Chapter Text
Through the constant trials of everyday living, Jean Kirschtein has learned that there are a few especially bad ways to spoil your day. However, there’s always a select few that manage to get him the most thoroughly pissed;
Forgetting to pull down the handle on the toaster so that when he comes back from frantically pulling on a pair of pants with inhuman speed the toast hasn’t even started to cook and he has to wait another three minutes while angrily staring down at the small metal machine.
Getting his toes stuck in said pants because he’s a loser who wears genuinely ripped jeans and his toes apparently love shoving themselves through any hole they can.
And then there’s the ever-so-slightly nerve-wracking experience of watching the boy who gives him tiny butterflies in class about to be eaten by a gigantic monster attacking his home town.
Two of the three happen more frequently than the other. Until Friday afternoon.
School sucks balls. Anyone who thinks otherwise has never sat through this class. Jean drums softly on his desk with two pens, both to continuously annoy those around him and distract himself from whatever’s being taught up front. Whatever it is, he can deal with later with books surrounding him on his bed and his eyes staring up at the ceiling forlornly (his usual studying method).
A warm breeze comes in through the window across the room and Jean feels himself ache for it—to feel anything but the harsh lights that flicker when it rains or when he gets too upset. He aches for the sunshine on his skin, so much so that he stops tapping and ends up turning his head toward the glass while imagining possible scenarios where he leaps from his seat and out the window, into the sun. And then Jean’s teacher clears his throat and Jean turns back, neck aching from where he must have been reaching it toward the outside world.
Fifteen minutes later, Jean’s sure that someone must have tampered with the class’ clock because there is no way in hell it’s been less than three hours since this class has started. He stares down the clock, its circular form taunting him with every audible tick while the teacher drones on. In a moment of pure desperation and with the persuasion of another gust of wind from the open window, Jean tries to see if he can make the hand of the clock just move a tiny bit faster, please. But it’s impossible, as the consistent movement makes his head hurt and the inside of his wrists thrum with adrenaline. It’s Jean who clears his throat this time, blinking twice. He settles for staring straight ahead, waiting until the burning in his palms subsides.
After class, a girl with dimples starts to poke fun at Jean’s blank sheet of notes and both of their apparent incapability of understanding trigonometry, but Jean puts in his headphones and walks past, eyes on the door. It’s not her fault. Jean knows perfectly well that she’s a friendly person and he’s just being an asshole. An unsaid apology forms in his mind before he makes a break for it. His lack of friends is astounding, really. But his acquaintance numbers are all the way up in the tens now; something that probably hasn’t happened since starting high school. In the tens is where he belongs, so Jean doesn’t feel too badly when he walks past the girl, brushing past her shoulder to make it out the door first. Distance is familiar, now. Distance is home.
Sasha and Connie, two of the ten, glued at the hip (literally, too, that one time in elementary school), approach Jean when he’s tossing books into his locker. Sasha peers around the side of the locker’s door and she and Jean lock eyes for a brief moment before Connie appears too, head directly above hers. Jean wonders for a moment what it’s like when they’re not together. He pauses for a moment, trying to imagine it. There probably never is a time. If there is, things are probably a lot calmer than when they are together. And less destructive.
Connie comes around to the other side of Jean, and now they’re on both sides, closing in. There’s no escaping interaction now. Connie waits, staring at Jean until he remembers and rips the headphones from his ears. Connie jumps right into it.
“Kirschtein, hey. Some of us are going downtown tonight. Bring three bucks and we’ll pitch in for a pizza,” he says, leaning forward, and the pre-lunch ache in Jean’s stomach almost leads him to obey Connie’s wide-eyed stare. But, remembering, Jean decides to just humor them for a moment.
“Who else?” is all Jean asks. Connie doesn’t miss a beat.
“You know…Mikasa, Armin, Reiner, Bertl, Annie, Eren…” he fades out on that last part. Jean rolls his eyes. Okay, now he’s really glad he’s busy.
“Can’t. I’m going out too, unfortunately. Getting supplies for Photos 101. Big project due in a few days. Sorry, guys.” He closes his locker and watches as Sasha and Connie move from either side of him to block his path, almost too in sync that it makes him stop in his tracks.
“Pizza, Jean,” is all Connie says.
Sasha chimes in. “I’ll keep Eren at least ten feet from you at all times.”
“I actually have a project for Photos, guys. Did you not just hear—“
Connie cuts him off. “You can take a picture of me shoving pizza in my mouth. Prize-winning material.” Sasha snorts at that. Jean can feel his resolve fading.
“Come on, Jean. Friday night. Pizza.”
“My two favorite things,” Sasha says, almost dreamily, and Jean tips his head back toward the ceiling for a moment.
