Chapter Text
Where the Grass is Greener
Last week my friend Connie and I made a bet. Whoever could get a girlfriend first didn’t have to go with our professor to this museum. As it turns out, Mr. Smith really wants to take someone to this new museum downtown, and Connie is about to ask this one girl out for a while now. In the end, I get to spend my Saturday walking around a museum of paintings. I’m not a painter.
Thursday, during class, Mr. Smith is explaining the techniques of paintings and their relations to sketching. Towards the end of the lesson, he brought back up the issue of the museum. His excitement for our little trip is becoming flat out embarrassing and obnoxious. This museum is of paintings and paintings have to deal with sketches. I’m not a sketcher.
Yesterday is found to be boring. Connie is taking Sasha, his new girl, out and I really don’t have any other friends. To me, a friend is someone who puts up with all my bull. Connie is full of his own crap so I don’t have to worry about mine. He is a pain however, all day he is texting me jokes about tomorrow's date’ with our teacher. Of course, it isn’t a date, but it is still something I didn’t want to do. Walking around with some stiff old man in a building completely void of sculptures… void of what I want.
Today is the day. I feel maybe I have been dreading this too much but frankly, I am not a fan of Mr. Smith. He is abnormally… creepy. And his eyebrows are something to be made fun of. Those two fuzzballs are like baby caterpillars caressing his forehead. Hanging out with him in a public place should not be on my ‘to-do list’.
But it is… and maybe it’s a little work of destiny.
“Thirty one dollars and seven cents.” The fluorescent lights numbed my mind. It felt like I am slipping into a coma or another world, anywhere but here. People were walking like mindless zombies: barely stopping to even glance at a picture or two. It ticked me off. But I don’t know what else I have been expecting. “Thirty-one dollars and seven cents.” Is someone talking to me? That’s a nuisance. “Jean.” I had to have looked drunk. My mouth is hanging open and I am staring partially up at the bright lights. I recompose myself and turn to see Mr. Smith straightening his tie nervously hoping for me to make a decent impression. “Jean that’s how much the entry fee is. Pay it.” He is such a lovely man, isn’t he? So curt, to the point, and bland. I did promise to pay this fee earlier this week. My pockets were slim and my wallet is right there, waiting to be emptied. I toss up the money (which is an unnecessarily large amount) and allowed the taller man to lead me deeper into the museum.
People. Humans. Society. It is all beautiful in my perspective. Look at the basic physique of a standard person. Unique. Protruding shoulders, and especially long jawlines. I loved it. Humans, I love them. They have such beautiful simplicity that cannot be compared to any other animal. Hands, I love those more. Hands are the world’s most unique thing yet, and I could sculpt them all day forever. In the paintings around my hands aren’t truly defined. Most painters simply glaze over the top of the hand, ignoring the bumps and lies of the knuckles and fingers. Being a sculptor I draw as well, but that form of art will never suffice in representing the beauty of the body; let alone hands.
I stop to let my eyes roll onto a certain painting. It is smaller than the ones found on the cream walls. It is pretty and consisted of a young girl braiding her mother’s hair. I, as usual, let my eyes land on the girl’s hands. They were preciously drawn. Mr. Smith is behind me staring at a red square painted in a yellow circle. Art. I shrug it off and turn back to the painting when I feel a tug on my shoulder. A young little girl with angelic facial features tugged on my sleeve. She couldn’t have been older than seven. Blonde hair rested at her shoulders and her eyes stared straight up into mine.
“Do you need something?” I ask as politely as possible. She only gives me a small toothy grin and a shake of her head. Without saying anything she skipped, almost silently, towards the end of the corridor and turned to the right. So inexplicably young and ignorant, she astonished me. She didn’t seem very airheaded but I’ve learned not to judge a book by its cover. Turning back to the painting I begin to count the freckles on the young girl’s face. This painting is absolutely beautiful. Admiring the tall physique, dark wavy hair, and sparsely placed freckles of the girl is an uncommon type of tranquility. Art often depicted girls as ignorant ‘beauties’ and women as mothers. This is an older painting but still accepted views that went against casual beliefs. I look at the painting’s plaque: “Ymir, by Maria and Rose”. The name suited it well. I could only assume Ymir is the young girl. I stare straight at her face and see something move. I don’t know where or how. But I feel like I saw something in the photo change. “Follow Historia.” The voice belonged to a female and felt as if it is right behind me. It is deep and soothing, each syllable slowly vibrating its way down my spine.
Follow Historia… Did anyone else hear that?
Mr. Smith, or Erwin as he had earlier asked me to address him, is talking to a creepy short security guard. While his attention is diverted I went ahead and followed that little girl. I some reason wish that she is Historia, lost, or some magical being that has the key to Narnia. No, I am just being foolish and a simple human who is following my only source of excitement for the day. I turn the same way the girl had. It is a dead-end. Well, not exactly. At the end of the hall is a single turn into an “other arts” room. This room is on the map and I remembered Erwin saying it is just storage for the place. Even so, I still thought there would be people down here; this is the museum’s grand opening and there is a gross abundance of people.
I end up slowly walking into the room; it is, in fact, spotless when it came to humans. No one is around. The room, however, did resemble a storage area with all the extra paintings stacked on top of each other. What caught my attention more so than anything, is a statue of a bell tower and a great wall around it. It is labeled Sina. No, it isn’t a statue of a person, but it is a statue nonetheless. I instantly begin sizing it up, noting its noble height, and trying to notice flaws in its imperfect details. It is a splendid statue.
“Exquisite isn’t it?” Words again are spoken from behind me. Except for this time when I turn around, I see a novel figure standing behind me. Tall, slender yet toned, tan yet pale. The being is difficult to get my eyes to focus on. I know that I have to look dumbfounded just staring at him with a blank expression. I tap my converse on the ground and watch him as he walks towards the statue. He has a very relaxed smile across his face and his hands were held behind his back. Heel to toe, he silently admired the statue.
