#weedy yet hunky

[beatlepaul4ever]

That’s more like it. A nearly naked Paul McCartney. How he should be. Always.

[shingekinosimpson]

You Had Me At B Minor: Chapter 5

Chp 1 | Chp 2 | Chp 3 | Chp 4

Pairing: Jean Kirschtein x Marco Bodt

Other relationships: Reibert, Springles, Historia x Ymir, Levi x Hange, a smidge of Jearmin

Rating: Mature

Summary: Jean's band needs a new bass player. Cue freckled Jesus.

Warnings/tags: Long fic, slow burn, Jean POV, friends to lovers, British AU with cannon locations, northern Jean, Unsigned band AU, nonbinary Armin, I promise there will be smut eventually! drinking, mentions of death, descriptions of domestic violence, panic attacks, see start of each chapter for more specific trigger warnings

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Trigger warnings: Alcohol

Put your arms around somebody else And don't punish yourself, punish yourself The truth is like blood underneath your fingernails You don't wanna hurt yourself, hurt yourself By looking too closely

Connie and I finish at the bar around seven and rock up at Eren’s place a little after half eight. There’s always plenty of staff to work Saturdays so we usually get the evenings to ourselves.

I bang too hard on the door and it makes the side of my hand throb. Connie gives me a wary side-glance. I’ve been in an irritable mood all day. At first I put it down to lack of sleep. Usually I’m out like a light, but I couldn’t settle last night, tossing and turning every five minutes in a futile search for a comfortable position.

However, as the day drew on, I started to feel more and more ropey. Not hungover exactly (I didn’t drink that much) but definitely a tad worse for wear. I blame mixing my drinks. Or maybe I need to remember that I’m twenty fucking four and can’t expect the luxury of hangover-free nights out anymore. The thought makes me scowl as I wait for someone to answer the door. It sounds like there’s already quite a few people inside, so I don’t know what’s taking so fucking long.

“S’up dickholes!” Eren yells swinging the door open.

“Hey man!” Connie lifts Eren off the floor with a hug that practically squeezes the life out of him.

“Alright cockgobbler?” I grumble.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it Jean,” Eren wheezes, still held aloft by Connie.

I respond with an eye-roll.

“What the fuck happened to your face Con?”

“A demented elbow in a mosh pit is what happened!” Connie squeaks, putting Eren down as his weedy arms finally give up.

The bruising is nowhere near as bad as I was expecting, just a bit of purple splodging under one eye.

“We the last one’s here?” he asks.

He sounds completely nonchalant, but I know better. He’s trying to find out if Sasha’s here yet.

“Yeah, pretty much everyone’s here except you two. C’mon get yourselves a drink.”

Pretty much everyone. Does that include Marco?

I don’t see him as I enter the kitchen and sling my bag of beer on the counter. Armin, Historia and Mikasa are quick to greet us with enthusiastic ‘hi’s and hugs. I don’t know everyone I can see, but I recognise a couple of guys from Eren’s work chatting on breakfast stools. Oluo and Gunther I think they’re called.

I crack open two bottles for me and Connie and head into the living room to see if Marco’s here. He isn’t, but Sasha is, chatting rather cosily on the sofa with a hunky blonde dude Eren works with. Already anticipating a bad reaction, I turn to push Connie back into the kitchen but he’s already seen.

Shit.

The cheeky smile and bright eyes snap into a furrowed brow and tight mouth. Sasha’s eyes lock onto us and she practically leaps across the sofa to get some distance between her and…I wanna say Eld? She gets to her feet and walks over, though she looks a bit unsteady, slightly tipsy already. Eld puffs out an exasperated breath and joins a serious looking girl on the adjacent sofa. I’ve met her once before. She's doing a PhD with Armin. I’m sure she's called Annie.

“Hey!” Sasha says with a too-big smile, her cheeks flushed, though I can’t tell if it’s embarrassment or alcohol related.

I sense Connie tensing up beside me. He forces out a quiet, “…Hey.”

Christ this is so fucking awkward. “Hey…” Say something. “Err…” Seriously, anything! “…You, err…you been here long?” What the fuck kind of dumbass question is that!?

“Err…yeah I guess. Mikasa and Armin picked me up and we were the first ones here. You guys been at work?”

Connie says nothing. He doesn’t even look at us. Just sips his beer and scowls. Sasha and I waffle on about nothing in particular for a few more minutes before she speaks directly to him, trying (and failing) to drag him into the conversation.

“You okay Connie? Your face looks a little bruised. What happened?”

“ ’M fine. Mosh pit. I’m going to get another drink.”

He stomps back into the kitchen. I don’t try to stop him. The others can deal with his shitty mood for a bit. God knows I’ll be bearing the brunt of it at home later. I tentatively turn back to Sasha, who let’s out a long breath.

“Well that went well,” she deadpans. I can’t help the little snort that escapes me.

“Listen don’t worry about it. His dad’s been a bit ill and he’s had to work extra shifts so he's not been himself this week,” I half-lie.

Christ, she’s barely been back five minutes and you’re already slipping into your old role of mediator between these two!

“What’s new with you anyway? You and the girls make it home in one piece the other night?” I tease.

“Oi!” she reprimands, punching me in the arm and by miracle of miracles, I manage to lighten the mood.

We grab the now vacant sofa and laugh about everything that happened the other night at the bar. It’s funny how easily we fall back into the rhythm of our friendship, as though she’s never been away. Historia joins us with three amazing looking cocktails she’s whipped up for us.

“Oh my god, you absolute goddess,” I gush grabbing one from her.

My irritable mood dissipates a little more with each delicious sip. I should be cautious about drinking given how shitty I’ve felt all day, but my devilish side tells me that the solution is more alcohol. Hair of the dog and all that.

Fuck it. Let’s get fucking fucked!

We’re just getting up to get more drinks when Eren comes bounding into the room.

“Beer pong bitches! Get your asses in the kitchen!”

The fucker’s so excited he throws poor Historia over his shoulder with one arm and drags Sasha by the other.

