Jean scowled at the piece of paper, which was now crumpled and slightly torn at the edges having taken the brunt of Jean's irritation. It was his turn to go grocery shopping and it was just a recipe for disaster. His distaste for those with barely recognisable intelligence made the ordeal bad enough, but the shopping list he'd been handed on his way out of the apartment only made it worse. He considered calling Armin and asking him to translate Eren's scrawl, but the reception within the supermarket was awful and he could hardly hear himself think over the sound of screaming children and shouting mothers.
He traipsed along the aisles of goods, grumbling under his breath about the shitty cart he'd chosen with the one fucked up wheel, and why there needed to be so many varieties of the same product, and why people couldn't just move at a normal pace or at least stand to the side so other people could pass. He'd considered bringing in a cattle prod one time to aid his shopping, although ultimately came to the conclusion that it would most like be counter-productive as he would probably get kicked out of the store.
It wasn't hard to spot Sasha before she noticed him. In stark contrast to the painfully slow and spatially unaware customers around her, she somehow managed to manoeuvre her cart in an eccentric yet surprisingly fast manner, all while avoiding collisions with any people or inanimate objects. She grinned upon meeting Jean's eyes.
"Hey there, horse face," she greeted.
"Potato girl," Jean retorted.
Sasha laughed. They'd both started off hating the nicknames given to them by their friends, but had grown used to them over time. "I've been meaning to catch up with one of you lot. I keep forgetting to talk to Armin at work."
Jean quirked an eyebrow. "About what?"
"Christmas pizza party, duh." He should've seen that one coming, really; each holiday Sasha held one of her infamous pizza parties, during which you either ate enough to burst or drank enough to pass out. "Obviously dorky sweaters are a necessity. No entry, otherwise."
Jean briefly considered the homework he had left to complete and the nearing deadlines for submissions, and then realised what he was doing and stopped. "Yeah, sure. I'll mention it to the others. We'll probably be there." Meaning Armin would want to go, which meant that Eren would want to go, leaving Jean the option of staying in alone or going to a place with free alcohol.
"Great!" Sasha exclaimed. "It'll be on Friday or Saturday. I'll text you details whenever."
"Awesome," Jean replied, with notably less enthusiasm, though he doubted anyone could match Sasha's unique brand of excitement when it came to Christmas. "See you then."
They parted ways and Jean returned to his mental stream of complaints. He really did hate shopping.
The apartment may have only been warmer than outside by a few degrees, but it felt like sanctuary as Jean finally stumbled through the door, his arms laden with bags of food and general necessities. Armin came into the hallway and relieved him of some of his load, happily chatting about his day whilst waiting for Jean to warm up enough to become a functioning human being again. They worked around each other as they put the groceries away and made space for Eren as he joined them to help.
"What's that?" Jean asked, noticing the small paper bags used by Sasha's bakery.
"Hmm?" Armin glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, leftovers. Almond and honey pastries and, uh, spiced gingerbread men, I think."
Jean smiled. Some days Armin would return with varying amounts of leftovers from the bakery and would share them with his roommates. Sasha didn't want any food going to waste and besides, it fed them when they were too lazy or busy to cook.
After that brief interruption, they moved back to their relative quietness as they sorted everything out. Jean and Eren mostly put things vaguely in the right position and Armin fixed it by placing them in the correct space. It wasn't particularly efficient but it worked.
It was all going well until Eren said, "This is the wrong kind."
Jean frowned. "What?"
Eren held up the pack of energy drinks in his hand. "This. It's not the right brand."
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
Jean sighed and crossed his arms. "They've all got the same fucking ingredients in them. What does it matter if it's got a different label on it?"
"But it's not the right one," Eren argued, raising his voice. "I wrote down the one I—"
"Well, maybe if you didn't write in hieroglyphics then I could've got the kind you wanted."
Eren opened his mouth to respond and no doubt blow things out of proportion. Armin interrupted him and subtly placed himself between the two men, his worried smile not quite reaching his eyes.
"It's okay, Eren, I'll get the drink you like in the morning."
Eren looked from Armin to Jean and then back again. His tensed shoulders relaxed and he nodded. "Okay."
Armin threw Jean an annoyed look as Eren turned back to the task at hand, silencing any retort about wasting money Jean had just been about to spew.