“I’m Marco, and I think this statue gives me sorrow.” I look at him, trying to perceive what he looked like. I could undeniably give him picturesque. His personal physique is one of my favorites. “So do you always talk in rhymes or what?” I ask him, trying to lighten up his ghostly atmosphere. Instead of a joke reply as expected from a fellow college-aged teen, he gives me a smile. His cheeks are pulled upwards and his teeth are shown reflecting the light from their hygienic appearance. “Not at all. It is just coincidental.” I give him a small smile and just slowly walk towards the exit. “Well, Marco, I’m going to go look at some other paintings now,” I say slowly as I head out the door. I turn back to get one last glimpse of the boy. He is bent down staring at the statue. Why is he in there? The room is pretty boring, even with the statue.
“Yo Marco. Are you confined in that room or something?”
Marco stood up and offered a soft smile. “Something like that.” I shrug and went back to Erwin.
I retrace my steps to find the fatherly professor still conversing with the short guard. It took me a moment to decide if I should approach the two of them since they seem to be getting awfully friendly with each other, or venture further into the museum on my own. After waiting a few minutes the two of them showed no signs of backing off but I ended up approaching Erwin nonetheless.
“Yo Erwin, what’s the plan?” The big blond pulled away from the shorter man embarrassedly as he straightened his tie to recompose himself.
“Ah Jean. Meet Levi. Levi, this is one of my top students, Jean.” I offer a glare to Erwin to which he didn’t take happily. Turning to this ‘Levi’ I see his hand is out, waiting for mine to shake it. I oblige and smile as we exchange customary “nice to meet you’s” and others. Levi truly intimates me. He also isn’t my favorite person to look at. He is an attractive man for the most part, but he carried a grimace even deeper than my own, (and that is hard to accomplish).
“Well Jean, you’re more than welcome to head back home. Thanks for coming with me.” Erwin is a smart man and he knows me well. I don’t smile or give nice salutations before leaving. I merely glare daggers into his soul until he walks off in the other direction with Levi. I’m a little pissed. I spent ten dollars to drag his old butt in here to walk around for barely thirty minutes. At least I’m on his good side now.
My apartment is much more elaborate than you would assume for a college senior. Apparently my parents did not hate me as much as I once assumed since they personally dipped into their abundance of wealth to share with me. My apartment is on the top floor of one of those infamous New York skyscrapers seen in the pictures and has two bedrooms, two baths, a large kitchen beside a large living room, and even a big wide studio with ventilation, (so I don’t suffocate on fumes), and a wall dedicated to one large window for inspiration. Although this list isn’t very important, I can’t help but admire my living quarters every time I enter; I did only move in two months ago. The walls are painted a pale shade of grey that somehow shimmers in the light and the kitchen is entirely white and lime green. It is so modern and chic, so open and ritzy; it is what I dreamed of. I always dreamed of the fancy New York flat with my art studio. Of course, then the studio is to be designated for painting, but that obviously isn’t the case now.
After brewing myself a cup of coffee and adding four sugar packets to the bitter concoction I make my way to my precious studio. Deformed clay and stone figures were scattered and shattered across the room; some more dismembered than others. Several of the bodies are shoved into the back corner waiting for me to finish them. I feel bad, like a parent neglecting its child, but those sculptures weren’t fun to make. If I stop, I stop for a reason.
But tonight, as the time is nearing eight at night now, I can tell would not be like my recent art encounters. I feel prepared to dirty my hands and create some fucking masterpieces. I roll up my jacket sleeves and quite literally kick on the dirty boom box. I take a heavy sigh as an old emo song instantly takes off. I’d skip ahead but my hands are already elbow-deep in a clay bath. I swirl my arms around the orange tub until feeling the large clay clump soften and tear apart. I slab it down onto its base stand and take yet another sigh. I have an ugly lump of clay and no clue what I am planning on doing. I’m saved from my own mental torment when I feel my back pocket buzz. I haven’t even started yet and I have to go wash my hands. I ran over to the random-but-not-random-at-all,-sink in the room and rinsed off my hands and dried them on the crusty towel before finally checking my phone. Connie Springer. I breathe out the oxygen from my lungs in yet another dramatic sigh of the day. I tapped the green button.
“What.”
“JEAN MY LOVE! MY BEAUTY! I THOUGHT YOU WOULD NEVER ANSWER!” It isn’t Connie’s asinine voice over the speaker. This time it is a female’s, but it seemed to be someone just as foolish.
“Yeah uh… Hello? Who is this?” I race over to the stereo and kick it off, feeling my art boner fly away with it.
“UH WOW. It’s me Sasha. You know, your like, sister-in-law.” I haven’t met this girl yet but I can still imagine her twirling her hand and rolling her eyes at my ignorance.
“Ah hi there Sasha. I don’t think I’ve made the pleasure of meeting you. But why are you calling me? And on Connie’s cell?”
“He’s in the shower. It’s taking forever. You know, he has to rinse and repeat all those golden locks of his.”
“Hm, funny. Last time I saw Connie his hair is brown.” This earns a giggle from the other end since Sasha and I both know Connie’s head is completely shaved.
“You still haven’t told me why you’re calling.”
“Oh right!” She began, resembling Connie’s airheaded ways. “Connie wanted to surprise visit you in a few minutes and I wanted to make sure you’re okay with it. It kind of takes away the surprise but you know, better that than you being ticked at us.”
I like Sasha. She’s nice.
I give a small chuckle before replying.
“Thanks Sasha. It’s fine by me. I have nothing else to do anyways,” I say, eyeing my lump of clay. “See you soon.” With that, I end the call and decide to spend my final minutes alone cleaning my apartment.
My bachelor pad is not exactly dirty. It doesn’t have dirty clothes or dishes lying around. My bed isn’t usually unmade, and there are not any shoes just sitting at random places. Instead, I have paint everywhere, my furniture is shoved into weird places due to a party a couple of weekends ago, and I don’t dare to even glance at the accidentally shattered stone sculpture covered in smelly oils lying in the bathtub. I decide to clean that last.