“Waaaah! Eren!” Historia wails, but she’s laughing her head off all the way to the kitchen, even more so when Sasha smacks her playfully on the butt.

Mikasa and a tall, freckled girl I don’t know are just finishing setting up some cups on the central counter when we walk in, a measure of cheap beer in each one. Eren instructs us to split into three teams.

I groan inwardly when Sasha ends up on a team with Historia, Gunther and Eld. I don’t even need to look at Connie, I can feel the daggers he’s throwing both of them. Mikasa and the freckled girl (who it turns out is Mikasa’s friend, Ymir, from work) team up with me, Armin and Connie, leaving Annie with Eren and his other work mates.

Sasha’s team beat Eren’s in the first round so then it’s our team vs Eren’s. Annie’s amazing but the rest of them keep throwing too hard. It doesn’t take us long to claim victory, knocking them out of the game entirely. The final round will be our team vs Sasha’s, though everyone’s had their fair share of shitty beer by now. This should be interesting!

“Shit!!” I miss my first shot against Historia, who takes great delight landing hers straight after.

I knock back the beer with a grimace.

“That’s right take your medicine bitch!” she shouts, dancing on the spot and pointing at me.

“Oh it is fucking ON now,” I retort, my fiercely competitive streak running riot.

Historia, along with the rest of her team mates soon start to look worried though. Mikasa and Ymir are fucking bad-asses, landing their shots with deadly accuracy, even after drinking two cups apiece from the last round. I’m so fucking glad they’re on my team! Although it doesn’t save me from having to knock back two more cups of beer, each of my competitors hitting (in my opinion) extremely lucky shots. I loudly blame Historia’s cocktail for my shitty performance, swearing blind that she’s drugged me.

“You fucking wish Kirschtein!” she laughs.

Sasha’s tipsy demeanour, on the other hand, only seems to improve her game. She even manages to bounce the ball off FOUR fucking rims before landing it smack in the middle cup. Her team mates practically piss themselves with excitement, grabbing and hugging her. I just shout and scream curses.

Shit no! We need to win!

Eventually we’re a cup a piece. It all comes down to the skill of the next two players…and it’s Connie vs Eld.

Eld’s up first.

Destroy this motherfucker Connie.

We all stare him down as he arrogantly cricks his neck and stretches his shoulders.

C’mon Con. Wipe that stupid smirk off his fucking face.

He rolls the ball between his fingers, closes his fist and kisses it for good luck.

Miss miss fucking miss!

Stooping slightly, any bravado vanishes from his face, replaced with intense concentration as he lines up the shot. He’s taking this as seriously as I am. With a flick of his wrist he releases the ball, opting for a bounce shot instead of aiming straight at the target. He goes too hard and it bounces high in the air. Everyone collectively draws in a sharp breath, holding it while we wait to see where it will land.

It drops, bounces off one side of the rim, then the other, before bouncing off the table together.

“YES! FUCKING YES!” I scream.

Eld has his head in his hands as his team mates groan and curse. It all comes down to Connie now.

We all start with words of encouragement and prayers to the beer pong gods.

“C’mon Con!” I bark, massaging his shoulders.

They’re taut beneath my fingers and I know he means business. He’s not looking at Eld, instead staring intently at the lone cup before him. I half expect it to spontaneously combust the way he’s glaring at it.

Without breaking focus, he holds his hand out to the side, squeezing the ball when Armin obligingly drops it into his palm. He hunches down, then changes his mind and stands tall. His hand lunges forward a few times without relinquishing the ball.

One…two…release!

It soars across the table and lands with an elegant ‘plop’ in the centre of the cup. There’s a brief moment of silence before we erupt into hysterical screams, no-one quite believing it. Ymir sinks to her knees with a cry of affirmation, Armin and Mikasa grab each other screaming in triumph and I wrap my arms around Connie’s middle, hoisting him up and screeching along with my teammates.

“YES CON! YOU BEAUTIFUL MOTHER FUCKER YES!!” I’m so happy I could cry.

Eren bounds over to join in the love too. Then we all childishly turn to the defeated team and heckle them rotten. We’re so loud that I almost miss the doorbell ringing.

“Was that the door?” asks Eren.

“I’ll get it!” Armin shouts chirpily, letting go of Mikasa.

I chuckle to myself as I watch them skip merrily down the hallway; Armin always gets giddy when they’ve had a drink.

I turn back to Connie, my face sore from yelling and grinning. I expect to find him beaming at me, but he’s narrowing his eyes again as he watches Sasha give Eld a conciliatory hug.

Well his good mood lasted for all of five seconds.

I open two more of our beers and shove the bottle in his hand to distract him, clinking mine against his.

“My fucking hero,” I say with a stupid smile on my face.

He begrudgingly returns it.

I’m just wondering who’s at the door, but then I hear him and I know instantly. How can it be that I recognise Marco by voice alone when we’ve barely known each other a week? The thought doesn’t sit comfortably with me. I don’t want to dwell on the reason why. Then I remember who he’s bringing along and my soaring high from beer pong comes plummeting back down to Earth.

“You’ve just missed out on beer pong! Can I get you guys a drink?” Armin asks walking into the kitchen with Marco close behind.

“Yeah a beer please,” Marco replies.

Another guy follows him into the room.

So this is Marco’s boyfriend.

He’s shorter than Marco, though his weird hairdo adds a couple of extra inches. It’s a reddish-brown. Short, but a bit longer on the top and flicking in all sorts of crazy directions. I didn’t realise ‘poorly constructed bird’s nest’ was a trend right now.

Alright curb it with the bitchiness Kirschtein. You don’t even know the guy.

“What do you want Floch?”

Floch! What kind of dumbass name is that?

Said the boy with the French name who can’t speak a fucking word of it.

Fair point.

He glances in my direction but pays me no attention, unlike Marco who comes bounding over straight away like an excited Labrador.

“Hey!” He’s so fucking cute. Sorry, what?

I mistakenly open my arms for a hug but he stops short, so I cover by setting my drink down on the counter.