“Fine.”
Sasha and Connie fist bump each other and are lost in the hallway’s crowd within a couple seconds. Jean thinks he hears Connie shout ‘I’ll call you!’ through the tsunami of people, but he’s not sure. Jean shakes his head to himself and shoves the music back into his ears. So what if he had other plans tonight other than buying photo paper? This’ll be good for him. The other plans can wait.
Cooking is his last class, and Jean enjoys it. Not cooking; God no, his cooking is a thing of nightmares. But cooking class; that’s something that can make even forced plans of pizza and Eren Jaeger okay.
There’s a boy in his cooking class.
Not like that.
One of the tens of acquaintances—a boy with floppy brown hair that naturally falls into his eyes sometimes. Big brown eyes, too; framed by thick-rimmed glasses that he manages to somehow pull off without looking like a tool. And a face full of freckles and a button nose and the kind of smile that makes his eyes to crinkle up when he smiles. They’re not partners in class or anything, because if they were chances are Jean wouldn’t be burning every dish he’s attempted to make so far.
The kid can cook, too. The fact that he’s somewhat of a suck-up to the teacher is basically just the icing on the cake (he’d aced their baking unit; his frosting was sublime). His suspiciously good nature is proven as well when sometimes Jean drops and egg on the floor while swearing under his breath and the boy comes walking over, almost like he’s been summoned. He’ll just bend down on the floor right there with Jean silently while Jean wonders what he could possibly say to someone like him. The boy introduced himself over a bowl full of chocolate chip cookie dough one of the few first days of school, and Jean had shaken his hand covered in flour. When they finally made eye contact, Jean noticed a winding scar down the right side of his face, curving from above his eye down to his jaw. Jean hadn’t said anything, but the boy’s smile nearly hid it, so he couldn’t help but smile back. Marco Bodt. The boy from his cooking class.
Jean sees him everyday for half a second in the hall right after school, surrounded by people who Jean doesn’t bother to look into the eyes of. He walks along behind Jean, who’s practically ducking into his locker in fear of being noticed. Squinting away the sun that catches the boy’s hair, Jean thinks that Marco Bodt might actually be smiling to himself. He’d noticed it in Cooking too. The way he holds himself tall as he strides past, looking like he’s just been given the best news that he can’t wait to tell everyone he passes. Meanwhile, Jean is hunched over in his locker, collecting his things and watching this boy out of his peripheral vision. He’s never really gotten the chance to ask, but Jean promises if he ever finds himself able to, he’ll ask this kid how the hell he can walk through a high school’s halls not looking like he’s one unnecessary shove away from killing someone.
Jean pushes his hair away from his face and huffs when it falls right back into place in a static mess. Then he pushes his way to the side doors of the school and breathes in the clean air, after what feels like a decade of rotting in this prison. Finally, another weekend. He almost wants to get down and kiss the green grass outside.
Sasha does not keep him at least ten feet away from Eren. She tries, but Jean grabs a slice of pizza right before Eren’s about to reach for it and he calls Jean out, getting red-faced and huge-eyed over the pepperoni pizza that makes its way to Jean’s waiting stomach in a matter of seconds.
Jean has to be restrained by Sasha gripping his arm when Eren jumps to his feet and he goes to follow, and Jean’s memory blacks out for a little bit after that. This is why he isn’t more than acquaintances with these people. He can almost feel his hair standing on end as he settles back down into his chair.
Things had been going okay, up until that point. Jean arrived with the three dollars in his pocket to meet Connie standing out front clutching Sasha by the arm, now sporting a Sina High sports jacket. Reiner had one on, too, his muscled arms stretching the fabric tight. Jean tries not to grimace, thinking they probably sell bigger sizes, mini Hulk. Bertholt, a boy who Jean’s barely even come in contact with (yet he’s always there when they hang out), stands next to Reiner, button up sweater vest causing him to sweat even more profusely than usual in the late spring weather. And Annie Leonhardt, standing looking as apathetic as ever, sports the same jacket. Jean thinks somehow she might even be a little less excited than himself to be here. Jean gives a single wave to all of them as a hello, already shoving his hands back in his pockets and deciding to keep his eyes on what surrounds them. A couple of shops, a bookstore across the street, the lamppost next to them that’ll light up the twilight street within an hour.
They order pizza, all crowded around a circular table in the back corner of the crowded restaurant. Jean is sandwiched between Connie and Sasha, who are obviously trying to keep him in check. Across the rounded table Eren sits, his eyes almost glowing in the dim light with their usual aggression and strange green luminescence. Next to him, Mikasa Ackerman serenely sips from a glass of water and Armin Arlert adjusts his collar six times before folding his hands in front of him. He doesn’t know the three of them very much, but he does know that they probably don’t like him very much. Jean swallows nervously and checks his phone while the rest of them chat lightly, mostly about school. Why should he be here if all they’re going to talk about is classes? It’s Friday night, accept that it’s a weekend and keep the school conversation to a minimum. While Jean scrolls through his phone halfheartedly, their subject finally changes.