I get a bit of a sweat, but I manage to get things where they’re supposed to be by the time Connie arrives. I hear the buzzer and press my finger against the pearly “unlock” button. After another minute, maybe two, I hear voices, then silence, and lastly a loud knock on my door. I open it to reveal my bald human of a friend and his “new meaning in life”, Sasha. She isn’t like I imagined, not that I have been picturing her. She just took me by surprise. Unlike Connie’s other investments, she isn’t filthy or sharing a close resemblance to Satan’s ass. Instead she is a short, yet still taller than Connie, crimson-scalped girl with a small nose and big emerald eyes. Her smile grew and grew until I begin to fear it would jump off her face.
“Connie.” She said, barely more than a whisper.
“What.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“THAT JEAN IS A CUTIE PATOOTY! LOOK AT HIS WEE LITTLE ARTSY OUTFIT AND HIS ‘IM GAYSEXUAL’ HAIRCUT OH MY GOD CONNIE LOOK AT HIM!” Connie’s face twists into some mixture of pride and embarrassment while Sasha continues to give me the up-down. I merely try to figure out how she knew my sexuality. Am I that obvious? I shake my head and allow them to enter my apartment. Without asking, Connie bolts to my fridge and pulls out two beers for he and Sasha while she still stares at me. I rub the back of my neck hoping her gaze would shift away. Once Connie tossed her the Sam Adams her eyes danced around my apartment.
“Nice place Jean.” The auburn slowly ventures further into the room until spotting my pure white sofa and then hopped onto to it, careful not to spill her beer. I cringe at the sight, expecting for the worse, but ended up surprised when nothing bad happened. Connie followed suit and fell onto the spot right beside Sasha. With his arm obnoxiously slung around the girl, he took another sip of the beverage and nodded me over. I obliged. Having very few friends made the friends you did have all the more possessive. I hadn’t expected them to stay for a long amount of time, but I know I am crazy for assuming that about Connie.
“So Jeanny Boy, how is your old man date with Professor Erwin?” I glare at him.
“Well you know,” I began, clicking my phone’s screen from on to off, then on again. “Fucking weird. We split ways for a few minutes and when I come back his face is right up in this other guy’s. Not in an angry way… more like a…”
“…A ‘I wanna empty your balls way?’” Sasha piped.
“Yeah exactly!”
I hurry through my adventurous story of Erwin and ‘Levi’ making the most disgusting faces to each other. Connie began to laugh like he always does when something is especially funny. He completely fell onto the ground and screamed into the carpet until Sasha yanked him back up to the couch scolding him for disrupting my downstairs neighbors (who banged something against their ceiling and shouted a neighborly “shut the fuck up”.) I don’t mention bumping into Marco or finding one of the single most stunning statues of my time. I’m not sure what Sasha would say to me following a random young girl a vacant hallway but I know Connie would make some joke or call bullshit. So instead I listen to Connie and Sasha talk about their lives together. From what I gather the two of them are already pretty domestic but more than anything those two are friends. I haven’t been in very many relationships, and none that have lasted more than two months, but I believe that has to be an important factor. Watching Sasha and Connie together is so strange since the two of them blend together like the sunset on an ocean. Their movements are in sync and their manners and words match. When Connie would reach over to the coffee table to grab his beer, Sasha would naturally bend to drink hers so neither of them would fall. It’s not like it is planned or anything, but the two of them are just able to live beside each other without killing one another; I wonder what that’s like.
Eventually, the conversation leads to the topic of Sasha’s party next weekend. I go to large social events every now and again, but going to Sasha’s sounded like a real tiresome event. Considering the fact I would end up being the DD I know I couldn’t even get smashed and enjoy myself.
“Oh god dammit Jean! It’s Sasha’s first party since you’ve met her,” I didn’t interrupt him to say I’ve only known her for an hour now, “and you totally need to come.” I would like to just say no, but since Sasha is right there I know I need to accept.
“Alright fine you jackass. I’m going for Sasha, not you, remember that.”
I would like to say the next week fast but to be honest it is one of the slowest of this year. Granted senior year is still fairly fresh, but this week is near to unbearable. I have Erwin first thing Monday morning and he is to say the least, embarrassing. He isn’t the worse part however; Connie came up with the bright idea during his class, to publicly ask him about his later endeavors with Levi. I watch Erwin’s face contort with humility, even though no one knows what Connie is talking about, then to rage. He questioned Connie but didn’t allow the baldy to respond. His furry caterpillar eyes were already glaring their caterpillar daggers into my soul.
That was only Monday. On Tuesday and Wednesday, I became unable to hold food down and is sweating through all my clothes. Of course, as a college senior I didn’t have the option to take a day off. Thus I am perspiring onto my class projects and essays and having some near-death experiences in class. For example, on Wednesday I am about to throw up in a lecture hall and I ended up convulsing forward until banged my head on the seat of the student in front of me. That is troublesome but it isn’t as bad as all the vomiting that occurred between classes. The train of terror ended when Thursday rolled around. I successfully ate a bowl of cereal for breakfast and then sushi for lunch. When I didn't throw up from the Meijer sushi I knew I am going to survive.
Today is Friday. Whatever had invaded my body is now completely gone and I felt much better, even if this week seemed never-ending. I’m relieved to be in the art studio, my favorite class. This class is not just my favorite class due to it being the last one before my long-awaited weekend, but it also is my sculpting class. It isn't just talking about projects or anything, I got to actually perform art here.
However, I am a little bummed since today Professor Hanji, as they liked to be called, decided to talk to us about our future. I have no clue what they’re talking about and end up distracting my mind with tedious little doodles in my notebook. I’m decent at drawing even if it’s not my chosen weapon. I finish off a sketch and begin a new portrait. A drew a boy, perhaps closer to a man, with soft yet dignified features and a unique chocolate haircut. With my chin and mouth resting in my palm, I stare blankly at my drawing. I like this person. A lot. I drew him again, from a different angle, in a different mood, in a different outfit. When I am done the class is nearing completion and something still felt missing after about six drawings of the boy.
