Chapter Text
“Good morning, sunshine.”
Next morning, as soon as Jean wakes up, he finds a glass of water hovering over his head and bright blue-green eyes staring at him.
“Still alive?” Eren asks, his voice soft with sleep.
It turns out that having sex on the bare floor and spending the night in a shared sleeping bag, romantic as it was, hasn’t been the wisest decision for his aching back, especially after carrying all those boxes.
“Please.” Jean grunts, struggling to sit up straight. “I feel like I've done all my pilates classes for the week in one go.”
A little grin tugs at Eren’s lips. “I take this as a compliment.”
“Don’t get too full of yourself, Jaeg– ouch!”
As Jean tries to nudge his stupidly smug boyfriend, a sharp jolt of pain shoots through his shoulder blades.
“Easy there.” Eren thrusts the glass of water and ibuprofen in his boyfriend’s hand. “There's porridge in the fridge, and your brown suit is in the bathroom.”
His proud smile widening, he waves the memo Jean left on the kitchen island to remind himself what to do in the morning.
A wave of affection curls in Jean’s chest, so tender it almost melts the back pain away. Usually, he’s the one who cuddles and spoils that princess of his boyfriend, but lately it all has been pushed aside by the ordeal of finding a decent house in Trost, comparing mortgage rates, drowning in paperwork, packing boxes, fighting and arguing and shouting over the smallest things.
Weekend dates have turned into exhausted nights at home, with takeout dinners and tv shows playing in the background as they snored on the sofa. Choosing walls colours and kitchen tiles suddenly became the only topic worthy of attention. Their full-time jobs swallowed every ounce of energy and patience they had left, leaving nothing for each other.
So, right now, Jean wants to treasure this unexpected tenderness. For a moment, he’s even tempted to call in sick to work, drag Eren back into the sleeping bag, and show him that he can still handle another round–
“I got to go.” Eren shatters Jean’s sweet hopes with only four words. “I’ve got a meeting with Levi.”
“Get a move on, then. I don’t want your boss to get mad at you if you’re late.”
With some effort, Jean wriggles his way out of the tight cocoon, and catches Eren into a drowsy hug before he can run away.
“Don’t wait for me tonight,” he whispers in his ear. “I’ve got that Christmas dinner with the new clients, remember?”
He can feel Eren’s shoulders tense up, an irritated tch escaping his lips.
“Oi, quit it! You're starting to sound like your terrifying boss.” With an amused snort, Jean places a kiss on his boyfriend’s hair. “And– you remember they’re delivering the bed and mattress this afternoon, right? Can you come home for it?”
“You’ve said it a million times.” A lovely, annoyed pout curls on Eren’s lips. “You think I’m stupid?”
“Well, actually…"
“Enough, horseface!”
Eren pulls a face, making a show of grabbing Jean’s t-shirt with the aggression of a real fight. But at the last moment he breaks into a chuckle, and slams a kiss on his lips instead of a punch.
Laughing, Jean pulls his boyfriend tighter in his arms. “Just hold on a little more,” he murmurs against Eren’s neck. “Those are the last working days before Christmas. Then it'll be only us.”
“Hm. Depends on what you mean by only us.” Eren shoots him an intense look, before nuzzling his nose against Jean’s. “Now I’ll go. See you later.”
Soon after he leaves, Jean heads off as well. The art gallery is only ten minutes' walk from their new home, and Wings Travel Agency is within walking distance too. After years of commuting from the outskirts of Trost, where they shared a flat with Connie and Sasha, this is a huge step up.
Even so, it’s strange how quickly life can change. How the old, chaotic routine of cleaning shifts, late-night beers and complaints about work, with their friends always around, already feels like a memory.
Sasha was the first to move away with her boyfriend, Niccolo, after he found a new job in a fine restaurant in Mitras.
A few weeks later, Connie decided to return to his hometown, Ragako, and take over the family farm. He hired Reiner and Bertholdt too: the blond as farm manager handling the daily operations of planning, planting, harvesting, and product collection; Bertholdt, instead, as a web developer running the e-commerce site that sells fruit and vegetable boxes.
Mikasa’s been living in Hizuru since she graduated from Art & Design. She has a quite successful career as a floral designer, and comes back to Paradis only during the holidays.
