"Your tie is crooked."
"Shut up, Michelakos," Jean snaps, adjusting his tie roughly, but he can't find it in him to be harsh. He peeks out from beyond the curtain, watching as Headmaster Zackley speaks to the crowd. His palms are sweaty and his heart is racing in his chest, but he tries not to show it, tries not to let the girl standing next to him catch on.
"You'll be fine," the girl says, rolling her eyes and shooting him a lazy grin. "Just get up there, say your nauseating speech, and you're done."
Jean sighs, looking at her. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her brow raised as if challenging him; and somehow the familiarity of it calms him, letting him manage a small smile.
"You're right," he says, more to himself than her. "Just one speech, and I'm done."
"Done and then it's off to Harvard," she adds, grinning. "Don't forget me when you're a big shot in the city with an amazing penthouse, alright?"
Jean's grin wavers. "Alright," he says.
Marco suddenly runs up to them, his hand on his earpiece. "Alright, Kara," he says, smiling at her. "You're up once Zackley cues you in."
"Got it," she replies, leaning over to elbow Jean in the ribs as soon as she hears the applause. "Wish me luck, big shot," she smirks at him, before taking firm, steady steps towards the podium where Zackley is waiting for her.
"Idiot," Jean says under his breath. "You were never the one who needed luck."
His eyes stay on her the whole time, watching her eyes light up as she speaks, watching every wave of her hand and every move of her lips. His thoughts wander to when they were just kids playing tag in her backyard, their knees scraped raw and laughter spilling from their mouths. It wanders to the first day of high school, when he realized that the girl he knew was no longer just a girl anymore, but a little more than that.
And of all these things, his mind wanders most to ponder when exactly he fell in love with her, but he hasn't got a clue.
Maybe it was when they were eight, hiding in his treehouse from his parents. You're no good, his mother had said. You'll never amount to anything. And it was then that Jean had this intense need burn inside him, one that itched to prove her wrong.
One day I'll become better, he had said, wiping his tears. Better than she'll ever be.
The amber eyed girl next to him had held his hand all through the night, wiping his tears with her pyjama sleeve. I know, she had said, hugging him tight. I know you will.
Maybe it was when they were thirteen and awkward, her with her braces and frizzy hair and him, lanky and fumbling as he became the target for the resident bullies who stomped on his arithmetic books and tossed his book bag into school trash cans. He never fought back, not once, and even thought he'd deserved it somehow; until she had stood up for him, leaving one of them with a bloody nose and the rest of them with bruises over their eyes. She had been suspended for a week, and to make it up to her he'd brought her home a cupcake on Sweet Tooth Friday, knowing how much she loved blueberry. They'd played video games until it was midnight and Jean's mom was yelling for him to come home, and it was that day that Kara had said those three little words to Jean.
Jean had left after hearing them, but it had haunted him nonetheless.
Maybe, he thought, maybe, it was when they were sixteen and summer break had just ended and the first time she walked down those halls, Jean had nearly dropped his books. He had heard that summer had been good to her, but the reality of it was like a bulldozer to his face. Summer hadn't been good to her; summer had imbued itself into her, showing in the glow of her irises and her sun-kissed skin, and it was then that Jean knew what would come next.
Eventually admirers stalked her down the halls, honey words spilling from their lips and falling over each other to get a glimpse of her before class started. Jean was never one of them, never wanted to be one of them, but he couldn't deny the sort of interest she stirred in him and the others, and often chastised himself because of it, knowing how he'd treated her that day and how he'd let their friendship fall to ruin. The, you know her, don't you? Do you have her number? Come on, help a bro out's started after someone had let their past slip, and Jean's resistance to punching them square in the jaw was running thin with every hormonal boy who pestered and cajoled him each day in school.
And at Sasha's party on New Year's Eve, fate had decided that it was Jean who was going to find Kara and Eren Jaeger, star quarterback of the football team, in Sasha's bathroom; his hand up her shirt and her tongue down his throat.
That, Jean knew he deserved.
Or maybe it was in junior year, when Jean had finally grown into his own skin and decided that enough was enough. Driven by jealousy and guilt, he had decided that whatever she was going to be, he was going to be better, because that was the way Jean Kirschtein was.
She was going to the Fall Formal with Jaeger? Jean brought Mikasa Ackerman, Jaeger's adopted sister and well-known school hottie as his date. She was acing her exams? Jean studied all night just to beat her score. She was representing the track team and Jaeger was on the way to play football for their town? He joined both teams, snatching up both their spots within the month he joined. Whatever it was, Jean took it as a competition, a race.
One that he was determined to win.
Somewhere along the road, Kara had caught on, while Jaeger remained as oblivious as ever, thinking Jean was just some mental prick who was insane about keeping a winning streak. And she took the challenge, embraced it even, and pretty soon the whole school was their chess game, their playing ground to see just who would give in, just who would bend until they break.
They were at each other's throats each and every second, and for some twisted, mind-boggling reason, Jean loved it, loved the strange thrill it gave him.
Finals season came soon enough, with prom and graduation just around the corner. Jean was struggling, barely scraping the scores needed to beat her. He'd fallen ill from too many nights burning the midnight oil, and could barely concentrate in class. His luck only worsened further when she was the one who found him, puking his stomach out behind a bush after lunch. He'd hated it, hated the sympathy in her eyes, and had walked away from the scene without even sparing her a second glance.
And when Jean was announced valedictorian, he couldn't bring himself to celebrate.
He knew she did it on purpose; hell, it had her name written all over it. He didn't understand why she had to be such a goddamn saint all the time, didn't understand why she would bring herself down for him, didn't understand-
She hadn't let herself fall behind too far; she was the class salutatorian, right after him. But for Jean to see her smiling as if she hadn't just given up her dreams of a better life, to see her smiling as if she hadn't given what was rightfully hers to a stupid bastard like him; it made him sick to his stomach.
How could he? He thought. How could he have done this to her?
Roaring applause sounds again, and Jean is shaken from his thoughts. Kara heads backstage, back to where he stands, and gives him a thumbs up. "You're up, big shot," she grins at him, and his gut twists painfully at the sight of it. "Knock 'em dead."
"I will," he says, studying her face like it's the last time he'll ever see it, and when he hears Zackley call his name he turns away from her, heading out onto the stage.
But not before he tells her those three, little words.