Jean almost regretted his decision to drop by Armin's workplace before heading home, mostly due to the rain and his distinct grumpiness that followed, but only almost. His current options were hanging out for ten minutes or so at the Blouse's family bakery—creatively named 'Blouse Bakery'—or grinding his teeth in frustration upon being left alone in the apartment with Eren. It was hardly a difficult choice, if a somewhat damp one.

The warmth of the bakery was welcome after the miserable trek. Jean shook the excess water droplets from his hair and noted in slight annoyance that in a few minutes, the ends of the longer parts of his hair would mostly like curl outwards. He hated the rain.

Armin's shift lasted until closing hours, although very few people seemed to drop by during this time. Couples sat at odd tables, chatting quietly over carefully baked delicacies, and a customer or two stood by the menu board, reading over it with narrowed eyes as they whittled down their choices. The place was painted a soft beige colour and various certificates and photographs were hung on the wall. It wasn't overly large, just large enough for a few tables and a long counter than ran along one wall, but it was comfortable and smelled perpetually of freshly baked goods.

A man with a shaved head served the customers sitting at tables, bringing over refills of various drinks or extra slices of cake. The apron he wore was a shade of green that was quite frankly alarming, but unfortunately mandatory for all employees to wear. He grinned obnoxiously as he spotted Jean lurking by the doorway and gestured for him to come in further.

Connie ducked under the counter and stood by his colleague—a young man with his blonde hair tied back in a short ponytail. Armin finished serving the current customer, waved them off, and then turned to Jean with a delighted albeit somewhat confused smile.

"Hey, Jean. Are you here for food or company?" he asked, leaning on the counter.

Jean shrugged. "Company, I guess. We've got that project to work on so I figured I'd pick you up from work. Looks like I'm a little early."

Armin glanced over his shoulder and at the clock, before directing his gaze back to Jean. "Just a bit. Sasha said she'd probably close up early today, since her dad's not around to enforce and strict regulations."

Jean's brows creased in confusion, but Connie spoke before he could voice his question.

"Thank God. That man took hours to close up," he groaned. "Seriously, all you have to do is clean the dishes, wipe down the surfaces, and lock the door. He always made us, like, count every piece of cutlery and—and," he gesticulated wildly, as if trying to conjure up more examples, "check every piece of machinery, even though we'd been using them all day, and triple check that the counters were spotless."

Armin huffed beside him. "He wasn't that bad. He just wanted to make sure his bakery was in top condition."

Jean looked between the two of them. "Did I miss something? What's up with Sasha's dad?"

Armin's head tilted to the side fractionally. "I thought I'd told you. He was involved in car accident a couple of weeks ago and has to take a break from work."

"Oh." Jean paused, unsure of how exactly he was supposed to respond. "That sucks. Is he okay?"

"Yeah," Armin nodded. "I think he's just more concerned about this place falling to pieces in his absence."

A man sat at the table a few feet away from them glanced up and called for service.

"I did the last one," Connie announced swiftly.

"It's fine, I've got it," Armin replied, ducking and appearing on the other side of the counter. He trotted over to the man, small notepad and pen at the ready.

Connie rested his elbow on the counter and propped his chin upon his closed fist. "So how come you're here? As much as I'm sure you're craving my irresistible company, I'm sure you've got some underlying motives."

"Well, Armin's my partner in this ancient civilisations project and we said we'd get started on it tonight," said Jean.

"Mhmm," Connie sounded, not looking entirely convinced. "You could've gone straight home and gotten a head start on it."

Jean tensed his shoulders and glanced away. "Jäger's already home. I'd rather be here than alone in the vicinity of his blatant stupidity."

He heard a scoff from behind him and turned just in time to see Armin rolling his eyes. "He's not stupid, Jean. Besides, I think Mikasa's visiting tonight, so you wouldn't have been alone." He'd placed his ballpoint pen behind his ear and was working on extracting the last slice of French vanilla cake from the display cabinet.

