"Jean." The boy was far used to hearing his name fly of the lips of his teachers, to the point it would just bounce off of him and float into the air, to be forgotten. No matter how many times it was said, he would never acknowledge the person speaking to him.

"Jean." Silence. Brown eyes blinked underneath heavy eyelids as the clock ticked. The voice grew impatient, but that didn't effect the boy.

"Jean!" Louder, hands slammed on the table, and Jean's shoulders jumped. This was a first.

Mr. Levi's eyebrows twitched, his almost black eyes piercing Jean through his bangs, his fingers curled against the wood of the desk.

No one knew anything about Mr. Levi. No one knew if it was his first name or his last; Everyone called him Mr. Levi, and that's all he would respond to. Mrs. Hanji would joke around and just call him "Vi", and you could see the vein in his temple pulse, but he never did anything about it. Rumor says one kid called him that - Nothing else came from that. Despite being in his early thirties and 5'3", he was intimidating to say the least. No one dared to call him anything else, and the rest of him remains a mystery.

"What," Jean responded with a heavy sigh.

"Are you deaf? I'm speaking to you."

"Yeah, yeah, I hear ya, no need to get your panties in a bunch." The remark curled Mr. Levi's fingers into a fist, his thin shoulders raising to his ears as his chin met his collarbone.

"You're failing my class, Jean, and it's only the first quarter of the school year."

"Wow, thanks, teach. I didn't know." A spark in those black eyes rose, Mr. Levi on the verge to scream, but he cleared his throat and regained his posture, a finger tapping on his temple.

"Either you get a tutor, or I drop you out of my class." A loud groan grew in Jean's throat at the mention of a tutor, and it rose in his voice as he stood, letting out all of his apathy in a sigh.

Standing a foot or so over his teacher, Jean's eyes refused to give any emotion. They just lazed on Mr. Levi, whose index finger was pressing furiously on his temple.

"I'll work on it," the last words of Jean sat on Mr. Levi's mind as the boy left the room, dragging his shoes, backpack hung low on his shoulder.

"Jesus, Jean, what'd you do this time?" For the first time in a long while, no smile bore the freckled face of his best friend, Marco. A loud thud of books dropping, a heavy kick to open the door, and slamming as Jean got ready to leave for the day covered up his actual words of his day. "Your what?" Marco asked, unable to hear over the ruckus.

"Nothing." It was hard lying to his best friend, but when you angered the boy, he would be stubborn like no other. "He just wanted to talk."

"Right." More weight on his shoulder, literally and metaphorically, Jean began to walk in the opposing direction, leaving Marco confused. "Hey! Are we still hanging out tonight?" His voice grew louder as Jean continued to walk, though it eventually faded after mentioning something about Connie.

The moon was visible through the dark sky of the October afternoon, cold wind hitting Jean like a slap in the face, harsh winds like nails on his skin. He could feel a cold building inside of him. He knew how angry his mother - And Marco, for that matter - would be if he did get sick, especially since he always refused to wear any type of special clothing for oncoming weather.

"It's your fault, Jean." He kept repeating the same degrading words in his heads as the exhaust of the bus caught in his throat, hacking his way back home, pushing against the wind.

"Jean." Hearing his name almost made him gag, but kicking off his shoes and slamming his bag down, Jean naturally responded to his mother.

"You're home late," she said, stirring a pot of pasta. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, stringy hair falling down her face like the noodles that stuck to the wooden fork.

"I had some work to do."

"Speaking of work, when're you getting a job? You're a grown man, and you've gotta start workin' for yourself, and..." her voice dragged on, familiar words Jean was used to. He stated that he wasn't hungry, and snuck up to his room, leaving his bag behind.

A normal day. Sleeping in, rushed shower, almost missing the bus, but after a late jog and looks from other passengers, he would get to school. Marco was always waiting for him with coffee, chilled in a can and gulped quickly before they would head off to class.

The day would drag on, each class tearing down his walls of security until he was on the verge of breaking by seventh hour with Mr. Levi's health class, and that was the definition of Hell on Earth, everyday, all year.

Many things tempted Jean. The way he was strategically placed between some of the smartest kids in the class, the way their test answers seemed so easy to catch, but that would only worsen his situations.

Nothing bothered him more than a distressed Marco, but nothing distracted him like Mikasa.

In every class, she would sit, perfect posture with her shoulders back, chin up. Sometimes she would chew lightly on the end of her pen, when not scribbling down notes at an intense, focused speed. Her black hair always fell down to the base of her collarbone, and despite any type of weather, there was a red scarf snug around her neck. When she was thinking hard or stuck on a problem, she would bite her thin, pink lips, or hide herself behind the red fabric that graced her porcelain skin.

Jean had a specific schedule for his classes; sleep during first hour English, grow frustrated in math, sleep in study hall, scarf down lunch and laugh with his friends as an attempt to get any entertainment during the day, cringe with French, argue during science and try to survive health.

Those were on the days when Mikasa was absent. He would try his best to stay focus and intended on looking impressive, but he was always the last to leave, teachers stopping him to give him pitiful yet angry looks, and never gave him the time to talk to her.

"Jean." A soft voice called out, but Jean's eruptive anger over another day with a 'chat' with Mr. Levi drove him to the edge of insanity, and by the time his name was called again, all of his muscles tensed and he stopped walking.

"What." There was no emotion, but his teeth where grinding as the words left him and startled the one behind him.

"I overheard you talking with Mr. Levi the other day..." the voice dozed off, as if expected a response. When there was none, it continued to talk. "Do you need a tutor?"

"I'm not some fucking retard," Jean snapped, his legs carrying further than he had expected down the hallway, his mind aching for release of going home and sleeping, only to prepare for another day of torture.

"I'm not saying that." The voice followed him to his locker, and when Jean finished getting his things in silence, by the time the door had slammed shut did he acknowledge the person speaking to him.

It took Jean a moment to process the situation, but looking down upon eager blue eyes and dirty blonde hair did he connect the dots.

"Armin?" He asked, confused as to why Armin wanted to help someone like Jean.

"Yes, hello!" His voice was too happy, almost fake, but Jean thought he'd enlighten him and carried on a conversation.

"What were you saying?"

"I heard you talking with Mr. Levi about how you're, uhm, failing his class. I thought maybe you needed a tutor? I'm really good at health, so I was hoping I could give you some assistance-"

"Listen," Jean's voice cut him off, shoulders slouching as his bag slid down his shoulder. "I don't need help. I work when I wanna, and when I wanna work, I'll work. I don't need a tutor."

The words made Armin pause, breaking his train of thought.

"B-But I think it'll be beneficial to the both of us!" A deep, roaring sigh escaped Jean's lips with a half-hearted attempt to hold back his frustration.

"Seriously, I don't need your help. Thanks, but no thanks." With his back turned, Jean's right sneaker moved inches ahead of the other foot, but stopped. People rushed through the halls, laughing and calling out to each other, but Jean was frozen as things began to click.

One.

Two.

Three.

"Wait, shit, hold on!" A crack in his voice startled the both of them, but Armin still stood, facing Jean, head tilted up to meet his eyes. "How about a study group?"

"Hm," the silence between Armin's words drove Jean up a wall with anxiety, until the blonde nodded. "Sure! How about tonight at my house? It'll be you... Eren... Mikasa... And myself! If that's all right." Happiness and hatred mashed together in Jean's brain, but he nodded and said with a smirk, "Sure."

Details were exchanged, and on his way to the bus stop, he didn't mind the cold wind that lashed at his cheeks. Tonight, he was going to be studying with Mikasa.