For fuck’s sake. Why are you such a dweeb?

“Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah good thanks. Oh this is my friend Floch.”

Friend? Not so official then.

“Floch this is Jean - one of the guys from the band I told you about.”

Knowing that Marco thinks enough of me to tell his boyfriend, makes me way happier than it should do. Floch offers me a hand.

“Nice to meet you John.”

Mother. Fucker.

“It’s JEAN,” I correct through gritted teeth, squeezing his hand.

Floch’s eyes flash almost imperceptibly. Marco’s dart nervously between the two of us. I decide to play nicely for his sake.

“Nice to meet you too. D’you guys need a drink?”

“Oh I think Armin’s just-”

“Armin certainly is! Here you go!”

As if on cue, Armin’s face pops between the two them, a beer in each hand.

“Thanks,” Marco says politely, while Floch just takes his and starts swigging.

He could just be nervous but it seems kind of rude.

“You guys had a good night?” asks Armin, moving to the other side of Marco.

Marco talks animatedly about their date night, which consisted of a restaurant serving ‘the best Thai food I’ve ever had’ and a trashy horror movie.

“You should’ve heard this guy scream,” Floch laughs. “It’s a good job I was there to hold his hand.”

Definitely not just friends then.

“Hey, you jumped just as much as I did!” Marco laughs, giving him a playful shove.

His hand lingers on his arm just a fraction longer than necessary, long fingers trailing lightly down Floch’s sleeve before settling back at his side again.

“S’cuse me,” I mutter brushing past Armin to get another drink.

I notice them give me a quizzical look out the corner of my eye (nothing gets passed you Armin) but purposely keep my head down, not wanting to invite a conversation about it.

Beer isn’t cutting it anymore. I need something stronger. My hand lands on a near-full bottle of Sailor Jerry’s. Yep. That’ll do. I grip the neck and drag it towards me. I can hear Connie behind me saying hi to Marco and introducing him to Mikasa and Historia. I mix myself a drink - half coke, half rum – and take a sip. It burns the shit out of my throat but it’s a welcome distraction from the clenching in my chest.

“Hey,” says a gentle voice. I turn to face Armin. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Fine. You okay?” I say to deflect further questioning.

“You sure?”

Shit.

“Yeah totally fine,” I reply with what I hope is a believable smile and then quickly cover it by taking a sip of my drink.

We both turn and slouch against the kitchen bench, facing the others.

“Marco’s friend seems nice.”

“Boyfriend,” I say too sharply.

“Oh. I thought so but I wasn’t sure.”

Liar. You of all people would’ve picked up on that in two seconds flat.

“Yeah…”

Sasha’s introducing herself now. The corners of Marco’s eyes crease with laughter when she enthusiastically asks him if he’s Italian.

“Sort of actually. My grandmother was from Italy,” he replies.

“What really?” Floch cuts in. “Well that explains the amazing rigatoni you made the other night.”

“Yeah it’s a Bodt family recipe.”

“Jeez Italian blood and he can cook. Why haven’t you introduced us sooner Connie?” Historia jibes playfully.

Everyone chuckles, but the way Floch snakes his arm around Marco’s waist doesn’t go unnoticed. Not by me at least.

“You want another drink?” I say to Armin, mainly so I have an excuse to turn around and keep my hands busy.

“Oh. No thanks. I think I need to pace myself a bit after beer po-”

“Naaah c’mon, have a Sailor Jerry’s with me. It’s really fucking good.”

Please. Any excuse not to turn back round.

“Alright,” they relent. “Just don’t make it very strong…I said not strong!”

“It’s not strong! That’s a normal measurement! I do work in a bar y’know,” I say, adding the coke and nudging Armin cheekily in the shoulder.

“You’ll put Springer’s out of business if you keep giving out measurements like that!” they smirk, shoving me back with their hip.

We fall into our own little conversation away from the others and have a proper catch up on everything – their PhD, my upcoming training, how Armin’s Grandpa is doing, my mam, Connie, Mikasa, anything and everything. It’s nice. I don’t get to talk much with just Armin anymore. Not like we used to anyway. And having their cute face to focus on helps me forget the others are even there...

“Oh god don’t ask this guy!”

...until Floch’s obnoxious voice diverts my attention.

“He works with toddlers for a living. I’m surprised he can even form full sentences!”

It’s a joke. It’s obviously a joke and everyone laughs, Marco included. But, when I notice him scratch the back of his neck, my blood boils. I know Marco can be sensitive about his job. He worries about people’s reactions and being judged for it. I’ve only known Marco six days and I know that already, so why the fuck doesn’t his boyfriend? He’s just using Marco’s job for a cheap laugh and putting him down in the process. And in front of his fucking friends no less. Unspoken rage prickles beneath my skin and I bite my lip. Floch smiles, apparently pleased with his little joke.

I will come over there and wipe that fucking grin off your stupid fucking face you dick.

I might be over-reacting and reading way too much into it but I can’t help it.

“Wanna go sit down?” Armin asks eyeing me warily.

“Sure.” I down the rest of my drink and quickly make another one.

Armin’s face twists when I make it half and half again, but they know better than to say anything. I follow them towards the living room door and I may or may not accidentally stumble into Floch on my way.

“Oops! Sorry mate,” I cover, patting him on the back (though smacking might be a more accurate description).

“S’alright bro no problem.”

I’m not your bro, you stupid ugly birdsnestofahairdoslymotherfucker!!

Look, I know.

I know I’m being childish but I’m too tipsy to care at this point and I decide to let my mind indulge in its unfounded hostility. Plus, convincing myself Floch is an arsehole is preferable to acknowledging what’s actually bothering me right now. I stubbornly push that thought away and look for another distraction.

I find it when I enter the living room, though it’s certainly not one I was expecting.

“What is this, a fucking hairdressers!?”

Eren and Historia are sat on the floor in front of the sofa with Mikasa and Ymir behind them, braiding their hair.

“You’re just jealous because your hair is nowhere near as fabulous as ours,” Historia replies smugly, sticking her tongue out at me.

