𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲, 𝐛𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢

𝟽. 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚜 & 𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚜

Hi ♡

A 14k work chapter to celebrate another episode of AOT and how much screen time Jean got.

✰ Comment & Vote! ✰
(Not required, but it does go a long way, and it really encourages me)

___

"Just be yourself," Sasha says to you while laying on her back in the middle of your bed, stuffing her face with freshly popped popcorn. You are standing in front of the mirror of the sliding door of your closet, trying on different outfits attempting to choose the most suitable option for your upcoming interview. You're failing drastically.

She swallows her mouth full of food and continues to ramble on with kind words of encouragement. "They will love you for who you are, and if they don't, then that's their loss. Seriously. Anybody would be lucky to have someone like you work for them." She pops her head and shoulders off the mattress to look at you and holds the big bowl full of popcorn up in the air. "Want some?"

"No thanks," You decline softly, shaking your head. "I'm not hungry. I'm too nervous. I feel like I could throw up."

"More for me, then." Sasha sounds almost happy that you said no to her offer. She drops her head back down onto the mattress and places the bowl on top of her stomach. "But if you want my opinion, I think you're worrying way too much. You're a super likable person, Y/N, and you're easy to get along with. This interview is gonna be a piece of cake for you."

You take a deep breath in and let out a long stressful sigh. The smell of buttered popcorn seeping through the air fills your nose faintly. You've come to get used to how much your apartment always smells like some sort of food since Sasha is eating all the time. It's even worse when Connie drops in to hang around.

When it comes to how they store away all of the food that they eat, you're stumped.

"I just really want this job, Sash." You confide in her as you pull on a cream-colored knit sweater through your arms and over your head. You begin to adjust the seams into a straight line. Hopefully, this outfit works out. It's literally the tenth one you've tried on in the last hour. "I know that technically I have the money my mom left me that I told you about, but you know I don't want to spend it unless I have no other choice. I want to have money of my own that I worked hard to get myself."

Sasha tosses a piece of popcorn into the air. She moves her body around slightly, trying to line her head up with the falling kernel. She catches it. "Bingo," she celebrates to herself for her small achievement. She turns her body on its side and rests her head up on her hand, placing the bowl down in front of her chest. "I get that. You know, if all else fails, there's always Only Fans. People pay good money for that stuff." She says as she chews, a joking tone meeting her voice.

You snap your head towards her, and your hands drop off of the knitted fabric and fall onto your hips, "Sasha!" You exclaim. As shocked as you want to be at her suggestion, you're not ... at all.

The side of her mouth curves up into a mischievous smirk. "What? I'm just saying it would be easy money. Snap a pic, upload it, and boom." She smacks her palm onto the mattress of the bed to ad emphasis to her argument. "Money right in the fucking bank."

"Right." Your eyes roll, "And what makes you think I would ever consider making on Only Fans account?" You pause briefly. "Props to the people that make their check like that, but it's not for me. I hate men way too much, and you know damn well that they're the ones that are spending their last dime on some pictures of feet, for fucks sake."

"After what you told me your douche bag ex did to you? I don't blame you for hating men one bit. They are dogs." Sasha pauses for a brief second and then shakes her head, "actually, no, because then that would be an insult to dogs. Men are just stupid pieces of shit who have no thoughts inside of their pea-sized brains and think with only their gross pea-sized dicks that they can't even use correctly." Her shoulders lift and fall quickly into a shiver of repulsiveness. "They are disgusting. A curse to humanity."

You chuckle breathily. Sasha always knows how to make you laugh with the ridiculous things she says. You turn back towards your closet. "You're lucky, you know, to have found Niccolo. Good guys are just about non-existent. You're probably more likely to find some kind of weird-ass extinct animal or something running around before you find a semi-decent guy." You begin to rummage through the hanging clothes in your closet, looking for a pair of pants that match well with your sweater.

"That's not true. You'll find someone too when you're ready," Sasha says with an assuring smile. "One that will make up for all the shit you've had to go through. You won't have to change anything about yourself. They won't care about where you've been. They'll just take you as you are."

Pulling out a pair of brown pants from your closet, you turn toward her. You force a slight smile on your face, "I hope so." But behind your manipulated smile lies doubt.

Sasha sounds confident in what she's saying; you want to believe her, but after being told you're an unloveable person, more times than you've ever been told you are loved, you have a pretty hard time believing that love is even meant for someone like you.

Would you even want it if it came around?

Maybe your ex broke you apart a little bit more than you would like to admit to yourself. And maybe, your father's constant absentness and bitter resentment towards you and the rest of the world did too.

There are a few beats of silence as you look at her, sprawled out on your bed, eating popcorn as if it's her last meal. Sasha is a gorgeous girl, and you can't help but wish you could carry yourself the way she does. Even in private, amidst a casual conversation, there is this sort of radiance that comes from her.

It's bright, warm, and inviting. She is confident, and she doesn't care what anybody thinks about her, and that is something that you aspire to be. Secure in your body, sure of yourself, proud to be who you are. You're working on it.

"Well, I know so," Sasha says with certainty. "But I hope you know that whoever you choose, I will need to approve of them first and foremost. If I don't, or if he does a single thing to hurt you, I'll make sure he runs away crying and shitting his pants."

"You? Really?" You eye Sasha as you pull the hanger off the waistband of the pants and toss it onto the bed next to her. "How do you plan on doing that?"

She smiles, tilting her chin upward with pride. "Never underestimate the power of a woman."

"Good point." Leaning over, you put on your pair of dark brown corduroy pants, your right leg first, then left. You pull them up. "I guess that I just don't really think of you as the threatening type." You secure your pants in place with the zipper and button and tuck the sweater inside the waistband, pulling it out a little bit.

Sasha makes a pouty face, pushing out her bottom lip. "Hey! I'm scary."

Lowering your upper body down again, you put on a pair of lowcut boots, which match your sweater. "Sasha, you literally have a piece of popcorn stuck on your nose right now, and you're eating out of a bright pink Hello Kitty bowl. Tell me. What's scary about that?"

She rolls her eyes and brushes away any crumbs she might have on her face. "I'm not saying I'm scary now! I'm saying that I can be!"

You stand up straight and throw up your hands in defeat, "Okay. I believe you." You spin toward the mirror and take in the outfit you have thrown together. Finally, one you like.

She smiles, pushing the popcorn bowl off to the side. She lists up her upper body. Scooting herself across your bed, she sits on the edge of it, her feet dangling off. "Wear that." She points at you. "It looks super cute on you. It's totally the vibe of The Garrison, and it makes you look smart and sophisticated."

You mimic the upward curve of her lips with yours and agree by saying, "Since your outfits are always so cute, I'll take your word for it." You pick off a couple of pieces of lint that are stuck on the thigh area of your pants.

"Good. Now that we have that all figured out, how are you feeling?" Sasha asks.

"Nervous." You admit, your expression falling into a frown. "Look, I'm all shaky." You turn to face her again and hold your right hand out toward her, and it begins to tremble.

She sighs sharply, "That's probably from all the fucking caffeine you had today, not from your nerves."

"Come on, Sash. Don't be ridiculous. I didn't even have that much caffeine today." You give her a faulty smile, knowing you are so full of shit.

You run on caffeine, sheer willpower, and not much else.

"No? Then how much did you have?" Her eyes narrow thin. "I always know when you're lying, so don't even attempt to try that either."

Your lips press together. "I had one Red Bull this morning." Partially true.

One quick glance at you, and she knows. "One Red Bull, my ass." Sasha scoffs with an eye roll to match, "Did you or did you not go to Aloha Java earlier?"

You cross your arms as you pace toward your bed. "What am I? Being interrogated now?"

"Yes," she says in a matter-of-fact tone. "Now, answer my question. You're not allowed to plead the fifth."

"Yes, officer. I did go to Aloha Java." You say sarcastically. Plopping down onto your bed next to her. "Is there a warrant out for my arrest?"

