Once breakfast was finished, the rest of the morning dragged on languidly. Sweltering heat bore down upon the drained cadets from the blazing sun above in the cloudless sky. To exacerbate matters, there was barely a breeze to be felt. Dust kicked up by the restless horses or from scuffing leather boots would simply hang in the air, suffocating and irritating for any unfortunate souls to breathe in.
The trainees had been tasked to collect their luggage trunks and haul them into the horse-carts. There were a fair few instances of people getting their fingers trapped between heavy boxes, so many in fact that you began to wonder how they survived unscathed thus far. As you shoved a crate of food supplies onto the back of a cart, you winced at someone howling and yelling curses. Peering over, you caught sight of Connie gripping his left hand in agony with Sasha attempting to placate him. Observing the spectacle brought an ache to your heart, shoulders sagging slightly.
I'm really gonna miss this level of lightheartedness. We only have a month left until... until we have to face the titans again.
Your gut twisted uncomfortably, and beneath your bandages your hands felt clammy. Just thinking about the horrifying creatures was enough to set your teeth on edge and make your skin crawl. Most days you endeavored to banish all thoughts of them from your mind. However, today was different.
After three long years of relative safety -minus the Trost incident-, snuggled up inside the inner walls, training against fake titans and each other, you were finally moving to the front lines. Just a few short weeks left before you all would be thrust out into the wide open fields of titan territory. Tall buildings and trees would be scarce, meaning defensive fighting would be significantly more dangerous. Many would die this time. Those who survive might die the next time around.
What if... I'm one of the ones to die on this expedition?
The terrifying thought caused you to halt in packing the cart, a bead of sweat skidding down your forehead. You clutched your arms across your chest in a vain attempt to force your shuddering shoulders to cease. You knew it was pointless to dwell on thoughts like these, but sometimes they crept up on you.
The commander told us that thirty percent won't be coming home. Thirty fucking percent!?... Who here won't be returning this time? Who might I never see again?
Slowly, you gazed around you at the rest of the trainees. Connie and Sasha slacking off on the luggage cart, probably play-fighting about something again. Ymir carrying extra crates so tiny Christa is left empty handed. Armin and Mikasa talking to Shadis, going over some kind of checklist, the supplies one perhaps. Reiner and Bertholdt were harnessing the burly draft horses, reins draped over the seats of the carts. Jean shuffled out of the storage warehouse, arms laden with cumbersome maneuver gear.
It definitely looked like he was having some difficulty, as his shoulders were sagging from the weight and his knees were ready to buckle. You shook your head with a sigh. The idiot had bitten off more than he could chew, and was probably going to end up with a face full of steel.
As if on cue, Jean stubbed his boot against the ground. Struggling to keep balance and to hold onto the gear, he staggered sideways in a panicked state.
You were mad at him. Sure, he's been acting like a real dickhead since the ceremony, and you had a bruise or two blossoming on your backside from being thrown down last night. Despite how pissed off, murderous, betrayed, crushed or heartbroken you felt from him snapping at you, lashing out and throwing your trust back in your face... you knew you should probably give him a hand.
Shoving your pride and indignation aside, you trotted over to Jean just in time to steady the hefty stack of gear. You gripped one bandaged hand beneath the bottom piece, holding your other hand steady against the top-most set of gear. You could feel the tips of your fingers pressed against his. Panting, Jean gave a groan of relief before peering around.
"Oh man, that was a close one haha. Thanks fo-" Jean's voice halted as his eyes locked with yours. You returned his gaze with a small hopeful smile, a slight curve at the corners of your lips.
"Need a bit of a hand, Jean?" You offered gently, attempting to add some warmth back between the two of you.
Jean's eyes narrowed as he broke his gaze away, choosing instead to glare at the dirt. You could see him gnawing at his bottom lip, as if struggling against saying something.
Is he nervous or something? What the hell is up his ass? Maybe I smell weird today? But that wouldn't explain his shitty outbursts last night...
"Thanks, but I'm fine. I can handle it from here" He huffed stiffly as he barged past you, heaving the gear into the closest cart with a heavy clatter.
Christa caught your attention as you balled your fists. She motioned for you to walk over to her, her eyes filled with concern. Breathing deeply through your nose in an attempt to calm down, you turned to look once more at Jean's back.
"I'm not sure what the fuck I've done to deserve this cold treatment. But I sure as Hell hope it's worth it, Kirschtein." You snarled in a low voice, just audible enough for him to catch each word.
Spinning deftly on your heel, you marched over to Ymir and Christa to help them tie down the supply boxes.
"I'm not sure what the fuck I've done to deserve this cold treatment. But I sure as Hell hope it's worth it, Kirschtein."
Her voice was defiant and strong, but couldn't quite mask her pain. It reminded Jean of a cornered animal, fluffing itself up to defend itself and to hide weakness. But most of all, it reminded him of himself.
And why she's so upset happens to be my fault in the first place.
Refusing to look away from the cart, determined to keep his back to (name), Jean continued working on securing the maneuver gear. His fingers shook slightly as he tried to buckle the harnesses, frustrating him further in his agitated state.
Ever since he had stormed away from the ceremony last night, Jean had been unable to keep thoughts of Marco and (name) from plaguing him. It seemed that ever since that horrifying incident with Trost, Jean hadn't been able to make much sense of his feelings. He was crushed, heartbroken by the loss of his friend. He needed support, it was too difficult to handle alone. Above all, he wanted to be honest with (name), to help her cope with everything he was going through too. Jean couldn't control the creeping need to hold her close, to bury his face into her hair and promise that everything would get better somehow.
However, despite his needs, he found himself questioning what he should do.
Honesty was the obvious choice here, certainly. But for once in his life, being honest was difficult for Jean. He had dealt with rejection before, brushing it off and continuing on with life as per normal. Jean was tenacious, sturdy and unwavering in his pride and open mind. Only she had been able to match his obstinate demeanor and shake his very foundations. (name)'s tenacity surprised Jean and left him in awe with her ability to take situations in her stride. The emotions that she instilled deep in his heart were his worry. His fear dwelling in the possibility of being rejected by her, as he was uncertain whether or not he would recover from it.
She was difficult to read, that's for sure. (name) had this way of erecting a facade and shielding her inner emotions behind it. At times, Jean found it truly admirable. However, when it boiled down to attempting to discover whether she felt the same way about him or not, he found it utterly infuriating. She wasn't even the type to casually open up about her family or her situation with Marco, let alone her most intimate feelings. And to think, he had been so close to finally hearing it all from her.
Jean's chest heaved and ached pitifully as he reached up to grasp the tiny bone fragment in his jacket pocket.
Damnit Marco, what the fuck should I do? To protect myself, I'm being so goddamned selfish... but so far all that's achieved is to hurt her even more. Distancing myself this way is unnervingly strange, I can't shake the aching feeling. Fuck man, you know her immeasurably more than I do... Hell, probably more than I ever will... Alright alright, I know what you would say. You'd tell me to quit hiding, right? Go back to being brash, honest and cocky right? The guy who doesn't hold back... right?
Jean grit his teeth, biting down against the prickling sensation in his eyes.
I don't know if I can do it this time, man. I don't think I can be there for her as much as she deserves while this feeling hangs over me. I need to talk her, I need to hear everything she has to say to me, but I don't think I can face her properly if I get rejected... What if I end up in an unrequited pit, unable to give her what she needs? With her unable to give me what I need...?
Shaking his head violently to fight the melancholy haze, Jean spun on his heel and marched back into the warehouse. He had to keep working, keep stocking the carts. If Jean were to stop moving, he might crack.
I... I need time to think. She's just gonna have to hang in there a bit longer, I guess. I have to sort out myself before I can help her.
Groaning as he surveyed the large amount of equipment still waiting to be loaded up, Jean wiped at the sweat on his brow with his sleeve. Grabbing another stack of maneuver gear, he heaved it off the ground and began staggering back towards the heavily laden cart.
Help me Marco... I think I love her.
The journey to the Survey Corps HQ was a tedious and arduous one.
All of the cadets were packed tightly in the back of covered wagons. Elbows and knees invaded personal space and shoulders bunched up together. The carts jostled relentlessly along the uneven terrain, stifling dust permeating the cramped space. On top of it all, the sweltering heat was enough to make you nauseous.
For the entire hellish trip, you were squished in-between Sasha and Mikasa. At least half of the time, one of them had an elbow tight against your ribs. For the other half of the journey, they both did.
Jean was jammed between Connie and Bertholdt on the opposite side of the wagon, almost directly facing you. Every so often, you could have sworn you caught him watching you from the corner of your eye. However any time you glanced at him, Jean seemed determined to look anywhere except for you. His eyes seemed troubled, and his mouth was set in a firm line. There was a faint red hue painted across his cheeks, but you assumed the heat and generally uncomfortable seating arrangement was to blame there.
When the congregation of wagons and carts finally trundled to a halt, it felt like an eternity had passed. A chorus of hoots and relieved groans erupted from the trainees as they poured out of the wooden Hell-holes, stretching cramped muscles and inhaling the fresh air.
As you emerged from the wagon, blinking like an owl in the sunlight, Mikasa helped you down due to your numb leg. You heaved a sigh of relief as you massaged the sensation back into the poor abused limb. After you had regained enough feeling in the nerves to stand straight, you joined the others in peering around in awe.
The Survey Corps headquarters was an incredibly expansive castle, older than any building you could recall ever seeing. The exterior was constructed entirely from iron-grey brick and granite, with towering turrets jutting up methodically. In the forefront, there was a colossal belfry, with impossibly large ancient bells visible through the openings. The main building was incredibly impressive, looming at six stories tall with a gracefully sloping tiled roof.
You were all standing in a massive courtyard flanked by sweeping stables full of sleek thoroughbred horses. Extending out from the castle's main body were wing buildings, each two stories high and lined uniformly with high rising windows. They ran along the borders of the courtyard, boxing it in save for the grand entrance-way leading out to the drawbridge where you had entered. Craning your neck, you could vaguely make out the edge of a moat running beneath the bridge. The entire base was surrounded by heavily fortified walls. A truly defensible position.
"Trainees, over here!" An unfamiliar voice called out.
You all turned to regard a Survey Corps soldier near one of the stables beckoning you all to approach him. He was a friendly looking man with a scruffy beard and a white cloth tied securely around his head. A calm coffee toned mare waited patiently beside him.
The trainees all gathered in front of him, and you all saluted respectfully.
"My name is Squad Leader Ness," the man introduced himself with an amiable grin. "And this is my trusty horse, Charlotte." He turned to scratch the mare gently on the cheek.
"More than anything, she loves to chew off your hair. So be careful unless you don't mind being bald! Anyway, nice to meet all of you."
As if on cue, Charlotte leaned over to Ness and grabbed his head-cloth between her teeth, attempting to yank it off. You could swear you saw a large bald spot on his head as Ness tried to pull the fabric out of the horse's mouth.
That evening, after all of the carts had finally been unloaded and organized, you and your fellow graduates sat down to dinner. It was strange, almost unnerving to eat in an unfamiliar mess-hall. The room was enormous, at least twice the size of the hall back at the training camp. Broad wooden beams supported the distant, shadowed ceiling. Two rows of pillars ran parallel along the length of the room, carved from cold granite.
Filling the tables on one side of the hall were members of the Survey Corps, unfamiliar faces and voices. From some groups echoed booms of laughter and gleeful conversation, other tables weren't so rowdy. Your gaze carefully slipped across the soldiers with traumatized, empty expressions. Seeing their faces twisted in masks of pain set your nerves on edge.
In this foreign hall, you had managed to discover a sliver of comfort. An old table set against one of the windows. It looked as though the window faced East, more or less, meaning it would catch the dawn-light. Just like your old familiar haunt.
It was here you had chosen to sit, alone at first. When Jean had collected a tray of food and surveyed the room, you had shot him a hopeful smile in one last attempt to have him speak to you. Speak to you, sit with you, acknowledge you, at the very least.
But the fleeting instant that his melancholy eyes had locked with yours was painfully brief, as he immediately spun on his heel and stalked over to join Connie, Reiner and Bertholdt.
Crestfallen, you had glumly returned your attention to the rapidly cooling food on your tray. Suddenly, it seemed so unappetizing, and you considered skipping dinner entirely.
But the clatter of trays landing on your table snapped you out of your reverie, and you gazed up to find three pairs of eyes scrutinizing you. Ymir and Christa settled onto the bench opposite you, and Sasha flopped down at your side.
"Forget him for now, (name)! After all, there's food to be eaten, and you realize that bad moods spoil meals right?"
Feeling slightly eased by her words, you flashed Sasha and the other two girls a grateful smile before digging into your meal. After a while, light conversation flowed more naturally. It wasn't much, but it helped you keep Jean out of your mind at least a little.
To signal the end of dinner, a thunderous boom rang out from the belfry. In scattered unison, soldiers heaved themselves up from their tables and commenced clearing away. Sasha and Christa rose from the benches, and as you began to join them you were halted by a firm grip on your wrist.
Dropping back into your seat, you raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Ymir as she withdrew her tanned, slender fingers from your arm. Turning to the other two, she grinned, "You two go on ahead. (name) and I just need to have a brief chat."
Eyeing you curiously, Sasha and Christa agreed to head out first and took yours and Ymir's trays with them.
"What's wrong, Ymir?" You questioned uncertainly, watching the enigmatic girl carefully. But she did not respond, instead she motioned for you to wait as she observed the other trainees departing. Following her gaze, your eyes landed on Jean.
As the copper-haired soldier moved to exit the hall, he shot you both a cursory glance, his eyebrows furrowed in what appeared to be apprehension.
Turning back to Ymir, you watched the corners of her mouth lift into a sneer as her eyes never left Jean's back until he had completely departed. Finally, she turned back to you with a suspiciously gleeful expression.
You felt yourself inadvertently recoiling slightly, having never seen her look so eager about anything.
"Well, this is a change from your usual indifference, Ymir. What did you want to talk about...?"
The tanned girl's grin widened further until she resembled a cat who had just been presented a bowl of cream.
"You're having problems with Kirschtein."
Groaning your confirmation, you rested your chin in one hand. "Pretty sure that's obvious to just about everyone by now. He's been dead-panning me since the ceremony."
Ymir leaned forwards across the table, eyes flashing wickedly. She spoke in low tones, as if in precaution against anyone else hearing her.
"Let's just clear things up a little bit first. We're not really friends, we've just trained and lived together here."
You nodded slowly, absorbing her words but still regarding her cautiously as she continued speaking.
"I don't go out of my way to just help people. I'm not a saint like Christa, and no way in Hell do I intend to be. As far as I'm concerned, being nice for the sake of it is a gross waste of my energy. However..." She leaned down on her elbows, the glint in her eyes almost maniacal.
"Even for someone like me, it's frustrating to see someone acting as fucking dense as Kirschtein has been. And from what I've seen, you're someone I wouldn't mind having indebted to me for a favor."
Ah I get it now. I wonder what it is she's scheming...
"You want to get him talking to you again, correct?"
You mulled over her words for a moment, considering your options. Finally, you looked up. Locking gazes with her, your face slowly broke out into a grin that almost rivaled hers.
"Yeah, I do. I assume this means you have a plan?"
Ymir threw back her head and let out a boisterous laugh. "Oh fucking do I ever have a plan. Now listen up, I think what little Jeanie boy really needs is a bit of a push..."