“There’s a way for figuring it out, I promise.” Jean has zoned out. He has no idea what Armin’s talking about.
“Ah, Armin. Please do enlighten us,” Connie says, leaning forward with his chin in his hand and elbows on the table, and Jean lets his eyes flicker to the small blonde boy before they land back on his phone. How long is it socially polite to stay before he makes some sort of excuse to leave? He thinks about actually looking it up on the internet, but then again, Sasha could easily look down and see him asking the mass of the worldwide web for pathetic advice for his equally pathetic social life. He settles for going back to staring down at the tablecloth and chiming into the exchange when he’s supposed to until the food arrives. A pizza the size of the Earth is placed down in front of them, and there’s a moment of mutual awe before Jean’s stomach screams a battle cry and they all dig in together.
And only a few minutes later, Jean’s memory goes a little hazy after being vigorously shoved back into his seat after almost allowing himself to punch Eren Jaeger to the ground. Jean feels like he’s lost some of the balance he was still holding on to, and afterwards feels something heavy in the air around him. It’s almost too much to get him to look up from the table again.
He excuses himself to go take a call that doesn’t exist a few minutes later, avoiding anyone’s eyes after he senses the way they all must be looking at him right now. The fact that he can hear Eren Jaeger start to say something close to Mikasa’s ear as he walks away makes Jean grip his phone tighter, back rigid as he moves to temporarily escape from the bustling room.
Leaning against the outside of the building, phone now tucked safely away in his pocket, Jean tries to push away whatever he’s feeling right now. He’s so fucking stupid, honestly. He’s hung out with these people before, so why can’t he just pretend to enjoy their company right now? Why is this time so different? Why does he feel like something’s so wrong? Why can’t he just be normal?
The world quivers as Jean looks down at his feet, and then the sound of a blast to his left makes his entire body to jolt in shock. The car crash felt like it literally shook the ground beneath him for a second there. He hopes everything’s okay.
Jean lowers his shoulders and stretches his neck out, trying to see around the corner. There’s another quiver under his feet. He looks down and watches as a pebble next to his worn sneakers begins to jump with the tremors of the earth as Jean realizes that whatever this is, it’s not a car crash. Something is literally shaking the ground.
Then again. And again. Jean pushes his feet across the pavement, trying to look around the next street corner and see what the hell is causing him a heart attack every five seconds from another shudder through his legs. As he turns the corner, Jean feels something rush up in him, the feeling of a few moments ago intensified to a white-hot flash that passes all the way to his shaking feet. He can barely push it down back inside of him as he pushes his hands into fists next to him and stops walking. Because holy shit.
He sees it in between two very tall buildings, emphasis on very tall buildings, and his blood runs ice cold.
He doesn’t know what to think. There’s something moving, something massive, something out of any sane person’s nightmares, and Jean sees it again after another tremor beneath him. He can’t take his eyes off of it, even after he feels the earth shaking even more, enough to almost make his knees give out. The enormous being that is now dragging its fist along the side of a building as it turns the corner toward Jean looks…human. But at the same time it isn’t humanoid at all.
When Jean drags his eyes up to see the face, he sees the teeth first. A massive, lipless jaw that seems fixed in a permanent grimace, its eyes wide and glazed, looking like it’s staring into the remnants of Jean’s soul itself. Jean hasn’t noticed anyone around him before as he was stuck in his bubble of self-pity, but now he sees that around him people are scattering the street as the hunched figure rips the side of a glass skyscraper to shreds like it’s nothing. Jean doesn’t see any blood falling from the fist that just pummeled those third story windows—just a slight cloud of steam before it continues to shake the ground with each step onward. Jean still can’t move. His shoes appear to be glued the ground and his breath is stuck tight in his throat.
He watches as the monster bends down to its knees with a crash only a block away, and Jean flinches, unable to do much else. It extends an arm toward someone, who’s sprinting along the street, their blood-curdling scream silenced in a moment; like the monster is crushing a bug in between its fingers. It then lifts the dripping body to its gaping mouth and drops it inside. Jean does see blood on its hand this time. And then he turns on his heel and bolts.
There’s no way this is happening. There’s no way. The sudden nudge under his feet that almost throws him to the street proves otherwise. What the hell is that thing? Is it getting any closer? While looking behind him and through a floppy mess of hair he sees that yes, it is getting closer, and he probably should’ve taken gym class running more seriously. Other than that, Jean’s unable to even try to think coherent thoughts anymore. He just hopes that his feet don’t give out and get him crushed or…eaten.