"Yes, for the excessive amount of caffeine you've consumed," she says, nudging her shoulder into you. "This morning at 9:30 am after you were reportedly seen at Aloha Java, exactly how many shots of espresso did the barista put in your standard iced americano with oat milk?"

"I would like for you to read my Miranda Rights," You say jokingly.

Sasha crosses her arms, "answer. How many shots of espresso?"

You think about it for a second. Bringing your hand up to your face, you scratch your head. "Umm... four?"

Sasha laughs. "Case and point. And here you are trying telling me that your shaky ass hands are coming from your nerves and not from your ridiculously high caffeine intake."

"It's not my fault." You argue back. Pulling your hand away from your face, you roll your head. "I didn't sleep that much last night."

"Why not?"

"I was up late doing homework. And when I tried to go to sleep, I couldn't get comfortable, so I ended up staying up until like almost 4 am binge-watching Breaking Bad. But it's come back to bite me in the ass because now I'm sleep deprived, overly caffeinated, and nervous I'm going to bomb my fucking interview." Your head falls into the palm of your right hand.

Sasha wraps her arms around your body and pulls you into her chest. "You shouldn't be nervous, Y/N. At all. I know that you are going to do amazing. Plus, Armin is literally everyone's favorite person at The Garrison by both customers and staff. The fact he's recommending you for a position says a lot. And if that's not enough, you've been reading for pretty much your whole life. It's the perfect fit, and they will see that the moment they start asking you questions."

"Thank you, Sash." You relax into her embrace by resting your head on her chest. "I still can't believe Armin went out of his way to do this for me. It was really nice of him."

Sasha's hands fall off you. Bringing them up to your head, she begins to play with your hair, which causes you to relax even more. "Armin is hands down one of the most genuinely kind people that you'll ever meet in your life. I wish there were more people like him because then the world would be a lot less shitty," she says.

"I could see that from the first time I met him at Dok's. That's why I was so surprised when I met Annie because they are..." instead of finishing the sentence you started, you bite the tip of your tongue, not wanting to sound rude.

But Sasha takes over, finishing it for you. "...Polar fucking opposites," she says, still running her fingers gently across your head. "I sometimes wonder how they got together."

"What do you think of Annie?" You ask, lifting yourself away from Sasha's embrace.

Her hands fall into her lap as she turns her head in your direction. "I like her, but I don't know her all that well. She's super standoffish, so I can't even really sit down with her and talk, which says a lot because you know better than anyone that I can have a conversation with a fucking brick wall." Her head tilts, "Why are you asking? Do you know something I don't?"

"No. I was just wondering because I honestly think that she might hate me," you confess, meeting her eyes.

Sasha's forehead creases mapping out her curiosity. "What? Why do you think that?"

You swallow hard. "Don't you remember what she acted like when we were at Pied Piper, especially after Armin said he would help me get this job? I think it has to do with the fact Armin chose to kiss me instead of bitching out."

"I doubt that's it," Sasha says honestly. "But if for some reason it's true, that's a stupid ass thing for her to hold over your head. No one made her play our dumb game, and Armin only played because she wanted to. He's not going to go out of his way and blatantly disrespect Annie like that. He's way too fucking nice and likes her way too much."

"I know." You shake your head, trying to push away your jumbled-up thoughts. "I don't know. I'm probably reading too much into it."

Sasha pats you on your thigh three times."Don't worry about her, Y/N. I highly doubt that she hates you. Annie is just one of those people..." She pauses briefly, adjusting her words. "She's someone who doesn't really fuck with anybody. She isn't the friendliest person, especially around people who she doesn't know."

You nod wordlessly.

Sasha moves her hand from your thigh and brushes a couple of pieces of fallen hair out of her face. "I guess you could say she's an acquired taste. Even with how often she's around us, the only person she wants anything to do with is Armin, Reiner, and Bert. Even Connie and I can't pry jack shit out of her. How you're feeling is how all of us have felt at some point, but after spending so much time around her, we have just learned not to be bothered by it."

You pause for a second. "Do you think that she's good for Armin?" You ask with genuine curiosity.

Sasha thinks about her answer hastily before answering. "If I'm being honest, I think Armin is more so good for her than she is for him. But he sees something in her, so we have all accepted her. But don't think that doesn't mean I won't kill her if she hurts him, though, because I will."

You laugh, "I think every single one of you guys would. The day anyone breaks Armin's heart is the day all hell will break loose."

"What can I say? We're the Armin Arlert defense squad. You mess with him; it's game over." She flashes you a smile. "And you should know we feel the same way about you too," she pokes the tip of your nose with her fingertip. "Now, Come on. Let's go fix your hair and makeup. That way, you can kill this interview and look hot while doing it."

You run your fingernails up your thighs feeling the fabric of your corduroy pants. "Okay. Will you also help me run through the potential interview questions again?"

"Again?" Sasha heaves out a long sigh as she pushes herself off your bed and stands. "We went over them at least twenty times already. You have it down solid, Y/N."

"Please?" You beg with innocence and softened out eyes. "It will help me get out of my head."

She concedes with a defeated smile. "Fine, but only because you asked nicely."

You let your head fall into a slight tilt as your cross your arms in front of your chest. "Not because you love me?" You say, giving her a hard time.

"Eh, maybe that has a little something to do with it. Now let's go." Grabbing your hand, she yanks to your feet and leads you quickly out of your room and down the hall to the big, brightly lit mirror in the bathroom. There, she helps you finish your preparations making sure you are at your finest for your interview, which is now about two hours away.

Sasha may think she's simply fixing you up for your interview, but little does she know that she is also helping fix you as a person a little more
every day.

This is true friendship—something you haven't had in a very long time. Something you hope you can keep forever.

___

You have arrived at The Garrison. Finally, after what felt like it would never come, you are sitting at one of the tables set near the bookstore entrance near a huge crystal clear window, waiting not so patiently for the manager to come out of the back room so you can get your interview over with.

Jesus Christ. You think to yourself as your right leg begins to bounce up and down quickly underneath the wooden table. Hurry the fuck up.
The wait is making you extremely anxious. Your interview was scheduled from 2:30 p.m., and now it's about fifteen passed then. On top of that, the over-thinker in you decided to show up way earlier than you had to since you were so stressed about running late, so you've been waiting even longer.

Your restlessness aside, The Garrison is a nice hole-in-the-wall bookstore. It rests on a street corner of Rose Road and Marley Boulevard.   There is a big glass window in the very front with books on display and a pair of windows that rest on top since it is two stories. There is a sign the rests above the entrance. In big gold letters, against a black trim, it reads:

THE GARRISON BOOKSTORE

The building itself is made out of dark red brick, the outside of the store is lined in black, the pavement is made of cobblestone. There are two doors painted bright bed, and beneath it, there is a tiny concrete step.

The inside of it is far more than what you were expecting it to be. It is filled entirely with never-ending wooden shelves of books, dark navy walls surrounding it, and wooden floors below. On the ceiling, there is a painting along with hanging lamps, which sets at a yellow tone, making it feel warm and inviting.

Various chairs and tables are scattered, creating resting spaces for customers to sit, read, and study if needed. Without a doubt, this is one of the nicest bookstores you have ever been to. If you weren't so on edge about your interview, you would be able to take it in more. But your nerves won't stop eating away at you.

You are about to check the time on your phone again for the millionth time since you got here, when it vibrates, letting you know that you got a text message.

Your eyes widen with surprise when you see who the text is from.

Jean K.

What the hell?

Jean is the last person you were expecting to see a notification from. You're surprised he even saved your number in the first place. Unlocking your screen, you click on the notification and open the message from him.

Jean K. - I heard that you have your interview today. Do yourself a solid and try not to fuck it up.

You chuckle to yourself as your fingers dance across the screen, typing out your response.

Y/N - Aw, is this you wishing me good luck? I didn't think you had it in you

Jean K. - Damn, you really think I'm the devil, don't you?

Y/N - Aren't you?

Jean K. - Nah. That's way too big of a compliment to give to that dude, Satan

Y/N - Yeah? Then what are you?

Jean K. - I'm whatever you want me to be.

Y/N - How about being nice to me? Can you be that?

