This chapter contains a lemon. Skip if you like!

Chapter 18

"When I think of my memories, those places that once conjured up images and senses long since past, it's not the same anymore. The memories are not even objective facts. All I have to prove their existence is the words that I wrote, the ones begging me not to forget exactly that which I did. Now whenever I think of those things, it is not a vision of those experiences that pops in my head, but a flash of the pages onto which I wrote those memories."

The infirmary is distinctly quieter today. The curtains are pulled back, windows open, letting in a faint breeze that harbors the scent of the flowerbeds outside that are once again in bloom. The curtains sway in tune with the wind, drifting like they are weightless, like gossamer-thin strands of hair or spider webs detached from their posts.

I weave my arms together, sitting stiffly. No longer am I able to sit with my back flush against a seat, now that I've been adorned by and equipped with my very own set of ODM gear. The straps, at first, had cut into me in a way that made every inch of me ache. My hips most of all. The weight of the blade sheathes was an alien presence, the kind that only acclimation would aleve.

The world outside the window is vibrant and alive. Green sprigs flock the available space on the ground, dotting the edges of the paths. Similarly adorned trainees walk together, ODM gear occasionally clunking together as they attempt to walk as close to their friends as their muscles once used to do. I scan faces idly, with the kind of attention that keeps me busy while lacking any true motivation. The world has brightened, livened, and still I remain in here.

Johan finally finishes scrawling his careful notes down. His penmanship looks so neat, refined in a way that mine isn't. Even Armin's uncomfortable tutelage can't seem to accelerate the natural pace at which the motor skills refine themselves.

The doctor inhales, tossing sound into the infirmary's open air, and leans forward to set his notes down. "I think—and this is just my humble professional opinion—you should stop taking the medicine ."

I freeze. I don't mean to think of him, but the second that Johan mentions Antaneva, I think of Reiner. The vial the warriors once held over my head now sits tucked away at the bottom of my pack, barely a quarter full.

"I came here today to request a refill. Not to get roped into telling you more about my lost memories and to be told to stop taking my medicine." The second I feel my scowl practically digging into my skin, I take a hand and smooth over the lines in an attempt to coax the irritation out of my expression.

Johan doesn't seem to be bothered by it, though. Instead he smiles faintly. "And here I thought we would be speaking of you, today, and not your sickly superior." I roll my eyes. There was an aura of familiarity to our exchange that still felt new and peculiar. It was a bond that made me nostalgic for the Yeagers, and the gentle hands that reached for the door whenever I knocked. The kind of warm recognition between the worker and the regular that frequents their place of work. Only a few weeks had passed since we dropped the pretense of my visits being on behalf of an anonymous superior officer, but somehow, a part of me wondered if this level of awareness was where we were meant to end up all along.

I fidget with one of the straps, the one stretched over my chest just above my breasts. "That medicine isn't something I take for fun, you know."

"Of course." He glances out the window. For the first time since I sat down across from him, unease trickles into my bones.

"Something happened."

His eyes darken; their gaze bleaker. The room suddenly feels colder, grimmer. The world outside stays clueless to our disposition. "Something always does, I'm afraid.

"Antaneva is being pulled off the markets. I'm afraid…nobles of the inner wall have already been making bulk purchases in advance of the announcement. By the time the news made its way down the grapevine to places like this, the price of the medicine grew to a level that surpassed the funding allotted to its purchase for governmental affairs."

I'm digging crescent-shaped indents into my palms before I realize it. I force my nails to retract, uncurling my hands. The gold that has adorned my finger since the foolish reclamation attempt—since my mother's death—shines in the late spring light filtering into the building. I start to tug the ring off, then hesitate. "Is it still available through other channels? Perhaps I could—"

"Miss Moreau." His voice isn't reprimanding, but rather firm. I carefully scoot the ring back to the base of my finger. It shifts easily, without complaint. "You are a trainee. You should not think of accessing channels that would cause trouble for you."

He is right, and I hate it. I have half a mind to push back, to defend the fact that I need this to live, to continue my training, but one look at Johan tells me he won't have it. My shoulders slump as I press my lips together firmly. After waiting a second, the doctor clears his throat and continues on.