Someone has to do something. Someone needs to kill that thing; they could always come rushing in like they sometimes do—what the hell is he thinking? He shouldn’t even be thinking about that group of freaks at a time like this. Jean has to push another wave of electric adrenaline back down into him, just so he doesn’t stop running and do something stupid.
Heading around another street, Jean is panting, the consistent thumps behind him fueling him forward. It’s mid-pant, the sun dipping low in the horizon, when Jean recognizes it—wait, scratch that—someone. Another boy his age, his eyebrows creased together as he runs past Jean in the other direction, other people screaming and following behind him. Jean stops straight in his tracks and turns, watching as Marco Bodt doesn’t see him and keeps running, whipping his head in all directions, trying to see where he’s headed. The creature turns toward their street, haunting eyes searching the ground below it, the glazed look lighting up slightly when it looks down to view its next buffet. Jean stops running.
He watches in terror as Marco realizes he’s been running the wrong way. He stops, skidding to a standstill as a massive foot crushes a hot dog stand that Jean had passed half a minute ago. Jean lets himself pant, starting to really panic now as he watches Marco freeze.
Hell, they can’t outrun this. People on the other side of the street are still running away from the massive destruction and the blood-stained teeth of the massive monster, but Jean has stopped. Marco’s still frozen, too. Jean looks for an escape around him, looks for someplace where he could grab Marco pull him into safety, but they’re nearly in the middle of the street and he can tell the thing’s eye is on them. And as it tramples a few cars while it stumbles forward, Jean realizes that there isn’t really any safe place for them to go. More people flee the scene, running in any direction they can and shoving past Jean’s shoulder. One man bumps into him while saying “it’s the goddamn end of the world!” and Jean can’t disagree with him right now. Someone pushes past Marco, too, but it doesn’t seem to stop the way he’s standing perfectly still, back to Jean and head tilted toward the face of the giant.
Jean has to do something.
“Hey!” He shouts. Marco doesn’t hear him; Jean’s still far enough away from him that if he could run to him, it wouldn’t make much of a difference now. The giant’s only ten massive footsteps away from where Marco is finally frantically starting to step back again, but he knows it’s coming for him. A new thought enters Jean’s mind. He has a way to get there fast, a way to save Marco’s freckled face and keep his brown eyes open another day.
Shit, you can’t do this. Jean can already feeling it swell up in him. He can’t do this. He promised himself that tonight would be the last time, but at least that was safely at his house and not with an actual life at stake and people around him. Don’t do this, they’ll catch you. Yeah, if he lives. He glares back up into the lifeless eyes as the monster takes the few last steps and starts to reach down, Marco tripping over his own frantic movements and landing on his ass on the ground.
He has to at least try, right? No, no. Yes. Go. Go, you coward.
Hands shaking, Jean pulls his hood up and over his head, tightening the string so it doesn’t blow back, and even if his fringe still falls in his eyes he doesn’t have time to fix it now. All the while keeping his gaze on the reaching hand, he lets the butterflies of adrenaline almost lift him out of his body. And then, with a final curse for letting himself do this, he embraces the rush inside him. Feeling like sparks are swelling up behind his chest, Jean lifts off the ground and pushes himself forward, his flying shaky at first like always as he tries to reclaim his balance. Then he feels the familiar weightlessness settle and without a thought, he heads straight for Marco and probable death. The monster still extends one hand down, almost like it’s beckoning Marco to come closer as he’s still stuck scooting backwards, trying to stand up again. Jean narrows his eyes and hopes he’s going to make it in time, hopes that he doesn’t kill them both. With a very ungraceful collision and an audible exclamation of pain from the both of them, he grabs Marco from around the waist and pulls up just as the hand is about to close around him. In the most uncomfortable and straining way possible that makes him grit his teeth and grunt in frustration, Jean flies upwards, Marco’s middle in his arms.
But it seems like his acquaintance's silence has broken, because Marco is screaming and Jean is trying to move them as fast as he can, up and away from the ever-reaching hand.
“Holy shit! Oh my god!” Marco is saying, sounding like he’s actually crying, legs kicking wildly. Jean wants to tell him to be quiet, he’s working on it, but his arms hurt so badly. Seriously, what was he doing during countless days of pushups in gym? Jean tightens his grip, thinking that if he dropped him now at fifty feet in the air Marco would never forgive him. The creature is moving its head as Jean hauls them up into the air, Marco still screeching in his arms. Jean glances behind him and hisses oh, no as the hand comes back to grab both of them. Jean dodges a massive finger by inches and flies them further. A few more stories of this building, that’s all he needs. The sound of screaming from Marco and the alarm of a recently crushed car is all he can hear over his own heartbeat. And then Marco’s starting to slip from his hands.