Armin’s internship at the North-East Organisation for Co-operation and Development in Liberio (the super long name always leaves Jean short of breath) is almost over, and will soon lead him to a career in diplomacy. He and Annie are already searching for a home to buy there, and going through the same real estate nightmare has been the only thing keeping Eren and Jean sane during their own house research.
Sleet is falling over the city when Jean comes back home that night. The clock reads thirty past midnight and, for the whole business event, he counted the minutes until he could cuddle with his boyfriend under the blankets in their new bed.
Perhaps he might be really exhausted, because as soon as he opens the door and finds Eren in the kitchen corner, a baking video blasting at full volume from his phone as he fumbles with -what is it, a gingerbread house kit?-, Jean doesn't even bat an eye.
The rest of the room is still a mess of half-opened boxes scattered everywhere, and a faint smell of chipboard mingled with spices lingers in the air.
“At last!” Eren shouts over the video. “Do you remember where we put the whisk?”
“Good evening to you, babe.” Jean groans, dropping onto the stool of the kitchen island. “The dinner with the new clients was great, thanks for asking.”
He looks around, taking in the patches of flour dusting the brand new counter, the towers of plates, bowls and pots Eren piled on every inch of available surface in his search for culinary tools.
“It has to be somewhere!”
Without even sparing him a glance, Eren darts to a box labelled kitchen, ripping the tape open.
“Eren,” Jean sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can you lower the damn volume, before our new neighbours come with torches and pitchforks?”
Words come out of him stretched and pleading, fading in between thumps and thuds of something heavy placed on the floor.
“Why are your coffee books here?” Eren asks, elbow-deep in his hunt for a whisk (which Jean is ninety-percent sure they have forgotten at their old place).
“First of all, they’re coffee-table books, dumbass!” Jean counters. “Second, care to explain what the hell you’re doing at this hour?”
“Baking.” With a cutter in his grip and a stubborn glint in his gaze, Eren tears the top of another box open.
“What’s this?” He lifts a dust bag and inspect it, before dropping it into place a second later. “Oh, just your fancy pullover–”
“Hands down from my cashmere!” Jean groans, putting his head between his hands and rubbing his temples. “And– can you stop for one second? You’re giving me a headache!”
Finally, the loud blockhead returns to the kitchen island, snatches his phone and turns that damn video off. In the soft silence that follows, their gazes meet, both of them with dark crescents under their eyes and lips curling up into blossoming smiles.
“Come give me a kiss,” Eren whispers, grabbing the lapels of Jean’s jacket and pulling him closer.
“Clingy,” Jean murmurs back, but how can he pass such a sweet request?
So, he leans over the counter, ignoring his aching back, and sprinkles little kisses on his boyfriend’s chin, on his lips, his nose, until Eren is giggling, a pink blush dusting his cheeks.
“I haven’t heard from you all day.” Eren says. “Did you even see my texts?”
“Not really. Today’s been a nightmare.” Jean fishes his own phone out of his pocket, and places it down beside the gingerbread kit. “I didn’t even have the time to see your photos. Everything’s okay with the bed?”
“Why shouldn’t it be?” Eren scrolls through the gallery, showing him a full set of photos of fair wooden slats taking shape into an elegant, minimal framework. “Someday you’ll learn that people can do their job. And that you can’t control everything.”
“Don’t challenge me.”
Eren gives him a look. “You’re going to give yourself a stomachache with all that stress.”
“I’ll feel better once this week ends,” Jean rubs his tired eyes. “Thank god we didn’t make plans for the holidays. I just want to crash on the sofa until New Year.”
If he’d been less focused on all the little nuisances of the move, Jean would notice on the spot how Eren’s gaze shifts to the side at his words.
“Speaking of which,” Jean goes on, unaware, “delivery is postponed to January. I got an email this morning.”
“I guess I can borrow a couple of poufs from work.”
“At this rate, you’ll move your entire office here.”
“We’ll probably need them anyway.” As he keeps fumbling with his phone, Eren’s blush turns redder. “What if someone drops by to see our new place?”
A small chuckle escapes Jean’s lips. “Funny,” he says. “As if I’d ever let someone into this mess.”
“Jean, come on.”
“I’m dead serious. Watch me lock the door and pretend nobody’s home.” Jean cuts him short. “We’ll do something nice with the guys as soon as our home doesn’t look like a campsite anymore.”