Jean K. - That's asking a lot...
When I said I would be whatever you wanted me to be, I was expecting it to be something reasonable

Y/N - IDK how but somehow, I knew your answer was going to be some BS like that

Jean K. - Are you in my head or something?

Y/N - I hope not. That's not really a place I'd want to be

Jean K. - Sure.
How long until you sign your life away to minimum wage employment?

Y/N - I'm here now. Just waiting for the manager to come out

Jean K. - Alright, well, put your phone away, and don't bore them too much

"Y/N?" A deep voice catches your ear before you can text back. You close out of your phone and look up to see a tall blonde man with a mustache standing in front of you.

You rise from the wooden chair and brush out your sweater attempting to make it neat, "Yes?"

"Have a seat." He smiles and makes his way to the other side of the table. Pulling out the chair, he sets himself in. "Let's get this interview underway, shall we?"

Finally.

____

"Congratulations. You're hired." Miche says as he stands from the brown wooden chair he was sitting in across from you.

Miche Zacharius. The manager and owner of The Garrison. Longnose. Dirty blond hair. Scruff to match his mustache. A man's man.

You have finished up your interview with him, and it has gone well in your favor. Rehearsing your answers over and over again with Sasha paid off after all.

You rise from your seat. Miche reaches out his hand towards you. Meeting his large calloused hand halfway, you give it a firm shake. "Thank you so much. I'm grateful for this opportunity."

"If you're available, you can start now," Miche suggests, dropping his hand back down to his side. "It's only Armin working the floor today." He throws up a hand, signaling toward Armin, who is standing behind the counter; a beaming smile spread out across his face as he uses the cash register to check out a customer. "He'd probably enjoy the company. It's fairly slow, so it would allow him to show you the ins and outs of this place."

You made sure to get any homework out of the way earlier just as a precaution, making your schedule accessible in case all of this ended up working out the way you had hoped.

You nod. "I can stay, as long as you need."

Miche gives a faint smile before nodding his head in approval. "Great. Welcome to the team, Y/N."
He grabs the ring of keys he has hooked on his belt loop. He shifts through them, looking for a specific one. When he finds it, he pulls it off and hands it to you, "here's a copy of your own key to this place. Don't lose it."

You can feel your face soften, a sense of relief washing over you. "Thank you, Mr. Zacharius." You say, putting them safely in your purse.

He runs his hand down the scruff that outlines his firm jaw. "Drop the formality. There's no need. It makes me feel old as hell. Just call me Miche."

"Okay... Miche." your mouth twitches, trying to adjust to his name. "Thank you again."

You separate from him and quickly travel across the wood floor to Armin. He is still helping out a customer, so you stay back a few feet until he finishes up, not wanting to interrupt the ongoing transaction.

You stand in silence as you observe the small interaction from afar. From what you can overhear, Armin is telling the customer about different British Literature books that he recommends, giving them a short description with every title dropped along with names of various authors.

Damn. You don't even dare to try and enter the world of Brit Lit. It's full of huge words written by white, really old men. Not something you really crave.

No smut? No thanks.

But Armin sure is knowledgeable.

As the words of literature continue to spill with eagerness out of Armin's mouth as the endless rows of books, both hard and soft, surround him, you take notice that there is a light that is coming from him. As if a bookstore is a place where he is meant to be.

The time you've spent around Armin, you've learned that he is the type of person who always seems to have this aura of goodness that surrounds him everywhere he goes, but it seems to be even more so within the navy blue walls of The Garrison.

The cash register drawer pops open. "And here's your receipt," Armin says politely to the customer, handing them a small piece of paper, "Happy reading." The customer takes it from his hold. They mutter a sweet thank you, letting him know that they will be back to shop here again and head for the exit with a small pile of books in their hand.

Making your way up to the front of the register, you place yourself where the customer had stood and rest your forearms on the wooden surface. "Hey, book expert." You greet Armin with a smile.

The register makes a slight ringing sound as Armin pushes the cash draw shut. He brings his focus from the now stored away money up to you. "Oh, Hey Y/N. How'd the interview go?" He is smiling again from cheek to cheek. Or maybe it's the same smile as before; it just never left. He does smile a lot.

"I got the job. Miche said I can start today." Your smile only continues to grow, causing your cheeks to hurt a little bit. It feels more real now that you've said it out loud. You really got a job and at a bookstore of all places.

Bookstores have always been a precious space of escape for you. When you were a little girl, your mother used to take you once a month to a locally owned bookstore in Mitras, where she would let you pick out one book of your choice. It was your traditional mother-daughter date. Your father and Lucas never came; they were never ones for reading.

But you didn't mind. In fact, you were secretly grateful they despised the thought of wasting their time with words printed on paper. You loved being able to have that time alone with your mom. It made it more special.

You would spend forever browsing, getting lost in diverse book titles and your own indecisiveness. And forever felt like no time at all.

Bookstores seem to have that sort of effect on people. The feeling of getting lost in a sea of tall brim-filled shelves, spines of books grasping onto you like the tide of a current pulling you into a different world. The smell of paper and ink— a sweet musky scent filling your lungs as you breathed it in, making you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

One thing you loved about your mother is how she never rushed you in deciding on your selection of books. She would allow you to take your time, following behind your curious traveling feet in sweet silence, only inserting her two cents in if you asked for it.

God, she was a good person. Never overbearing, but always there.

You miss many things about your mother, like how she always smelled cherries and how she would make you freshly squeezed lemonade whenever she could find the time away from her clients. But her selflessness and caring heart are both something that you miss the most about having her around.

Since your mother was so successful in the world of law, her everyday life was frequently chaotic. But, despite her obvious tiredness and ridiculous stacks of paperwork she always had lying on the desk in her office at home, she always made time to make sure her family was still a family and that they always felt loved, cared for, seen, heard, valued, and never alone.

It's sad how she sacrificed so much of herself and her time to make sure her family never experienced the feeling of loneliness. Yet, somehow along the way, your life ended up becoming everything she was fighting for it not to be. Ironic.

But now, you get to work at a place that you love so much. Somewhere where some of your fondest memories lay, and you're grateful.

Armin's eyes glisten in the lowlight of the hanging light fixtures overhead. The bright blue shade of his eyes reveals his excitement. "See? I knew you would. I told Miche a little bit about you, and he was instantly sold on making you a new hire."

You bring your hand up to your face and rest your chin into the palm of it. "What did you say?"

"I was only honest." Turning his back for a second, Armin grabs a stack of books resting on the store away counter behind him. "That you're kind, funny, easy to talk to." He spins back around to face you again.

It's always a weird feeling when you come to realize that there are people who see you entirely differently than how you see yourself.

Your face must have spoken for you because before you can cook up a response, Armin says, "Why do you look so shocked, Y/N? Connie did tell me to talk you up, remember? An idea of his that was actually a good one for once."

Straightening up your back, your hand falls back down onto the cool hardwood. "Well thank you, for listening to Connie."

Armin comes out from behind the counter, holding the stack of books up against his chest. "That was the first and only time," he says, now standing next to you. "Also, you should know that Bertholdt got a job here too, so you will be seeing him around a lot more."

"He did?" You smile as you push off the wood and stand straight and turn towards Armin. You've only talked to Bertholdt a handful of times since Eren's party, but even with the small interactions you have shared, you think he's cool. Rather soft-spoken. "That should be fun. It will be so much easier starting at a new job where I actually know the people that I'm working with."

"That's true, and you're right. Bert is a really good guy." Armin beings to walk away from the checkout counter. "I need to reshelve these books. Follow me, and I'll show you around the place while I'm at it."

"Sounds good,"' you say as you step behind him.

"Miche. I'm going to give Y/N a tour. Can you watch the front for me until we get back?" Armin calls out to your new manager.

You spin yourself around to see Miche, who sits at the same table you did your interview. He holds a book up to his face, his nose buried deep into the ink-filled pages. He looks as if he's inhaling it. Is that right, or are you seeing shit?