“Hey man class is over.” I glance up to see a big bulky man that looked like he belonged on the football field rather than this classroom.
“Oh right. Thanks.” I speak as the blond burly man grabbed my notebook and looked at my drawing. Generally, I wouldn’t care so much at others looking at my art but I felt oddly attached to those sketches. I try to grab the notebook from him but the man tossed it over to another boy even taller than him. This boy isn’t as husky but he is nearly as tall as the vaulted ceiling.
“Reiner what are you doing? Stop tormenting him.” The tall brunette hands me my notebook back and takes his place beside the other.
“Sheesh Bert I'm not doing anything!” Bert glares at him until Reiner leaned in to kiss him on the forehead. I blush a little and start fumbling with my things, hurriedly putting them into my bag.
“Sorry. It’s just…” The blond who I gathered is Reiner began. “That guy you were drawing reminds me of this statue I saw at that new museum the other day.” I perk up at this. Statue? I am at the museum and it is strictly paintings besides the extra one found in the extra room.
“It’s only missing freckles.” He finished. Freckles? I pull the notebook back out for a second. I instantly recognized the face belonging to Marco. Marco has freckles. I’m not sure what Reiner is talking about but I know I have definitely drawn Marco.
“Freckles? On a statue?” I ask, wondering about the possibility.
“Yeah I know! It was really weird! There wasn’t a plaque but whoever the artist has to be really fucking talented!” Bert, the other tall guy, gave Reiner a playful smack at his choice of words. I guess he isn’t a fan of cursing. I continue to ponder over the idea of freckles on a statue. It seemed… not impossible, but instead dangerous. Carving millions of dots onto stone, marble, or a clay figure sounded like tedious work that would ultimately ruin a few people’s lives.
Reiner gave me a pat on the back and tugged Bert by his sleeve to leave the room. I am by myself now in the big open studio except for Hanji who is finishing cleaning up their desk. I took one last glance at my drawings of Marco before hastily shoving them back into my bag and leaving the class. I have decided to add freckles. After a bowl of soup and a well-deserved nap the clock flipped to nine at night and I know Connie, maybe even Sasha, would drop kick me if I didn’t attend the party. Thus I yanked my eyelids apart and ripped my head off the pillow. It is just like waking up for high school all over again. I want to cry but I know that is excessive. So instead I take a shower and get ready to babysit a drunken Connie.
Connie had sent me Sasha’s address but my phone failed to load it. That’s a lie. It said her address is in Antarctica and I have a gut feeling that isn’t true. Therefore I drove around the ritzy suburban area until finding the number Connie sent. Sasha parents apparently left her the house when they moved to Florida. It is pretty nice deal considering Sasha now has a big elaborate house. Luckily it is pretty far back in the neighborhood and secluded from the other houses since a mosaic of cars is already featured across her lawn. The scene looks like something out of the new Great Gatsby film. The house is lit up top to bottom and music could be seen vibrating the entire mansion.
I arrive later than most people and didn't want to get boxed in those who were arriving even later than I and end up parking all the way down the street. It is a chilly walk up the grassy road. It is eerie to pass all the empty cars but the scenic moment is obliterated when a bald kid is drunkenly found dancing in the back of his rusty Ford while screaming my name. I have no clue how Connie is already this wasted.
“Yo Springer, where’s the hat?” Connie’s face contorted into some drunken and excited glare and before he fell out of the truck. I give an exaggerated eye roll and lift him up by his arm. “Hat Connie.” He chuckles for a moment before standing up and reaching in his pocket to hand me the felt hat.
“There you go buddy bud Jeanny bud guy man.” His words are more than slurred and I know he can barely understand me at this point. I drag him into the crowded house by his shirt sleeve and shove my way through the crowd until I find Sasha, basically sober, pouring beer down a funnel and into some guy’s mouth. Okay this party is a bit too intense for me. I toss Connie over to Sasha who returns the favor by giving Connie a big squeeze and nodding me off. I am on hat duty. Basically I’m just the DD for everyone here except I won’t drive. I ask everyone who is drinking to give me their keys and put I them into the hat. Now they are stuck here, all nine million of them.
The party gets louder and heavier for the next couple hours but after an ungodly amount of Jell-O shots are taken the party seems to crash and burn around midnight. It is a sight alright. A hoard of wasted college students all crying, throwing up, and playing lazy games of truth and dare and never have I ever. The music has shifted from techno and pop to calming songs that seem to be lulling many inebriated souls into slumber. I felt tired and foolish from carrying the bag of keys for so long and decided to hand it off to one of the other DDs who were going to end up spending the night. I find Connie asleep on Sasha’s chest as she played some old Nintendo game that might as well have been on mute. I say my goodbyes and try to find the front door.
Turns out getting from one end of the house to the other is a difficult task. Layers of trash and passed out students are spread about the floor and tiptoeing around them is not my specialty. When I finally see the front door I quicken my pace. I’m stopped when a hand grabs my ankle and makes me fall face-first onto the tile ground.
“Oi what the fuck!” I yell. The wasted students didn’t flinch at the sudden loud noise but I heard a laugh emit from the culprit on the ground. I turn my phone’s flashlight on and aim it at the guy.
“Reiner?” I ask. I didn’t expect to see him again but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at a party like this.
“Why are you on the ground?” The blond chuckled before speaking.
“Sorry bud I thought you were Bertie.” His voice is a whisper and his face is close to mine. He shoved my head down smashing my face into the ground again.
“WILL YOU PLEASE STOP--?”
“Hush here he comes. And turn the damn light off.” I oblige and turn my phone’s light off and hide my face. Footsteps are heard coming from down the hall.
