The first time they met, Eren held some coffee shop's microphone in his hand, fresh praise washing over the room. Jean also played for the open mic show, but somehow, he only garnered the attention of a bratty duo in need of a guitarist for their pop/rock theme. He'd gone with them, eyes glanced over his shoulder to take in the other boy's strong back and piercing green gaze. In that moment, he hated Eren. Hated, and perhaps longed for a tiny, tiny bit.
The second meeting happened outside a bar. Jean puffed heavy streams from a cigarette, watching as the night air swallowed it whole. Their performance ended in a flop. Connie fell off the stage, spraining his ankle, while the crowd laughed and booed. Jean got angry and threw a punch. They got thrown out, then banned. His right eye hurt like hell, and he was getting so sick of this shit.
When he lifted his eyes though, he saw someone slumped over the curb across the street—a similar bar, a too similar scene. Eren had a broken guitar over his knees and a blackened left eye to match his bloody knuckles. Well, Jean supposed he'd done better since he refrained from smashing his own guitar over someone's head or the stage. He wasn't sure which one suited Eren better. Despite following the media coverage of Eren's band, this was their first meeting since the coffee shop. He found himself staring, not looking away even when those green eyes lifted to meet his. In that second, a lot of things passed. Anger, sorrow, bitterness, and a deep kinship that they should sit outside together, failures.
The moment passed though, as fleeting as their eye contact. Sasha poked her head around the corner and said they finished loading up the truck. Jean stubbed out his cigarette and fell into step behind. Only when he'd settled into the back seat with his guitar case pressed against his legs did he turn back to the far side of the street. Eren still sat there with his broken guitar, eyes a vivid shade of green and back strong, even when curved. Jean hated him, but even so, he hoped that they would meet again.
From that moment on, things started to look up. Connie booked better gigs, they changed their name to Hunter's Pride, and became a cult sensation. First album, outdoor concerts at the music festival, fans who knew his face. It was the same for Freedom Flight, the rising star fronted by Eren, with Mikasa and Armin at his side. Their bands rose together like wild stars, never so far apart as to lose sight of each other. It was exhilarating. It was madness. Who would reach the top first? Who would win their little game? Because without a doubt, it was a game. They never lost awareness of each other and the tangled lines that wrapped around them—or did only Jean and Eren race together, colliding, and spinning apart again? By the time they met for a third time, Jean suspected that must be so.
Battle of the Bands: Rock Tour 2019, Austin, Texas. The two winners would get the tour, the audience, a concert-competition to rival no other. Sweat streamed along Jean's back, the lights beating down as hard as the afternoon sun. He let the final notes race out, chasing down Connie and Sasha's voices as if he could ever catch such a bright sound. Silence reigned. Then the fans erupted into the sound of a thousand cheers. He felt alive to the very ends of his hair, like a note strung on his own guitar strings. He thought, in that moment, that nothing could bring him down.
A pair of green eyes locked onto his. Jean stared into the crowd, watching where Freedom Flight prepared for their own act. For one second, they stared, so riveted on each other that nothing else existed. Then Eren sneered. Jean lifted his lips in a snarl, middle finger thrown to the wind as he spun away. Behind him, he thought he heard laughter, melodic and wild. He ignored it though, ignored the way his heart crashed inside his chest.
By the time the penultimate act walked onto the stage, twilight sparkled with the same fierceness as the stage lights. Even from the back of the crowd where Hunter's Pride put away their equipment, Jean heard those first soaring notes. He knew it then, from the second Eren opened his mouth, that he would win. He knew it like he knew the sun would later shine. He knew it like he knew stars sometimes fell and teenagers wished upon them. So he sent up a wish and never looked back.
Freedom Flight won with all the praise that shooting stars deserved. Jean stood against a back wall, watching Connie and Sasha dance circles around the hallway. Hunter's Pride took second in the competition and that excited them as much as winning first. He didn't blame them, didn't feel any different himself. Though he kept his smile to his eyes, he couldn't help the spread of warmth inside. But, they won second. Freedom Flight won first. It couldn't be helped that they would tour together. No one could stop this collision, not anymore.
"Jean. You looking for me?"
The sound sent a shiver up his spine and he turned, already knowing what he would find. Eren stood in the doorway, their managers passing on the way out. No more discussions then. He met Eren's eye and stared, like he couldn't comprehend the other man's question at all. "Why would I be?" He snorted, dropping his head back against the wall.
Eren stepped even closer, not deterred, not wavering in the slightest. Those strange eyes of his seemed hellbent on something Jean couldn't even guess at. Used to looking at the other man's back, he didn't know why that gaze would be aimed at him. It hadn't been like that outside the bar, or when he stood on stage hours ago. But Eren didn't blink, just came to stop a foot away from Jean, who stared right back.
"Because you're always looking for me."
Huh. Wasn't that quite the theory? Since when did Jean look for Eren in every crowd? It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't a spoken truth either. So, Jean dropped his gaze, meeting Eren stare for stare. "I don't like you."
A faint smile curved over Eren's lips. "Me either." He placed both hands on the wall at Jean's sides, a clear contradiction to his words. Even if Jean planned to escape, his exits had been blocked off. He didn't plan to escape though.
"Why do you keep talking to me then?" The words came out fainter than he meant, making him sound alone in a nowhere near empty hallway. Crashing back, Jean was crashing back to earth no matter how hard he tried to keep his expression level.
Eren tilted his head. For a second, the look reminded Jean of his usual view because Eren's shoulders looked just as strong as his back. "You keep responding. And…" Ten heartbeats passed, the distance between them shrinking an infinitesimal amount. Eren burst out in a sudden grin. "And you can't tell me what to do. Besides, haven't you been there from the very start? Every time I sold an album, every new deal, outside the bar, even in the coffee shop. You've always been there, haven't you?"
Jean's eyes went wide. "I didn't think you noticed me."
Those green eyes mocked him with their unblinking stare. "Stupid. You're not the only one who's been watching, you know."
With that, he leaned up to press lips against Jean's. Quick and heated and oh. The shooting stars collided again like fucking fireworks in the sky. Jean didn't even think the kiss caused it. They were just like that—fireworks. Had been from the day they met. When Eren pulled back, he wore a stupid, wolfish grin that Jean wanted to mirror, but he could only manage the pure intensity of it.
"I always notice you." The whisper against Jean's lips left his heart pounding. He couldn't look away. Not when he fisted a hand in Eren's shirt; not when his other hand pulled the man flush against his body. Their eyes met, a collision of shooting stars, and they both knew it.
"I hate you," Jean whispered and Eren whispered back, "Me too," with so much tenderness that it felt like the clouds. They kissed again, but this time, Jean didn't mind that he was crashing to earth. If it was his place in the universe to fall, then he was the best falling star ever. He looked into Eren's eyes, just like that, and fell. Oh god how he fell, right to the place he always knew he belonged—with Eren.