When he hears Armin's request, he drops the book instantly onto the table and clears his throat. "Already on it." Miche returns with a gruff voice in response, acting like he wasn't doing any of what you just saw.

You snap yourself back around towards Armin, "was he just... smelling the book?" You ask with an arched brow of uncertainty.

"Jeez." The tip of Armin's nose turns salmon pink in slight embarrassment. "I was hoping you wouldn't have to see that this early into your new job." He lets out a sigh and continues, "Miche does that a lot. I don't know what it is, but he has this weird obsession with smelling pages of books. It's weird but if and when you see it, just ignore it as best you can."

Your forehead is creased with so many questions you don't know how to ask. Instead, you simply say, "I'll try."

Armin chuckles. "That's all I ask." He begins to guide you around The Garrison as he describes to you the genre in which the books are divided; fiction, true crime, horror, romance, manga, classics.

Taking you through the maze of tall shelves, he puts the books he is holding back into their right place and tells you that to make it easier for the customers, the filing system is in alphabetical order by author's last name.

You take mental notes of all the information that Armin is telling you. You don't find yourself feeling confused or overwhelmed. He describes these things in great detail, making them easy for you to understand.

As he continues to express to you how the bookstore runs, you pass by various customers. Some are sitting on the floor silently reading with a stack of books resting next to them. Others are browsing with friends sharing small talk, and some are pulling books out of their secure place on the shelf and reading the different synopsis on the back, seeing which ones sound the most interesting to them.

It's obvious which ones are frequent customers because as you walk by, they greet Armin as if he's some big celebrity. They tell him about their current reads, and you can tell that he is genuinely listening to all the words they are saying. Even if they talk to him about a book that he's read a million times, he listens to their descriptions with interest as if it's the first time he has ever heard of that specific book.

Armin introduces you to a few of the regulars, and they all greet you kindly and tell you that they look forward to seeing you around. It's your first day, and you already feel like you are welcomed here. That's rare these days.

Sasha was right when she said that Armin was everyone's favorite.

Armin brings you to a staircase of 12 steps that leads to the second story. It's tucked away behind the rows of bookshelves that seem like they could go on forever. "I saved my favorite place for last," he says with a smile.

There is writing on the front of each step; piecing all of it together makes a quote. In white bold cursive writing, it reads:

When
loneliness
meets you
and
darkness
seems
all-consuming
push onward,
for
there will be
light and love
once again.

Taking each step slowly, you and Armin make your way to the small second story of the Garrison. It's private and secluded, less active than the first story of the place. It's smaller, and the shelves are in closer quarters, making for a little less room to roam around.

Armin continues to lead the way, hands tucked into the back pockets of his black pants. Looking around as you move through the area, you ask, "Why is this your favorite place?"

He turns his head and glances behind at you, "Once you see it, you'll know exactly why."

Trusting his words, you continue to follow him through the History and Current Affairs section. You turn at the nonfiction, passing by an excessive amount of autobiographies.

You turn once more to the left, out of the small aisle. Armin stops walking, which causes you to halt your step. He steps out of the way for you to see. You take one quick look, and you instantly understand why Armin said this is his favorite place in the entire bookstore.

In front of you is a long window, and below it rests a small reading nook set up with pillows and cushions, calling for a comfortable private place for reading.

| now playing ... mrs magic ; strawberry guy |

"Woah," you whisper. Eyes unable to move from what's in front of you, your jaw has fallen.

A soft chuckle falls from Armin's lips, "Told you."

You step past him and move over towards the window. You look outside to see the busy street in front of the Garrison. Hands resting against the glass window, you watch as people go in and out of the bookstore. Cars pass by, some fast, some slow, and you can see the slight gusts of wind as it blows through the different trees that surround this town. "This is amazing," you say as you push yourself away from the window and bring your focus back towards Armin.

He lets out a sigh, "Isn't it? I call it the Midnight Library."

You slowly lower yourself down onto the navy blue plaid cushions of the nook. "Why aren't there more people in this area?"

Taking a few steps, Armin sits down next to you, "We keep the genres of books people are less interested in up here, so it's not often that people even bother with the second level. I like it better that way, though. It makes it more isolated."

"Do you come here even when you're not on the schedule?" you ask curiously.

Armin's shoulders soften out, and he sinks into the cushions, "I used to. A lot. It was sort of part of my routine. Sometimes, I would use my key and come in the middle of the night and just read for hours. But not so much."

You turn towards him, "Why not?" 

He returns his gaze and says, "Life became messy."

You nod, not wanting to pry. "I get that."

He runs his clammy palms up against the fabric of his pants. "I actually used to come here a lot with Jean. But, he stopped showing up after..." he trails off.

You bite a piece of skin off of your lip. "Sasha and Mikasa told me a little about what happened." The corners of your mouth fall down drastically. "I'm really sorry, Armin."

"I was wondering when you were going to find out about that." Armin's head falls, and he shakes it slowly, "it's okay, Y/N. There's no need for you to apologize."

"I wish there was something more I could say." Your voice comes out soft as sympathy pulses within your blood. "I feel like I'm sorry always sounds so pathetic. A useless pair of words."

Armin goes tight-lipped. His eyes shift back and forth quickly with empathy. "It's not pathetic at all. I just feel bad for Jean. It's been almost a year now since the last time he came here."

You pull your eyes from him and bring your focus to a random bookshelf in the distance. You stare, but your eyes aren't really fixing on anything. "On the day he was helping me pack, he told me he doesn't read anymore. Does that have something to do with it?"

"Yeah, the accident really fucked him up," Armin admits to you. "I've tried my best to encourage him to do things that he used to like, but he just doesn't care. He hates everything now. Nothing makes him happy. I honestly think he's experienced so much loss that he either can't feel happiness or love anymore, or he simply doesn't want to."

Your stomach drops, there is a tightness that makes its way to the back of your throat.

Armin continues, and you listen intently. "But I can't say that I blame him for how he is." He sighs softly. "He grew up with Marco, the same way that I grew up with Mikasa and Eren. They're my family. If I lost either one of them, I don't know what I would do. I'd honestly probably want to die from that sort of heartbreak. I never want to see my life without them. And if I ever had to, I'd probably want to go numb too."

"Yeah." You breathe. "I'm sure it's hard, but at least he has a good support system to help him."

To know that Jean has people who are there for him fills you with a small level of contentment. That's something you wish you could have had for yourself.

You bring turn your head back towards Armin, but his focus is down at his feet. "Do you think he'll ever come back here?" You ask.

"I don't know. I hope so." He chews harshly at the inside of his cheek. "When he's ready."

"You're a good guy, Armin." You tell him. "I mean that."

"Thank you." Armin's head lifts up, and his blue eyes dive into your line of sight. "I wish we could sit here and talk more, but if I don't take you back downstairs and show you the rest of the ropes of this place, Miche will for sure kill me."

You both stand on your feet and head back downstairs to finish the rest of your training. "Hopefully, Miche isn't smelling a book this time." You joke. 

Armin glances over at you and begins to laugh, "Sadly, I wouldn't count on it. He's always sticking his nose in places it doesn't belong."

___

Several hours have passed, Miche has left, customers have gone home, and The Garrison is ready to close up for the rest of the night.

You are finishing wiping the check-out counter down with a cleaning solution and a paper towel when your phone vibrates. You pull it from your back pocket and see that it's a text message from Sasha.

Sash <3 - Soooo, how'd it go?!?

Y/N - I got the job!!! I'm with Armin right now! :)

Sash <3 - Ahhh!! Bestie, I'm soooo happy for you!! I told you they were gonna love you!!! I'm so proud of you 💛

Y/N - You're the best ever! Thank you for being there for me <3

Sash <3 - Always!! Also, just a heads up, Eren, Connie, Niccolo, and Jean will be here when you get off. Last-minute plans, hope you don't mind.
P.S. Ask Armin if he wants to come, I tried texting him, but he hasn't answered me yet. K. Bye. Love you.

Usually, you would be excited about a text like this, but tonight, you were really looking forward to going home and distressing from the long day you've had. You let out a small sigh and type out your response.