“Hold on, hold on” Jean mutters to Marco as he hears more roaring destruction behind him. Knowing that there’s a good chance he can’t keep this up more than three more seconds Jean practically throws them both down on the top of the building’s concrete roof, Jean colliding with the base of a water tower from his ever-graceful landing and nearly knocking himself out.
Jean had dropped Marco to the ground before he hit, making sure that there’s no chance he could be injured, or that he can see his face right now as Jean lies panting on the ground. Gasping, he turns toward the giant approaching, its head almost reaching the landing they’re on. Jean watches in terror as the head moves down for a few moments before it reappears and drops a struggling businessman onto its waiting tongue. Jean feels it come up further in him—the frustration, the anger, the feeling that he suppresses so much of the time—before he’s rushing to his feet.
Now without reason or a plan whatsoever, Jean lets himself feel it; the electricity in his bones coming forth into the pores of his skin, concentrating in on his hands. He reacts on instinct, aiming his forefinger and thumb like a gun and shooting a blast of electricity to the building across the street from them. It shatters a glass window, and Jean shoots again and again, until the monster hears the noise and slowly turns its massive head.
Jean glances to make sure it’s there in his hands now—crackling white hot voltage that claps to life in his ears, and then, reaching forward as the monster continues to turn, forces it out of his fingertips towards the bottom of its meaty neck. In a stream of lightning the monster is ablaze, and it falls to the ground in time with Jean, though in different directions.
Jean feels the world go fuzzy at the edges, drained of everything including the spark usually left in his gut, the edge of his hood around his head soaked in sweat. He lets himself just lie there on his back, trying to get the feeling back in his arms. He’d never used that much of his power before.
“Oh my god.” Jean’s eyes snap open and he scrambles to his feet, remembering who else was tossed on this roof with him. “What was that? What was that thing?” Jean stands, facing the other way, getting a major head rush and almost keeling over with weakness until Marco Bodt’s voice goes soft and Jean’s back turns rigid. “And you…you’re one of them.” Jean stares out at the sky, over the shorter buildings below. “Who are you?” Marco asks, voice suddenly getting closer as Jean starts to lift his feet of the ground again. He flies forward, but suddenly his hood is being yanked off the back of his head.
Jean turns, aghast, and Marco looks back at him, inches away, with the same expression. His glasses are cracked in the corner from where he must have hit the ground, his cheeks bright red. Jean watches as a mix of emotions pass by Marco’s face; and Jean’s pretty sure he sees disgust among them. He pushes him away with a jolt of some spare static; and he watches Marco’s hand flinch away before he turns to stare at it. Jean feels his stomach jump to his throat.
“I…I’m sorry,” Jean says, not a thing he’s used to saying, but he tries it anyway.
“Jean?” Marco asks, looking back from his hand. Jean feels the wind hit his sweaty neck as Marco’s recognition fully sets in. If he wasn’t shaking with exhaustion and pure terror, Jean might’ve gotten a better response out rather than just standing open-mouthed.
“Um,” he starts.
“You…you can fly.” Jean flushes, knowing what’s coming. Marco will report him, people will find out. He’ll be taken away. He imagines Marco’s face as The Wall comes with their black vans, restrictive cuffs locking onto his wrists, Marco’s knowing smirk as the door slams in his face. Jean sucks in a breath. He just had to try to save the remarkable boy from cooking class, didn’t he?
Instead of shouting for the authorities or calling anyone right away, Marco just stares at him instead, all while rubbing a spot under his chest. Jean thinks he sees him wince before he speaks. “You just killed that thing.”
“I did?” Jean asks. Almost on cue they both rush over to the edge of the building and look over to the bottom to see the steaming, very dead body of whatever that thing was. It’s disintegrating into just bones too quickly, and they both make a noise of revulsion and confusion. People are starting to come out of buildings, coming to view the barely recognizable, torrid corpse. Jean doesn’t think this day could get any worse. Maybe if he throws up over the edge of the building, like he feels he’s going to. Marco knows he’s one of them, after all. He knows, dammit.
“What was it?” Jean asks, backing away.
“I thought you knew. You killed it, after all.”
“I was trying not to get eaten,” Jean says. Marco pushes his glasses back up his nose from where they were still almost falling off his face. While he’s busy, Jean keeps stepping back. “Look, I have to go—“
“But you saved me.”
“I…yeah?” he says, and his feet lift to the air again. Marco rushes after him to grab his arm.
