A/N: hey there everyone! As from now, I have to make some announcements!
1.I have changed the rating to mature, there are some sexual themes, write in the comments if you want full-blown smut in the future. If my readers disagree with it, I will change back the rating to T and cut out the steamy bits.
2. I am officially looking for a beta reader. If you want to become my trusted confidant and adviser, I will cherish you forever! PM me!
PS: mentions of some sexism, nothing too drastic though, jus typical teen behavior.
PSS: thanks for reading this great mess. You readers and followers literally keep me going, especially that guest comment who said that I inspire her. You gave granted me the greatest honor.
The good part is that this chapter was originally 12k words, so I had to split it in two. As A result, after the Levi chapter, the next Eren chapter will be posted right after as a bonus!
Jean
When the students did not indulge in the teachings of Levi Ackerman, they went back to a childish obedience. The shabby and cold classroom hosted, hours after hours, days after days, their malnourished and anemic bodies, detached from their souls, like the tail of a lizard. It was merely a survival tactic.
So that the reptile that was their imagination could escape and take the shape of vulgar thoughts, innocent manifestos and rebellious scenarios, while the lifeless tail was to be butchered with useless information.
A middle-aged man lectured them about the late bourgeois French society and how it was the perfect example of decadence with their parties, fashion and shameless exploitation of its low-class citizens.
So unlike their Titanical regime, built on the back of unscrupulous individuals that wanted equality.
That was not real history anyway; it was an altered, bland version, so devoid of anything interesting, the only way to learn it was to memorize it by heart.
Eren scoffed, without taking his eyes off of the book he was reading under the desk. The titans had established their utopian egalitaristic illusion by effectively eating the freedom of the masses: they took down the press, altered historical facts, and rationalized hot water and electricity.
So nowadays, as the Party fulfilled its promises, they made sure the people of Paradis were living equally. And by equally, they meant equally living in the same poverty. And it was hard to contest their authority when the sounds of revolution were constantly overshadowed by that of a rumbling stomach.
Mikasa mimicked a great amount of interest, while her thoughts focused on completing her imaginary poem. She had started working on it even before Eren's return, but somehow the last lines ceased to appear in her head.
If you really were to perish
From my cry and from my laughter
I would….
It was futile. The impersonal figure at the teacher's desk did not let her focus. Who gave a literal fuck to the long processions of years and complicated names?
Not her.
Not Eren, who was reading Catcher in the Rye below his desk
Not Armin, who was sketching his usual grotesque man-eating monsters, meant to symbolize their leaders.
Not even Historia, see the irony here? Who passed around notes.
And certainly not even Jean, who had a lingering look in his eyes. He kept his gaze glued to the black-haired beauty that was sitting in front of him, diagonally to his spot. She was chewing on a pencil, her deep, rounded eyes focusing on nothing.
Everything was just so perfect about Mikasa: her dark eyes, her sardonic posture, how she always reeked of expensive cigarettes, no matter how many times she applied perfume. That girl was the pure embodiment of a praying mantis and a black widow.
No, what the hell, that sounded way too trashy in his head.
Let's rephrase then, he thought, it was like his favorite marble statue came one night to life and roamed the Earth free. The issue was, the only soul that had been available at that time, was that of a cirrhotic Gulag survivor.
But that didn't mean Mikasa was heartless. Not at all. Sure, she gave to everyone the impression of a cold-blooded killer, and everything she did was in a way aggressive, harsh, or apathetic, but Jean didn't mind. He knew that she had her own subtle ways of showing passion.
For example, there was that time when they were talking about allowances in the bathroom. She told him that instead of spending money on poetry books at the book store, she preferred to write her own, and that's how she saved enough to buy her Marlboros. Jean had been captured ever since in her net of nonconformity. He thought she was so badass and original.
The next time he had tried instigating a conversation about literature, she humiliated him with her sheer knowledge about some books he had merely heard of.
There was also that time, which still made Jean blush, during English class, a year ago. She was working like a maniac to write the best review to Catcher in the Rye, when all of a sudden, something fell from her uniform.
It was a lighter, most likely a counterfeit Zippo, and the sound of it hitting the floor reverberated through the poorly-lit classroom.
He reached for it before he had time to think.
He rushed like his life depended on it, like his sole movement could bring down the terror of the titans. And of course, Eren beat him to it. He had no chance to grab it in the first place, seeing as that other son of a bitch was her desk mate and by default closer to her, but Jean was still upset about it.
And their seat placement meant he could watch their interactions while literally boiling out of jealousy. That day, he became very aware of his masochistic tendencies.