Y/N - I'll let him know. I'm pretty tired, though, so I think I might call it a night when I get home. See you soon. Love you.

Not waiting for a response, you lock your phone and put it away. You turn to Armin, "Did you get a text from Sasha?"

Grabbing the keys from his pocket, Armin shakes his head, "No, I haven't been on my phone. Why what's up?"

You wipe down one more spot on the counter and then throw away the paper towel. "She said that texted you. The boys are at our place. She said they planned something last minute. Do you want to come?" Armin makes his way toward the entrance of The Garrison, and you follow behind his step.

"I'd love to, but I can't. I already made plans to take Annie out for dinner." He spins around to double-check the store making sure everything is in its place, and all the closing tasks have been done correctly. "Thanks for the invite, though. I can drop you at home if you want?"

You smile, "That would be great." You say as you shoot Sasha a quick text letting her know that Armin won't be tagging along.

You and Armin head out of the Garrison and lock up. He drives you home, and the two of you share small talk; it's a short ride since the bookstore is only about a fifteen-minute walk from your place. Armin drops you at your apartment, and you make your way into the complex to your front door. Rummaging through your purse, you grab your flower-printed key, unlock the door and push it open.

The moment you step inside, you are greeted with the smell of potent weed and loud voices.

The group is gathered up in the living room. When Sasha hears you come in, her head snaps toward the door, and there is a bright smile on her face. "Hi, my little employed best friend!" She says sweetly.

"Hey, Sash," you say, closing the door shut behind you. You lock it.

Niccolo and Mikasa both greet you with a hello, and Eren waves. They all tell you congratulations.

Your eyes meet Jean, who is looking at you from the couch. Jean nods his head, slightly in greeting. "Guess you didn't fuck it up after all, huh?"

You smile softly and shrug, "Yeah. I made sure not to bore them."

Connie's head pops up from the couch, and he peers out from Jean's large body "Y/N! Where the hell have you been, loca?!"

"Immediately, no," Sasha says, shaking her head.

"Bro." At once, Jean tears his focus from you,  bringing it to Connie, and he punches him in the shoulder, "I don't ever want to hear you say that shit again, or I'll go home right now and pack my shit, and you can live without a roommate."

You laugh at Connie's ridiculousness, "Hey, Connie."

"Whatever, man. Maybe Y/N will come to live with me." Connie raises an eyebrow, his eyes scanning your face, "what do you say, Y/N? Wanna come to take Jean's place? Keep me company?"

"I'm so sorry, Con Man, but I think I'll have to pass on that one. I like where I'm living." You turn down and begin to make your way to your room. "Anyways, I'm exhausted. I'm going to head to bed. Goodnight, guys. Have fun."

"Excuse me! Where the hell do you think you're going?" Sasha asks loudly, lifting her head off of Niccolo's shoulder.

You point down the hall towards your room, "To bed."

"Oh my god, I thought you were kidding!" Sasha exclaims, "Your bed will be there waiting for you later. You're watching Demon Slayer with us." You stare at her, "but.."

"Come on," Eren says. "It's still early."

"It will be fun," Mikasa says, trying to enhance encouragement.

"Pleaseeeee," Sasha pleads, her eyes are as big and soft as a puppy dog. You couldn't say no to her even if you tried.

Niccolo leans forward to the coffee table and picks up a big platter full of food. He holds it out towards you. "I made jalapeno poppers and mac and cheese balls." His smile is so big that he looks like a proud dad holding up a trophy of some kind. "Come get them while they're still hot." Sasha claps profusely in encouragement, "they are sooooo good. If you don't hurry up, I'm literally going to eat them all." She's not over exaggerating either.

You eye the platter of finger food, and your stomach begins to rumble so loudly you can feel it travel throughout your entire body. You're fucking starving.

"Mac and cheese balls?" You sigh in defeat, "Alright, you win. I'll watch one episode with you guys. Then, I'm off to bed. Let me change first." Sasha and Connie begin to cheer loudly with enthusiasm.

You quickly make your way to your room and change into an oversized black shirt with a monarch butterfly in the middle of it and a pair of black sweatpants. Simple. Comfortable. It works.

Once situated, you make your way back into the living room. Mikasa turns to look at you, "cute shirt." You smile, "thank you."

You begin to scan around the room, looking for a space to sit. Sasha and Niccolo are sharing the love seat. Mikasa, Eren, Connie, and Jean are all sitting on the couch, leaving no room for you. So, you decide to take a seat on the ground, but before you can, Jean's voice slides into your ear, "Sit here." He stands up from the couch.

"You sure?" You ask. "I don't mind the floor."

Jean steps away from the couch, freeing the space completely, "Just sit down, Y/N." He demands, "Alright?"

"Alright." You oblige. Muttering a quick thank you, you take a seat. The cushions are still warm from the heat from his broad body. Jean takes a seat on the floor, right near your feet. He presses his back up against the front of the armrest of the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

"Hell yeah!" Connie chants, pumping a fist into the air. He brings it back down and puts his arm around you, pulling you in closer to him, "I get to sit next to my favorite fucking person."

"Hey!' Sasha calls out with a defensive look on her face. "What the hell does that make me?"

Connie smirks, "Runner up." Sasha sticks her tongue out at him, and he flips her off.

"I'm honored, Connie." You laugh as you lightly tap his arm that is wrapped around your shoulder. "Can you hand me a couple of mac and cheese balls, please?"

Connie moves his arm off you and leans forward toward the platter of food. "Of course, anything for malady."

Jean dry laughs, "She's not your lady, dude."

Connie puts a few mac and cheese balls onto a napkin for you. "What's that, Jean-Boy? Is someone jealous?" He leans back onto the couch and hands you the hot food. You smile and take a bite of the food; the flavors dance across your tongue. Niccolo is a fucking mastermind.

"Jealous? What are you, a fucking idiot?" Jean's jaw sets, "Fuck off, Connie."

Connie takes a bite out of a jalapeno popper, steam coming from the inside of it, "You first."

"Can we start the damn show?" Eren interjects. "If we don't, they will just keep fucking going."

"Good idea, Eren," Mikasa says, her eyes traveling across the room. "Who has the remote?"

"Me!" Sasha singsongs. She turns on the TV and pulls up Crunchyroll on the firestick. She begins to type in the word Demon, but miss spells it as Deemon. She lets out a defeated sigh, "damn it! why isn't it coming up?"

"Sasha!" Connie raises his voice, "You're so dumb! That's not how you spell Demon! It's spelled like D-E-A-M-O-N!"

"Jesus fuuucking Christ. Both of you guys are stupid as hell," Jean says gruffly. "Give me the damn remote."

Sasha throws Jean the remote; he catches it in a swift movement. He types in Demon Slayer the correct way and selects it, "And to think I'm the one who needs fucking tutoring." The group laughs. "Sub or Dub?" Jean asks. Everyone says sub at the same time. He selects it and slides the remote onto the coffee table. He stands up and turns down the lights in both the kitchen and the living room, the only light coming from the images of the television.

As you adjust yourself on the couch to get more comfortable, Jean makes his way back into the living room and takes a seat on the ground next to you again. This time, though, he's a lot closer. His shoulder is resting against that outside of your left leg.

Neither of you says anything about it; you both just sort of let it happen all while acting like it hasn't.

Demon slayer starts, and the room goes quiet.

After about twenty minutes, the first episode ends, and you wipe the tears falling from your cheeks. Oh, so this is one of those anime's where they don't ease you into jack shit. Perfect.

You sniffle a couple of times, but the sound of it causes Jean to turn his head from the TV over to you, "don't tell me you're crying." He says irritably.

You look down at him and run your hand over your cheek with the back of your hand, "that was sad okay?"

Sounds of blubber sobs come into play next to you. Both you and Jean turn to see Connie next to you, crying like a baby. "Poor Tanjiro, man. Who the fuck made this shit." His cheeks are drenched from his tears, and his chest is heaving in and out, trying to catch his breath. You look back toward Jean, "see? I'm not the only one." His mouth twitches like he is fighting off a smile.

