to love a liar

new faces . . . and old ones

He laughed lightheartedly, "Lucky? You trying to say something?"

"Thought I made it obvious," you held your cup out. "Cheers."

"Cheers," he clinked his plastic red cup against yours.

You both took a sip at the same time. Your face slightly scrunched at the fact it had been so long since you even had gone near alcohol. You were never much of a drinker anyway, but you're away from your family so it may have been long overdue.

He watched as you sighed and leaned back against the counter. Drinking in your appearance rather than the alcohol, he licked his lips before holding his hand out, "Jean Kirstein."

You slid your palm into his, shaking it while holding eye contact, "Y/n L/n."

"Well Y/n, I saw you at the game earlier, up in the stands. And let's just say, I had a pretty hard time focusing on the match since I saw you," Jean cheesed, shooting you a knowing look.

"Oh really?" you crinkled your brows, and he in response, nodded. "I'll let you in on a secret, I don't understand football at all. I was just paying attention to you the entire game and pretended to know what was going on."

His tongue poked at the inside of his cheek as he leered at you, trying to figure out the right thing to say, "You didn't stick around, I kept trying to find Sasha and Connie after to ask them, but it looked like they whisked you away."

"We got hungry," you smiled. "So we went to McDonald's."

"Did you get me anything?" he asked, folding his arms as he leaned against the counter with you.

"I didn't have your number to ask," you fake frowned.

He took the hint and pulled his phone out, "Smooth."

You grinned, typing in your number and handing it back to him. After tucking his phone away, he noticed your empty cup. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey and started pouring it into your cup without any word.

You pursed your lips, "You trying to get me drunk, Kirstein?"

He kept a mellow expression, "Not unless you want to."

He stopped pouring the drink in your cup, letting you bring the drink up to your lips as you didn't break eye contact for even a second. He drank from his cup too, mirroring your actions.

Needless to say, your heart was racing within its chambers like a toy car for the past few minutes.

"Yo! Kirstein! Braun! Hoover! Where the fuck are you?" a group of voices called.

He looked over his shoulder to where the voices were coming from. You muttered to him, "Looks like you're in high demand."

He brushed off the proprietor of the loud voice, facing you, "I don't really care. I'd rather stay here with you."

You smiled a small smile. Historia was right, he was really sweet, and so far he had made no overly inappropriate slides at you. At least he was doing the bare minimum.

"Jean boy!" someone new had entered the kitchen. It was a muscular blonde who you recalled as one of Jean's teammates. "Come on, they're doing a toast."

"I'm coming, Reiner," Jean groaned.

"Now," the man you assumed to be Reiner said rather sternly.

Jean scowled at him, then turning to look at you, "I'm really sorry about this." But then his eyes slightly widened as if something dawned on him. "Wait, just come with me."

"Oh, um, I don't know—" you were interrupted by him grabbing your hand and pulling you with him.

He led you out of the kitchen and into the capacious living room where everyone was dancing and playing games. You finally caught sight of Sasha and Connie with your other friends. Historia's jaw dropped when she saw you and Jean hand in hand.