"One of the primary ingredients in Antaneva is oleuropein. It was the same for Antaverum, too. Few medicines in Paradis actually employ this component, and as such, demand for farm land dedicated to oleuropein extraction has been steadily falling for a few decades now." Johan taps his notes with his finger. "Antaneva has a rather long half life. Even if you were to stop using it now, it would be some time until you truly notice the full absence of its effect on your system."

"Then why suggest this to me at all, and in such a roundabout way? You're telling me to abandon the one thing keeping me functioning with enough competency to act as an average trainee. And all because they discontinued the medicine?" I can't help it, but anger begins to weave itself into my words. "I've switched variations before. Surely some new concoction will hit the market now that Antaneva has collapsed?"

The change in Johan's disposition is immediate. Whatever firmness he had in his expression is now exchanged for gentle resolution. I understand what he's been dancing around before he even addresses it. "Remember what I told you, the first time we met? Antaneva was always doomed to be a temporary solution. There won't be another after it's gone."

I feel the world darkening, the sight before me blurring at the edges. I lost so much to get this medicine back into my own hands—dignity, pride, trust—all to realize once again that the one who's always been helpless is me. "But the farmland is still there. The oleuropein is still being harvested. Can't they just—"

My words die in my throat. Johan bows his head, the corners of his lips finally jutting down to betray the weight of the news he's breaking. "The land has already been repurposed. Its harvesting now is said to be for recreational purposes, but anyone with an eye would see that the new crop on those plots is a key ingredient for Coderoin."

My voice shakes. I wish it wouldn't. "Why are you telling me all of this?"

"To ease your anger." Johan sighs, glancing out the window again. "Coderoin is the fastest growing illegal drug, both in terms of its supply and demand. A possession sentence of five years once caught isn't enough to deter people from trying to take advantage of the cash flow it's initiated, be that by dealing or manufacturing."

I understand what he's trying to say. At this rate, it'll be impossible to establish new farms for oleuropein. What exists in Paradis is what the citizens have to work with. And the ones with money to spare and sickness to deter will buy up the last shreds of product on this island, to last as long as possible before withering away.

The ones without money or means will have to accept that what they have is all they will get.

Johan wanted to give me a chance to discard the medicine of my own volition. An opportunity to lay my mind to rest by reassuring me that I made the decision; it did not make me.

I glance down at my palms. I'll have to space my dosages out slightly. Make whatever's left last. After that, I'll have to rely on the half life for a while. And when that's gone…I'll be on my own.

"Thank you, Johan." I rise slowly. This news, combined with the weight of the ODM gear we're supposed to get adjusted to, feels like almost more than I can handle. How have I handled anything thus far? The drive to continue exists in the memories I now lack. Scrawled testaments on a textbook aren't enough to convince me to get up every time that I fall.

I study the infirmary carefully. The sunlight filtering through the window, the breeze and the flower-tainted air. The pale interior, clean furniture, polished floors. The doctor who has become something of a source of comfort.

I incline my head. It's respect, of course, but also selfishness. I can't bring myself to look into his eyes. "There's one more thing I forgot to mention, actually. The officer I once came here on behalf of has retired. So…I thank you for everything on his behalf, Doctor Johan."

When I raise my head, it's to find his eyes fastened to my own. He gives me a parting smile. "May he live peacefully."

Mina stretches and jogs towards me the second I exit the infirmary. She smiles brightly, and it strikes me how pretty she looks in the spring. The season and her are one and the same: vibrant, flush with life.

If Mina is spring, then Reiner is summer.

My own thoughts irk me. I let my guard down when she draws near, replacing regret for release. Our arms intertwine, laced together like filigree, like soil and roots. "How'd it go?"

I tilt my head and rest it on her shoulder for a second. "I'm dying," I tease, dramatizing my conversation with Johan so I don't have to face the internal realization that maybe that might happen once I lose the medicine in my system.

When Mina laughs, I swear the flowers bend in our direction. She tilts her head and bats her eyes at me. "Then who will I sleep with once you're gone?"

I roll my eyes. "I'm sure you'll find another woman to share your bed with easily."

She hums, but says nothing. Our gear clinks together, so she readjusts her arm and mine so that we're holding hands instead. Hers is that mild temperature of calm skin, the kind I imagine feels average, yet still warmer than my own. Images of a blond haired boy dance around in my head as I think of a hand that's warmer still.