"Damn, bro, you good?" Eren lets out an exaggerated laugh, looking at Connie. Mikasa is nosily peaking out from around Eren's shoulder. "Can he even breathe ?" She asks Eren. He gives a shrug with a 'I have no fucking clue' look on his face.

Connie runs both of his palms down the front of his face and sinks deep into the couch. "Let a man cry in fucking peace, alright? Can we just play the next episode? You fuckers are acting like me crying is the new source of your guys' entertainment." You pat Connie on the top of his head, "it's okay, I'll be your crying buddy." Connie's watery green eyes flicker over to you, "This is why I like you. You're a real one, Y/N." He says to you while Jean uses the remote and clicks on the next episode. It begins to play.

You promised yourself one episode, but you really want to know how Tanjiro is going to get his vengeance and what he is going to do about the unfortunate effects that have drastically affected his sister.

Soon, before you know it, you are 13 episodes deep and fully invested. Not once has Jean's shoulder parted from contact with you, and on top of that, at some point in time, he began to rest his head against your knee, which only made your body tense even more than before. Pieces of his brown mullet resting on the fabric of your black sweats.

Another episode flies by, and the outro begins to run on the screen. You yawn and stretch out your upper body, careful not to move the lower half. Turning your head, you begin to look around.

Connie is asleep with his mouth wide open, snoring so painfully loud like he has fucking sleep apnea. Sasha and Niccolo are in their own little world, kissing and whispering things to each other on the love seat. They are so cute it's almost sick. Mikasa is asleep on Eren's shoulder as he quietly watches Demon Slayer; you can tell by how Eren controls his breaths that he is scared to move even slightly. You, Jean, and Eren are the only ones who are actually invested in the show.

Jean places his hand on your thigh and shakes in gently, trying to get your attention. You pull your eyes from the television and bring them down to him, trying not to focus on the way it feels when he touches you. You're grateful that you're wearing a pair of sweats right now to hide the fact that you have chills covering every inch of your body. You lean down towards him.

He brings himself closer to you, lining his mouth up with to your ear, "I can't focus with Connie's loud ass snoring. Wanna go smoke?" His low voice causes the chills on your body to accumulate in rapid numbers.

You turn your head towards him. Nearing yourself to his ear, you whisper in return, "Where?"

He shrugs and mutters. "Outside. I have some in my car."

You pause for a second to gather your thoughts. Getting high sounds like a good way to finish off your long day. "Okay. Yeah. Sure."

"Hey, bro," Jean calls out quietly to Eren to get his attention. Eren looks at Jean and gives him a slight head nod, "What's up?" He whispers.

"Y/N and I are going to go smoke. You wanna come?" Jean asks, keeping his voice at the same level of quietness, not wanting to disturb anyone.

"Can't." Eren carefully throws up a hand, signaling toward Mikasa, who is still sleeping on his shoulder. "I'm fucking trapped. Take a hit for me."

Jean nods. He nudges you in your leg with his shoulder, "Let's go." He pushes himself to his feet, and you stand on yours.

Sasha's head pulls away from the crook of Niccolo's neck, and you fall into her line of sight, "where are you going?" She whispers, her hands playing with Niccolo's hair. With your right hand, you act like you are holding a blunt between your fingers and bring it up to your mouth.

Sasha nods, "Be careful," she whispers, and her eyes move over to the right, "Jean.." she looks are him. He rolls his eyes, already knowing where this is headed, "yeah, yeah, know. I'll keep an eye on her." She throws your thumbs but before her attention falls completely back on Niccolo.

The two of you quietly walk across the apartment. Not wanting to wake anyone up, you sneak out of the front door and close it without almost any noise.

You match Jean's step as he leads you to the outskirts of the apartment complex, over where a bunch of cars is street parked. He stops in front of a blacked-out Mercedes.

Oh. Okay. So he's rich.

"This is your car?" You ask, studying it, trying to hide the fact that you're super fucking impressed

"Yeah," Jean tells you. "Graduation gift from my mom."

Okay, then. Scratch that. Spoiled AND rich.

You chuckle softly as you try to process that there are actually parents out there that go above and beyond for their kids. "That's a really nice graduation gift."

"Yeah." He pulls out his keys. "My mom's pretty alright." He keeps his tone cool, but when you look at him, there's a slight softness in his face and eyes. You can tell that to him; his mom is far more than pretty alright. "What kind of car do you have?" He asks casually.

"I don't." You stammer, "well, I did, but I had to sell it not too long ago. So, I had to take the train when I moved here."

"Why did you have to sell it?" He asks.

Lucas crosses your mind. You blink a few times quickly, trying to clear the image of him painting in your head. "Personal reasons," your words come out quickly. Feeling like you are about to fold in on yourself, your shoulders rise into a shiver because of both the nippy night air and the pinch you feel inside your chest.

Jean pauses and blinks, "you cold?"

You take the exit he's given you. "Yeah. I'm not used to how cold it gets here at night yet."

"Should have thought of that before you came out here, huh?" You tilt your head, studying for a second. His mouth moves slightly, but you still can't tell if he's kidding or not. You give up on your sorry attempt of reading him and shake your head, "I uh, I think I'm gonna go back and grab a sweatshirt."

"Don't. I'm just giving you a hard time. Take mine," Jean says. He lifts his arms to pull off his black Nike sweatshirt over his head, but when he does, the dark grey shirt he is wearing underneath lifts up with it, and your wandering eyes can't help but fall onto the lower half of his stomach. It's so fucking defined. You knew he was muscular when your hands grazed over his stomach when the two of you shared those moments in the closet, but to see it with your own two eyes? Even just briefly? Holy fucking shit.

Is it bad you want to touch it again?

Once his sweatshirt is removed, he lowers his arms, causing his shirt to fall back down, covering the things you had no business staring at in the first place. He holds his hand out to you, handing you the sweatshirt. The scars on his arm make your back tense, even more so now that you know where they came from, but you don't allow yourself to look any longer than a split second.

Trying to play it as cool as possible, you straighten out your back and grab it from him; you clear out your throat. "Thanks."

You start to put his sweatshirt on when your nose brushes over the fabric of it, and the familiar scent of vanilla and expensive cologne fills you up. You can't help but breathe in. You pull it over your head, and the material falls in place.

As you pull the hood onto your head, Jean unlocks his car and makes his way over to the driver's side. You sit down on the edge of the sidewalk and watch him as he opens the door and turns on the vehicle to access the stereo inside. He rolls down the windows on both the passenger of divers sides. He pushes himself back out of the car.

Shutting the door, he makes his way over to you. He now has his phone in his hand, along with his blue lights and a fresh blunt. He looks down at you in your lowered position. "Why are you sitting on the sidewalk? Just sit on top of my trunk. It's fine. I'm not one of those guys who's going throw a bitch fit over my car." He sets the blunt fingers and places it between his lips. Taking the lighter to it, he lights it and takes in one big inhale. "This shits strong. It's wrapped in some wax. You okay with that?"

You don't object. Once on your feet, you step past him and say, "Yeah. I can hang." Hopefully, because greening out would be really fucking embarrassing.

You push yourself up onto the trunk of his car, carefully, your feet hanging down in front of you. Jean stands next to you, back lined up with the trunk; he sinks into the car a little bit. "Any music requests?" He asks, handing you the now burning joint.

You shake your head; you pull his offer from his grasp. You can barely feel your hands. You take three hits; it tastes good, like mango. That's dangerous. "You gave me your sweatshirt, and you're letting me smoke your weed. I'll force myself to live with whatever music you play." You hand him back the blunt. "Plus I have a feeling whatever I would have requested you wouldn't have played anyway."

Jean huff's air out of his nose. "Yeah. You're right." You roll your eyes. 

He scrolls through his phone a little bit as he takes a few long hits. Finally, he selects a song; it begins to play from his car's speakers, traveling to the outside from his rolled-down windows. Only a couple of notes are played, and you can already recognize the song because of how many damn times you've listened to it.