“Reiner?” Whispers a voice I recognize as Bert’s. “Where are you?” I watch the converse shoe land between our faces. The most malicious and terrifying grin can be seen invading Reiner’s face. I feel a wave of true fear in that moment. His hand clasped over Bert’s ankle and the boy fell just as I did, face first. Watching him fall is one of the most majestic things I have ever seen. It is almost in slow motion. The scream that parted the brunette’s lips is one of the highest-pitched squeals I had ever heard. This sound is followed by a horribly loud thud. This is followed by the thunderous laughter of Reiner. Reiner is just about screaming into the ground and Bert is lying still on his stomach with his hands by his side. He is either dead or too embarrassed to move. I hope it is the latter. Eventually, I laugh along with Reiner.
Apparently the two of us laughing is too loud because right when I chime in I hear Satan’s ass screaming at us.
“HORESFACE IF YOU DON’T SHUT THE FUCK UP I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL RIPS YOUR BALLS APART SLOWLY AND VICIOUSLY AND FEED THEM TO MY DOG.” The threat is enough to shut me up but Reiner only laughed louder. Bert and I both give Reiner’s meaty arm a whack to shut him up. I am too apathetic to even have the will to get angered by Eren Jaeger right now.
“Alright Jaeger lay off I’m leaving now anyway.” I stand up and watch as Reiner and Bert do the same. They follow me out the door and halfway down the street. I can hear them mumble about god knows what behind me.
“Where’s your car?” I ask when there are fewer cars and we are reaching the end of the line.
“What?” Reiner asked.
“Your car. Where is it?”
“Well.” I stop walking and turn to face them. Bert looked like he is about to hurl. “Oh my god Reiner you said he was going to drive us home.”
“I was hoping he wouldn’t notice us getting into his car.” Bert let out a loud cry and I only roll my eyes. This guy is spitfire alright. Much like Connie but less childish and more mischievous.
“Fine.” I say. “I’ll drive you home.”
Driving at night is both scary and calming. In the tired paradox of my own mind, I find myself driving towards my own apartment. I ask Reiner where I should take them but he just brushed off the manner and continued to poke around with the radio. A couple of minutes later we enter Manhattan again.
“Yo kid what’s your name anyhow?” I blink. I forgot I never mentioned my name.
“Oh. Jean.” I said allowing my French accent to flow through. I hope the exaggeration will be enough for them to pronounce it correctly. Reiner said some joke about my name that I end up missing.
“Okay, Jean.” He said, saying my name in an even more exaggerated voice. I shake my head and let him continue. “I’m Reiner as you know. And the sweaty kid in the back seat is Bertholdt. Feel free to just call him ‘Reiner’s date’ or Reiner’s boy’. That’s what most people do.”
“Please don’t.” Bert whispered in the back. I assure him that I won’t do such a thing. He looks genuinely grateful.
I shut back up for the rest of the ride thinking about nonsense. Truthfully I focus on how to spell Bertholdt’s name. I thought his name was Robert or just Bert. I’m surprised to hear such a weird name but I guess on a Manhattan campus you should be prepared for this shit.
I park my car in my usual spot found in the dirty parking garage. The music stops and the hum of the engine ceased leaving the three of us in a darkened silence.
“So,” I begin turning to face the two of them at once. “Where are you going?” Reiner just looked at me blankly. I sigh.
“Okay fine you can spend the night at my apartment.” Both he and Bert jumped and cheered. I ignore their excited applause and climb out of my car. It felt strange to bring two rather gigantic strangers to my apartment but I suppose they seem nice enough.
It isn’t really dark outside because of all the city lights. Manhattan never really got truly dark. I went camping one time and just like in the movies and books I am amazed at the sight of the stars. However, I am glad to return to the city. It’s easier here. New York carries life with it. It is one of the few places that has its own natural vibrancy. I loved it. It feels like the ground is moving all the time. I suppose it is, with the millions of pedestrians and taxis flying about.
Reiner and Bert stayed close to me. When I walked into the upscale apartment building they gave each other a look but continued to follow me.
“What floor are you on?” Bert asked me when I entered the elevator.
“Top one.” I answered quickly.
“Jean,” Bert replied beginning to give me an unsettling look, “are you…you know.”
“What?” I asked. Oh. “Rich? Yeah.” Reiner gave out a little squeal. I only roll my eyes and wait for the metal doors to glide open. Turns out both Bert and Reiner are not accustomed to people with a lot of money. One look at my apartment and they lost it. They compared me to Connie and Sasha’s places. I grew up with Connie and he didn’t have as much money as me but he was in the same square. We met at a fashion photoshoot and we both snuck out to eat the food before allowed. He had hair then. He actually looks better without it.
Reiner, much like Connie, flopped down onto my couch and exclaimed, “Beer me.” Bert only shook his head and this and whispered to me that he has had enough alcohol. I would have given him the beer but he is already asleep and under my blanket from the back of the sofa.
Bert and I talked for maybe an hour after he crashed. Nothing too personal but I end up really liking the guy. We have a lot in common and he’s really nice overall. Eventually he went to sleep on the big chair beside Reiner and went off to my bedroom. Page break
I never woke up comfortably. Sometimes my eyes are too dry or I am too hungry or my feet are too cold or I have a big headache. Something is always wrong. Today isn’t any different. Chilly white light filtered its way to my eyes through partially closed blinds. I grunt and roll but the attempt proved futile when laughter erupted from the kitchen. I look at my phone and flick the screen. Eleven. Truthfully this is earlier than I was expecting to wake up. I’m not hungover but I did get home late and was further exhausted by the two heathens creating the loud noises coming from my apartment.
I sit up and rub my eyes. My bones crack as I stretch and do so again when I stand up and head to my bathroom. I could have looked worse, but I certainly could look a lot nicer. I splash water onto my face and change into more comfortable and visually pleasing attire before heading back out into the fray. I discovered Bert poking around on his phone while his big boyfriend is standing in his underwear in my kitchen making breakfast. He is humming some theatrical tune that Bertholdt completely ignored. Once they noticed I am in the room they said their good mornings.
“Reiner’s making eggs, bacon, and cinnamon rolls.” I sit down in the barstool beside Bert’s.
“I didn't have any of those things.