When they finished the chore, they settled on their small couch in their living room (which technically also doubled as a dining room, with the tiny, circular table and two chairs in the corner, but it was rarely ever used in such a manner). Jean sat at one end of the sofa, with an elbow resting on the arm of the sofa and his other arm draped across the back. Armin sat in the middle, resting back against the worn cushions. Eren sat to Armin's other side, lying on his back with his head on the sofa's arm and legs slightly bent. Armin never complained when Eren rested his socked feet on his lap, nor did Jean complain when Armin shifted into his personal space to accommodate for Eren.
Eren chose a random action movie for them to watch, purely to enjoy the explosions and cheesy one-liners. Jean preferred movies with logic and discernable plots and knew Armin favoured movies with more substance, but they could set aside preferences for one evening and enjoy the mindless violence playing out before them.
"I ran into Sasha while shopping," Jean mentioned offhandedly as the hero—a stereotypical white, straight male with a gravelly voice and more than enough muscles to spare—raided an enemy warehouse. "She said her Christmas party is gonna be this weekend and asked if we want to go."
"Yes," Eren and Armin replied in unison, and then began discussing Christmas sweaters, completely ignoring the movie. Armin had the most out of all of them—more than Jean and Eren combined, although that wasn't a particularly difficult feat considering they both had one, maybe two at maximum, hidden in the depths of their rooms. Eren would yet again wear the reindeer one, with the red pompom for a nose and bell on the reindeer's collar. Armin was torn between his glittery snowflake sweater and the light-up Christmas tree. Jean shuddered at the thought of being caught wearing any of those things and was glad his had a more subtle festive vibe. He was happy with his navy wool and small snowman print, thank you very much. No, he didn't need to sew tinsel onto it, and no, glitter would just get everywhere and be annoying; he was fine.
Sasha chose the Friday to host her party, as it was the afternoon her mother was free to oversee the running of the bakery in order to give her time off to decorate. The first thing Jean noticed as he entered her apartment was just how much she'd outdone herself this year. After last year, he hadn't thought it was possible to cram any more tinsel and other decorations into the place, yet he had obviously assumed incorrectly. Mismatched decorations of all colours, shapes, and sizes hung from the ceiling and were draped over doorways. Sasha had yet again strategically placed sprigs of mistletoe in various places and Jean made sure to avoid each of them, lest Sasha appear and enforce the 'rules of Christmas'. She took the festive season very seriously.
Cheesy Christmas songs played from a hidden set of speakers, long-forgotten bands singing about the joys of the winter holiday. Jean peeked inside the living room, where a rather brutal round of Mario Kart was taking place, and then made a beeline to the kitchen to dispose of the wine he, Eren, and Armin had brought with them.
Crudely cut paper snowflakes littered the kitchen counters, sprinkled around the bags and bowls of various junk foods. Jean paused as he entered the room, having not expected anyone else to be in there. Mikasa stood against one of the counters, pouring what looked like beer into a few plastic cups.
"Oh, hey, Mikasa," he greeted, walking further in.
Mikasa gave the other a small smile. "Jean. Merry Christmas," she replied, holding up her cup in a mock toast.
"Thanks. Uh, you too."
Jean had never been subtle in his particular fondness for Mikasa and it had caused many arguments between him and Eren. He was at least thankful to have moved on from being a babbling, blushing wreck and, after his infatuation with her had calmed down, was now capable of handling a decent conversation with her. She was not as perfect as he'd originally envisioned her to be, but he'd acknowledged and accepted her flaws and developed a strange sort of friendship with her; they moved within the same friend groups so it would've been hard not to.
Her hair was still perfect, though, even if she did still cut whenever Eren made a comment about it.
"You need any help with those?" he asked, indicating to the cups she clutched at precariously.
"No, thank you. I'll manage."
He moved aside, allowing her to pass and join the party once more.
Jean returned to the living room to screaming and cheering. Connie sat cross-legged in front of the television, controller in hand and swaying from side to side as he turned corners on screen. His clothes were dusted with red and green glitter and someone had placed a pair of plastic antlers on his head. Ymir say beside him, her face a mask of concentration. Jean would never admit it aloud, but the tall, freckled girl scared him a bit. Sasha sat behind Connie, both cheering him on and distracting him from the race. A petite, blonde girl was sat next to Ymir, cheering her for girlfriend enthusiastically.
Sasha leapt to her feet as Jean sashayed into the room, enveloping him in a tight hug.
"Jean!" She stepped back and held out her arms, twirling on the spot. "What so you think?"