"Mika, you dropped this, please be more careful" Eren whispered to her, but in a more languorous, purring tone, unlike his usual one, which was straight up yelling. He handed her lighter back, their fingers brushing, and Jean felt a rage so powerful you could 've probably warm all the nine circles of hell with it.
He was going to strangle Eren, that was certain, he was going to end his existence right then and there, and there was nothing but vengeance on his mind until…
Mikasa did something that plagued to this day his deepest darkest fantasies. His eyes drifted downwards, and a blush rose uncontrollably to his face. She crossed her legs, and he saw something astonishing. There was no other word for it. Under the modest, black jumper dress that was her uniform, lay a hidden treasure. The skirt rose up, and Jean saw that instead of the compulsory pantyhose, Mikasa was wearing hold-ups. That's right, folks, sheer black hold-ups.
Her dark thigh high stockings drove him to insanity, and when she lifted the intricate elastic band to hide her lighter there, he lost it. In that purely intimate moment, he figured out Mikasa held a frivolous nature, hidden away from everyone in plain sight.
She too, under her mask, was fighting against the rules, against fitting with the rest, against the Regime.
She was so much more than a cold, subservient plain Jane. She was a rebel and a flirt, if only you knew where to look.
And this discovery could only provoke a certain reaction on Jean: all his blood went downwards and that was, in short, the story of how he got the biggest possible hard-on in English class. He thanked the universe that he was sitting down.
"You could ask Mr. Ackermann to switch places with Eren, who knows, maybe then she would actually look your way." Connie's quiet voice pulled him out of his memory. He frowned and dug his elbow into his friend's ribs. The other boy winced.
"Shut up, you bald clown" He muttered, but he knew the other was right. "She just needs to get over her Eren phase. Then you'll see."
"Mhmm…Jean, listen, I say this because I give a damn to your existence, but do you really need to see her walk down the aisle for another boy to convince yourself? She is not into you…" Connie tried to shake some sense into him.
"As if…If that were to happen, I would break off the wedding, steal the bride and run away with her on a white horse, like in those American movies!"
Connie tried so hard to hold back his heartfelt laugh, but a few giggles escaped him.
"Please, you would sit in a corner, get drunk and bribe the band to play Etta James for like, an hour or something."
"Would not!"
"Would too" Connie whistled and hummed a familiar tune " The church bells raaaang.."
"Stop it Connie! The teacher will hear us!"
"And all I could dooo"
"I said stop it you imbecile"
"Was Cryyyyyyyy!"
"Besides" he added "you know…you don't need to settle for a spot as a side character in her story. You could have the leading role in someone else's" And Jean knew Connie was not talking about the school play.
Armin.
Armin was exhausted. It was afternoon by the time he had returned to the boarding school.
As the sound and light technician, he didn't have to step on the stage, but the work was tremendous nonetheless. For the play to be successful, he had to look for the music, work on the poster, change the lights, and so on.
Today had drained him of his powers like a vampire. He stayed behind in that cold, damp theater after everyone went home, to clean up and work on the promotional poster for the school play.
Rome wasn't built in a day, he knew that, but he was also aware that all his ideas were mediocre, no matter how many times he redrew and reconsidered them. They were overused and lacked the originality of the artist. He tried to bring something innovative to the paper, but his thoughts simply were stuck in his head and thus they didn't match the content he was creating. A good illustrator would do all his attempts in five minutes, whereas Armin had worked for days on all the templates. He also had to take photos of the whole cast and fix the costumes each time those idiots damaged them. Every time he solved an issue, twenty more appeared.
He didn't want to remember the all-nighters he did while searching through the sparse collection of records from the school library. Did they have any idea how hard it was to add battling sounds to Beethoven's Eroica?
Moody actors, with their airs and frills, they think they are in Hollywood, he thought. In reality, if he one day decide to just walk away and give up, like Mikasa did, the whole play would be compromised, he was not replaceable.
"Losing you is not an option, Armin" Eren told him one day, and since then he had started to believe it
Somehow it was all worth it when , at the end of every representation, they grabbed him from behind the curtains to share the ovations. The applause was for him, the admiration too. And when the crew gasped at his photographs, marveled at his illustrations as if they were painted by Van Gogh himself, he forgave all their insolences.
After all, even when the work felt Sisyphean to his weak shoulders, it was better to be good at something, rather than wasting away on a desk job.
So he took it like a man, went on with his business and started all over with each play.
He greeted some of his colleagues that were hanging on the corridors. He shook hands with some, while a perpetual flow of sentences surrounded him as he walked.