I’m still tense from the conversation in the kitchen, but I can’t help softening a little at that. I give her a lop-sided grin before drawing in a long, steadying breath and let it out slowly as I settle into the chair opposite them with Armin. Watching them, I feel better already. The warm feeling I had earlier returns and dampens my anger.

I love that we still do childish shit like this. We’re all technically ‘adults’ now, with rent to pay and jobs to go to but we’re still just kids deep down. I know I am anyway. Fuck living up to my parent’s standards of married by 21, kids by 25 and happily ever fucking after. Didn’t work out so well for them did it? These people right here are all the commitment I need in my life. These ridiculous, infuriating, fierce, incredible, beautiful people.

Jesus, you get so sentimental when you’re drunk.

“Make my braid like Armin’s Mikasa! I need a twinsies selfie with them!” Eren says.

“Fuck me,” I snort. “How much have you had Jaeger?”

He replies with a giddy laugh.

I’ll take that to mean ‘a lot’ then!

“Ymir make mine like that too! Then we can have a triplet selfie! Eren can be the brown filling in our blonde sandwich.”

“Ooooh! Like Nutella!” Eren says seriously, like he’s just said something incredibly profound.

“Errrr,” Ymir starts, glancing between Mikasa’s progress and the back of Historia’s head. “Okay...sure.”

I zone out as I watch Mikasa’s quick fingers at work. I love having my hair played with.

Why isn’t mine long enough to braid! I pout.

“Okay done.”

The words have barely left Mikasa’s mouth when Armin dives onto the floor for the aforementioned ‘twinsies selfie’.

“You guys are ridiculous,” I laugh, watching the ludicrous faces they pull.

“Ridiculously adorable?” Armin grins.

“You wish.”

Eren takes no notice, already busy uploading the picture to Instagram.

“Aaaaaaaaand…hashtag gay nerds!” Eren cries, flipping his phone round to show Armin.

I splutter mid-sip. Mikasa and Historia both crack up at the combo of Eren’s comment and me making a dick of myself.

“C’mon Ymir,” Historia giggles. “Get a move on! I wanna be a gay nerd too!”

“Okay okay just, err…gimme a second.”

Her face is frowning in concentration. I’m not sure what the hell Ymir’s been doing this whole time, but Historia’s hair looks nothing like Eren’s. I think Historia senses she’s been lumbered with the dud hairdresser.

“Ymir, I know we’ve just met so don’t take this the wrong way…but do you have any fucking idea what you’re doing?”

Mikasa snickers as her and Ymir exchange complicit glances.

“Sorry sweetheart. I just wanted an excuse to get you between my legs.”

Historia’s jaw practically hits the floor and I lose it. Eren and Armin screech out a long ‘Haaaah!’ pointing at Historia’s stunned expression. Once I’ve caught my breath back, I lean forward to hi-five Ymir, tears starting to stream down my face. Where has this girl been all my life? Even Historia has to start laughing, though she can’t quite erase the shock from her face.

“Sorry,” she eventually responds. “but you need to be a bit better with your hands to get me between your legs.”

Jesus Christ, this just keeps getting better. Ymir isn’t fazed in the slightest, giving Historia a wink and a sly grin.

“Move over Jaeger,” Historia says as she plants herself in front of Mikasa.

“What the hell are you idiots screaming about?” Sasha chirps bounding into the living room with Marco in tow.

She’s dragging the poor guy along by the hand like she’s known him all her life. He’s smiling but he also looks vaguely terrified, eyes-wide as he staggers to keep up with Sasha. I expect Floch to follow close behind but he doesn’t materialise.

Sasha gasps dramatically when she see’s Armin, Eren and Historia’s hair. “Oh my god I love it! Me next Mikasa me next!”

She let’s go of Marco and squishes herself next to Historia. He looks at Eren and Armin, who are busy messing around with Snapchat filters, and then his eyes settle on me. I fidget a little in my seat to compensate for the somersaults in my stomach. He smiles broadly as he walks over to me and perches on the arm of the chair I’m sitting in.

“Alright?” he asks casually.

Our height difference brings my eyes directly level with his bicep and I’m so close to him, I can see a cluster of five freckles nestled on the inside of his arm.

“Here mate!” I jump up far too quickly, so quick he visibly flinches. “Sit yourself down,” I say gesturing to the chair.

“What? No no! I’m fine hones-”

“Nah c’mon you’re making me feel like a midget,” I cut him off, already using my hip to push him off the arm of the chair.

“Alright,” he chuckles, settling into the now vacant space.

Okay this is better. I don’t feel so claustrophobic now.

“Where’s Floch? Have we scared him off already?”

Please say yes.

“Ha, no he’s just outside on the phone.”

“Oh.”

Bit late to be getting a phone call.

“So, did you and the ‘touchy feelies’ get home okay last night?”

“Yeah but we got so lost because of my directions! I don’t drive so I only really know the bus route home and…”

I swear I am listening to begin with, but the rum really starts to kick in and my focus becomes hazy as I look down at him. I remember noticing how long his eyelashes were last night and my eyes are drawn to them again. They flick around animatedly as he tells his story, framing the deep sparkle of his warm eyes perfectly.

I zone back in when I’m needed. He asks if I know the canal. I hum in acknowledgement and he continues. One hand moves around as he mimes Bert’s sister trying to do a ‘million-point turn’ in a tiny alley way, but it’s his other hand that really distracts me. The one he’s left on his drink, playing with it absentmindedly, long fingers gently stroking up and down the glass.

“So yeah, I don’t think she’ll be offering me a lift again anytime soon. How ‘bout you and Connie? I noticed his bruise isn’t too bad.”

Crap. Time to stop daydreaming.

“Y-yeah fine thanks. We just jumped in a taxi. Thanks again for letting me tag along by the way. I had a really good night.”

“Yeah of course!” He smiles so wide his eyes crinkle. Another somersault flutters up to my sternum. “Like I said, I don’t know how I would’ve coped on my own with those two so I’m really glad you were there.”