Jean arched an eyebrow. Her clothes were as mismatched as the decorations; her sweater was of a pale green, her shorts bright red, and one sock was orange while the other was pink. Baubles hung from various places about her being and her hair had been braided with tinsel.
"You look like a Christmas tree threw up on you," he replied.
Sasha grinned. "Awesome. That's exactly what I was going for."
She dashed off without another word to join Eren, Armin, and Mikasa on the other side of the room. She pulled Armin away from the wall and began spinning vaguely in time with the music. Armin laughed good-naturedly and humoured her by joining in, but not before pulling Mikasa after him. If Jean had to guess, he'd say Sasha had already gotten her hands on the mulled wine.
A groan came from Connie as he flopped backwards, throwing his controller to the floor. Ymir smirked smugly and Krista kissed her cheek.
"You cheated! I was so close, that's not fair!" Connie wailed, his antlers now lopsided.
Ymir merely shrugged. "Mario Kart is never fair."
"That shit's been known to destroy families and ruin friendships, Connie," Jean said wisely, taking a seat beside the boy's fallen form. "You should be careful with it."
"Also, you suck at video games," Ymir added helpfully.
Connie bolted upright, offended. "You take that back!"
Ymir leaned in, her smirk widening. "Never."
Krista sighed softly and watched on as the two declared a rematch, hunched over with their gazes fixed solely on the television screen. Jean's eyes met hers and he gave a shrug, as if to say 'what can you do?'. She smiled in response.
There was a knock at the door, soft at first and then louder once the visitor realised the first had likely gone unheard due to the music within the apartment.
Sasha called, "Hey, someone get that. I think it's Marco," evidently too busy with dancing to do it herself.
Seeing as no one else got up to attend to the door, Jean stood and made his way to the hallway. He was fairly sure the door was unlocked, or at least it had been when he'd arrived.
Marco grinned bashfully as Jean opened the door, a large, plastic container in his arms. His cheeks were blushed from the bitter winds outside and he wore a slightly too big sweater with a pattern of leaping reindeer around the midriff.
Jean stepped back to let him in and tried to decipher the contents of the box. "What's in there?"
Marco laughed. "Hello to you too. Sasha asked me to make something kinda Christmassy so I made snickerdoodles."
Jean led him inside the apartment and frowned. "Snicker-whats?"
"Doodles. They're like cinnamon sugar cookies," Marco explained, opening the container and placing it on the coffee table.
Krista leaned forwards to grab one, her eyes lighting up as she took a bite. Jean mimicked her actions, unsure of what to expect.
"How are they?" Marco questioned, somewhat apprehensively.
Jean shrugged. "Eh, they're okay."
Marco smiled but a look of disappointment lingered in his eyes.
Jean shoved his shoulder playfully. "Oh my God, I'm kidding; don't look like such a kicked puppy. They taste like hopes and dreams. I may just devour them all."
Marco huffed and shoved back lightly. "You're such a butt."
A pair of arms snaked around Marco's shoulders and pulled him back suddenly, eliciting a yelp from the man.
"Glad you could make it, baker buddy." Sasha released her grip on him, proud of the reaction he'd given.
"Sasha, you scared the life out of me!" Marco exclaimed, a hand loosely curled at his heart.
"I aim to please." She then turned to the room at large, taking in the varying degrees of chaos. "Pizza will be here soon, guys. I just guessed what you want so if you don't like it, deal with it."
Connie called her over from the couch, waving a controller at her. He had a blossoming bruise on his arm, one Jean could only assume came as a result of finally beating Ymir at Mario Kart. Sasha pranced away, more than happy to join in with Super Smash Bros.
"Are they always like this?" Marco asked, following Jean's gaze to the battle of who gets to choose Kirby.
Jean nodded. "Unfortunately. I don't know why they thought Super Smash Bros would be a safe alternative. It makes Mario Kart look tame in comparison with the way they play."
Marco looked at him doubtfully but didn't question him.
The pizza arrived to a round of cheers. Sasha paid the bemused delivery guy and took the warm boxes from him. Connie darted over to help her set the boxes down, and also get first choice on which pizza he wanted without interference or arguments from anyone else.
"Someone put on a Christmas movie," Sasha instructed, gesturing vaguely to the pile of DVDs on the floor beside the television.
Armin knelt beside the pile and sifted through them methodically, placing possible options to one side. After a moment or two, he said, "How about Elf?"
"I've never seen that," Marco said absentmindedly. The room silenced immediately. He looked up to see everyone staring at him, each with a look of horror on their face. "What?"