"Oh there is the great artist, when are you going to paint me?"
"It's either illustrating for the Party, or starving. I pity you"
"Hey van Gogh, what's cooking this time?" Of course they would nickname him after the only painter they had heard of. He groaned and went on his business. He was really the Magritte-type of guy.
It was futile to reconcile with them. Those boys were like a collective manifestation of Cerberus.
He opened the door to his shared room. He put the folder with the illustrations on his desk and closed his eyes in frustrations. His roomies were home too. He had hoped for a miracle, but it looked like the much needed rest had to wait.
Their room was fairly small and the furniture, at the mercy of mites. Three iron beds sat in different corners, separated by some desuete wooden wardrobe, bookshelf or cabinets. The floor was always covered in a strange slime which caused their feet to stick on it, no matter how many times they had scrubbed top to bottom. The walls used to be white, but now they held a creamy yellow color thanks to their constant indoor smoking.
The whole design was guaranteed to give you a mild depression, so the boys tried to redecorate a little. A personal touch was in every place, so to speak.
First, they had purchased sort of a Persian rug so they could hide the horrendous bottom, a second-hand TV, smaller than a suitcase, and record player.
Second, the boys adorned the walls with all kinds of cheap posters until the original paint could no longer be seen.
Armin, for example, had a big map of the world, and each place he dreamed of exploring was marked in red pin. He also put up with some tape, printed, cheap pictures of famous painting: Van Gogh's, Klimt's, Monet's, and Rembrandt's.
Jean's posters split into two categories: either he had pictures of Cuba, Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire, and sunsets. Or he had posters of half-naked or topless ladies. There was no in between.
Connie had taped on his side of walls various pictures of Al Pacino , Robert Deniro and song lyrics written in black sharpie. But he beat Jean by far on the kitsch contest: he had glued a black-and-white Polaroid photo of his girlfriend, so that he could stare at it every night. That wasn't exactly terrible, but the caption scribbled nearby was the icing on the cake:
Baby baby don't forget
Connie's as good as you're gonna get.
Armin didn't know if this was sexist, dumb or just utterly humiliating on his part.
The two boys were both sitting crossed legged on Jean's bed. Connie was hugging a big radio to his chest, the music was not loud enough to disturb the neighbors. A slow cubanese salsa was playing in the background. Jean was very focused on some paragraph from a magazine.
"Come on, horse face, what does it say?" Connie urged him on.
"Be patient, idiot, my French is rusty." Armin watched them both with a frown and hanged his pale blue windbreaker.
"Here it is!" Jean continued and translated the text. "The nether lips, also known as labia minora, become red and puffy when the woman is either aroused or orgasming. Other sings of the female orgasm include quivering legs, eyes in the back on the head or a wide mouth open in a silent scream. Hahaha! Connie, this is a goldmine!" Jean said enthusiastically.
"Are you reading illegal porn magazines? Again?" Armin questioned them with a disgusted look on their faces. Living in a boarding school was certainly not easy.
" Jealous much? Wanna join us, coconut?" Jean teased the blonde boy invitingly and patted the spot near him on the bed.
"No way, he hasn't contributed to the fee!" Connie disagreed with his roommate.
"Ah, come on, Connie, have mercy on him. I heard that painters are known to be terrible lovers…"
"Ew, you guys are pigs" Armin smiled at them. Living with those buffoons had its perks. For instance, there was always someone to listen to his ideas about freeing the people through arts and crafts.
Other times, it was his turn to suffer through Jean and Connie's immature boyish behavior. It was then Armin truly felt trapped in those walls. There was no way to run, there was nowhere to hide, each turn he did, and they were always in his line of sight.
Despite the lack of privacy, His colleagues were great friends and the best comrades. Sure, they were sometimes mean, but they all had each other's back. Well, Jean and Connie more so, but it didn't matter. One for all and all for one, that was the saying.
Armin wanted, in each moment of his existence, to prove to himself and to the others he deserved a place on a pedestal.
A pedestal that glorified his intellect, his rational thinking and his imagination. He desired to be better than those plebeians, to be able to look up at them.
But he was still a teenager and 'boys will be boys'.
"Scoot over, Jean." He smirked and Connie whistled, while Jean patted his back and left his arm around his shoulders. They all huddled up in the small, narrow bed.
Their caramederie was touching. Armin wished he was able to take a picture: three dumb teens, wearing washed-out clothes, in a bed that was never made, drooling over Playboy. What a composition, truly worth of a Pulitzer.
