Rated mature for language, violence, and a wonderfully steamy sex scene. Enjoy c:

Friday

They deserve it. They all deserve it.

"Cupcakes are bullshit."

"You're bullshit!"

"Who's bullshit?" Marco smiled as he sat down at the lunch table, straddling the bench next to Jean. "I think I'm missing something." Marco leaned in to kiss Jean's cheek, taking his hand under the table.

That's right. Of course they do. They haven't felt pain before. None of them! It's their turn.

Sasha clicked her tongue testily, turning to glare accusingly at Connie, who was sitting next to her. "This fiend over here who doesn't appreciate the genius and glamour of cupcakes."

Connie rolled his eyes. "Sasha those aren't even cupcake words. And it's not that I don't 'appreciate' them, it's just that I think we need something a little fancier. Cupcakes are just kind of… hokey."

Sasha made a noise of offended indignance, staring at Connie as if he were actually the devil. "Take it back. Take it back right now."

It's their fault. They're making me do this. They could have avoided it if they tried. They're such vile, hateful people.

Marco frowned across the table at his friends before looking back at Jean. "Okay I'm definitely missing something. Why are cupcakes bullshit? Or… glamorous, I guess. Depending on who you ask."

Jean laughed, lacing his fingers through Marco's under the table. "They're both on the prom committee, and they're trying to figure out what they want as the centerpiece for the refreshments table."

"Ah. I see. So real important stuff."

"Deadly."

Tony told me all about the evil, toxic things they say about me. And Tony never lies to me. Tony never lies. Not like them.

"You know what? You can just keep your offensive, unsophisticated ideas to yourself. There will be cupcakes and there's nothing you can do about it." Sasha humphed in a way that meant the conversation was over, turning her attention back to the potato chips she was shoving into her mouth. "So there."

When Connie only rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in defeat, Christa leaned over across Ymir's lap and patted him on the shoulder sympathetically. "You tried, Connie."

Tony says when they die they'll all go to Hell, and then they'll learn why this is all their fault. Why they made me do this. That's fine with me. I don't really care where they go.

Jean couldn't help but smile. Somehow in the past week everything in his life had finally fallen together for him. Him and his friends were planning for prom (for which he actually had a date), and then shortly after they'd all be graduating. He was finally with the person he'd been in love with since elementary school. He'd even been with a person in a way that gave him butterflies every time he thought about it. Everything was good. Everything was just like it was supposed to be.

Maybe I'll go to Hell, too. I suppose that's fine. Then I can find all of them there and tell them why it's all their fault. Hell is supposed to be really hot, and it will probably hurt a lot. Probably more than anything. I guess that's fine too. I can deal with pain. But I hope they can't.

As Jean looked around at his friends, all sitting at the lunch table with him and arguing about cupcakes, he felt at peace. No, not just at peace, he felt happy. He hadn't realized that he'd never felt truly happy before. But now, his lover's hand in his under the table, and his friends all around him, their futures bright, he was happy. Truly happy.

Alright. Enough thinking. It's time now. It's time to start this so finally all of it can end. I'm ready for all of it to end.

Jean had never heard gunshots in real life before. He'd heard them on tv, of course, but tv never really prepares you for how loud something is going to sound in real life. He'd also never heard real screaming before. He'd heard movie screams and music screams and oh-my-god-there's-a-giant-spider-on-the-floor-kill-it screams, but he'd never heard real screams. And all of those other screams are nothing at all like real screams. Real screams make your blood run cold, but then they make everything feel unbearably, fever-sweatingly hot. Kind of like real fear. Which he'd also never actually felt before.

This is it. This is finally it. They can all die.

Jean likes to imagine that there was a moment between when the shooting started and when the screaming started. A kind of calm before the storm where all of his thoughts fit into. But really there wasn't.

They can all go to Hell.

There was just the sound of gunfire, which you can recognize without ever having heard gunshots in real life.

They can all go to Hell.

And then the screaming started.

We can all go to Hell.

And nothing could have prepared him for the screaming.