𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 | 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧

𝐗𝐗𝐗𝐕𝐈: 𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

You should be more grateful to be where you were. Since you were old enough to create original thoughts, the city sang to you through Sasha's voice. You were finally where you always thought you belonged but wanted to be elsewhere. You missed Sasha's rose-tinted views on what city life was meant to be.

When the world was noisy, you craved silence. When the world was silent, you needed someone to speak. Whatever was missing, you wanted back, but once you had it, you pushed it away. The silence throbbed between your ears, and the universe most assuredly prepared to punish your thanklessness while you brooded.

Perhaps it was in your nature to be forever dissatisfied with life: eternally ungrateful.

The crinkling of a paper and clearing of a dry throat broke that excruciating silence. Your eyes opened to find an opened bag waiting right before your nose. Inside were fluffy buttermints, rainbowed jelly beans, and daintily-wrapped taffies. Jean stood just above the paper, waiting for you to dig into his offering.

"What's this?" you asked.

"Sugar to sweeten your sour mood," Jean answered.

"I am not a child; sweets will not cure a hangover."

"I am not treating you like a child." Jean motioned for you to make space for him. Once you scooched down the trunk, the two of you sat together. "I am treating you like the old woman you pretend to be."

Your glare was sharp enough to slice off the pretty smile that smoothed his full lips. A raised eyebrow further frustrated your spirit until a huff and crossed arms blocked your body from Jean's silent prodding. Again, you closed your eyes and envisioned what peace might feel like in a few hours.

You heard the sound of hard candy clinking against teeth, and peppermint permeated your happy visions. Soft sheets and gentle candle flickers faded to black.

"Mint?" Jean asked with a busied mouth, but you kept your eyes shut.

"No."

"They are good–melt in your mouth."

"I'm fine."

"But you are hungover, no? A mint may help wash the sour taste from your–"

"I'm fine," you repeated more forcefully.

"...Are you mad at me for last night?" Jean asked.

"I don't remember last night."

"I see. That is for the best.

"And why is that? Did you do something to anger me?"

"No. Your drunken self said something that your sober self would panic and ramble over."

Immediately, your eyes snapped open, and your arms uncrossed to brace sweaty palms on cool leather. "What did I say," you asked.

Where you unfolded, Jean folded up. He parodied your previous position with crossed arms and closed eyes, but his smile held firm.

"I should keep quiet," he said. "I would hate to embarrass you when your spirits are already so low."

"What did I say?"

"I promised myself I would never repeat it." His smile grew wider until sharp teeth bit into your shrinking sanity.

"We promised to keep no more secrets from one another."

"You promised. I made no such promises. If anything, I am protecting you from yourself."

"Hey!" Eren interrupted the uncomfortable intimacy from the front of the store. "Stop being weird in the back! You're going to scar the children! Let's get going!"