A Kiss with a Fist

Chapter Sixteen

                                                                                                      A Kiss with a Fist

                                                               Chapter Sixteen

It was only by the next morning did she realize that, even though Jean and her weren’t as…well, that even though they didn’t talk as much as they used to, he still hadn’t of visited her. Whereas, everyone else she trained with, had. Even Ymir, who she was sure hated her more than Jean ever could.

It was only when Mikasa and Armin came did she hear that, one: Marco Bodt was dead. And, two: Eren Yaeger was being held by the Recon Corps, his identity as a titan being revealed. One that, apparently Eren himself, hadn’t even known about.

Lotte felt the weight of the titan attack being forced onto her tiny shoulders, her own pain being added to countless of other civilians whose own families had been ripped apart. She could feel their pain, the other casualties bringing out a remorse in her chest that was unreal.

Lotte bit her lip from crying, again.

Mikasa and Armin were the last two to visit her, for which, she was thankful. She waited only minutes after they left to sneak out. Mikasa had told her that no one had spoken to Jean since last night’s fire, when they burned all of the dead bodies that were left to rot on the sidewalks of Trost. No one had even seen him since then.

It took her nearly an hour to locate him. “Jean,” she tried, again. He had been vacantly staring at the brick wall for a while now, she guessed. “Jean, are you okay?”

She didn’t miss the little shake of his head—which, she supposed was a good sign. With the way he was acting, Lotte wasn’t even sure if Jean had noticed she was there. Oh, how her heart bled for him. For her brother. For the injustice of those of them who were still living, left to pick up the pieces the dead left behind for them, the pieces of themselves.

She had never been a particularly affectionate person. And, as well as she knew Jean, she knew he wasn’t, either. Lotte would be lying, however, if she said she didn’t enjoy the way his radiating warmth felt against her cold, almost dead body, or the selfish pleasure that coursed through her veins when their arms brushed and she scooted closer, resting her head on his shoulder.

Lotte wasn’t compassionate. Lotte was selfish.

“It’s so fucked up,” he murmured. “My best friend’s dead.”

“I know,” she whispered back, not as so sure as what to say.

“It wasn’t me. It could have been me.”

“Well, I’m glad it wasn’t.”

Lotte didn’t miss the way his body tensed next to hers. And, for a moment, he was silent. Jean seemed to shake a bit, she thought. But she didn’t dare look up. Lotte didn’t dare look for the tears that would undoubtedly be obscuring the square headed teen’s face. She, instead, wrapped her arms around him in an awkward side embrace, ignoring the sudden swelling of warmth in her chest as Jean’s arm wrapped around her, too.

“That’s the fucked up part,” he said, voice soft. He turned his body to hold her against him. Lotte’s head was now securely tucked under his chin, light stubble pressing into her forehead. “I am too.”

Lotte leaned so that her nose was pressed against his shirt. He smelled like dirt and blood. “Jean, you don’t—“

“I’m glad it wasn’t you, either.” Lotte clenched her teeth, trying to choke back a sob. “Lotte…Lotte! I’m scared, Lotte.”

She nodded. “I’m scared, too.”

*

The sun was starting to set, but that didn’t register to Lotte. She could feel his gentle heartbeat against the bridge of her nose, and could feel the tangle of his fingertips in her hair. She knew it was probably knotted from laying in the hospital bed so long, but neither seemed to really care. He had tried to, at one point, rub his hand along the curve of her back, but quickly retreated when she hissed out in pain.

“You tried to fight it, alone?” He whispered, a hint of awe in his voice. “You?”

“I didn’t have any other choice.” She was too tired to banter, at this point. “It was for my brother. But…”

“But?”

“He didn’t make it.” Jean’s hand paused atop her head, freezing. She could feel his muscles go rigid against her, and knew from the heavy thump in his chest, with each beat hurting worse than the last, that Marco had flashed through his mind, again. Jean pressed his chin down a little harder on her head.

“I’m sorry.”

Lotte shrugged, biting her lip to keep the tears at bay. She didn’t want to talk about it. She wasn’t sure if there would ever come a time when she could talk about it. “Me too.”

Jean’s hand found her chin, and he lifted up his own head, drawing her face up to look at him. She could see her face in the cool reflection of his glossed over golden eyes, gauging her emotions with a creased forehead.

He rested their heads together. “Hey, Lotte?” Death was the last thing either would ever be okay with talking about.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve never really noticed…but, you’ve got freckles, too.”

“Yeah.”

!~*~*~*~*!

Ok well uhm. Jean was requested. Jean was what you got. !! Voting for SnKWattys has finally been opened up, so if you like this story, please don’t forget to vote for it in the Jean Kirchstein category! Please! Thank you to those who already have! (: