Party was going to suck. Jean knew it from the moment when it was Armin who invited him merely a day before, and not Krista, who usually made sure to invite people herself, and in advance. It was a last minute pity invite. Not that he could tell that to his mom, who already thought him a loser and couldn't understand why he wasn't more excited about the outing. And she wouldn't let it go- not in during breakfast, when she nagged about homework, all worried and fretting if he had everything ready for Monday- 'ma, it's SATURDAY, I'll get it done tomorrow!' he finally snapped. He meant to do it during the day, the party was in the evening after all, but if he went to his room to do his homework then, she'd think he had forgotten and that she alone was responsible for reminding him.
She wouldn't let it go after his morning run, when she insisted they go shopping- and he wanted to scream in her face that he didn't want new clothes and he didn't fucking care to get all dressed up for the party- but he didn't, he just grit his teeth and bit the inside of his cheek and mutter that yes, he was fine when she asked him. Because this, at least, was not her fault at all. Him hating the reflection in the changing room mirror and hating it wasn't her fault- him being gangly and ugly, skin yellowy and hair neither blonde nor brown, was not her fault. Nor the way the expensive jumper was loose around his torso in the most unflattering way, although it was the size S. He knew Armin sometimes shopped in the children's department, but he was not going to go there, not going to suggest it to either his mom or honestly himself. Armin was tiny, but he wasn't /ugly/. And he was short- Jean used to be happy about his heigth, proud even, but in the past few months he realized it just made him look even scrawnier. Like a big, ugly praying mantis. Or so Eren claimed a few days ago, giving him a description he hadn't thought of before. Not that he didn't give back as good as he got, but unlike him, Eren was actually good looking. No insult, no matter how creative, would hurt him as much as his hurt Jean.
Mom also wouldn't let it in the afternoon, insisting on styling his hair- and that is when he put his foot down and screamed his share. She lost her patience too, and for around half an hour, he was forbidden from going to the party, grounded if you will. Then she changed her mind, bringing him a plate of sliced fruit in a non verbal apology (was he due an apology? Should he have apologized to her instead?) and telling him he could go. He didn't feel like it, and the apples tasted like ash when he ate them under her dutiful eye, but none the less he put on his shoes and the coat and was out of her hair soon enough.
He had money for the taxi, of course, but he walked instead, even though Krista's place was at least half an hour away on foot. He and Marco always used to drop in an hour late or so, when everyone was already there- and he didn't know what he'd do without him at his side if he showed up early, when there were but a few people there and conversation all but mandatory. He didn't use to hate it- the conversation, the chit chat, empty talk- but that was when Marco was there as a buffer between him and the other people. Once he was gone, and Jean finally able to go back to school, he realized that those people weren't actually his friends- they were Marco's friends, and he Marco's, and that was all the connection they had.
Honestly, all of them going to Marco's funeral and not one of them visiting him in the hospital should have been his first clue. But while in the hospital bed he was too high on pain killers and too haunted by mourning and nightmares to notice that other than his mom, he was very much alone, all day, every day. Dumb, really- how could he have not noticed that not even Eren visited, although it was his dad that ran his vitals and whatever it was that doctors did? Dr. Yaeger. Leave it to Jean to not notice the connection.
At least Marco wasn't alone when buried. Jean visited the grave once he was discharged from the hospital, a few weeks after the accident, and there were still fresh flowers there. And he knew those weren't from his parents- the people moved but a week after the funeral. He didn't see it himself, of course, and it wasn't as if he was planning to visit (how could he even look them in the eye?) but it hurt. It hurt that Marco's room was soon going to become someone else's room, and they'd paint over the mural Jean did in there as a birthday gift, and replace the door frame in the living room that was scratched bloody from all the times Marco's dad measured how tall his boy has gotten. Every time he thought of Marco's parents he wanted to scream. He was ripping apart at the seams, so how were they even still alive?
On the bit of the sidewalk where it suddenly narrowed, his feet moved on their own to balance at the edge- and he realized he didn't need to do that anymore, Marco wasn't by his side and there was no one to squeeze against. Sidewalk was wide enough for him alone.
He swallowed the tears and kept walking, not wanting to arrive at the party red eyed. Still, he had to stand in front of the door for a bit before he rang the bell, head thrown back so tears wouldn't spill. Once he rang the doorbell, he waited for five minutes before just letting himself in- the music was so loud Krista was never going to hear the doorbell ring over it and the chatter of people that without a doubt flocked around her. Marco never used to ring, he'd just barge in like a big lab of happiness, but Jean had no idea what the boundaries were now- since on the first day back of school no one really called for him to sit with them at lunch, and he started eating in the library, he figured already that he didn't inherit Marco's friends.
But, Armin still thought to invite him, so maybe he had a chance? He didn't want to go to the party, but he did want to be wanted, he wanted to have friends, damn it- he never before was lonely, but the past half a year was just so for him. And he wasn't going to fix that by hiding away at home- if party is how he was going to sit with other people at lunch, to party he'd go.
A few people made eye contact with him when he entered the dimly lit living room, but they averted their eyes just as quickly. Reiner at least offered him a large, happy smile- but as he took a step towards him, he bumped into the couch and just let himself fall, sprawl over it, properly passed out at ten o'clock. Drunk already... beer, no doubt. That at least was what he drank on the last party Jean was at, when Marco was still alive.
He himself needed a drink, he decided, disappointed that the one person that seemed happy to see him was actually so drank they passed out the moment later. He went to the kitchen for a glass, mixing himself a bambus; he wouldn't take chances with any harder liquor, despite the bar being fully stocked. She truly was rich, and out of control too, he thought as he took a sip, looking at his unsatisfying reflection in the bottles of expensive whiskey and vodka. She was oh so sweet, and kind, but what kind of a seventeen year old was allowed to host parties with alcohol once a month at least? And where the hell were her parents? Jean at least had never met them.
By the time he came back into the living room, a small group was formed around the coffee table, sitting on the cushioned chairs and on the floor in front of the couch- no one was going to try and lift comatose 215 pounds on Reiner Braun. He approached but lingered far enough to not be intruding, or so he thought; Armin waved him over.
„We're playing truth or dare" he informed him, bright eyes made brighter by alcohol. Not drunk, but tipsy enough. He pat the spot on the floor next to him. „Come play with us!" he insisted, and Jean rushed to sit down, noticing others wouldn't start until Armin got what he wanted.
As soon as his ass was on the ground, Bertholdt spun the bottle, insisting that was the better way to play than everyone going by order. It landed on Ymir.
„Truth or dare?" he asked.
„Dare" she grinned, her arm around Krista and a drink in the other hand.
„Uh. I dare you to... to... do fifty pushups!"
Ymir didn't even blink. Instead she took off her hoodie, staying in a tight gym shirt, and moved to do exactly as Bertholdt asked- the last five she did with one arm behind her back, earning a 'not fair!' from Armin, who regularly had death scares in the PE, barely able to do more than ten squats, let alone anything harder.
It seemed only respectful to applaud with the rest of the group once she was finished, although Jean didn't really like Ymir. And when she spun the bottle and it landed on him, he didn't like the glint in her eye either.
„Truth or dare, horseface?"
„Dare"
„I dare you to leave"
Silence. Or well, it would be silence had the music not still been going, inappropriately loud now, but no one was saying anything. Jean sat for a moment longer, the two of them not breaking the eye contact, waiting for somebody to tell her to shut up, give him an actual dare and stop being a bitch.
„Go fuck yourself" he finally said, getting to his feet- and wow, of course /that/ brought on a reaction. He didn't pause to hear what they were saying, although of course they weren't happy- he knew he wouldn't be happy had someone told that to Marco. But he didn't stay to be admonished, even as Krista called out for him to stay. But did she stand up? Did she actually want him to stay? No. Words sounded hollow and fake the same way she was, and in that moment, he hated her.
„Fuck you too" he called out over his shoulder, doing his best to not run. In the corridor he was hastily putting on his coat and trying to step into his shoes at the same time and all but crying when it wouldn't work when Eren barged in on him.
„Jean you don't have to go- Ymir was just being a bitch, you know her" he said, taking Jean by the elbow- his disgusting bony elbow.
„Go fuck yourself, Eren" he hissed, pulling away, crouching to pull on his shoes properly. „I don't /want/ to stay. I didn't want to come to begin with!" he yelled, furious at himself for even coming. What the fuck was he thinking? That he'd impress someone at a party? That he'd somehow make friends? These people have know him for years. If they wanted to befriend him, they already would have. He'd already be their friend, not Marco's plus one. They must be so sad that it was Marco that died, and not him- Armin invited him out of pity, because he was nice, but they wanted Marco, not him. They'd never want to be friends with him.
And he fucking wore the new expensive jumper, and put gel in his hair and fucking- they were probably laughing already. Humiliation burned his cheeks and eyes alike and he realized that if he didn't bolt right fucking then, Eren was going to see him cry. So when Eren tried to pull him back once again, he spun back and punched him in the jaw. Took him by surprise, too- and before he could feel guilty about what he did and before Eren could return the favor, he was out of the house, running with his shoelaces untied. At the moment it felt like the best course of action, to leave the party. And when he saw a bus pull up at the station, it seemed smart to jump in- he couldn't go home now, not so soon- he couldn't tell him mom what happened, least of all considering the scene he made at the end. She'd just scold him and be disappointed.
But he should have never left the party, and he should have never hopped onto a random bus. A random, empty bus. And when the driver started making small talk, he should have ignored him and hopped off at the next stop.
„What's got you so upset lad?" he had asked. And Jean at first ignored him, but he couldn't stay smart for long, now could he? It took just a bit more prodding for him to spill his guts to the total stranger more than double his age.
„... and I thought to go, you know? Because they never even visited me in the hospital, you know? Although I went when Krista had her appendix cut out, and I went when Eren broke his leg trying to do shit with a skateboard although he never skated before. Yes we all went as a group, but I was there! And I thought if I went to the party they'd maybe remember it. Like, if we had fun, I could sit with them on lunch on Monday, or something. But then that fucking bitch dared me to leave. We were playing truth or dare. Well, they were just starting to play, and Ymir made sure to kick me out two dares in because they didn't actually want to play with me" he ranted, wiping away stray tears. On some point he had moved to stand by the driver's booth, who kept nodding and asking the right questions, prompting him to speak more. It didn't matter that he didn't know who Marco, Eren or Krista were, he cared to listen at least.
When Jean looked up again, he realized that the bus stopped, and this time the driver turned off the engine too.
„Oh, damn" Jean said softy „I didn't notice how far we went. When do you turn back for the city?" he asked.
„Why? Your mom going to be worried?"
„Nah, she won't bother me this early, she really wanted me to go to this party. But I don't know my way back on foot" Jean explained, truly not worried. The driver, Nile, nodded.
„Good, good" he said, eyes glancing outside, which was dark and void of life.
„What's good?" Jean asked. And then Nile turned off the lights.
...
Nile insisted that he drop him off back to the city, and Jean was too stunned to try and make a run for it. He even accepted a bottle of water to try and get the salty taste out of his mouth. But there was nothing to be done about the wet and the pain between his legs, and it make him gag to think about it.
„Don't puke" Nile said lightly, having to speak up now that Jean was sitting far away, not blinking. „I don't have another bottle of water" he explained, joke in his tone. Jean didn't find it funny. He didn't think he'd find anything funny again, every again.
He all but jumped at the door when he saw his stop- but Nile wouldn't open the door, not before getting last bit in, no.
„Feel free to hop on anytime" he said lightly „I haven't met anyone as friendly as you in awhile, gotta say" Jean felt sick when he was finally let out, sick to his guts at how Nile formed it- as if Jean had /wanted/ it, brought it onto himself, or something. But, didn't he? He jumped onto that bus and spilled his guts to a stranger, and came close and stayed on the bus even as his stop was passed, because he wanted to talk more. Wasn't that everything he was taught against? Stranger danger and all that shit. And he still went along with it because... because he was a dumb, dumb fucking bastard and he got what was coming for him.
He ignored his mom when he came home- he even told her he was drunk, which he wasn't. And she wasn't thrilled, but at least had left him alone. He showered and scrubbed his skin until it was raw, and cried under the water, and then he vomited until all he could spit out was stomach acid alone, and screamed into the towel soundlessly and then he smacked his head on the bathroom wall until his mom knocked on the door to ask him what was happening.
„Nothing, FUCK OFF!" he screamed, and when he finally got out and she seemed to want to fight more, he bolted to his room and locked the door behind him, sinking to the floor, crying into his pajama shirt as his mom yelled, finally giving up after a ten or so minutes. He didn't sleep that night, too in pain and too ashamed. The exhaustion hit him only in the morning, making him sleep through the day, restless and plagued with nightmares. He only woke up in the evening, and although he could feel the hunger pains, the thought of eating made him want to puke all over again. Come night, he couldn't sleep once more, and come Monday, he barely sat through his classes. Come math class, he realized he hadn't done his homework.