"Dude, that's a criminal offence," Jean said, breaking the silence. "How can you have not seen Elf? It's a Christmas tradition."
Marco shrugged, albeit self-consciously, fully aware of the attention directed towards him. "I just never got round to it."
They unanimously decided on Elf, if only just to educate Marco in the proper ways of Christmas. They crowded round the couch; Sasha, Connie, Ymir, and Krista crammed onto the cushions in a tangle of limbs and the others sat in various positions on the floor. Jean ended up beside Marco, their shoulders brushing occasionally.
Jean tried to reign in his annoyance at his friends as they gave unnecessary commentary with each scene and squabbled over the last slices of pizza. They were much too comfortable with one another to just leave it politely in the thought that someone else aside from them may want it. Sasha usually called dibs on it, crushing any arguments with the fact that she was the host and she'd paid for the pizzas.
Just as Buddy bid farewell to his friends at the North Pole and hopped onto the broken piece of ice, Eren complained that they'd run out of popcorn. (Something Jean had learnt whilst living with him was that the boy could eat for hours and still be hungry; his appetite almost rivalled Sasha's.)
Sasha took the empty popcorn bowl from Eren and shoved it at someone at random. This someone just happened to be Jean, who looked disgruntled by the sudden interruption.
"Jean, get more popcorn."
She shushed him when he tried to protest, so he stood with a groan and walked quietly to the kitchen. He heard her say 'Marco, go make sure he doesn't burn the kitchen down' and rolled his eyes. You set fire to one pan of oil and suddenly you're not allowed to cook unsupervised.
Marco trotted behind Jean. He hovered by the doorway as Jean pushed empty wrappers and bottles aside to make room for the bowl on the counter. He rummaged through Sasha's well-stocked cupboards and quickly found another bag of popcorn. He tossed it into the microwave, pressed a few buttons, and then turned towards Marco.
Marco looked hesitant for a moment, his mouth parted slightly as if he wanted to say something. Jean crossed his arms over his chest, his head tilted to the side. "What?"
"Why don't you like me?" Marco asked in a rushed voice.
"… What?"
Marco chewed at his lower lip, looking anywhere but at Jean. "You always look so angry at me and I don't know what I've done wrong. You keep brushing me off and I just—" He broke of and sighed, his gaze lowering to the floor.
Jean moved towards him slowly, not wishing to startle him. "I—shit, Marco, I'm sorry. I just naturally look angry. It's how my face falls, I guess. It's, um, not you."
Marco looked up, surprised, and then blushed furiously. He buried his head in his hands, his voice now becoming muffled. "Oh gosh, I'm sorry! I don't—I didn't mean that."
Jean smirked, amused by other's blatant discomfort. "Eh, don't worry about it. I'm just not too good with the, uh, friends thing. Armin says I'm 'too blunt and brash for the subtle nuances of new friendships', as I believe he put it."
Marco peeked at Jean through his fingers, a small smile curving his lips. "I'm sure we could work something out." Jean nodded, glad to have at least smoothed things over with the baker. He was unsure of what to say next, having never really been too good with small talk, so an awkward silence passed between them. Jean shifted slightly, looking over to the microwave's timer. Only a few seconds left.
He tensed as a light pressure pressed against his cheek. He turned to see Marco pulling away, looking pensive and kind of like a rabbit caught in headlights. Jean raised a hand to his cheek, feeling the remnants of the gentle kiss fade. His expression must have betrayed his feelings of utter confusion, as Marco merely gave a quiet, forced laugh and pointed upwards.
"Sorry. I… don't know why I did that. I should've asked or something."
"Ah. Mistletoe." Jean looked back down and smiled to Marco, who still looked far too anxious for his liking. "Don't look so scared, I'm not gonna bite."
Marco gave a short nod, but jumped as the microwave pinged. "Oh, I—I'll get that." He hurried away, although looked substantially relieved.
Jean slumped as soon as Marco turned his back, leaning against the doorframe. What the hell?
"Are you guys making popcorn or making out?" A voice called from the living room. Jean scowled at Eren, even though the other couldn't see. "Hurry up!"
"But if it's the latter, take photos," Sasha added.
Jean tilted his head back until it thudded against the wooden frame. "Why am I friends with these people?"
Marco laughed and handed him the bowl of steaming popcorn. "Because they're fun. Come on, I want to see if Buddy finds his dad."