He smiles softly and takes a sip of his drink. His tongue darts out over his bottom lip to catch a stray droplet and my gaze stops dead. It’s slightly bigger than the top lip, curvier too. The skin looks so soft but firm at the same time, like it would push back fervently if I-

“Hey!”

My eyes snap up and see Floch, hopping onto the opposite arm of the chair. He drapes one of his legs over Marco’s knee as he hands him a fresh drink. My warm, fuzzy feeling evaporates.

“Oh thanks!” Marco replies happily.

His eyes crinkle again as he smiles at his boyfriend and I have to look away. The room quietens as the ‘braidy bunch’ stagger into the kitchen to top up their drinks.

“Oh Jean I meant to ask. Will you guys be free on Tuesday? I really want to get an extra practise in before the gig.”

“Well Connie and I usually work on Tuesday nights but I think his dad is giving him the night off to make up for the extra shifts this week. Eren is usually free on a Tuesday too. You’ll just have to manage without me I’m afraid.”

“When’s your first gig again?” asks Floch.

“Friday,” Marco says anxiously.

“That soon? You sure you’ll be ready?”

Wow. Way to be fucking supportive arse face!

Careful Kirschtein. Reign it in.

I’m about to snap ‘of course he’ll be fucking ready!’ but think better of it and decide it’s safer to address Marco directly.

I’m about to snap ‘of course he’ll be fucking ready!’ but think better of it and decide it’s safer to address Marco directly.

“You’ll be fine Marco. You did great on Thursday and you’ve got two practices between now and Friday. Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah. I’m sure you’ll do great,” Floch states, his voice slightly firmer. There’s tension in the air now that I pray Marco doesn’t notice. “Where you guys playing again?”

Marco starts explaining where Springer’s is (as best as he can) but is quickly interrupted by thundering footsteps and a face that looks capable of murder.

“Jean Kirschtein!” Sasha storms towards me and lifts a bottle of Sailor Jerry’s up to my face. Shit. “Did you drink half of this?”

“Maybe…?” I say, giving her my best ‘adorable scamp’ face but anticipating a violent reaction.

“Want some more?” she barks, her face still livid.

Needless to say, I am confused.

“Erm…sure?” I stammer, scared she’s about to crack the bottle over my head.

“Right then!” she grabs me by the wrist and drags me over to the sofa.

Only then do I notice the two shot glasses in her other hand. She slams them down on the coffee table and wrenches the top off the bottle like she’s trying to strangle it. Her face is still burning with anger, so much so that the shots she pours slosh all over the table. I just sit there, stunned, watching the whole performance and wondering where the hell this is going.

She hands me a shot, clinks the glass too hard and yells, “Fucking cheers!” before throwing it down her neck.

I tentatively do the same with mine and then wait to see what the hell’s going to happen next.

“I have a question for you Jean Kirschtein!” she says grabbing the bottle as she starts the ritual again. “Why, pray tell me, does your gender feel the need to play silly childish games instead of just acting like a fucking adult?”

Marco and Floch take that as their cue to slip out of the room. I stare at her agog, “I…I’m sorry?”

“Yeah! So you fucking should be! Cheers!” she knocks back a second shot. “Like if you have something to say, just fucking say it you know? You’ve got a mouth. You’ve supposedly got a brain. So how about you try putting those two things together and fucking talk to me instead of all this bullshit!?”

And with that, she slumps back onto the sofa with a loud huff.

Okay. She’s clearly not talking about me.

Connie, what the shit have you done now?

“Okay, first of all,” I say, taking one of her hands in mine. “On behalf of my gender, I apologise. We are fucking idiots. Secondly, because we are fucking idiots, talking is not our forte. We are much better at acting crazy in the hopes that amazing women like you will be able to see through our bullshit and figure out what we really mean.”

She starts rubbing the back of my hand with her thumb.

“And third of all,” I lower my voice to make sure only she can hear, “whatever Connie���s done to make you this angry, I’d bet my life he feels a million times worse than you do right now knowing he’s upset you.”

It all comes out kind of slurred and I really hope that doesn’t make it seem less sincere.

“Why are we still like this Jean?” she says softly, still stroking my hand. “Me and Con. We’re not kids anymore so why are we still acting like it? I thought we would’ve grown up a bit by now. I thought things would be different when I came back, that we could be different, but nothings changed. Why can’t we just be adults about this?”

“Sasha, we’re at a house party, you’ve got your hair braided to match your friends and we’re both smashed on Sailor Jerry’s. What the hell gave you the idea that we could be adults?” I smile.

“Shut up Jean you know what I mean!” she laughs, leaning forward to slap my arm. “Ugh, actually I don’t even know what I mean anymore. You know what I mean?”

“W-what?” I laugh.

Then she laughs too and before long we’ve both totally cracked up into drunken giggles, clutching our bellies and rolling around on the sofa like idiots.

“I’ve missed you Jean!” she wheezes in between gasping breaths and the odd giggly aftershock.

“I’ve missed you too.”

And I really have, though I don’t realise just how much until now. I know I’m drunk, but I really do love Sasha. Yes, with her there’s always ‘Connie drama’, but she really knows how to make me laugh and she has a big heart.

We’re not the only ones giggling, I notice. Mikasa and Historia have just came scurrying in with matching mischievous smiles. They head straight to the TV, skidding down onto their knees and fiddling about with something I can’t see. Sasha and I exchange confused looks.

“What the hell are you two doing?” she asks.

Historia throws her a devilish grin and grabs the TV remote. When she switches it on I groan dramatically. Sasha on the other hand is so excited she leaps up and starts jumping up and down on the sofa.

“Oh my god are you freakin’ serious!? I haven’t played Just Dance in ages!”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, already anticipating how bad these dance moves are going to be.

“C’mon Jean dance with me!” Sasha yells tugging at my arm. I remain firmly planted on the sofa.

“Neeeeewwwwp!”

“Aw please!”

“I would but I’m afraid my moves are so sweet I’ll just make you look bad Sash!”