“You can’t leave me on a rooftop alone after something like that, Jean Kirschtein.” Jean feels the tiny shock he was about to give him simmer out. So he really does know his name. All those three second conversations over boiling water weren’t for nothing.
“Oh. Um. But I can’t exactly take you down there? There’s people.” After he somehow spits out the shaky sentence, he’s once again reminded that he really is the most suave person in the world.
“And what were you gonna do? Just flutter down there and hope no one noticed?” Jean finally looks up into the boys eyes again. Freckles standing out against the late evening sun, hair pushed back from his face from the wind. He’s still the same kid as the one who smiles in the halls and still the one who Jean watches out of the corner of his eye whenever he catches a glimpse. But it’s different now—Jean’s saved his life, and Marco knows that he’s a freak of nature. The fear of him knowing is almost enough to make Jean forget about the dead monster behind them both.
“We can’t be here when the police come. They might think you’re…like me…too.”
“I’m not,” Marco confirms, raising both his hands. Within a couple seconds a siren starts to blare around them, they see a helicopter dot in the sky begin to grow larger, and Jean grabs Marco’s forearm. “I know.”
“What? I could be lying to you! You’re that quick to believe me?” Jean glances back at Marco and debates whether or not a smirk would be appropriate at the moment. He decides against it.
“I can just tell, ok?” and then Jean is lifting off his feet and going to pick Marco up. But he falls to the ground again, head pounding and limbs wanting to collapse to the ground again. Okay, flying is out of the question.
“Woah, wait. Don’t hurt yourself.” Jean feels Marco reach out to him and Jean tries not to shock Marco too badly from how suddenly he touches him. He’s just not used to it. “And what do you mean you can tell? I can never really tell who’s…like you.”
“Come on, lets take the fire escape,” Jean says, dragging him along, avoiding the question with his usual finesse. They climb down a tiny stairwell together next to the wall of bricks, on the opposite side of the building than the giant’s dead body.
“Are you okay?” Marco asks in front of him, halfway down. And he isn’t—Jean feels like he could pass out at any moment. There’s spots in his vision again and everything seems to be slightly tilted. He can’t stop imagining Marco’s grin before he turns him in. Jean pushes his hand against a temple, holding onto a railing with the other.
“Yeah, better than ever. Tired.” He pushes harder until it hurts more. “You’re heavy, that’s all.” Marco turns back around whilst climbing down and drops his mouth open in shock. Jean freezes mid-step. “No! I mean, I had to lift you, you’re not—”
“No need to apologize, Jean. I sneak extra cookies into my backpack in class when the teacher’s not looking.” Jean lets out a breathy laugh before he can stop himself. Marco’s silent, moving along the rails and down the next flight of stairs.
“I don’t know how you could make a joke right now.”
“I don’t really know what to feel right now,” Marco says. They reach solid ground, on a side street opposite from the commotion, the moon beginning to peek out between clouds above them.
“I’m still shaking,” Marco admits. Jean nods in agreement. A moment of awkward I-just-saved-your-life-and-I-know-your-secret silence passes between them for too long. They end up speaking at the same time.
“I should go.”
“How long have you been flying?”
Jean stares back at him. Marco has an earnest, almost excited look on his face, the early moonlight reflecting off his glasses.
“Um, Marco. I think it’d be best if we forgot that any of this happened. I was never here, you were never there.” Jean points to Marco’s chest. “And you pretend that I can’t do any of that…stuff.”
Marco seems to almost glaze over his answer. “Yeah, yeah, if that’s what you want, Jean. But how long have you been flying?” Jean swallows, averting his eyes. His head pounds.
“Um, since I was thirteen.”
“Don’t stop.”
“What?” The way he says it makes Jean’s heart pound, and his next step back almost sending him straight to the ground.
“Don’t let that shit they tell us in school get in your way. You can fly, Jean." He waves his hands in exasperated motions. Jean can't help but look at him like he's insane. "You can shoot electric bullets, you can kill whatever that thing was with your own personal lightning storm. You could join the—“
“I’m not doing that.” Jean finally says. He feels his cheeks blaze even more, his electricity finding its way to his wrists again as he clenches his hands. “I’m not supposed to be able to do that. It’s not right.” He looks down at Marco’s pants, torn a little at the knee from when he hit the roof. Jean’s knees are probably bleeding—damn his love for these ripped jeans.
He can’t look back up into Marco’s eyes. “So I’m just gonna leave now, and we’re both going to go home, and you’re going to hopefully forget about me in a couple hours.” Jean looks to where Marco is rubbing his chest again, holding back a breath when he touches a certain spot. “Sorry about your ribs.”