They were deep into the wonders of female anatomy, when suddenly there was a very loud knock.
On the window.
The same window that was up on the third floor. Jean got up and went to investigate and behold, who could it be but that promiscuous psycho.
On the outside, Eren was tapping on the glass impatiently. He had climbed up on the large tree that extended its branches by their window and upwards.
It was not the first time he was using the non-conventional way to sneak inside their dorm, but the sight of Eren holding on to the three trunk in the middle of the chilly autumn meant two things.
Firstly, he was out of cash to bribe the guardian.
Secondly, if he were broke and still wanted to visit them, he would have to be truly desperate.
And Jean was not in the mood for any of his wailings.
On the other side of the window, Eren used his theatrical skills to conjure the most pitiful face he was capable of. He was certain no one could resist his big green eyes, pouty lips or upturned eyebrows. He gawked at Jean like a prodigal son, begging for mercy.
But all he received in return was a flip off from his classmate. He told Eren to fuck off and go home, even if he knew he couldn't hear him through the glass.
So Eren frowned and groaned, abandoning his attempt at mercy, then unbuttoned his blue denim jacket and held it open. That was when Jean saw the vodka bottle he had in the inner pocket.
Well, he thought, if he were shit faced drunk, he wouldn't be able to hear Eren's ramblings about how he was the way superior artist and the chosen one to destroy the Titans.
So he opened the window and helped the brunette climb inside.
"That's more like it, Jaeger." Jean said and snatched the alcohol from him. Eren smirked.
"Please, jean-boo, you just can't resist my begging" And the bastard winked at him. Jean couldn't get how the others loved Eren's promiscuity and unintentional sensuality so much.
He was lucky that his charms and his acting skills, along with some great lectures, had chiseled his image. Without them, his nature screamed 'violent prostitute'. Jean found it revolting.
"watcha' reading, comrades?" The actor then strolled to Armin and Connie and snatched the magazine from Connie's hands. His eyes scanned the page for a few second and he burst out giggling.
"Really? The female orgasm? What are you, thirteen?"
"How can you read French so well?" Jean asked with a disturbed wonder. Was there anything Eren was not good at?
"Please, while you were still reading fantasy books I was studying Moliere's works. I am fluent in French, but I use it to actually study the minds of the great thinkers.
The things you read about,…I prefer to practice them in the real life, with a real girl, even heard of that?" He replied with that persistent tone of making everyone feel inferior .
"why you…" The taller boy frowned. He was not going to be belittled by that poser. With a single stroll, Jean had closed the distance between them and grabbed him by his t-shirt.
Eren was few words away from receiving a nice punch in that stupid pretty face. Armin even got up and placed himself between them, trying to calm the spirits.
"Eren, stop bragging. If a person is truly educated, they don't have to affirm it every five minutes." Armin scolded him while pulling at his sleeve to signal he had crossed some lines.
"Dearest friend, with all respect, shut up." Eren replied and shoved Armin out of the way. He reciprocated Jean's moves and grabbed him too by the collar.
"I think our horse face right here needs to be reminded where he belongs…" And he gritted his teeth like a rabid animal.
"Au contraire, you dumb fuck, you're the one who needs to be put in his place." The tall boy faced him with some French.
" Stop acting like you're better than everyone, when you're nothing more than an egocentric brat who thinks the world revolves around him. Yeah, you're good at acting. Big deal. Armin is a genius at painting and he doesn't consider himself superior to us." Jean finished.
"He does, trust me, he just doesn't voice it like I do." Eren spoke, defending his best friend.
"I will punch you in the face."
"I will punch you first!" Their voice escalated in a fast pace.
"Faggot!" Jean screamed.
"I'm not a faggot!"
"Eren, you literally smear black eye pencil across your lids."
"It's part of my artistic post-industrial rebel image, call me when you understand those words!"
"It's actually called being a pretentious little bitch!" They were both yelling now.
"Coward!"
"Poser!"
The atmosphere was very tense. They were ready to fight, their eyes flashed danger, their mouth a thin line. It sure would turn messy, like a dog fight.
Armin held his breath, but just as Connie went to call the guardian, it happened.
Their serious expressions cracked little by little, until they couldn't hold it back any longer.
Those bastards burst out laughing. And not the ironic giggle type, no. They broke out, the sounds of long, uncontrollable joy filling the air, until the boys were out of breath.
They were bending over and clutching their bellies, eyes watery. Armin and Connie sighed in unison.
"They are worse than preschoolers." Said the bald kid.
"Agreed."