“I know,” Bert began. “You were asleep for a very long time. Reiner was up around six and he walked over to the store a couple of streets down. I woke up a little after and cleaned up a bit. Hope you don’t mind.” I shake my head. I was bit annoyed last night having two houses these two strangers all of a sudden but I’m guessing this is their way of making it up. Connie hasn’t done anything this considerate in all our years of friendship. It doesn’t make him any less of a friend but it does emphasize how attentive these two are. I haven’t had a decent homemade meal in quite some time and the idea of it excited me more than I care to admit.
I sit somewhat patiently as Reiner continued to make my piece of bliss for the day, His humming turned into singing. I’m fairly sure he is singing songs from musicals but I can’t say which ones. I want to say Rent or Hairspray but I can’t be positive. It is entertaining to watch him dance around while Bert merely continued to scroll through Instagram and Tumblr completely ignoring his partner. He must be used to it.
When I heard the timer go off I may or may not have gotten too excited and jumped a bit. I try to cover it up by grabbing my mug and taking a sip of coffee. The flavor is bitter (like my soul) and left me wanting my breakfast even more. Reiner slid a couple of rolls onto three spate plates and added bacon and eggs to them as well. He first placed on in front of me, which I thanked him for, then one in front of Bert, who sat down his phone finally, and then stood on the other side of the counter to eat where he is standing.
I took a bite.
The taste is something indescribable. I would blame it on my empty stomach being greedy but I know this food is also just really well made.
“Reiner how in the hell did you do this?” I ask not even attempting to hide my surprise and delight. Reiner merely chuckles at my question. Bert’s the one who answers.
“Reiner did a year of culinary school. He is planning on becoming a chef.” His answer is simple and he took a bite of his food as if asking me to move on. I know I shouldn't want push at things further but I’m always really nosy.
“So why did you quit school?” I ask, turning back to Reiner.
“Money.” Came Bert’s reply. Reiner acted as if he didn’t hear the conversation and silently ate his food. Bert’s sudden curtness is enough for me to realize I need to back off. I nod my head and turn back to my food.
Money though. I feel selfish and greedy for not considering that an issue. My family is wealthier than most and I grew up in ritzy areas of the world where I wasn’t surrounded by moderate-income homes. I sigh to myself and take a swig of coffee before realizing Reiner asked me a question.
“Sorry, what was that?” I ask.
Reiner smiled. “Bert and I are heading back to that new museum later and we were wondering if you wanted to join us.” Today is Saturday and I know I have nothing better to do. Scratch that, I have a lot of homework and a commission to finish.
“Yeah sure. Thanks.” I reply. God dammit me. Oh well. If my trip to the museum is anything like the last one I’m fairly pleased with tagging along. Reiner and Bert continue their meaningless chatter beside me. I listen in at first hearing them talk about the rooms they didn’t go to during their first visit to the museum and the painting they wish to see again. I kept eating my food and allowed my mind to travel off into its own direction. I feel foolish that it almost instantly fled to Marco. I can’t say why but my brain seems to be obsessed with him. I suppose that means I am obsessed with him. I nonchalantly take yet another sip of my coffee. I hope Marco is there today. I know he won’t be since the odds are low. Even if he went to the museum I doubt I would coincidentally bump into him. I sigh into my bit of eggs. Well damn.
The museum is far less crowded than it had been during my first visit. People scattered themselves sparsely across the rooms standing idly for long amounts of time. I suppose these are the dedicated artists that came back for the second visit. Like last time I’m forced to pay for the tickets, (not that I’m mad. I am the breadwinner of this threesome), and end up following the two I came herewith. Reiner and Bert doddle around the ornate rooms with their hands entwined. Reiner seems more fascinated with his boyfriend than the paintings that surround him. Bert often distracts him with small glances, smiles and sweet kisses. Reiner is more than grateful for these things and returns the favors with the humblest grin I’d ever see.
It’s not like I am jealous… but I’m a little jealous. Sure I have had more than one serious and committed relationships but nothing got so domestic and simple. And it’s not that I’m desperate or lonely but coming home to someone who is actually breathing, warm, and has a heartbeat sounds comforting. Everything sounds better than my gig now. I’m the richest kid on Wall Street but coming home to shattered stone and clay and the only noise coming from the heater in the winter and the AC in the summer. Being alone might be a bit glorified. Being alone so often makes you begin to do strange things. I pretend my kitchen is the Broadway stage too often and the ground is lava. Also I have too large a stack of drawings scattered about the apartment. Many of the drawings now are Marco. Thinking of which…
Reiner and Bert are holding hands with their heads rested against each other as they sat on a bench facing a painting. Darling.
Without any warning I sneak away from the lovebirds and make my way towards the somewhat familiar hallway. I don’t remember the grey walls being this suffocating. Why am I nervous? It’s not like anyone is going to be in the empty room let alone a freckled Marco.
I am right I suppose. Marco isn’t there nor is anyone else. In fact the door is closed and locked with a ‘do not enter’ sign hanging loosely on it. I frown to myself. I had gotten my hopes too high. I turn around to go and find the happy couple. At the end of the hall I can see a short girl blonde girl, not older than then, staring straight at me.
“Historia?” I ask, not thinking about my choice of words. A smile grew on her face. She skipped towards me, grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the door. I didn’t object. She walked through most of the museum until we found ourselves in the back room. In the corner is one of the most beautiful women. She is tall, strong and built, but with soft feminine features. She reminded me of Marco. In fact her body is covered in freckled from head to toe as well.
“Ymir! Ymir!” The child beside me is bouncing in her little shoes when she saw the woman. She let go of my hand and bounded towards her. At this, Ymir (I believed her name to be), turned and bent down to pick the younger girl up. She has a calm smile. A warming smile.
“Jean?” Ymir said, beckoning for me to come over. I walk over towards her. With the child in one hand, she uses the other to pat me on the back quite aggressively. I flinch at the pain and found to my despondency Ymir noticed and chuckled. She isn’t like the others I had met here. She is loud and brash. It is refreshing to be honest however it did remind me of Reiner and could always use a break from that big goof.
I clear my throat, deciding to stop being quiet and actually talk. “So… how do you know my name?”