Much to Jean's embarrassment, he couldn't prevent the almost instinctual blush that crept up his cheeks upon hearing Mikasa's name. Connie noticed and unhelpfully pointed it out; loud statement accompanied by equally loud laughter.

"Fuck, Connie, shut up," Jean grumbled, glaring at his friend.

"Sorry, dude, it's just funny. I can't believe you still have a thing for Jäger's sister."

"Shut up. She's adopted, so she didn't inherit any stupidity, and besides, she's hot," he reasoned. And intelligent beyond belief, and quietly caring, and she has a sense of humour almost as dry as the Sahara Desert, he added mentally.

Jean wan't sure if he should've been grateful for the following distraction of Sasha bounding out of the kitchen, clad in her chef uniform and carrying a tray of cookies, freshly baked judging by the mouth-watering smell. On the one hand, it meant Connie dropped the subject and ceased his teasing, but on the other hand, it was Sasha. Sasha hardly ever meant good news.

She pushed Connie aside, ignored his indignant protests, and placed the tray on the counter. "Jean, you are going to take on of these cookies, eat it, and then give me your honest opinion."

Jean had long since abandoned any worries of food poisoning when it came to Sasha—her cooking was like a gift from the heavens—so complied with the orders happily and without hesitation. He was a college student and this was free food. It was only the logical thing to do.

The cookie was at the perfect temperature; hot enough to taste fresh but cool enough to avoid any tongue-scalding. It was lightly crispy around the edges but far fluffier on the inside. His eyes widened in surprise he tasted an unexpected flavour. A small pocket of caramel was buried within the cookie, ready to be exposed on the first bite. A string of caramel trailed from Jean's lips to the uneaten section of the cookie. It broke from the cookie and fell against Jean's chin. He wiped it off with the back of his hand.

"So?" Sasha questioned, brows raised.

Jean swallowed and said, "This cookie is orgasmic. I've reached Cookie-Nirvana."

A grin blossomed on her lips and she bounced on her heels. "Great! We're trialling a new chef to replace Dad while he's off and I wanted an unbiased opinion."

Jean, who had just finished eating the rest of the cookie, wiped away a few crumbs from his lips and reached for another one. Sasha slapped his hand away. He whined and she responded by sticking her tongue out.

"What even are they?"

"Well, I told him to just bake some cookies—you know, as, like, a basic test—and he came out with these so I decided to call them 'Chilli-Caramel Surprise'."

"Doesn't calling them 'Chilli-Caramel Surprise' kind of ruin the surprise?" Connie deadpanned. That earned him a swat over the head.

"Sasha?" a voice called from behind them. "What're you doing? I need some help finishing the dough for tomorrow."

Sasha looked over her shoulder and Jean followed her gaze. A man, roughly his age although maybe a year or two older, had stuck his head around the door to the kitchen. Some dark hair fell into his eyes but the rest was held back by a net. Freckles dusted his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and he had a streak of flour smeared just below his left eye.

"Ah, I'll be there in two seconds. I was just testing out your baking on the unsuspecting public," replied Sasha.

Marco laughed and Jean noticed a brief look of apprehension flicker across his features. "And how did that go?"

"I'm fairly sure Jean got turned on by your cookies, so I would say pretty well." She nudged Jean playfully. He couldn't even think of a witty retort in time; she'd already taken the tray and dashed back to the kitchen by the time he'd processed her comment and the odd, yet strangely amused, look the other man had given him.

"Oh, and Armin," Sasha called. "You can head home. Connie and I can handle the rest."

Armin smiled thankfully at her from across the room. Connie groaned and slumped forwards, mumbling something about favouritism.

The first thing Jean noticed as they stepped out of the bakery was that the rain had stopped. The streets were still wet and puddles lined the pavement, but the air was crisp and refreshing. He was in a much better mood than he had been a before. Armin chatted beside him, talking mostly about how his shift had been and the classes he'd been to that morning. Jean kept mostly to his own thoughts and by the time he tuned back into the conversation, a lull had lapsed between them.

"So, since when has there been a freckled angel working in the kitchen?" he asked.

