Just a little indulgence piece starring Jean and Eren as girls. I've had this idea for a while and decided to get it down in writing. Nonetheless, please have some girl loving girls.

Armin nudges my side and juts her chin out to a point across the room. "Look."

I look.

The room is packed with people dressed in their finest, shrouded tables loaded with refreshments, and candelabras. Soft music flows from up front the room. Through the coiffed hair and swishing skirts, I manage a glimpse our point of interest.

Pretty in green and all by her lonesome, Jean leans against a marbled wall of the venue, hands deep in her dress pockets. My eyes catch on the flicker of her watch, reflecting the flames of nearby candles. I glance back to Armin, but she only rolls her eyes.

"Go talk to her, you dolt," she says, urging me in her direction. "She's there for the taking."

I hesitate. "What...do I say?"

"Anything. Say anything." And with one final shove, I'm off, trailing along the fringe of the party.

I feel strangely calm as I approach, accidentally stepping on a few trailing skirts and kicking some heels of nearby dancers on the way. I don't know what to expect, I guess. Jean and I have been friends since she transferred from Shanghai during sophomore year, and I realized that I've liked her more than a friend for half that time. I would say she's my dream girl, but when I was ten or eleven, I admired Mikasa's aunt Levi for a good while. The Middle Ages, I call them.

Jean doesn't see me until I'm a startling six inches away from her bent elbow. Her shoulders jump when she notices, and she stares wide-eyed at me behind her half frames.

"Oh," she relaxes, "it's just you."

I feign hurt. "Just me? I traveled across this room for you."

She smirks. "You traveled three meters just for me? I'm honored."

"Fuck you." I elbow her. "Three-hundred meters in these damn heels."

"I thought you came here with Armin. Did you abandon her?"

I shrug. "She told me to come say hi because, apparently, I'm not social enough."

Jean smiles, revealing straight pearly whites. "She's not lying."

"Oh, et tu, Brute?" She just shakes her head and folds her arms. My gaze follows the movement, instinctively catching on her cleavage broadcasted by the off the shoulder cut. Not my proudest moment, I admit. I distract myself with another question. "No...dapper man to sweep you off your feet?"

"...No." She glances down, and maybe it's just the flames playing tricks, but she looks embarrassed. My chest constricts at the same time my gut sinks. It's rare to see her flustered when we're not bickering.

"Really?"

"Yeah." She seems to snap out of her funk and looks out at the crowd, hand resting against her nape. "Tall girls, we don't do well in...many environments."

I simmer internally. She's mentioned this before. How she stuck out like a sore thumb in China because of her height, was bullied in school for it, and if her height didn't make her stick out, it was her appearance.

I close my eyes and breathe out through my nose, imagining myself as a dragon blowing off excess steam.

"You okay?" Jean asks immediately. "Too many people?" I reopen my eyes, see her shift closer, a hand reaching out to me.

"Nah." I take her hand and ask, "May I have this dance?"

She stares at me. I think she looks scared, it's hard to tell in this lighting. "Eren?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

I squeeze her hand. "Perfectly." She breathes out, and I smell mint.

"...Sure," she says finally. I offer what I hope is a reassuring smile, wrap my free arm around that tiny waist, and lead her to an empty area in a corner.

We situate ourselves; my hands on her waist, her arms around my neck. Her skin slides like silk against me, and her overall being radiates warmth. I love how this particular green looks against her rich complexion. Fire dances off her necklace, off the metal of her frames, across her eyes. My pulse beats heavily in my ears.

In this corner, the music is almost nonexistent, but we sway to our own beat, moving in slow circles, back and forth, back and forth. She's tense at first, but the rigidness of her shoulders melts into something softer after a couple minutes as we rove in simple patterns. Her eyes leave mine only when there's movement at our side, but they quickly find their way back, eerily alight. I breathe in and smell her fruity perfume.

"Why are you doing this?" Jean asks quietly.

I stay silent for a moment, then say, "Because I like you. A lot." My voice sounds foreign to me, rough and cracking under the pressure of my confession. I know she likes me to some degree as well, if she's allowing me this, but my mind and heart seem to disagree. They're thinking, beating a mile a minute.

We stop moving. Jean moves her hands to my shoulders. Her cheeks are ruddy, much darker than her usual rosy blush.

"Yeah?" she says.

"Yeah," I say. "You're kind of wonderful, Jean Kirschstein." A broad smile slowly stretches across her face, rare and beautiful. Cheesy, I know, but just like her.

"I like you, too. A lot." A choked noise escapes me.

"Don't mock me, Jeanie."

She leans forward, cradles my face between her palms, and I stop breathing.

"Eren," Jean murmurs, "shut up."

Our lips are less than an inch away. I squeeze her waist and close that gap, pressing my lips against hers. Hers are sticky sweet from her gloss. We stay like that, mouths moving languidly against one another, teeth clacking every so often. It seems all too short when she sucks on my bottom lip before completely pulling away. Her eyes are warm gold. Unsurprisingly, I'm left speechless. Jean knocks her forehead gently against mine, and she puts us into motion again.

"Thanks," she says. I can tell she's nervous by the way she bites her lip.

"For what?"

"For being you."

I press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Thanks for existing."

We're lost in our own world for the rest of the evening, bodies lined against one another, my hands on her waist, her arms around my neck. It's pure bliss, and there's really nowhere else I'd want to be.