[ ⅠⅠ ▹ play: apocalypse - cigarettes after sex ]

Your eyes quickly flicker over to him, "Cigarettes After Sex? Damn. Are you okay?" You tease.

He looks at you; eyes widened like he's shocked you could identify the song playing. "You listen to them?" He takes a long hit before handing you the blunt.

"Of course, I do." You grab it from him slowly. You can barely feel your fingers. You take a few drags. The coldness of the night is making it a little hard to feel them.

"Then shouldn't you already know the answer to your own question?" Comes Jean's muffled reply.

"Alright. Touche. I'll give you that one." You blow out the smoke building in your mouth as you hand him the blunt once again.

You and Jean continue the traditional puff puff pass rotation, and silence builds upon itself drowned out by the music. The good silence that only comes when it's from him.

With each blunt exchange, your hands continue to grow colder and colder to the point where you can't even feel your fingers anymore. You tuck your hands away into the front pocket of his sweatshirt, trying to warm them up. Jean tries to pass to you again, but you keep your hands' tucked away. When you don't take it from him, he looks at you and says, "it's your turn to hit."

You shake your head, declining. "It's okay. I don't want to move my hands right now. They're literally as cold as ice."

Jean repositions himself, turning his entire body around towards you. He adjusts his hand, lifting it towards your face. With the blunt between his two fingers, he slowly lifts it up to your mouth. "Here. Open." He coaxes.

Your eyes widen, shocked at his request, "what?"

His jaw tightens up. "Open your mouth, Y/N."

Your stomach knots around itself, but you do as you are told. Your lips slowly part, and he sets the blunt between them. You close up and breathe in deeply, taking a long hit as he holds his hand still, allowing you to take all that you can. After a few seconds, you pull away from the blunt and blow the smoke out.

He brings the blunt back over to his own lips and hits it again while studying your face; the more he looks, the more his eyebrows knit closer together, causing his forehead to crease. After a few passing beats of quietness, his face relaxes, and he shakes his head. "You're a hard person to read. You know that?"

Your shoulders raise slightly before you relax them out. "That's a bit ironic coming from you, don't you think?"

He tilts his head up toward the cloudy night sky. "You think I'm hard to read?"

"You think you're not?"

"I don't know." He brings his head back level and lifts his right shoulder up into a shrug. "I don't really think that much about it." He brings the blunt over to your lips again to feed it to you. You lean forward slightly, taking two more hits.

You blow the smoke out. "There's not much for me to go off of when it comes to you."

All of what you know about Jean is what your friends have told you. You have learned nothing about him from his own mouth, and he makes sure to try and keep it that way.

Jean blinks. "It's not like you're giving me anything in return." He brings the blunt away from your face and moves it back over to his mouth.

You think for a second, then briefly sigh. "How about this. You tell me one random fact about you, and I'll tell you one random fact about me." You eye him in challenge.

"Fine. But nothing too personal." He says pointedly, tapping the forming ash off of the burning tip.

Jean is layered up so tightly you don't even know where you begin to attempt to try and peel him back.

You deflate, "I wasn't planning on it."

"Good." He says, running his free hand over the top of his mullet. "I hate that deep shit."

You huff out a laugh. "Yeah. I figured."

He drops his hand from his hair and signals toward you, with blunt in hand. "This was your idea, so you first."

You clench your jaw in thought. Many things cross your mind, but finally, you decide on a piece of you that won't reveal too much of yourself. "I've never seen the ocean."

Jean's jaw drops, and his head falls into a tilt. "You're serious?" His eyes pulsate back and forth.

"Yep," you nod, running your tongue across your teeth. "Never."

"Don't you know that there's one in Paradis? It's only about a thirty-minute drive from here." Jean informs you.

"I know. I just haven't been yet. It's not like I've been here for that long... I'll go at some point." Your eyes shut briefly as excessive thoughts begin to form in your foggy brain; you feel a little lightheaded.

You and Lucas always talked about seeing the ocean together. When you were younger, your family had planned a big summer vacation trip to spend two weeks in a rented-out beach house. It was always your mother's dream to see the vast blue never-ending waters. She died two months short of the trip. Her one true dream died along with her.

When you and Lucas found out that Paradis held an Ocean called Shiganshia, the two of you were excited to be able to live your mother's dream out for her. But after Lucas passed, the dream became null. It's not that you don't want to go, because you do. All you know about the ocean is from the pictures you've seen on the internet or from the things you've watched on a pixilated screen. You want nothing more than to be able to see it in person. But thinking about going without your brother makes you feel almost guilty.

Jean opens his mouth to say something else, but not wanting to be pressed for questions you're not ready to answer, you veer the conversation over to him, taking any tension you feel off of yourself. "I said my random fact. Now it's your turn."

"Alright, um," He looks around briefly, taking in his surrounding until his eyes find yours with a slight turn of the head. "You know the wall art all over the living room in your apartment?" He offers you the blunt again, but you shake your head declining, already feeling it working. Jean was right; this shit is strong.

"Yeah, what about them?" You ask with the interest of where he's going to go with this.

"Those are all my own works." He tells you, but his voice has turned quieter than before. Almost like he's embarrassed or maybe self-conscious.

Your eyes widen, and your lips slightly part, "You're serious? Every single one?"

He nods, taking a slow drag from the small piece that's left of the blunt. "They were pieces that I've collected over the past few semesters. Different final projects, midterms. I was going to throw them out, but Sasha made me give them to her instead."

You run your fingers against the soft cotton of the inside of the sweatshirt, "Why would you throw those away?" Your fingers are starting to gain feeling again.

| now playing ... bitter fuck ; joji |

Another song begins to play through his car speakers as Jean takes one last hit. "I was moving in with Connie, and I didn't think that there was a point in keeping shit like that," he says, voice monotone, as he throws the last of the blunt on the ground, and steps on it, making sure it's out.

"You know," you start, "The first time I ever went over to the apartment, I dead ass thought that all of it was done by a professional artist or something." Alright. The weed is talking now.

"Complimenting me?" Jean's signature cocky smirk crosses his lips, "I never thought I would see the day, especially considering the fact you hate me."

"Well, would you rather me say it was the ugliest shit I'd ever seen in my entire life? Because then that would make me a liar, and I hate liars." You pause and look at him, "Also, I don't hate you."

"But you don't like me." He states what he believes to be the truth.

"I don't know you that well." You shrug, "As I said, you're hard to read. I mean, I honestly know more about how you kiss than I know about you as a person, and I think that's a little backward compared to the way those things are usually supposed to work, don't you think?"

Jean locks eyes with you. "Who gives a fuck if it's backward? Don't tell me you have an uptight playbook when it comes to this." He sounds annoyed.

You blink a few times. "I'm just saying. Usually, I know more than just someone's name before deciding if I want their tongue down my throat or not."

"It's just making out, Y/N," Jean says, leaning back into his car a bit more. "It's not that big of a fucking deal. You don't gotta give a shit about a person to do that. Making out is just making out the same way fucking is just that... fucking. There doesn't need to be meaning behind it for someone to get off. When people bring their feelings into it, that's when shit gets annoying."

You let out a disbelieving laugh as you fix your posture, forcing yourself to sit up taller. "You're telling me that you've never fucked someone to love?"

He scratches his chin casually with his fingertips. "I make sure that I don't love the girls that I fuck." He doesn't even blink, nor does his face faulted in any sort of way. Damn. He really means this shit.

Usually, you would feel nervous sharing this sort of conversation with him, but the weed is kicking in, making your body feel lighter, time feel slower, and your curious thought feels somewhat less threatening, "So you just fuck them and then blow them off?"

His right shoulder lifts in a slight shrug, "They know going into it that it's a quick fuck. A no-strings-attached deal. If they end up catching feelings, then that's on them. Not really my problem."

You feel your inner self cringe at his dead chivalry, "How many girls have you done this to? Just fucked and blown off?" The question slips out from your mind.

"This week or in general?" Jean answers bluntly.

Ugh. Gross.

"Jesus Christ." You roll your eyes.

"You asked," he says casually.

"You didn't have to be that honest." You say, "You could have lied."