Marco doesn’t hesitate. “A hurt rib is better than being dead.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Jean realizes how dark it’s become around them, the wail of sirens muffled by the wall next to them and the hum of a generator turning on breaking the silence. When Jean spots a street light flick on across the street, he remembers.
“Holy shit, Connie.” He can’t say any of their other names from how his throat closes up. Marco perks up.
“What, is he like you too?” Marco announces loudly. Jean stares at him in disbelief.
“First of all, why don’t you just announce it to the entire fucking world? And no,” Jean fishes his phone from his pocket. “Hold on. Or don’t. You can go home,” Jean’s all too aware of how much of an asshole he’s become in this moment. He wishes he could say this is the first time he’s done this.
“You’re gonna leave me in the dark?” Marco taunts as Jean starts to walk away, starting to panic about Sasha and his friends already. But then Marco’s words process and he stops, coming back to the slightly taller boy waiting for him in the darkness.
Marco doesn’t look the least bit hurt from what Jean said, smiling at him as he walks back over. Jean eyes him as he pulls out his phone. “What are you suggesting?”
“Walk me home.”
“Fine. Hold on.” It sounds harsher than he means. Marco stands still next to him while Connie’s phone rings. Jean’s heart beats out of his chest as he almost thinks he’s never going to answer, but it’s only two more rings before he picks up.
“Holy shit Jean! You’re okay?! We thought you might be dead or something. You scared the shit out of us.” Jean can hear shouts around Connie on the other line.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Where are you guys?”
“We’re out by its giant dead body, man. Did you see that thing, Jean? What even was it? I heard the police are saying it actually ate people, shit…” He trails off. “It’s the end of the world.” Jean listens to him scream ‘excuse me!’ to the shouting people around him before his voice becomes clear again. “Where are you?”
“I ran when I saw it. I’m over by…the library.” Jean glances at Marco, who’s raised an eyebrow at his lie. Jean closes his eyes. “I’m just gonna go home.”
“This thing’s so weird-looking…it’s dissolving right in front of us in a bunch of smoke. Some weird shit is going on, Jean.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ll call you later.”
Connie just continues to mumble to himself, and Jean ends up just shoving his phone back into his pocket before Marco chimes in.
“So nobody knows what that thing was?”
“I guess not.”
“I still can’t believe you’re the one that killed it. And you’re not even taking any credit!”
“I don’t want the credit, Marco. If it wasn’t you about to be killed, I would’ve just kept running.” Jean starts walking toward the open street, and he stops only when he realizes Marco isn’t following him. Didn’t he want to walk home? The Jean-train fueled by fear and exhaustion is leaving, and he needs to decide whether he wants on or off.
“So you weren’t just being heroic. It was me.” Jean feels himself opening his mouth to retort as he turns around, but he can’t. Marco’s right. It was him.
“Yeah, well.” He stutters anyway. “We’re sorta friends, I wouldn’t want you dead or anything.”
“That’s a relief.” At least Marco’s somewhat passed it off, coming up to walk with him.
They start walking then, finally. Jean’s anxious to move his feet. It’s dark now, and the police and fire truck sirens have somewhat died down in both of their minds to just a dull hum. They can hear people shouting from the other side of the building as they make their casual escape, and Jean notes that Connie, Sasha and the rest of them are probably over there among the crowd. The thought makes him walk faster. He and Marco walk side by side, somewhere along the way turning to casual conversations. Marco tells a short story about getting lost in the grocery store they pass, the time he spilled Starbucks on his only dress shirt the day of a job interview, his first dog running away. Jean’s quiet for most of it, still churning thoughts of how easily the boy next to him could ruin his life any moment he wants.
“Are you hungry?” Marco asks suddenly. Jean thinks back on his previously nauseous stomach as they looked over the side of the building. Somewhere along the way, however, he’d decided that he wasn’t ready to just walk Marco home just yet.
“A little bit.”
“I know a place where we could go, if you’re up to it. Or did your flying really drain you—“
“Shut up!” Jean says, actually reaching over to cover Marco’s mouth and nearly knocking off his glasses. Marco laughs it off and tears Jean’s hand away, but Jean had felt a little bit of Marco’s scar and feels his heart jump. He’d forgotten about the winding scar down Marco’s face, but he doesn’t seem to notice at all. Jean swallows. “Please don’t talk about it. At least not out here.” He breathes out slowly, calming himself. His short temper never really helped with the whole ‘no friends’ deal. But Marco is still strolling next to him, somehow. Jean swallows. “Yes, let’s go there. Wherever that is.” They walk in silence for a while, not exactly awkward I-saved-your-life silence, but the kind that’s covered with the sounds of cars passing them down the busy streets and bustle of people around them, all talking about the same thing. Jean and Marco ignore them.