Mina's is slightly smaller than my own, with a smoothness that reminds me more of the way my hands were back on the day of the fall of Shiganshina. Her calluses are only starting to form. Mine are the result of laboring away as a refugee back with Eren, Mikasa, and Armin.

"…This is nice," she says softly. I blink away my distraction and recenter my attention.

"Mm?"

Mina squeezes my hand. "This. My family is very affectionate, so coming here and seeing how far removed from touch so many others in the 107th are made me rather shocked and homesick. I'm relieved to have met you, though."

I laugh dryly. "Mina," I warn, with the kind of lightness that makes me realize she'll never realize I'm being serious, "I'm surprised you haven't considered that perhaps I am simply a greedy woman taking advantage of your kindness."

"Maybe we're both greedy," she grins.

And perhaps we are. It was Mina who initially slipped under the covers of my bed after stumbling back to our cabin just before dawn one night…but I was the one who made space for her pillow next to mine and let myself get lost in the way it felt to fall asleep next to someone.

She smells like lemongrass and bluebells.

Mina and I walk to the fields, meeting up with the other members of our temporary training squad. Shadis informed us that these groups will only last for a few months, just long enough for us to get accustomed to using the ODM gear, and then we'll be sorted into larger groups that'll be ours until the final exams. The thought of becoming a Cadet still seems so far off, but at the same time, it's shocking to me how much time has already passed since I first came to this camp.

Our training group consists of four people: me, Mina, Connie, and Marco. Today I'm surprised to see a few other faces relaxing in the shade of the nearby maple trees: Jean and Sasha, of course, and the two other members of their group whose names I haven't even bothered learning. That lack of knowledge shames me a little, but at the same time, I don't feel particularly inclined to reach out and request an introduction. My behavior is still guided by the little characters scrawled in the margins of my military textbook, it seems.

The second we're within eyesight, Connie waves us over emphatically. "Took you long enough!"

"Go easy on them," Marco chides, casting an easygoing smile our way. Ever the mediator. "We can spare a few minutes to wait."

Connie shrugs, but whatever he planned on saying is lost on me the second that Jean slips into view. Mina's hand slithers out of my grasp just before I can refasten my hold on it. I watch her dance away, sending me blatantly obvious smirks before standing next to Marco and the rest of the trainees. "How'd it go?"

I tilt my head, as if the words could slip right out of my ears and onto the ground before I'm forced to face them and process their implications. "It…was fine."

"Fine," Jean drawls, scratching his chin. "The last time I heard you describe something as fine was when we finally sat down to really talk about what happened in the forest."

My ears go hot; I find it especially pertinent to inspect the grass just then. The shoots are growing well, I see. "You deserved better–"

"So did you, y'know."

I turn to him in surprise. The hand that was itching his chin has relocated to rub the back of his neck, showing me that sheepish side that has appeared seamlessly during every conversation we've had since the night we were intimate. The sight of it makes me want to smile. It makes me feel like a friend. When the rest of our combined group go and begin to head out to the training grounds, he and I follow several lengths behind everyone else. I think of the time we strode together with half-formed piles of snow adorning the ground and the line between us drawn.

"You can tell me. If you want."

"Oh? How generous of you, to lend your ear to a woman you don't fancy."

Jean rolls his eyes. "Don't play coy. Everyone knows that your bed is plenty warm without me in it."

I snort. "Sasha?"

"Mhm."

Figures. I watch her trot ahead with the others, laughing with Mina. How amusing to know that Sasha and Annie are bunkmates now that Mina and I sleep under the same covers. "For a country girl, she sure has a knack for gossiping."

Jean nods, hands tucked into his pockets. He looks so natural with the ODM gear already. A man clueless to the destiny so painfully obvious to those around him. A leader, the kind that Armin isn't. The sort of gem that collects dust in the armoire when he could shine after a good polishing. "Do you like her? Mina, I mean."

"Me? No."

"Does she…?"

I shake my head, watching Mina tug one of her ponytails over her shoulder to unfasten and adjust the hair tie. "We're just…acquaintances. We benefit from our mutual usefulness. We're temporarily symbiotic; nothing more."

Jean guffaws. "How romantic."

For some reason, his remark pricks me like a thorn. "What about you, then? How are things with the woman you love who shares my name?"