„Bhaha, you should have seen your face!" Jean said and wiped a tear in the corner of his eye.
"It's called acting for a reason…" Eren replied and went to embrace his friend. They hugged tightly and patted each other's backs. He liked to feel Jean's arms around him.
"You give me a headache, you know?"
"Yet you still love me, dear friend." Eren replied and pressed a smooch to his cheek.
"Ew, disgusting, Eren, get off me. " he let him go, still giggling, and turned to Armin.
"How about we drink then! Armin, fetch us two glasses!" And the blonde kid rushed to grab two shot glasses from the cabinet and gave them to Eren. The boy filled them with alcohol, gave one to Jean and he took the other.
"Jean, Bruderschaft!" He ordered and so they crossed their arms together.
"Aye-aye captain! To our health and my patience for you!" Jean said and downed his share, in the same time with his partner in crime. They both scrunched their faces and released a deep 'ahh', then poured vodka again . This time however, they handed the glasses to Connie and Armin.
"Eren, you're a weird type of treasure." Connie said and downed his bottoms up, while Armin was looking at the drink with a weird face. He was such a wine guy.
"Don't be shy, I got this for all of us." His best friend encouraged him, and the blonde kid figured out that dealing with Eren was a deed that could not be done sober anyway.
So he resigned himself, drank the whole thing and finished up with a nice round of coughing. Eren pat his back and led Armin to his bed.
Jean leaned against the only table in the room and cracked the window open. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it and took a long drag while Connie plopped down on his own bed, arms behind his back, staring at the ceiling.
"Alright Eren, what's the real reason you have come here?" Armin said and sat down on the mattress, back against the wall, his feet dangling over the edge. Eren joined him and cuddled up, bringing his knees to his chest and nuzzling his head into his best friend's side.
"It's Mikasa. She is so mad at me and I don't know what to do . She doesn't talk, she gave up her role in the play, and she ignores me all day long. I can't stand her giving me the cold shoulder anymore. I need your advice." Armin ran his fingers through Eren's hair in a comforting way.
"Well, did she say anything to you?" He tried to give an objective advice and analyze the whole fiasco rationally.
"She said she was tired of me." Eren muttered, he remembered what she told him when he had tried to sneak into her bead. It happened the following night after her stunt in philosophy class. Each of Mikasa's words dug into his back like a knife:
"She said that I'm guilty for her suffering." He groaned into Armin's paint-stained shirt. The other boy whistled.
"Wow, you screw up big time, boy. She kinda has a point." Eren changed his position so that now he was flat on the bed, with his forearm covering his eyes.
"How can you say that Armin!?" he retorted.
The bedroom felt like a cage Eren couldn't escape from. Every word Mikasa had said to him bit him back terribly again and again. He had been the biggest asshole in this world.
The boy felt the Top three worst people in history were The Colossal Dictator, Hitler and him.
He couldn't picture Mikasa weak, unable to welcome him in her arms, tired, sick of him talking. He hated how he hurt her.
So our rebel forgot all about songs, the Revolution, Hegel, the sea. All he could think about was her, her and her tears alone. The teen was held against the wall by his mistakes, like a guilty terrorist, and a great horror swallowed him: this time he couldn't fix the mess.
"Aww, look at the poor baby. That's so sad. Connie, play Paloma Negra." Jean said in an ironic tone and the other boy changed the cassettes, the sad Mexican song filling the room.
"Shut up, horseface, no one asked your opinion." And Eren went on his journey to drown in self-pity, listening to the deep voice of Chavela Vargas:
Pero mis ojos,
Se mueren sin mirar
Tus ojos.
(But my eyes,
Would certainly die
Without seeing yours)
A loud set of whistles and animalistic sounds ruined the melancholic mood. Outside, the boys on the hallways were howling and catcalling. Footsteps were approaching the room, until finally, someone sneaked inside and slammed the door shut, panting.
"Your colleagues are awful human beings." A girl wearing a long brown skirt and a hoodie complained.
"It's your fault for being so beautiful!" Connie put down the player and rushed to the door. He hugged his girlfriend tight and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She laughed in response.
"Sasha, you're a sight for sore eyes…but what brings you here? Is it because you can't stay away from me?" And everyone inside but them did some gagging sounds and sniggers.
"How did you know, baby?" Sasha asked, mimicking surprise.
"Oh…It's the eyes chicho…" He cupped her face and fixed her amber eyes in a great suspense. You could tell he had waited for a week to say that.
"Yeah, yeah, they never lie." Jean broke his momentum.