If Jean weren’t so exhausted, he would notice how Eren unlocks the phone, peeks at the screen, and chews at his lower lip right before locking it again.
He’d probably also wonder why Eren is attempting to make festive cakes at such an ungodly late hour on a workday.
Hell, he might even dwell on Connie’s text he glimpsed this afternoon: ‘Twelve chairs enough? Or do you guys need more?’, followed by ‘Sorry, wrong chat ahah’.
“Pinky promise, babe,” Jean says in a funny little voice, before pecking the crease between Eren’s furrowed eyebrows. “After the chaos is over, we’ll have a big dinner. Or a party. Whatever you want, okay?”
He grabs Eren’s hoodie and gently pulls him lower, their foreheads touching. “But I want to spend these holidays only with you.” He leaves a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Go on, call me corny or whatever.”
… and maybe Jean really is - but he also has a plan.
There’s a wedding ring box hidden inside an anonymous case, between instruction manuals and warranty papers Eren would never touch.
There’s a menu of Eren’s favourite foods pinned in Jean’s phone notes, and a vague idea of cooking for him while wearing nothing but an apron. There would be little candles in every corner of the untidy room, a playlist of those hard-rock songs Eren likes playing in the background (Jean could bear them for one night, after all), sparkling wine and mint chocolate, kisses and light-hearted jokes; only the two of them, in the golden glow of their love.
They would dance around the kitchen in the fairy lights, until Jean pretended to trip and blamed Eren for it. He would start a mock fight, grabbing the collar of Eren’s shirt like he was about to throw a punch - and then, instead, drop down on one knee before his boyfriend could even process what was happening, and ask the simplest, sweetest: Will you marry me, Eren?
Because this is the kind of proposal his boyfriend would want.
As much as Jean would prefer a public, grandiose moment, he’d choose to give Eren exactly what he would love - for the rest of their lives.
So, why is Eren suddenly taking a step back and staring at him with an intense gaze, as a blush creeps up his neck?
Oh shit, did Jean say something that gave him away?!
“What?” he asks, a little quiver threading through his voice.
“You'll find out sooner or later anyway, so might as well tell you now.” Eren starts, vaguely gesturing at the gingerbread house kit on the counter. “I’m organising a Christmas party with all our friends. Please don’t get mad.”
A hush falls over the room, only punctuated by the bip bip bip of the oven as it reaches the temperature. For a second, Jean can’t even make out those words, as if his boyfriend is suddenly speaking a foreign language.
“... what?”
“Mikasa, Armin and Annie are all coming back for the holidays.” Eren goes on, emboldened by the lack of reaction (or maybe just unaware that Jean is this close from a meltdown). “Who knows when we’ll all be in the same place again?”
Jean blinks. He says nothing.
“After all, it’s fine.” Eren glances around. "Sort of. I’ll tidy up. Boxes can go in the bedroom.”
The last sentence is what gives him away. Immediately, Jean’s tense shoulders relax, as a laugh bubbles up in his throat. Besides, he’s so glad that his dumbass boyfriend has finally learnt what humor is at the age of thirty, because–
“You must be kidding me. You think I wouldn’t get it?” Eyes crinkling with laughter, Jean gets up from the stool, and moves closer to Eren. “Anyway, nice try.”
“I’m dead serious.” Eren repeats the same words Jean used before, mimicking his fed-up tone to perfection. “They’re coming here for our Christmas party!”
It only adds to the fun; after a long day, a good laugh is just what Jean needed.
“Your wish is my command, babe.” Jean plays along with the gag. “Look, I’ve got a better idea! Why don't you invite the whole group? Connie, Sasha, Reiner, Berth, Niccolo…”
A line creases Eren’s forehead, as he studies Jean. In the faint glow of the fairy lights, his eyes deepen to a darker shade of blue.
Then, he gives Jean a hesitant glance. “So, is it alright for you?”
And Jean can’t hold back anymore. He breaks into a fit of chuckles, and draws his dumbass boyfriend into his arms. The joke’s good, he owes this to Eren; he loves the effort he’s putting into making him smile.
“Whatever you want, babe,” he snorts in the crook of Eren’s neck. “Why don’t you even buy that hideous plastic reindeer with neon lights you wanted so much?”
