Part three - Accidentally

Marco's P.O.V:

My phone buzzed in my pocket as I walked out of school, Rage Du- Jean's bag still on my back.

Seriously, how hard can it be to find one guy? I guess I just have to follow the trail of victims he's no doubt left on the floor after he's run into them. I gave a heavy sigh, slumping against the nearest group of lockers as I looked at my phone. Sasha.

Jean isn't at school he capped after Ms Zoë's lesson. Living the thug life. If you wanna give his bag to him that bad I can give you his address. PG xP

I smirked at the initials she put at the end. It supposedly stood for potato girl, but Connie liked to tease her and say that she was too weird to be around kids without parental consent, which always ended up with him getting a gentle slap around the back of his head.

I typed back a reply, asking for Jean's address. I'm not carrying this around for another day. What does he keep in here anyway - the bodies of his victims? It weighs a ton. I leant back against the lockers, waiting for Sasha's reply so that I didn't start walking the wrong way.

"You're in the way." A deep voice said. I moved to the side, not looking up from my phone. "Dude. I said you're in the way. Fucking move."

"And I moved. What's the problem?" I snapped, looking up from my phone and meeting the eyes of the tall blonde guy in front of me. Pale blue eyes glared at me from either side of a large crooked nose that looked like it had been broken numerous times. No doubt he deserved it. I stood up to my full height, meeting his eyes levelly without flinching.

"Listen, newbie. I'm Reiner. Learn the name and some respect - I don't take well to rudeness and you're royally pissing me off, pretty boy." He growled.

Watch out, we've got a badass over here. "That's nice. Why don't you hurry along and do whatever important things you need to do, Reiner? I'm kind of busy here." I replied nonchalantly, slouching back against the lockers again. He bristled, hands clenching into fists. Someone's got a temper, I noticed, subtly preparing to re-break his impressively crooked nose.

"Punks like you don't last long around here -" I cut him off as my phone buzzed, holding up a hand as I checked the screen.

23 Kirkland Ave. PG xP

"Sorry, man - I gotta go. But we can carry this on next time, I can tell you had something absolutely scintillating to add to this conversation. Nice meeting you." I gave Reiner my biggest smile before slipping past him and leaving him glaring at my back.

Nice guy. Really.

The cool air of outside made me shrink into my jacket, and I lifted my hood up to block out the rain. 23 Kirkland Ave.

23 Kirkland Ave. Well, I have no clue where that is. I pulled out my phone, calling Connie.

"Connie Springer at your service, Trost's friendliest vertically challenged guy is always happy to help." Connie quipped as he picked up the phone.

"Hey." I said, rolling my eyes at his dramatic greeting. "I need directions to Jean's. Sasha forgot I'm new here and just expected me to know where 23 Kirkland Ave is."

"Well, that's Sasha for you. She was probably thinking about food." He laughed before giving me directions to the abode of Jean. Why are my brain processes so weird? I just called his house an abode and I wonder why other people look at me funny.

I walked along the path, hunching into my jacket to avoid the rain, which seemed to deny gravity in order to achieve its sole purpose of hitting me in the face. I just want to go home, I didn't sign up for some bag quest of apparently epic proportions. My trainers scuffed along the floor as I dragged my feet, cold seeping between my toes as I stepped into a puddle that was much deeper than it looked.

Muttering grumpily to myself, I stomped up the path to Jean's house, knocking firmly on the door and pulling his bag from my back. Rain dripped from my hood, sparkling drops falling through my line of vision in an extremely irritating pattern.

I didn't come all this way to just be ignored. I knocked again on the door, louder this time. "Jean?" I called. "Open the door and take your bag back - I've had it all day and I'm not lugging your crap around anymore." My foot tapped impatiently on the floor, water splashing up the back of my leg due to the convenient puddle gathering around my feet.

"Jean!" I yelled. "Come on, man! This isn't funny." Movement at one of the windows drew my attention. "Jean?"

I heard the sound of a bolt unlatching on the other side of the door and let a smile come onto my face at the thought of finally being able to go home. I pulled my hood down and held his bag out at the end of my arm. "You left this at school -" My voice cut off as I realised that the person at the door definitely wasn't Jean.

"Hello?" The woman's voice quivered as she looked at me with bloodshot eyes. My nose crinkled at the thick scent of alcohol that clung to her like a second skin, but I smoothed my expression out and replaced it with a confused smile.

"I'm sorry, I was told that Jean Kirstein lives here?" I queried gently, pulling the bag back towards me and holding it to my chest.

The woman nodded, her jaundiced skin etched with lines that appeared even deeper due to the lengthening shadows of the evening. "Yes, he does - I'm his mother." She rasped, looking at me suspiciously. "What do you want with my son?"

Oh God, she thinks I'm a creep or something. "He left his bag at school, that's all - I came to drop it off for him." I spoke quickly, flustered by her sharp gaze.

Her focus flitted to something over my shoulder. What is this woman on? I turned to see what she was staring at only to meet the eyes of Jean - who was once again in rage mode.

Jean's P.O.V:

I walked back towards my house, dreading stepping back into the walls that trapped me with her. The door came into view, and with it the sight of two figures talking on my doorstep.

Brown eyes? What is he doing here? Mom? Panic flashed in my stomach as I ran to get her away from him.

"What are you doing here?" I snarled, yanking my hood back from my head and glaring at him. Sorry, Brown Eyes. I'm not really mad at you. But I don't want you to see the person I have to live with. I don't want you to have this to think about, too.

"Whoa, calm down, Jean." He held his hands up placating, tossing the object he had in his hands at me. I caught it as it hit my chest. My bag? I looked up at him, my eyes softening before I saw her move towards me and I stiffened. "You left it at school after you ran into me, so I brought it back."

"Well now you have." I said coldly. "So in the nicest way possible, could you please leave now?" I ignored the way my chest warmed up when he said my name, looking away from his soft brown eyes.

"No need to be an ass, man. I thought I had bad social skills, but you definitely take the prize. See you at school, Jean." Marco muttered angrily before spinning on his heel and walking down the road in the rain.

My fists clenched and relaxed as I watched him leave, his black hair flattened down by the rain. I'm sorry, Brown Eyes. I pushed past my mother, heading straight for my room and away from the sickly scent of cigarette smoke that now hung in the air.

"Are you ashamed of me?" She asked hoarsely. I froze, not turning around. "You were unnecessarily harsh to that boy. Was it because of me?" My nails bit into the flesh of my palm, no doubt leaving small crescent shaped marks. "Jean? Jean!"

"Yes! Yes, I am! Okay? You drink, and you smoke and you sleep - ever since he left, I've been the responsible one in this house. He left 10 years ago. When are you going to understand that he isn't coming back?" I snapped, meeting her eyes harshly. "I've had to look after you since I was seven. You have done nothing to care for me. You drink, and smoke and sleep. That's it. And don't think I've forgotten the times you took your situation out on me. Because this scar," I pulled up my shirt to show a pale line stretching across my side, "And these memories won't let me forget." A tear fell down my cheek. "So yeah. I guess I am ashamed."

The stairs creaked under my feet as I turned and walked upstairs, leaving her behind me. I closed my bedroom door and slid down the wall to the floor, my head in my hands.

Rain pattered against the windows in a steady rhythm, covering the quiet sound of the tears that wouldn't stop.