He takes a deep breath and lets it out. "Why would I?" He asks. "Didn't you just say you hate liars?"

You blatantly ignore his question. "I just don't think that's the way to live," you say, voicing your opinion you already know he could give less than two shits about.

Jean lets out a sharp second-long laugh. "Oh yeah?" He takes a step directly in front of you, his body now standing between your slightly spread legs. He sets both of his hands down onto the hard surface of his black trunk; his broad arms are locking you in, not giving you any room to move. He peers down at you with a sultry gaze and set jaw. Slowly, he lowers his head down toward your face, "And you know what I think?" He breathes, inches away.

He's really fucking close, but this time, he is careful not to touch.

It's making the air that surrounds you feel unbreathable, which makes your lungs ache needily beneath your ribcage. What is it that you're aching for exactly? Air? Personal space? Him? You have no fucking clue.

But the one thing you are sure of is that your body and mind are both stuck in the same sorry-ass way that they were back in that closet. The building question is: Is it because you're unable to move, or is it because you're unwilling to?

Shit. You are way too high for this bullshit right now. You should have just stayed back inside your apartment and sat and watched Zinetsu cry while fighting Demons for another fucking hour.

Your eyes drop down to his right-hand set next to you, and you saunter up to his arm slowly until your gaze meets his face. You swallow hard so your voice won't catch the way that you feel like it's going to, "No." Your tone has fallen back into a whisper. "What do you think, Jean?"

He opens his mouth to speak, but before any words spill out, a loud voice cuts through the building tension, putting a barrier between the two of you. "You came out here to smoke, and you didn't think to fucking invite me? What the hell is wrong with you?" Of course, it's Connie fucking Springer.

"You were knocked the fuck out," Jean argues back, pushing himself off of the trunk away from you. He crosses his arms in front of him. "Thought you could use some beauty sleep."

"That's considerate of you, considering the fact I'm already better looking than you are." Connie bites back as he arrives where you and Jean are.

Laughter starts to rupture from within you, almost obnoxiously loud. You are finding this way funnier than you should, but you can't stop laughing. It's all the damn weed you smoked.

Jean glares at you, "don't encourage him." You continue to giggle. You keep biting your lip, trying to fight it off, but it keeps coming. " I'm sorry," you say between your laughter, "I think I'm really high."

Connie laughs, "No shit, look at her eyes." Connie steps right in front of you and holds his phone up, and turns on the light, shining it on your face. "Blood fucking shot. Damn Jean, what did you guys smoke? You got her good."

Jean hovers over Connie and looks at the color the weed has brought to your eyes under the bright light of Connie's phone, "The one I copped from Zeke." Connie turns off his phone light and lowers it, "the one rolled in wax?" He asks. Jean nods.

Connie is now wearing a proud smile across his face, "Damn, so our girl can really hang. Alright, I see you, Y/N."  Connie's palm meets the middle of your back, and he pats it a couple of times as he laughs. "I'm so fucking glad you moved here, holy shit."

"Me too," you say with elongated words and a big smile. You feel Jean looking at you, but when you turn to look at him, he looks away.

You hear Sasha's voice in the distance. "I was wondering where the hell you went, Connie." The three of you turn to see Niccolo and Sasha making their way out of the apartment complex. They arrive at Jean's car.

"I was gonna tell you that I was coming out here," Connie says in defense, "but I didn't want to interrupt your make-out session with Gordon Ramsey."

You start to laugh again, and Sasha looks at you and studies your face. She turns her head over to Jean, "is she.."

"Blasted?" Jean says, he nods, "As fuck. She's chilling, though."

Sasha looks at the sweatshirt you're wearing, then at you, then back at the sweatshirt, then back at you again. Her mouth slightly falls open. You know she's thinking, 'what the fuck?' You give a simple shrug as your silent answer.

"Where are Eren and Mikasa?" Connie asks, glancing back toward the apartment building.

"They're both dead asleep on the couch," Niccolo says, wrapping his arm around Sasha and pulling her in close, reminding everyone that he's proud to have her. "We tried waking them up, but they wouldn't budge."

"I'm hungry." You whine, grabbing your stomach.

Connie laughs and pokes you in the shoulder. "Someone has the fucking munchies, yeah?" Moving your hand off your stomach, you poke him back in his arm in the same place he poked you and ask, "Are there any more Mac and cheese balls leftover?"

"No," Niccolo says, shaking his head, his blonde curly hair moving with the movement. "Sasha over here ate the rest while you guys were out here. Basically licked the whole damn thing clean." He says, lightly shaking her body.

Sasha looks up and Niccolo and sticks her tongue out at him, "When I said I was going to eat the whole thing, I was being one hundred percent honest." She brings her head back level with the group. "I'm with Y/N. I'm hungry too. Do you guys wanna go get something to eat?" She asks.

"Down," Connie says.

"Where at?" Jean asks.

Sasha checks the time on her phone, "I think Sonic is still open. I could really go for one of their Oreo ice cream blasts." Your mouth begins to water, and you say, "oh my god, that sounds so good." You all agree with her suggestion. Sasha looks up at Niccolo, "Wanna come, Nic?

He kisses the top of her head, "I'd love to, but I gotta work the morning rush tomorrow at Dok's. I better head home so that I can get some rest. I'll hate myself in the morning if I don't."

Sasha's face grows long with dissatisfaction. It's obvious she doesn't want him to leave, but she nods her head in understanding with a small disappointed sigh, "Okay, fine. I'll walk you to your car." Niccolo bides goodbye to you, Connie, and Jean, and the two of them disappear into the distance.

While you wait for Sasha to return, you keep your seat on top of Jean's trunk and watch as Jean and Connie mess around with one another. They are spewing nonsense at one another, but you're far too high to comprehend any of what it means. After a few quick minutes, or long minutes in your defense, you see Sasha in the distance, "You guys ready? Any longer, and I'll die of starvation." She calls out.

Connie breaks away from the hold of Jean's has around him and spins to meet Sasha, who is still traveling towards you. "You're the one who took forever saying goodbye to Niccolo. Making out again?"

Sasha reaches the group. Halting her step, she crosses her arms in front of his in great defense, "We weren't."

Jean scoffs, "I smell bullshit."

You point to the forming red mark on her neck, "then what's that." She brings her hand up and wraps her hand around it trying to hide it, her face turning red, "Shit. I told him to be careful."

"Very classy," you tease, hoping off of the trunk of Jean's car. She sighs in defeat, letting down her hair from a ponytail; she lets it fall down around her face, her attempt of covering it up. "I saw a remedy on Pinterest that's supposed to work, a frozen spoon or something like that. I'll try it when we get back."

"Believe me," Connie interjects with a hang of his head, "that shit does not work."

You, Sasha, and Jean turn your heads toward Connie at once and stare at him for a few seconds. When Connie notices you guys staring, he throws up a defensive hand, "what? I'm just sayin'."

"You know what, I'm not even going to ask." Sasha sighs and throws up her pointer finger into the air. "Now, who's driving?"

"We can take my car. Are you good to drive, bro? I'm high as fuck." Jean asks Connie. He responds with a nod and says, "No problem, man." Jean pulls out his phone, "I'll shoot Eren and Mikasa a text and let them know where we're gonna be." Connie makes his way to the drivers' side and gets in.

"Shotgun!" Sasha yells loudly; running over to the passenger side of Jean's car, she opens the car door and jumps inside, slamming it shut.

"Damn," Jean mutters, "in my own car too." After he finishes texting Eren, he puts his phone away and brings his focus to you, his lips pressed together. He opens the car door and steps aside, making room for you to enter. You slide in the backseat, and he follows in after. Once the door is shut, Connie shifts the car into the drive. Sasha has taken over the aux.

Next to you, Jean scoots in more, and man spreads his legs, causing his thigh to brush against yours briefly. Again, you both act like your bodies haven't just touched, though you're burning inside.

Jean leans over toward you. "Look like you're stuck back here with me," he says, "You better buckle up."

And the car takes off.

- 14,121 words.

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