Armin snickered and almost faltered in his steps. "Only two days. Marco's pretty nice, though. I hope he sticks around."

"Marco," Jean repeated. "Maybe I should start dropping by more often."

Armin glanced across at him knowingly. "I didn't think Marco was your type."

Jean offered a shrug in reply. "I'm open to all options. Besides, dark hair is always a bonus and I didn't even know I had a thing for freckles until today."

Armin laughed again but allowed for the topic to be dropped. Jean mentioned something about a title question for their project, which spurred on Armin's specific brand of wide-eyed, endearing rambling.

Jean twirled his pen between his fingers, his eyes scanning over the text before him. A loud crash came from the room beside him and he dropped the pen.

"Oh for—what are they even doing?" Jean asked irately, throwing a glare at the wall. "It just sounds like really violent sex which is just weird and creepy."

Armin looked up from his note-taking, his eyes glinting in amusement. "I think they're sparring again."

Jean leant back against his chair, heaving a long-suffering sigh. "Can't they do it some other time? Or at least not in the apartment? The neighbours complain about us enough already."

"If you and Eren stopped acting like five year olds and didn't have arguments every day then there wouldn't be an issue," Armin pointed out, returning to his writing in order to avoid the glare was not being directed at him.

"They've been at it for hours. Can't they just go to a gym or some fighting club or something?"

Armin shrugged. Jean sighed again, but this time rose to his feet. No doubt Jäger was getting his ass kicked but was too stubborn to give up. If so, Jean wanted to see it.

When Jean opened the door to Eren's bedroom, he was unsurprised to see the boy pinned to the ground by his sister. Both were clad in loose sports clothes and breathing heavily. Mikasa moved off Eren and stood, holding out a hand to help him up.

"Again?" Eren asked, smiling despite his loss.

He had his back to Jean and was apparently oblivious to his presence. Mikasa inclined her head in the direction of the doorway, signalling for Eren to turn around. He did so and his demeanour changed immediately. The two had learnt to be at least civil to one another in the past few months of cohabitation. They'd only met when Jean moved in; he'd been a friend of Armin's and had complained about needing somewhere new to stay. Armin had graciously offered for him to join him and his roommate, since they had a spare room and could do with someone else helping to pay rent. Unfortunately, Eren and Jean clashed, both too stubborn and hard-headed to get along. They'd settled into mutual dislike; it was hard to keep up an active hatred of someone when you slept merely feet away from the other person, only separated by a thin wall.

"What are you two doing?" Jean asked.

"Sparring," the two siblings replied in unison, Eren defensively and Mikasa in a masked tone of indifference.

"Can you quit it or just give it a break for a while? We're trying to work in the other room."

Eren opened his mouth, probably to argue or give some dumb reply, but he stopped as Mikasa placed a hand on his arm.

She looked from Eren to Jean and said, "Sure. We're sorry for the inconvenience."

Eren closed his mouth and looked away uncomfortably.

"Oh, uh, thanks, Mikasa," Jean replied, clearing his throat awkwardly. He hesitated for a moment before turning away and exiting the room.

Armin was waiting for him as he entered the combined living room and dining room area. "Maybe we should do the project away from home next time."

Jean nodded and sat down, his hands moving to rub soothing circles at his temples. "Yeah, that would be good."

"How about the bakery?" Armin asked, his voice bright in an obvious attempt to diffuse Jean's frustration. He disliked the tension between his two friends. He could see why Jean would be perpetually annoyed with Eren's existence, but being life-long friends with someone generally led to acceptance of the person's unfavourable traits. He knew Eren far better than he knew most people and he knew how to deal with him. Jean was still new to Eren's way and had yet to accept them, hence the frustration.

Jean considered the prospect for a moment and then nodded. "Sure."

"I finish at about midday tomorrow. Why don't we spend lunch there and see how much we can get done?" He smiled to himself and look down at his book. "I think Marco's working tomorrow too."

Jean rolled his eyes and aimed a half-hearted shove in Armin's direction. "Oh, shut up."