"We know Connie! We have seen the movie too! We were in the same room actually!" He yelled from across the room and Connie pressed his fingers to his forehead with distaste. That bastard ruined everything.
"Oh, my poor baby…" Sasha comforted him and caressed his cheek. "But the actual reason I came here is this." And she took out a VHS tape from under her hoodie. The girl waved her prize proudly in front of the others.
"It's Breakfast Club. And I mean the Breakfast club. Full version, no cuts. I thought we could watch it together, seeing as I'm so generous and you are the only ones in this dorm who own a video player."
"Oh my goodness! Sasha, where did you get this?" Connie grabbed it from her hands and stared at it in wonder.
"A girl has her secrets…" She said with malice, hands on her hips.
"Come on guys, help me set the whole thing up!" Connie urged them, and all the boys, except Eren, jumped into action, taking out the small TV and player from their hiding spots.
If only the building manager knew why the electrical bill was so high…
Historia
On the other side of the boarding school, a slender figure was going to kill someone. The whole room had been turned upside down, but her precious movie could not be found. There was only one logical explanation for this: her roommate stole it like a dirty thief.
And since no one was going to help her without something gross in return, she decided to deal with it on her own.
So the pretty heroine put on a pastel pink silk dressing gown, some slippers and off she went to find the usurper of her happiness.
There was only one room in the whole building that had a video player, after all.
On the corridors of the boarding school, death became her, so to speak. Angry footsteps echoed on the halls as she faced the inferno that was the boy's side of the dorms.
Plenty were roaming the halls, skinny and desperate specimens, and her pale complexion and delicate nature stood out amongst them like a sore thumb: a girl, all alone, who had the unlucky fate of being too beautiful.
But just like the Hindu goddess Khali, the manifestation of feminine wrath, she was so pissed off, no amount of whistles and catcalling would stop her. With her fist clenched and the face of a satanic rabbit, she marched through the crowds of horny teenagers that couldn't wait to objectify her.
"Boys, get up and look, here comes the Princess!"
"Joke's on you, my little friend here has gotten up ever since I smelled her scent on the hall." She tried to ignore all the comments.
"Won't you come in and say hi to my little Johnny? I promise he doesn't bite! But he might spit on you!"
"You're a sight to sore eyes, darling!"
She wanted someone to sew her ears shut.
" Oh your Highness,, won't you sit on my face?"
"Why?" she turned around and glared at one of those scums.
"Is your nose bigger than your dick?" She spat at him and went on her way to find her roommate.
"Wow boys, looks like the bitch can also bite!" She heard someone yell in the distance, accompanied by whistles and slur words.
One of those days, Historia swore to herself, she was going to rule the country and implement a death penalty for barbaric behavior. She imagined herself as the true Queen of Paradis, in a red robe and white dress, perched up on a mighty throne, while her aggressors were to be guillotined in front of her.
One of those days, they were gonna get it, she just had to be patient.
But she had other problems on her hands at the moment.
Inside, the boys finished with the complicated cables. They all agreed to watch the movie on Armin's bed, and for now Jean was starting up the whole machine. Their fun time however, was cut short, when the door to their room was slammed against the wall for the second time that day. Those girls and their PMS…Jean thought
On the threshold, a small girl was wearing the look of a mad hyena. Dressed only in a thin nightgown and a robe, the blondie scanned the scenery like a predator, until her blue eyes settled on the target.
"Sasha, there you are, you filthy thief! Did you seriously have the nerve to steal my precious teen drama? After all I've done for you…" Her scorned voice turned everyone in the room as white as a sheet.
"Historia, I swear, I have only borrowed it for a little…" The brown-hair defendant tried to calm the waters, but it was futile.
"Borrow it, huh? Like when you borrowed my nude lipstick or my Swiss chocolate? That kind of borrowing? Oh, you're doomed Miss, and tomorrow first thing in the morning I will report this whole…Oh." The young lady paused, her whole anger dissipating into thin air.
"Is that vodka?" She spoke in her sweet tone again and smiled tenderly. They all sighed in relief and Connie shrieked in delight.
Historia squeezed herself through the others and went to grab the alcohol. As she sucked it raw from the bottle, she reminded Armin of a baby finding solace in the warm milk.
After she downed a few healthy gulps, Historia asked Jean for a cigarette. So he gave her one and lit it himself, accompanied by a 'whatever the Princess wishes for'. The blondie laughed ironically and crossed her eyes at him for a second. She inhaled the toxic substance, enjoying how it burned her lungs, the smoke enticing and gratifying.