I can tell the very instant the mood between us dampens, but for some reason, today I regret instigating this change in disposition. Jean looks distinctly uncomfortable now…and a little downcast, too. "Ah, well…it seems I've fallen for someone I can't have."

I'm not sure why, but his remark puts me ill at ease. It makes me think of waking up in the middle of the night next to Mina, listening to her purr-like snores and realizing some part of me expects the walls to be made of frigid stone, not sturdy wood. It makes me think of aching to taste the lips of someone I've already chased away. I bristle, feeling irrationally defensive. I can't tell if I'm addressing Jean or myself when I speak. "So pick the safe choice. Why pine for someone who can distance themselves at any given moment? Why chase someone who has already decided to run?"

Jean pauses, his footsteps faltering. He glances at me quizzically. "Is that what Mina is? Convenience?"

"We're not like that. It's just…nice. Not sleeping alone."

For a long time, neither of us speak. Our boots crunch against the dense soil and brush against the grasses and gravel littering the paths. The training grounds are flush with groups, several at a time clustering around the swings now approved for use while wearing our equipment. Adjusting to being suspended in air with the gear on has been easier than adjusting to moving around the camp with it: less weight on the body in the air no doubt makes it easier, though.

I scan groups without really meaning to as we weave our way towards one of the swings with a smaller crowd. Mikasa, Ymir, Bertholdt and some random girl. Christa, some guy, Eren, and Annie. Three random people, Armin. Two random people, one vaguely familiar one, and Reiner.

I glance away before he gets the chance to notice me.

It takes a long time until our two groups are finally next in line to use one of the swings. Through all of our waiting, without saying anything to me, Jean stays by my side. I find the solidarity reassuring in this place where I lack firm footing. My hips feel hollow, deadened by the weight I'm lurching about with me, but it's nice to have him near if only to shade me from the setting sun. Jean leaves once to track down a decent hay stem, which he slips between his lips and picks at his teeth with. His tongue makes occasional smacking sounds against his teeth which cause me to frown.

"Stop that."

He spits the stem out, shrugs, and starts scratching his front teeth with the corner of his pinky nail.

By the time I'm finally hooked into the swing and hoisted a few feet into the air, the dinner bell is already ringing back at camp. Sasha's stomach growls immediately, and Connie clutches at his own. I can see that same eagerness reflected in several of my peers: long days out in the sun with this cumbersome gear attached to us has certainly caused us to work up quite the appetites.

"You guys don't have to wait for me," I start, already glancing at the lever to the side. "If someone could just let me down, we can all go…"

Marco frowns. "But you waited so long while the rest of us had our turns. And we won't have another free day to use the swings until next week."

Next to him, Mina nods, even though I catch her glancing back the way we came. "What's a little bit of cold protein?" Sasha's eyes go wide, pleading almost at Mina's words. My mind is made up at the sight.

"No, it's okay. If it weren't for my visit to the Infirmary, I wouldn't have slowed us down. I'll make sure to work harder next week, so if someone could just–"

"I'll stay." Jean leans against one of the swing's posts, nonchalant despite the baffled expressions on his friend's faces. "What? We only need one person to work the lever. Besides, I didn't get a turn to go either."

I can see the temptation of hot food slowly winning everyone over. Sasha, especially. Connie tilts his head. "You sure?"

"Yeah. Save me a spot, won't you? We won't be long."

Marco sighs, smiles, and surrenders. "Don't stay out too late." A promise to head his words slips past my lips in a low mumble as Jean waves Marco's concern away. The two of us watch our groups melt into the retreating crowd, dinner-bound while we stay behind to fulfill our training duties.

Only when we're alone again does Jean look my way. "You never answered my question earlier. About how the visit went."

I lean back slightly, feeling the way the muscles of my abdomen instinctively tense up to accommodate for my shifting weight distribution. "Is fine not a good enough answer?"

"Not for me."

"I confide in you once, and suddenly you think you're my physician."

Jean snorts, scuffing the toe of his left boot against a clod of dirt. "Hardly."

"Is it charity work, then? Something to ask to appease your conscience?"

"You're the worst sick person I know."

"Thank you."

He clears his throat. "I still don't understand why it took you so long to tell us."

"It's not an easy subject to bring up, Jean. And I didn't want anyone's pity. I didn't want everyone to see me as the girl who will never get better."