“Wait.” Suddenly, Eren snaps out of Jean’s hug and watches him intently. “I’m not kidding.”
“You almost had me…!”
“C'mon, look!” Eren snatches the phone from the table and, after a few quick taps, he almost slams it into Jean’s face.
A group chat blurs before his eyes as text after text scrolls past. A chill runs down his spine as he skims it from the start.
‘Christmas party at our new place on Christmas Eve, you guys pls bring something to eat and drink and sit on ‘cause we don’t have chairs.’ Eren wrote; after that, a series of thumbs up and gifs and menu ideas and oh, oh no, Connie’s offering to bring his aunt’s picnic tables…
“You invited WHO to Christmas party?!” Jean blurts out. “Eren! You have two seconds to tell me if that’s a joke!”
Unfortunately, he knows all too well that his boyfriend’s humor doesn’t go this far. And the stubborn blockhead always acts before thinking, so–
“Oh come on! Are you fucking serious?!” Jean puts a hand over his chest, as cold waves of panic start to ripple through him. “I’m going to have a heart attack!” He exclaims. “I always knew you’d end up killing me, you reckless idiot! I’ll never get to see how that beautiful teal sofa will look in our living room, and you’ll ruin our vintage coffee table with those damn mug rings of yours–”
“What? Are you out of your mind?” Eren spreads his arms wide in disbelief; the little roof stamp of the gingerbread kit gets caught in the fight, flying on the floor. “We did agree that the vintage thing was way too expensive!”
“I got a twenty percent discount!” Jean almost shouts. “How was I supposed to leave that beauty in the thrift store, you monster?!”
“Then, since you broke our deal first,” Eren points a finger at him, “you owe me this party. It’s only fair!”
“As if this– this thing could ever be called a party!” Words tumble out of Jean’s mouth fast and sharp, before he can stop them. “A real party has music! A festive table! We're supposed to make real food and show off our new home with homemade garlands hung all over the place and–” he sucks in a breath, feeling on the edge of a meltdown. “We’re not ready for that!”
“Jean–”
“What will our friends think when they see this mess?!” Jean goes on, gesturing at the maze of half-opened boxes.
“I’m sure they won’t care!”
“But I do!” Jean exclaims. “You know it! And yet you didn’t even ask!
“I tried!” Great, now Eren is screaming too. “Two months ago! When we were picking the sofa! I said we could have a party here if we moved in before Christmas, and you just said, ‘we’ll see’, as you always do!”
If this were another moment, the thought of Eren planning their first party for weeks would tug at Jean’s heart, and make him all giddy and smiling. But he’s the one to set up surprises for his dumbass boyfriend; it’s hard for him to handle the other way around, especially given his own proposal strategy.
“And it never crossed your stubborn little brain to talk to me again?!” Jean doubles down with louder shouts. “You only do what you think is right, and fuck consequences!”
This is his lowest point. He sees it in the way Eren parts his lips to retort, then immediately presses them into a thin line before any other mean word can escape him. In the way his gaze drops to the gingerbread kit, which clearly means more to him than Jean understands.
And yet, an awful knot ties Jean’s stomach at the thought that everything he’s planning is gone. Eren has gone too far with the preparations to back down; it wouldn’t be fair to their friends to change plans by now.
So, Jean can only accept having a rushed gathering in a home that's still a mess, and probably smelling of that damn gingerbread nightmare Eren would burn in the oven.
He’ll hide the wedding ring box a little longer, and wait for another occasion.
But, god, it stings. Suddenly, tears are prickling at the corners of his eyes; the smiles and light-hearted banter of before are gone, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Still, he won’t say he’s sorry.
He lets out a long, tired sigh. “Fine. Do whatever you want, Eren.” His tone falls flat. “I’m going to bed.”
To make things even worse, he leaves the room without even giving Eren a goodnight kiss.
As he opens the bedroom door, a faint smell of chipboard and dried lavender hits him.
In the centre of the room stands their new double bed. Its white wooden frame is adorned with green fairy lights, and Eren has put on the dark blue sheets dotted with silver stars - the ones they bought on their first trip together. The ones that remind them of their first kiss under a summer night sky, nearly fifteen years ago.
It all makes the knot in his stomach unravel, and Jean bursts into tears.