Then, that diaphanous half-child half-woman creature jumped on Armin's bed, scaring a melancholic Eren that was resting his chin in his palm and staring at the abyss.
"Historia, get off! You're going to get the sheets dirty with ashes!" Armin objected.
"Shut up Van Gogh. What's with the long face, handsome?" she asked the brown-haired rebel as she tilted her pretty head. The boy just huffed.
"He has trouble with Mikasa, poor guy is being terrorized by his sister! She simply won't forgive him because of some major bullshit" Connie interjected, and Eren's jade eyes moved for the slightest second. He wanted to deny those affirmations so badly, that clown knew nothing of the true situation and still spoke like he did.
"Is that so…" She smirked, ready to tease.
"Eren, please stop with the sulking face. You are ruining the whole atmosphere with your dramatic feelings.
I promise to think about it and come up with a solution. We're best friends and we support each other, don't we?." Armin said with a small smile, patting Eren's shoulder, then got up to bring the alcohol to his bed. He took a swig straight from the bottle and handed it to Eren.
"Eren, don't listen to that virgin! If you want some real advice, you gotta ask a pro!" Connie said with pride, pointing to himself. He marched towards the boys and joined them on the bed. Then he looped his arm around Eren and pulled him closer, as if he were revealing state secrets to him. Sasha was right behind him.
Armin was afraid his bed was going to collapse under their weight.
"I don't know why you want to fix things so badly, since you live under the same roof and siblings fight all the time. BUT! I'm going to be benevolent this time and share some of the wisdom of a long-term relationship. " And he winked at his girlfriend. Everyone made a desperate face.
"Listen carefully, muchacho, cause I will tell you this only once." Eren rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless, and even leaned in to hear him better, fueling his friend's Latino fantasy.
"right." And he took a deep breath.
"When you see her coming at you, angry, como una hydra, shut up."
"Just keep your mouth fucking shut"
"And not defend myself?" Eren asked perplexed and crossed his arms.
"No. Because you don't even know why she's angry. You hush. You get it?
The less you know what she is talking about, the sorrier you are.
You say only 'yes' and ' I'm so sorry darling',
It's textbook, amigo."
"Well certainly, if you are henpecked" Eren spoke with typical masculine indignation.
"No, if you are a survivor." Connie replied with a studied artistry. Sasha was carefully planning out his punishment.
"You wait for the storm to pass, when you work out which way the wind is blowing, and when she has calmed down, then, and only then, you make your move" he finished in style.
"Wow, thanks buddy, that couldn't have been more irrelevant to my situation" Eren said.
"Well, at least I tried…"
"Don't listen to that Casanova, Eren." Jean strolled across the room and joined the group on the blonde boy's bed .
His legs were spread, his elbows were resting on his knees and his face sat against his right hand. He rested at the edge of the bed, behind the brunette boy.
Armin was praying to the wood Gods.
"Casanova was Italian, you dumbass." Connie told him displeased. "I'm trying to reenact my Spanish spirit here."
"Connie, you were literally born in Ragako" The taller boy replied, depressed and uninterested with everything.
His cigarrette was burning out between his fingers, the smoke rising up lazily, in a hypnotic manner.
" Trust me Eren. No woman in this world is worth anything." And Eren shifted so now he too, was sitting on the edge of the bed. He took the cigarette out of Jean's hand and took a long drag. The girls tried to hold back their laugh.
"Who knows …" He added pathetically as they both stared with long gazes at the wall in front of them.
Then Sasha sneaked up from behind, silent like a cat, buried her fingers in each of their skulls and bumped their idiotic heads against each other.
After that stunt, she too grabbed the cigarette from Eren and also took a long drag. The boys groaned and rubbed their sore spots.
"Quit it, you mewls. You talk like you're some rednecks in your forties." She threatened and returned to her spot in Connie's arms.
When the spirits calmed down, Historia shifted , slow and steady, to face Eren. She placed her feet in his lap, smoking with grace. Just like a true queen would.
"You know, maybe I could help you with your situation…"
" Then you have my undisclosed attention, Princess." He replied with genuine interest and a smirk.
"I have a plan, I could stir up the spirits, but you have to do most of the work." She spoke.
"I'm listening…" Eren eyes almost shone in the dim lighted room. It was well past sunset, the night settling in.
Historia leaned in and began a flow of long whispers in his ear. As she was exposing her plan, he was becoming more and more delighted. When she was done, he exclaimed.
"Girl, that is absolutely brilliant! I have been telling to the other boys that there's more to you than just looks, but they refuse to believe me." Eren rejoiced.