Ymir only offered a smile and shook her head. “Little birdy told me. Now, I have a big favor to ask of you. You ready?” Ymir spoke directly at me. Her brown eyes gazing calmly into mine. I recognize her then. I’m not sure how it took me this long. Her name and appearance are the same. It’s so obvious to me now that it’s embarrassing to have missed it. She has to have been the one from the painting. The muse perhaps. I can’t recall the year the painting is made, but here is the focal point standing right in front of me alive and breathing. I push away supernatural thoughts and settle with her being the model.
“What’s the favor?” I ask, stopping my thoughts and ending the drawn-out silence.
“Well,” Ymir began, adjusting her hold on the child. “As rude as it is,” she became bashful, shy even. She is oscillating in her actions. It is strange to see someone jump back and forth so sporadically. “Me and Historia here need a place to stay. I can’t tell you why but it shouldn’t for long. I know you don’t know us but it would be for a good cause and—.”
“Okay.”
“Wait. Really?” I nod my head. I am already taking care of two gumballs and two more shouldn’t be too difficult. Sure my apartment is not large, but I have more than enough money and the will to handle it.
“So… do you have any stuff or….?” Her smile faltered and she shook her head.
“No. It’s just us. I may be taller but I’m sure I can fit into your clothes.” She cackled at this. I tug on my sleeve and shrug. I suppose she could wear my clothes. As for the munchkin, we might have to go shopping.
“Yo Jean who are you talking to?” Reiner shouted towards from across the room. Bert is beside him shushing him for being too loud.
“HE TALKING TO ME!” Ymir yells back at him even louder. Reiner gets a big dopey grin and Bert looks mortified.
“AH SO HES TALKING TO YOU? WHY THE FUCK IS HE TALKING TO YOU?”
“HE'S TALKING TO ME BECAUSE I'M TALKING TO HIM!” Bert whimpers and I do a classic palm to the face. Historia looks genuinely amused.
“OH? WHY YOU TALKIN TO JEANBO HERE? HE'S PRETTY LAME!” Reiner at this point is shrieking at the very apex of his lungs. Ymir, once again, gave her witch-like cackle. Her snickering is almost louder than Reiner’s booming voice. It is loud enough for Bert to become a sweating mess and for a familiar face to come in and scold us. Levi, as it turns out, is more taken with Erwin that I had originally anticipated. I said Erwin liked me, heaven knows why, and that he wouldn't kick me out if I could get my group to settle.
Turning back to my group, which is a weird thing to consider them my people since I’ve known for no more than a couple days and am now living with them, and see Reiner has taken a liking to Ymir. She doesn’t seem to care if he had or hadn’t but it’s nice to know the future flatmates are getting along.
“Jean this kid is cool. I vote we take her and her princess home and let ‘em live with us.”
“About that Reiner…” I begin but end up trailing off. On the far side of the room, I see someone familiar. My heart skips a beat when my mind jumps to Marco. That’s impossible though and I know it.
“Ymir,” I say with the biggest smile I can muster, which of course is not large. “You can break the news to Reiner.” With that, I go to follow someone who isn’t even here.
My shoes did not agree with the marble. That and the fact that I am speed walking through a museum made it really difficult to make it across one room to the next. I’m slipping every few steps and on any other occasion, I would have been completely embarrassed. I mean, fuck, I am already following a ghost why not add stumbling over myself as I run through the place.
Whoever I am chasing, whether it is Marco or not, isn’t found on the first floor. I sigh, feeling my lungs burn slightly from the adrenaline working the extra oxygen. I go up the stairs, slowing my pace but still taking two steps at once. I haven’t been upstairs yet and found it open and empty. There were tall windows on every wall brightening the empty lemon walls. A couple of people are found sitting and talking to each other, but overall not very many people are up here. I walk slowly; I feel like I’m in foreign territory. It is far brighter up here and looking towards the windows would mean being blinded.
The giggles from the couple died away and the only noise to be heard is my heels hitting the ground beneath me. Marco wasn’t in the first long room, nor was he in the second. When I turned into the third room I could see him. Standing still, his hands clasped behind his back yet again as he stared out the tall window. The yellow light illuminated him much better than the fluorescent light ever did. His freckles looked like stars against his honey skin. I am weak and I know it. My knees felt like they’re buckling but I honestly don’t give a damn right now. I walk forward. Marco didn’t turn nor did he move. It almost looks like he isn’t breathing. I take a spot next to him and look out the window. Whatever is happening outside is not early as interesting as the side of his face. After is a long time but felt like a moment, he turned to face me. A smile grew on his face that suited so perfectly.
“This is romantic is it not?” His words sounded like music and I let out a breath I forgot I was holding. I blink a few times and force a smile. I probably look absurd but he merely smiled grander and looked back out the window. He is gorgeous. His shoulders are broad and strong. His eyes are of the deepest shade of brown. His hair is almost darker than his eyes, but a few chocolate swirls were closer to chestnut than onyx. And although I felt myself melting into him, his scent, and his radiating warmth, I couldn’t ignore the uncomfortable feeling growing in my stomach. It felt like I had been told I have a week to live, or something equally worse. It is a negative feeling overwhelmed with fear. I stare at Marco. He gave me everything good in the world but packaged with it is a sickening taste of fear. He looked out of place. His clothes were pale and outdated. His hair, as dazzling as it is, appeared old fashioned. His entire existence is discordant with mine. It is interesting and somewhat stimulating but it isn’t normal. No one, no matter how unique, is that foreign and out-of-place in the New York City community. I like him for it. I clearly do. I’ve always been picky and with high standards. Damn.
“Jean are you up here?” I should go to Ymir but I keep my eyes on Marco hoping they would keep him right beside me. If feels like he’ll vanish if I look away.
“JEAN GOD DAMMIT I KNOW YOU’RE UP HERE!” That makes me turn. Ymir is standing in the arch still holding Historia.
“Hey Ymir. Sorry I was talking to—.” I turn.
Marco is gone. That little shit.