“Oh whatever Kirschtein!” she huffs throwing my arm back at me.

A few more people, no doubt wondering what the hell is drowning out Eren’s Spotify playlist, stick their heads round the door to see what the fuss is and pile into the room. Armin bounds over to join Sasha in selecting the first track. Ymir and Eld fill a couple of empty seats and sit back like they’re waiting for a show to begin.

Christ, do they want friggin' popcorn too?

“Fuck yesss!!” Eren screams with his arms in the air when he enters the room and realises what’s going on.

I can’t help but snicker.

This guy’s fucking wasted.

Marco soon returns with that big smile of his, followed by Floch and Connie, who appear to be having a rather animated discussion about something.

Whatever. At least talking to Floch will keep him out of Sasha's way before he does any more damage.

They head over to join me on the sofa. Marco, I’m glad to say, opts to sit right next to me and Floch is delegated to the opposite end next to Connie.

"What the hell are those two arguing about?" I ask.

"Oh, they're debating who’d be in their ultimate band. You just missed a pretty heated discussion on who was a better front man out of Freddie Mercury and Robert Plant."

"Are you actually serious!?" Connie suddenly cries, laughing exasperatedly.

Marco and I just look at him, waiting for an explanation.

"This guy would rather have Phil Collins on drums than Jon Bonham!" he says in disbelief, thumbing in Floch's direction.

"What!? Mate are you brain dead?"

It comes out sharper than I had intended, so I cover it with a laugh.

Seriously though is this kid actually fucking brain dead??

"Phil Collins is really underrated as a drummer!" argues Floch.

Connie now has his head in his hands. "You cannot sit there and tell me Phil Collins is a better drummer than Jon Bonham. You just can't!"

"Oh everybody says Jon Bonham is the best drummer," Floch says rolling his eyes.

"Because he is!" Connie and I both say in unison.

This fucking guy. It's like he's going out of his way to be different in some weird attempt to appear more interesting.

"I'm telling you, Phil Collins is underappreciated. The guy's got skills."

"If that were true," I argue, "the Tarzan soundtrack would've been a hell of a lot more interesting!"

"Hey don't be knocking Tarzan!" Marco jibes, playfully elbowing me in the side.

Connie doesn’t even react to my comment, continuing to argue with Floch about the (non-existent) merits of Genesis.

Then in a quiet voice Marco adds, "He was my first boy crush."

I splutter and snort so loud and so unattractively that the people squished on the adjacent sofa cock their heads at me. Marco starts giggling at my reaction. I think he might finally be drunk. Connie pays no attention, passionately discussing guitar players now, but Floch is only half listening, narrowing his eyes at my and Marco's little exchange. It shouldn't make me happy but it does.

I excuse myself to go for a piss and make myself another drink. After two rather sizable measures of Sailor Jerry’s I decide to be sensible (I must be getting old) and pour myself a small amount of the Jack Daniels I brought.

“Hey,” a gentle voice says behind me. Marco. I feel heat rising up the back of my neck.

“H-Hey!” I stutter. “D’you want some Jack Daniels?”

“Oh, yeah thanks! I said I’d get a drink for Floch. Is it okay if I make two?”

I wonder whether I can spit in Floch’s without Marco noticing?

“Yeah ‘course.”

“Thanks. I’ve left those two arguing about bass players now. I couldn’t get a word in edgeways.”

“What, they had an amazing bass player sat next to them and neither of them thought to ask your opinion?”

He smiles sweetly at the compliment and looks away.

“Yeah well, they’re pretty engrossed in their Lemmy vs Peter Hook conversation.”

“So whose side are you on then? Lemmy or Hook?”

“Neither. Flea all the way.”

“I fucking love Flea. Good choice. Alright then, what about the rest of your band? Who would you have on drums?”

“Dave Grohl.”

“Interesting. Front man?”

“Billy Corgan.”

“Ooooh not Cobain?”

“I mean if I could have two he’d definitely be the other one but Smashing Pumpkins are my favourite band so I gotta go with Corgan.”

“Fair enough. And guitarist?”

“George Harrison.”

“Oh!”

“What?” he smiles, curious at my reaction.

“I mean, I'm completely on board with George Harrison. I just assumed you’d have someone from the 90s like the rest of your band.”

“I do love the 90s. Like, I know I was born then, but if I could go back in time that’s definitely where I’d go. Seattle grunge scene, classic Lollapalooza, BritPop. All that.”

Part of me is kind of mad at Marco. He could’ve told me he was really into Van Halen and Journey, but no. He had to tell me about his amazing taste in music and love for 90s alternative bands. Like I needed another reason to like him.

“How ‘bout you? Where would you travel back to?” he asks.

“Hmm. I don’t think I could choose one decade. I’d probably want to see a bit of everything from each one. Although my favourite bands are Deftones, Nirvana and Pumpkins so maybe I would join you in the 90s.”

“Oh! Cool. Well, if I ever invent time travel it’s a date,” he says grabbing his drinks.

I hang back a step so he doesn’t see me blush.

We head back into the living room to resume watching our friends make dickheads of themselves. I have to say, watching Eren and Armin (with matching braids no less) dance in unison to Nicki Minaj’s Starships might be the campest thing I’ve ever seen, though Ymir and Historia doing the YMCA give them a run for their money.

Nearly everyone gets dragged up by Sasha, Mikasa or Historia at some point. Even I give into Sasha’s pleas eventually. Though in my opinion, we fucking NAIL the routine for Timber, even if I do collapse in a fit of giggles when she jumps on my back.

After a while, everyone is worn out and slumped around the living room. But when Eren bursts in holding two acoustic guitars, a new wave of energy seems to ripple through us all. He thrusts one into my hand and we perch ourselves on two stools, dragged in from the kitchen, at the front of the room.

After a bit of tuning, he grins at me. “Blister?” is all he says, and I smile back nodding.

If I had to choose a song that was ‘our song' it would definitely be Blister in the Sun. It was the first song we bonded over back when we were learning how to be each other's friend. Connie had recently passed his test and we were out for a drive when it came on the radio. It turned out Eren loved it as much as I did. Whenever I hear it now, I picture both of us in Connie’s back seat, loudly singing our hearts out and finger drumming.

I count us in and we start playing. Most people quickly pick up on the song and join in with the chorus, while Connie enthusiastically bangs out the beat on the coffee table. I have to laugh at how drunk Eren is, hitting the odd bum note and adding in over the top flourishes to certain chords. It’s imperfectly brilliant in an odd sort of way, like watching At the Drive in live or something.

Fleetwood Mac gets a suitably drunken sing-a-long next, before we play some classic Kinks and Last Night by The Strokes. I’m in the mood for something heavier and suggest Celebrity Skin, which I follow with Nirvana’s Sliver. Eren and I sing/scream a bit too enthusiastically and my throat is ragged by the end of it. I decide we all need something more laid-back now, if for no other reason than to give my voice a rest. Although it does have a certain sexy roughness to it now if I do say so myself!

I glance around the room as I grab a quick swig of my JD & coke and my eyes fall on Marco, chatting to Mikasa and Historia. He laughs at something Historia says and the way his eyes squint as he rocks back in his seat is so genuine and carefree.

I know what I want to play next.

I start tapping out a beat on the body of the guitar. The chatter around me grows a little quieter and I start strumming the opening bars of 1979. I watch as Marco stops to look up, instantly recognising that I’m playing the Pumpkins. My face splits into a goofy grin but I don’t care. I don’t care if he knows it’s for him. I want him to know.

Eren and Connie join in, giving the song more presence, and I swear it’s as though an invisible blanket of calm settles over us all. Everyone singing along quietly with serene expressions and smiling gently.

Floch comes back in and sits on the arm of the sofa next to Marco, who’s so lost in the song (I’m happy to say), he jumps a little when Floch brushes against him. My eyes are drawn to them again when I notice Floch’s arm snaking around Marco’s shoulders and I know I should look away but I don’t, too eager to see how Marco reacts.

I really wish I had.

Just as Marco looks up to give Floch a smile, Floch tugs him forward by his shirt and ducks his head down for a kiss. Marco’s eyes go wide at first, clearly caught off-guard, but then he just melts into it, his eyes fluttering closed while his hand comes up to rest on his boyfriend’s waist.

It’s like a stinging slap in the face and the shock of it makes my hands stutter on the fret board for a moment. I stare straight down and try to concentrate on what note comes next but honestly, I want nothing more than for this fucking song to be over. It's ruined now. I just wanted this song to remind Marco of…well, it doesn’t fucking matter anymore because now all he’ll think of is the time Floch kissed him so sweetly it made his head spin.

I speed up towards the end of the song and finish with a loud strum. Thank fuck it's over. I curse my eyes for flitting up again, knowing fine well I’m going to see something I don’t want to. Their lips are no longer locked together but the way they’re both gazing at each other is somehow worse and I wonder how my neck and ears can burn so intensely when icy shards are settling in my stomach.

“Here Con you take over for a bit,” I say thrusting the guitar in Connie’s direction, purposely not making eye contact.

Connie might be a few fries short of a Happy Meal but he always knows when somethings up and I don’t want to get into things with him that I haven’t even processed myself yet. I sway a little on my feet as I head to the kitchen, but I feel stone cold sober. My buzz is gone, and I desperately need to sink into oblivion.

Annie and Armin are chatting at one side of the kitchen when I enter. I give them a polite smile and am so grateful when they carry on their conversation instead of engaging me in a new one. Grabbing a tumbler, I pour myself some Jack Daniels. No longer seeing the point of mixers I take a straight sip and try to concentrate on the sharp burn it creates at the back of my throat.

My forehead starts pulsing and I take some deep breaths to prevent it becoming an all out throb, but the sharp fluorescent lights in here are doing me no favours. Connie and Eren have stopped playing and the sound of chatter in the next room grows louder. A bass line starts thumping as the music is turned back up again. The vibration of it makes my skin crawl and my head’s getting worse.

I take another sip but it does nothing. The sound of laughter wafting in from the living sounds more like screeching and my head hammers with the sharpness of it. I need a moment alone. I gulp down the remainder of my drink. Staggering out the kitchen, I head straight for the end of the hallway and open the door to Marlowe’s room, which I suppose is now the spare room.

I flick the light on and wince at how bright it is. There’s no lampshade, just a lone bulb casting a hideous white glare onto everything. I fumble about with a bedside lamp and smack the light back off as quick as I can.

It’s a bit weird seeing the bed made up but then I figure Eren must’ve done it in case anyone wants to crash. I could simply sit on said bed (like a normal person) but I don’t, opting to sit on the floor and wedge myself between the side of the bed and the radiator. Well, I say wedge, there’s just enough room to stretch my legs out. I quickly retract them, however, and bring my knees up to my chest. I find it helps my breathing and my head isn’t pounding anymore, although now it’s swimming. Shit. I am really fucking drunk.

Part of me wants to just sit here and think about absolutely nothing, but Marco and Floch keep flashing in front of my eyes and I know it’s no use. I need to be honest with myself.

Almost hugging Marco, my disproportionate and fervent hatred of Floch, purposely playing the Pumpkins, my reaction to that kiss.

No denying it son, you have a major case of the hots for Marco.

I take a deep steadying breath and let it out slowly.

Okay. It's okay. You’ve had crushes before and they never last long. You just need to ride this one out like all the others. A few weeks of subtle eye-banging and extra masturbation to get it out of your system and you'll be fine.

It’s true, the only people I’ve ever fell hard for were Mikasa and Hitch. Everyone else has been a mere flash in the pan. Even my infatuation with Armin lasted less than a month. Granted, the fact that Marco has an absolute bell-end of a boyfriend is gonna make this harder but I'll get through it. Yep. Wait it out. Good plan. And in the meantime…

“Ugh…” I groan, resting my head on my knees. “I am so fucked.”

The door creaks open behind me and I hear soft footsteps padding across the floor. I don’t need to turn my head, I already know who it is.

“Hey Armin.”

“Hey! What you hiding in here for?” they ask slumping down onto the floor next to me.

“Just had a bit of a headache is all. It’s getting better though.”

“Nawww,” they coo.

A hand wraps gently around my shoulders before coaxing my head down to rest on their shoulder. I hum contentedly as they start playing with my hair and let my eyes drift closed.

“Hmm. Thanks Armin.”

“No problem. You sure it’s just your headache bothering you?”

You already know the answer to that.

No point insulting them by lying. Armin can always see through it anyway.

“Yeah I’m okay. Just…Do you ever, like…worry about being alone?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like…that you’ll never find someone and even if you did it would eventually turn to shit anyway. That we're all destined to be lonely.”

Jesus I am definitely shitfaced.

“Hmm. Yeah. A lot actually.”

“Really?” I say, looking up at them as best I can without moving my head.

They continue stroking my hair, their cheek resting on the side of my head.

“Yeah of course. I think everyone does you know? It’s scary not knowing what your life is going to turn out like and who you’ll have to share it with. But..”

They lift their head and look down at me.

“Just because it doesn’t work out for some people Jean, doesn’t mean you’re destined to repeat their mistakes.”

They always get straight to the heart of the problem. My parents never found lasting happiness = maybe I never will either.

I sit up now and look at them earnestly. Their hand falls from my hair but stays on my shoulder.

“So what do you do in the meantime? Like, how do you not worry about it?”

It’s unfair of me to ask, to expect them to have all the answers, but Armin’s always been so wise, like my own little personal Buddha.

They sigh and gaze wistfully at nothing in particular, thinking about what they want to say.

“There’s no easy answer Jean. I think you just have to put yourself in the hands of the universe and see where it takes you. It probably sounds cliché to say ‘stay positive’ but if you go through life assuming you’ll never find someone then you probably won’t. I just try to be open to the idea without fixating on it. Live in the moment, you know?”

How do they always do this? Even when they’re telling me things that I kind of know already, they still manage to make me feel a million times better.

I smile softly, “Yeah I guess you’re right.”

“Don’t worry about things you don’t already know. You can’t predict the future so don’t try. And anyway, you’ll never be alone with us bunch of misfits around to drive you crazy,” they laugh. “And you’ll always have me whether you like it or not.”

“Yeah, right back at you.”

I don’t realise just how far I’ve leaned in towards them until my eyes lock onto the starburst pattern of their pale blue irises. I know I should stop, but I keep falling forward. Armin does the same, and the way their eyes flit down to my lips doesn’t go unnoticed. The hand they’ve left on my shoulder grips fractionally tighter. I let my eyes close and continue falling until I find what I’m searching for.

My lips find theirs and I kiss them, softly, barely there, before pulling back. I expect that to be it, for Armin to shift away from me and laugh awkwardly but they don’t. They move forward and kiss me back, firmly. I let my eyes drift closed and focus on their soft lips, their delicate nose brushing my cheek. The hand on my shoulder slides up to caress the back of my head, as I let my fingertips ghost up the side of their arm. I cup Armin’s face and kiss them back more fervently.

I lick softly over Armin's bottom lip and feel their breathing quicken. There’s the taste of something sweet and sharp on their lips. I chase it, sliding my tongue into their mouth, earning me the tiniest little hum. I quickly sink into a fog of escapism and relish every moment. I can feel myself getting pulled deeper with every swipe of Armin’s tongue, but with it, the knowledge that if I allow myself to come to my senses – even for just a second – the spell will be broken.

No, not yet. Sink with me Armin. Stay with me a little longer.

They tug gently on my shaggy undercut and I can’t help the soft moan that tumbles from my lips onto theirs. I let my fingers trail from Armin’s face down to their waist and grip firmly, before moving again to their thigh. I knead the firm flesh with my thumb as I plummet, deeper and deeper into the soft heat of our kiss. My hand shifts, sliding up closer, closer still, almost up to-

“Jean wait,” Armin pants, pulling away from me.

The spell is broken.

They don’t have to say anything else, I know it’s over, but I listen anyway. “If this is what you need I’m here, but…I get the feeling that, this isn’t really what you want?”

Trust Armin to know me better than I know myself. I could play along with my heart instead of my head, convince myself that I really do want this, but my head wins out in the end. Armin’s right. This isn’t what I want, I’m just searching for a distraction after realising I’m most definitely lusting after Marco.

Hang on, what was that? I stop and process what they’ve just said to me - ‘If this is what you need I’m here’.

Fuck. Was I really just about to throw myself at Armin for the sake of needing a ‘distraction’? With no regard for their feelings or how it could affect things between us?

Christ. When did you become such a self-absorbed fucking shit?

The realisation that I just came so close to using Armin for my own selfish reasons knocks me sick. What the fuck was I thinking?

“Fuck, Armin I…shit,” I don’t even know what to say. I just put my head in my hands.

“Hey! Jean c’mon it’s okay.”

Arrgggh!! No, you’re making them feel bad! They haven’t done anything wrong!

“No, Armin it’s not okay.” I look directly at them. “I am so fucking sorry.”

There’s not a single hint of anger or disappointment in their face when they look at me. They just smile.

“Jean there’s nothing to be sorry for, alright? We’re just a bit drunk. If anything, I’m more shocked it’s taken us this long to have a drunken kiss. Two hot friends who’ve known each other for how many years? I’m offended it’s taken you this long to make a move,” they joke nudging me in the shoulder.

“I don’t deserve you Armin.”

I don’t. I really don’t. I could’ve royally fucked up our friendship just now and they’re letting me off the hook. Not only that but they’re still making me feel better, painting a smile back on my unworthy face.

“Sure you do. C’mon let’s go see what the others are up to. You know how dangerous it is to leave them unsupervised for too long.”

“Yeah. Yeah okay.”

I let Armin help me to my feet, like so many times before, and squeeze their hand in an unspoken vow to never allow myself to do something so stupid ever again.