"Thanks, I guess." She replied embarrassed and fixed some flyway hairs behind her ear.
"But how do you know she will be mad about it?" He pondered in doubt.
Historia raised a cheeky eyebrow.
"My dear, trust me, when you're pretty, whatever you do there is no feeling a girl can harbor for you other than raw jealousy. Happened so many times I can certify for this to work."
Eren slumped his shoulders. " That must've hurt."
"Eh, at first, a little. But it's all I've been getting, really. Girls can't stand you because you always steal the spotlight , guys hate you because they can't have you. And if they do, they toss you away afterwards, when you show them you're not as perfect as they have perceived you to be.
You know the old saying: for every gorgeous woman you see, someone, somewhere, is tired of her.
And they all dress up their distaste for me in the pretty clothes of admiration. " She sighed in frustration.
"Must be a lonely existence…"
"It is."
Eren then removed her feet from his lap and regained his more playful attitude, shedding his angst the way snakes shed their old skin.
"Well, that's cute and all, but I know deals with the devil require a price to pay in return. So…what's your, pretty? I must warn you though, my soul is already rotting away for someone else."
"I don't need that, idiot. But you're right. There is something I want in return…." Historia demanded.
"Anything for you."
" The next time you go there, you take me and Ymir too." Eren wasn't exactly surprised at her request. But he could not allow it.
"Certainly not. Ymir betrayed us when she joined the Titan Youth Committee. She is a traitor! I'm not letting her defile the only Eden left in this world." He said, his tone rising in anger. But Historia was having none of it.
"Then consider the contract void." She said matter-of-factly and puffed in indignation.
"You make such a big deal out of it. She tore down your walls and left you out in the open, raw and vulnerable. Now you just have to put the bricks back all over your exposed self."
"It's not that simple Eren…"
"Wake up girl, that's what all of us, the less privileged, have been doing. Life is merely a long string of repairing your barricades over and over after people break your trust you again and again.
Trojan-horse style, believe me.
This existence is merely a long string of disappointments. They never stop.
And we never learn our lesson, so get used to the suffering and learn to move on." Eren gritted through his teeth.
"That's pure facile tragism. We have a survival instinct deep embedded inside our brains. We get burned once, twice, maybe third times then we learn our lesson. No animal will prolong its own misery." Historia replied, trying to dull her own ache.
"We do. Because we enjoy the freedom of being out of our own cage."
"Then how about when I can't fix myself any longer? Now I'm young and relatively eye-pleasing, I have the means, I have the favors of others. But what happens when I'll be old? When the doors won't open to me as easily as they do now? Where do I find the strength when I'll be all alone and wrinkled?"
"You won't. Because you'll die in your forties from a drug overdose like any respectable way-too-gorgeous woman."
She smiled a sad smirk at his pretentious, but albeit core-hitting preaching.
"Then at least take me along. I want to see the ocean and listen to forbidden music." She resigned herself, and Eren couldn't resist her tender, anguished tone.
"We have a deal then." And he extended a friendly hand towards her.
"Consider it sealed." And the girl shook his hand, a mutual agreement between two demons.
"Hey there, Faust, Mefisto are you done?" Jean asked them impertinently.
"The movie is about to start, gather up, everyone!" Connie announced victoriously as the opening credits began to roll on the small screen.
So, in a flash, they all sat on Armin's bed, which, somehow, to his delight, supported their weight like a champ. Sasha and Connie were cuddling on the far left, Armin and Historia sat in the center, and on the far right, and Jean and Eren lay down flat on the bed, with an ashtray on Jean's belly.
The colors were faded, the sound was sometimes out of sync with the video, and they could barely read the subtitles. It still felt sublime to them. While the teens in the movie were doing nonsense, the teens in the room pictured themselves in their shoes.
They imagined a world without Titans, like the one in the film, where they could watch whatever they want, read whatever they want, go to bed with a full belly,
Enter those big supermarkets instead of their almost empty grocery stores.
Enjoy hot water all day, not only at 6 pm for one hour.
Express their style instead of wearing those awful uniforms.
And so on…
" Guys, won't we get in trouble if somebody catches us?" Jean added all of a sudden.
"Don't worry," Eren replied "The beating's worth it."
And as they dwelled into the movie, in the small, cold dorm, their fragile, brittle souls fixed themselves all over again.
A/N: Hope you enjoy, don't forget to voice your opinion, this is not my dystopian au! Love you guys, my dearest readers! Follow, favorite this, or just enjoy the reading.
Be safe through this nightmare and take care. Until next time!
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