“Here we are!” Marco says excitedly, fifteen minutes later. Jean looks up from his shoes to the diner, and nearly blinds himself. The neon sign and the obvious 50’s theme almost makes him cringe. Marco must not see his scowl as he stares through the glass windows. “Don’t get weirded out if people know my name here. My Dad owns the place.”
“Ah, a free meal, got it.”
“I’ll leave a tip!” Marco cries, shocked at the accusation. They walk up the steps and upon opening the door, Jean is overwhelmed by two girls rolling past him on roller skates and nearly running him clean over. The petite girl looks over her shoulder and smiles as an apology, and Jean recognizes her from school, though not in the small mini-skirt or holding a tray in one hand. The music that plays isn’t exactly the genre he blasts into his ears every moment at school, but Marco seems right at home with it, bobbling his head as he waves to the blonde girl. Christa, that’s it. The second girl is tall with a brown ponytail that flies out behind her, and she skates around to the long diner counter in front of them and through a back door without a glance. Jean looks around and realizes that the entire place is empty besides them. Marco still seems satisfied with everything.
They sit down at a booth, and the tall girl reappears, covered in freckles, not unlike the boy across from him.
“Evenin’, Marco.” She whips out a notepad from her apron. Jean looks around the place. Marco’s dad owns it? Jean didn’t even bother to look at the sign out front. Maybe this is the place that Reiner talked about that one time? Is he even friends with Marco? Jean never did pay too much attention when they all hung out. He’s such an asshole. The freckled girl continues. “You’ve got the place to yourself, boys. Didn’t you guys hear about that monster downtown?” She suddenly slams a hand on the table, and raises an eyebrow at Jean. He stares up into her cat-like eyes. Does she know it’s him? From how she’s glaring he gets the unsettling feeling that she did.
“Yeah. We just came from over there.” Marco answers for him.
“Did you guys see it go down? I heard it started disappearing as soon as it hit the ground.” Jean nods nervously as she continues to stare him down. Marco smiles at her.
“Ymir, this is Jean Kirschtein.” She raises a hand and wiggles her finers, smile not even trying to reach her eyes. “Jean, this is Ymir. She’s not usually like this. She’s just trying to read you, that’s all.”
Jean knows exactly what that means. Class periods filled with anxious lessons taught by frowning faces about how some people can “read you”, how dangerous they are, how they need to be eliminated. How people who can fly are a threat.
“Oh,” is all Jean can say. She winks at him.
“Nice job taking it down today, buddy. And seriously, slow that heartbeat of yours, I’m sure Marco can hear it too—and he’s completely normal.” Then she ruffles Marco’s hair. “Now, what can I get for our local hero and his freckled friend?”
Marco orders a milkshake. Jean doesn’t know if his stomach can handle it, but he orders the same thing. Ymir skates away, and Marco leans over the table, saying “it was Dad’s idea for the weird skates. He made them train and everything.” Jean can’t stop himself from blowing off Marco’s trivia.
“Why did Ymir tell me she could read people? Why did she tell you?”
“Jean, lots of people are like you guys. It’s not some disease. It’s a mutation.”
“That makes it sound so much better.” He shakes his head down at the checkered table. “Why do you know, though?”
“Well to be honest, I think my Dad just feels bad for some of them. He can tell they’re trying to hide something most of the time, so he hires the weird ones. Ymir’s pretty bad at hiding her reading,” he says, laughing to himself.
“So…Christa?”
“Yeah.”
Ymir comes skating back to them and places their milkshakes on the table, Marco immediately reaching for his and attacking the straw within seconds.
“I’m very aware that you were just talking about me,” is all Ymir says, and then skates back in the direction she came. “And have some manners, Marco Bodt” she calls, to which Marco squints his eyes in her direction before she goes through the door saying over her shoulder; “I heard that!”
Jean watches as Marco turns back to him, still smiling gently in only the way he could.
“So tell me. Tell me everything.” Jean swallows a tiny bit of his milkshake, going to stir it distractedly instead.
“Everything about what?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
Jean rubs the back of his neck. He doesn’t know how he managed to be so fearless an hour ago when now he’s finding it hard to finally lock eyes with the only person with whom he can start to feel a tiny bit of trust forming.
“Well, you know this already. I’m—“ He can't even say it, and in his fit of nerves all of the lights in the entire diner flicker simultaneously along with Jean's unsteady inhale. When the lights settle back on, he watches as Marco laughs around his straw, looking up at the ceiling in awe, his scar stretching around his smile. Jean is starting to think that it might be okay to say it out loud, if he says it softly. Marco slurps loudly on the end of his straw. Jean tries not to smile.
“I can do all of this crazy shit because…I’m an Elect.”