"Is that how you see yourself?"

No. Yes.

The setting sun is orange, honeydew and flickering flames. Crackling embers and smoking glasses of hickory bourbon. Blonde and grisled, heated and handsome, kind hearted yet hardened to outsiders.

"I see myself as…I don't know. A person, I suppose. A creature with ambition and purpose. A soldier attempting to earn the means to serve."

Jean slides down to sit on the ground, his back against the pole and one arm resting on his knee. I tilt back farther, straining my abs further. I grit my teeth and bear it. "Do you remember when Shadis asked us all why we chose to enlist?"

Of course I did. Back then, my words fell out as crisp and clear as day: I'm here for a second chance.

And Shadis's words, a second later: a second chance at what–life?

"Back then, I didn't quite understand why he made such a big deal of asking everyone what they were here for. To me it was obvious: the ones like me wanted the reassurance of a life in the interior. The ones like Eren wanted to throw their lives away for a shot at revenge. The ones in between would either quit or become people with solid convictions.

"Now, we've been here for almost a year. When I look around, it strikes me that I didn't read people as well as I thought I did. You learn more about these trainees we've been cast into hell with. You get a new perspective, new understanding. And I thought time would only make it more obvious why we all picked the answers that we did."

Finally, my muscles threaten to give out. I huff and try to sit back up, only to find that I've pushed myself past my tolerance without realizing it. "Ahh–"

The world seesaws in a blur, air rushing past my head as I start to fall back before colliding into something sturdy.

"Easy," Jean whispers, his breath against my ear and hands supporting my back to keep me from capsizing. "It's rude to flip over while someone's telling a story."

"Continue," I say, only so that I don't have to thank him. Instead of pushing me completely upright like I expect him to, though, Jean merely keeps his hold on me and resumes his oration.

"Anyways. Where was I?"

"Shadis's question."

"Right. In any case, I still can't get a read on some people. You being one of them."

I blink, tilting my head back to try and see his face. "You remembered my answer."

He grins. "Of course. You were like, right next to me that day, you know."

"And here I thought you didn't have eyes for me."

Jean chuckles, slowly raising me back to dangling upright. His chest presses against my back for a second as he leans around me to tighten the straps at my waist. "I never got what you meant, back then. I didn't think it would matter, though. Watching you in the fall…I thought I'd have plenty of time to eventually understand what kind of second chance you thought you could find while in the service."

"But?"

"But," he continues, his palms trailing my waist as he shifts to readjust the swing's belt. No more tilting backwards for me, I guess. "Something changed. You changed."

"People tend to do that."

"What happened when you went missing during the snowstorm?"

I freeze. Images of that night flood my head, chilling me to the bone at the same time I feel my stomach flush with heat. A torrent of emotions churn to life within my gut–embarrassment, frustration, annoyance…regret. I should feel nothing but satisfaction: I have that event to thank for getting my vial back.

So why do I feel so upset?

"The doctor says my medicine is being discontinued. What's left has already been bought up." Jean's hands still against my sides. I doubt he even realizes I'm avoiding his other question, not after speaking of the lesser of two evils. I clench and unclench my hands. "Everything in my possession now is what I'll have to make do with."

"...and after that?"

I bow my head, studying the way my fingers start to shake. I have no answer to give Jean.

So it surprises me, when his touch traces its way up my spine and sweeps my braid to the side. He places his forehead against the crook of my neck, at that place where clavicle meets muscle and flesh. "Is that why you're so…" he trails off, breathing irregularly. I close my eyes.

"Charming? Witty? Cunning? Cruel?"

"Impulsive. Reckless. Thoughtless." His lips dust faintly against the side of my neck, not exactly kissing it; not exactly not kissing it, either. "Is that why you do those kinds of things? Sleep next to a stranger. Seduce someone you hardly know in the forest."

I laugh, tilting my head to see him better at the same time I cut off his access to my neck. "My advances are hardly one-sided."

Jean's light brown eyes are closer to mine than I thought. I can make out the little brown freckles around the pupils, the faint red webbing stitched beneath the whites of his eyes. I watch his focus slip down to my lips. "About that. I've been meaning to apologize for what I said afterwards."

"About the way you mistook me for another woman despite saying my name in the middle of things?"

He winces slightly, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Yeah. That." Sensing my silent dissatisfaction, he carries on. "I've been meaning to make it up to you, and to make less of a fool of myself this time around."

I raise an eyebrow. "Which is it you're doing this for, really? Your ego or mine?"

"Can't it be both? I put on a poor show back there."

I sigh, turning my head forward again. "It was your first time. With a partner you don't care for, at that. Not to mention your inebriation. You should go easier on yourself."

The sound of him clearing his throat right next to my ear draws my attention. "Was it–not your–er–"

Two seasons ago, maybe I would've said it wasn't. Now I don't remember the sensations I once claimed to have known. All that exists in their place is a few sentences of a shoddy attempt to describe a woman from another lifetime. Someone precious, once, but not so anymore.

"It…was. My first time with a man."

That, at least, is a whole truth.

I attempt to twist my head around again, to see what kind of face Jean is making, only to find that he's got the back of his hand pressed against his mouth and his eyes averted. His words come out muffled slightly. "Would you…give your second to me?"

"Here?"

Thin satisfaction bubbles up within me as I watch his entire demeanor turn flustered. "I meant–I mean, you–"

"Jean. Either take it or forget me, and pursue the woman you really want."

His eyes lock onto mine again; they're raw, this time around. "I'm a coward, Aliva."

The corners of my lips jut up in a wistful smile. The eyes before me look honey-malt gold, not moth-wing brown. "What a coincidence. So am I."

When he kisses me, it lacks the intensity of the drunken fervor that accosted our previous exchange. This is reckless, stupid even, here in this place where just about anyone could wander over and discover us. But I don't care. My head quiets. My heart dulls. And a delicious, delicate tension begins to slowly build in my lower half.

Jean's hand grips my chin, guiding my head's angle to better suit our purposes. His lips tilt and part, inviting me in, and I acquiesce. I let him set our pace, his chest pressed tighter against my back and his other hand steadying me by the waist. He kisses me clumsily at first, like a dancer attempting to learn the first steps, requiring simple repetition before the recognition sets in. His body remembers the motions–we are not a natural pair, him and I, but we suit each other's needs well enough.

His tongue skates across the seam of my lips and I part them, letting the muscle touch and tangle with my own. Our breath mingles, heat obscuring rationality, making his grip go tighter and my focus slip farther. I reach a hand up behind me to hook the back of his neck, kissing him harder until we're both panting. Ache begins to build between my legs, this damned harness preventing me from pressing my ass back against his groin like my body wants to.

"Jean," I huff, and he lets my head fall back against his shoulder while his hands busy themselves elsewhere. He reaches one hand around me towards my stomach, until he hits my waistband and darts underneath my pants. His fingers crawl down past the v that guards my core, until they find my folds. He lets out a little groan and presses forward eagerly, anxious to begin rubbing me in a way that satisfies. I squirm with slight irritation, pursing my lips when my body language isn't enough to clue him into my needs. Instead I forcibly relocate his hand, guiding him finger by finger until he's got two knuckles curled into my entrance and the fat pad of his thumb dancing lightly over my clit.

"This okay?"

"Mmm. Mhm."

"Good." He nudges my jaw with his nose and I tilt my head, granting him access to the soft flesh of my neck. He bites down, suckling greedily on the flesh there, prompting jagged little gasps out of my mouth. I feel myself growing wetter, the slick heat accumulating at the behest of his hand and mouth sending my libido into overdrive. I itch for more, for the kind of carnal satisfaction that only satiation can provide. My hips begin to grind against his hand, to ride his fingers as he slides them further, curls them against the heated walls inside me.

"Want more?"

Rather than answer, I reach behind me, fumbling for the erection I know I'm bound to find hiding in his pants. I grip the outline of his cock through the fabric, rewarded immediately by the shuddering groan he lets out.

"Aliva," he murmurs, my name like ambrosia to the ears, "I want you."

"Go ahead."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm." I tug against his waistband, struggling to yank it down at all given that I'm working with my hand behind my back. I let him take over with the hand not currently busy churning up a storm against my sex, watching over my shoulder as he unzips his fly and tugs everything down just far enough to expose his penis. He gives it a cursory rub, like his hand remembers the motions, wrist twisting without a thought as he drags a thumb over the wet head of his dick. I watch with lust-lidded eyes, my mind blissfully clear of all other thoughts while he tugs the back of my pants down far enough to grant himself a clear shot straight into my vagina from behind. I guide his cock where I want it, rubbing it against my clit and rimming the perimeter of my hole to coat it in my desire. Every jagged gasp and hastily sucked in breath that Jean feeds me only fuels me to edge him further, to draw things out until he's begging me to let him ram his dick up into me.

"You're so wet," he groans, and I reward him by tucking the tip of his cock up into me. He shudders and bites down on my shoulder, one hand gripping my asscheek and the other moving to my thigh. "Oh, god."

His hips jut forward, desire-laden and barely restrained, driving his dick another inch deeper. I can feel my clit throbbing with need, my mouth wet with saliva and sweet, sweet senselessness. I let myself adjust to him, and I'm nodding before I even think to form the words to encourage him in further. He sees my head bob and nips the shell of my ear, pushing his hips flush against my ass until his cock is situated within me. He thrusts hesitantly at first, accommodating both to the sensation of fucking a woman sober and to fucking her while she's half suspended in an ODM swing, half suspended on him.

The heat and tension coiling within me tightens every time he drives himself in further, little moans of dissatisfaction and pleasure mingling when my body both feeds off the way he fucks me and itches to readjust his tempo. I want him slower, harder, but Jean goes quicker and faster. Then again, we're not exactly in a place where we can take our time. Still the pleasure mounts and my breathing quickens in time with his, our bodies thrashing where they connect and our sweat plastering against each other's skin.

"You're doing so well," I moan breathlessly, and the second I do, I feel Jean's grip tighten and his hips thrust jerkily forward.

"Fuck–I'm–"

"You want to, don't you? Go on. Finish."

With a shuddering gasp he pulls back, angling his cock down towards the ground. For a second we stay there, catching our breath, Jean working his way through his release while I resign not to reach mine.

Finally, when he's gathered enough of his wits about him to zip his pants back up carefully and fix my own, Jean glances almost bashfully my way. "How was that?"

"Better," I tease.

He retreats to the lever, freeing me from the swing's suspension and unclasping me himself the second I'm back on the ground. I smooth down the front of my shirt and stretch, resigning myself to the wet sensation between my legs. I'll have to stop by the showers before anything else.

"Are you going to the mess?"

He nods, straightening himself out. "Yeah. You?"

"I'd rather shower first."

"Ah." We start walking, heading down the path away from the training grounds. "Do you want me to grab you a plate?"

"Only if you want to."

"It's the least I can do."

I almost tell him to suit himself, but instead, turn my attention towards the sunset. The sky has been darkening subtly, lavish purple and blue hues staining their way down from the stars. It's enough to make anyone stop and stare.

I nudge Jean. "Your mystery lady. What do you like about her?"

He blinks. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he didn't really know. "She's got really pretty hair," he says finally, in a way that amuses me.

"How cute."

I watch the tips of his ears redden and can't help but laugh.

The other trainee and I walk until the fork in the paths, where one of us will diverge to pursue cleanliness and the other will return to our comrades-in-arms. I watch Jean's mouth open, close, and open again before deciding that whatever he's so torn up about saying, I hardly want to wait around to hear it.

"I had fun," I say, with the kind of lightness that comes with not a single string attached. No expectations, no demands, no desires. "I hope you did, too."

I wave him off, turn around, and fully start the second I see Mikasa right behind us. I'd been so focused on the lack of noise in my head that I'd completely forgotten to pay attention to my surroundings. The way that Jean's disposition changes is painfully obvious: from relaxed to rigid, clear complexion to beet red. He looks like a man who's been caught cheating on his wife.

I sigh and leave the two of them to it, slipping past the Ackerman and towards the cabins alone. When I get there, I dig into the bottom of my pack and take out my vial. I place half a dose on the cap, close my head, and tilt it back past my lips. The medicine rolls down my throat. I swallow, savor, wince past the briefest tinges of bitterness.

When the aftertaste hits, I'm not sure what it tastes like anymore.

A/N: My hand is healing wonderfully, but good LORD is there so little time in my schedule to sit down and write (this is a lie I've been withering away reading villainess manhwas). Hope you all have been well! I sat down and did some story charting for this fic's future and I'm really excited for the direction it'll take as the story progresses. I hope you all enjoy it, too.