights back a smile. The thought of Mr. Ackerman on a date is comedy gold. The man is never happy. And when he is happy, he never looks like it. As much as Eren likes Mr. Ackerman, he pities any woman who tries to break through that tough exterior. She'd have better luck crushing a diamond.

“One ticket,” Mr. Ackerman answers monotonously, “thank you.”

Eren performs the exchange. Mr. Ackerman slides the ticket into his wallet before casting his signature teacher stare at them once more. 

“Stay focused. Mr. Smith entrusted you with a job. Do it right.”

When he leaves, Eren feels Mikasa’s taunting eyes burning a hole through his skull. She’s always more of a menace when Annie’s around, another reason why Eren isn’t fond of her girlfriend.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he hisses. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”

She takes it in stride, handing back Eren’s phone without flinching. “You better audition for the musical. I’m manifesting this relationship into existence.”

Of course she is. Mikasa’s entire brand is sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. Eren loves her for it (it came in handy during his years of being bullied on the playground), but he doubts she can do anything about this. Happy endings aren’t designed for people like Eren. The fact he got to meet Jay at all is the happiest outcome he can ask for. Best not to get greedy. 

“Oh.” An obnoxious voice nears the ticket table. “What do we have here?”

Eren doesn’t hide his disdain. Reiner Braun and his group of hooligans are the last people he wants to deal with right now. Or any time, really. It’s impressive how much of a net negative Reiner Braun brings to society. It’s even more impressive that he’s celebrated in spite of it. Reiner and his stupid friends walk around this school like they own the place, demeaning anyone they don’t view as worthy.

Of course that idiot Jean Kirstein is with him. It’s only natural for two assholes to gravitate toward each other. His bruise still hasn’t healed from his fight with Eren. Eren hopes that jerk thinks of him every time he sees that hideous face in the mirror.   

“Well you see,” Armin says to Reiner, gesturing to the poster pinned to the front of their table, “this here says The Outsiders. It’s a play. Also a book, which you would know if you paid attention in class.”

“Or knew how to read,” Eren adds.

Reiner flares his nostrils. “What’d you say, you little shit?”

“If you’re not here to buy a ticket,” Eren says, raising his voice, “get lost. Go creep on freshmen girls like you always do.”

Floch Forster, another Reiner groupie that Eren won’t mind throwing into traffic, grits his teeth at him. “Do you want to get your ass kicked again? Kirstein went easy on you compared to what Reiner will do to your punk ass.”

Jean snickers in the background, looking even more punchable than he did the other day. Bastard clearly doesn’t get enough love at home. Not that he deserves any.

Mikasa opens her mouth to retort, but Eren stops her. This is his battle and he intends to endure it on his own.  

He keeps his face neutral. “That’s not saying much. Kirstein punches like a bitch.”

It earns him a laugh from Armin and Annie. Even some of Reiner’s boneheaded friends chuckle. Jean turns a delectable shade of red, rage spreading down his neck like a disease. Eren devours his misery for all its worth. Which, as it turns out, is quite a lot. 

Until Jean rips the poster from the table, extending it away from Eren’s reach.

“Hey!” Eren says. “What are you doing?”

Jean rips it in half. Then again. Then once more before he litters the pieces on the filthy cafeteria floors. 

“A favor. Look around, Jaeger. You think anyone here gives a shit about your pathetic little club?” He sneers at the money jar. “Your profits beg to differ.”

“Fuck you,” Eren says. It comes out more as a threat. Mikasa grabs his wrist before he throws another punch at Jean.

Jean’s smile is condescending. “Be mad at me all you want. You know I’m right. Maybe if you weren’t such an asshole, I’d feel sorry for you.”

He walks away with Reiner’s gang, though not before Mr. Ackerman chases him down and scolds him for destroying the poster. Eren glares at the back of that infuriating ash blond head, every suppressed emotion rising to the surface. Who the hell does he think he is? Like Jean fucking Kirstein knows anything about theater. That requires having more than one braincell. 

Whatever. Eren will get the last laugh. When he lands a part in the musical and Jay comes to visit, he’ll handle Jean for Eren. If someone like Eren with no fighting experience can take that idiot in a fight, no doubt Jay will beat his ass. He can probably take down Reiner and Floch too. They’ll never mess with Eren again after that. 

Just a few more months. He can bear it until then. 

Because once Eren sees Jay for the first time, nothing else will matter.