Reiner and Bert didn’t ride home with Ymir and I. Reiner covertly spoke about ‘having something to take care of first’. Bert, on the other hand, said they merely wanted to take a stroll around the city. Hell knows why. I let them go their own way without a fuss. They aren’t my kids although Reiner’s childish behavior sure made me think otherwise. Historia is better behaved than him though she isn’t even near half his age. I think he could learn a thing or two from her. By the time Ymir and I arrived at my apartment, Historia had fallen fast asleep in Ymir’s arms. I flick the light on, sighing at the sight of a place I spend way too much time at.
“Jean this kid is getting heavy so can you can take her?” I nod and take the sleeping child from her. Ymir became increasingly quiet the closer to my place we got. Maybe it is that or perhaps it is us becoming increasingly distant from the museum. Her loud demeanor diminished and left her tired and quiet. I suppose suddenly moving into a stranger’s home because you were previously homeless could do a toll on someone’s mental condition.
“I suppose we are going to need you guys some clothes and maybe a crib for her,” I say, nodding my head down to the kid. Ymir gives a small nod and buries her head into her palms.
“Don’t worry about her,” she begins, her voice dry. “She’ll grow fast so she won’t need much until she’s older.”
“Children do grow fast but she will still need some stuff until then.” I know I shouldn’t push Ymir in such a vulnerable state.
“Jean… She’ll be our age by the end of the month.”
I can’t say I never believed in the supernatural.
I act like a jackass but I’m pretty wimpy when it comes to vampires, ghosts, and wizards. Wimpy as in I grew up obsessed with the supernatural but too afraid to deal with any real life evidence. A week after Ymir moved in Historia grew from seven to twelve. He young girl looked a bit fuller and more mature. I chose to ignore it but it didn’t stop me from hearing their whispers at night about the pain Historia is going through because she is growing so fast. Their murmurs are always hushed but they were so serious and dissonant to the natural sounds of outside Manhattan coming through my closed window.
Historia is not the only one to change rapidly. When I first met Ymir, oh not much more than a week ago, she had that same exhilarating taste Marco carried. Historia of course had it as well but it is never as obvious as the two freckled adults. Ymir felt like an outdated photo in the middle of a museum for contemporary art. Actually, that is what she is. Well, was. That foreign taste left with each day and she blended in well. She is wearing more modern clothes and spoke like all other New York college students. (Not that she had much issue with her speech in the first place.)
Reiner and Bert always spent their nights in here, but generally ventured out into the city during the day. If they have nowhere else to go I’m not sure how they’re affording college but I didn’t want to step out of line and ask.
Becoming the sudden caretaker of three broke adults and a demonic child has made me lose focus on classes and art. This past week I manage to attend most of them but I don’t do much work outside of them. Ymir proves helpful in cleaning the apartment clean and occasionally cooking odd lunches and dinners for the family. Bert helps with laundry and Reiner doesn’t help much except learning to sleep quietly. I like it though, coming home to people not living in literal filth. Yeah, it’s pretty chill.
After two more weeks, Historia has grown an entire foot. She is a few inches above five inches and truthfully it freaked me out. I don’t know how long she has been alive and breathing but I do know that she has to have matured to about sixteen years or maybe eighteen. She developed into a pretty damn beautiful girl. Thank god Reiner and Bert are gay and good people because her living with three boys seems a bit too risqué to me. I have to admit that I miss the child I met her as but she is still young inside. She blew through her child so utterly fast and missed out on so much. She spoke as if she is our age and I know she has to have been smarter than me even without going to school. She acted normal and did fairly normal things throughout the day. Ymir became closer to her instead of acting as a mother for her.
It is Sunday night. I had recently fallen asleep after tormenting myself by listening to Ymir and Historia’s whispers. I wake up to screaming. My body is dripping with sweat and my lungs feel like they’re punctured. I’m not screaming though. I jump up and out of bed but hesitate before opening the door. I’ve always given her and Ymir space, let them handle whatever the hell is happening on their own. Her screams contort into more of a sob then eventually die down into a soft whimper. I rest my forehead against my bedroom door and listen. It sounded so painful.
“Historia… please… I’m sorry…I…”
“God fucking damn it! Ymir why didn’t you fucking tell me then have me figure it out like this. You just fucking waited for this day to arrive and knew I would want to just die and…” Her voice snapped and her sobs began again. I can’t imagine what Ymir must be feeling right now. I sigh, feeling my eyes sag with slumber and my arms pimple from the chilly air. I climb back into bed and shut my eyes. Sleeping is futile as long as Historia kept crying and yelling. I could listen to music to drown her out but that seemed selfish. The whole point of crying is to be heard. So I’ll let her.
What I guess to be about an hour later, I find myself a shivering mess. Knowing I would soon die from dehydration or hypothermia, I rise to my feet and patter to the door. The light has turned off and the voices have ceased so I assumed the two girls were asleep. I turn the doorknob and give the door a nudge. I cringe at the loud squeak it makes and hastily pushed it open. The fridge is down the hall and to the right and the thermostat is down the hall and to the left. Damn.
I get my water first. Reiner’s snoring covers the noise of me opening the refrigerator and even dropping the water bottle on the ground. Thanks, man, I owe you.
The Thermostat is actually trickier to deal with. It is SO VERY conveniently located next to the couch where Ymir is sleeping. Historia is in the big closet thing where I had bought an extra bed for the team to share. I don’t move slowly, but I move silently to the plastic box. I never touch this thing. Turns out it beeps fucking loud every time you press a button. I hit the up button once, wince, and then rapidly bump it four more times.
“Jean?” Well shit. I turn around. Ymir is sitting up, her pillow looking untouched.
“Ymir get some fucking sleep. You need it.” She huffs at me before pulling out her hair tie and plopping down onto her pillow.
“Jean.” She says again.
“What Ymir?”
“Look… thanks okay.”
“I…yeah, I know Ymir.”
“No Jean,” she says sternly as she clutches onto her pillow.
“You don’t know anything but you’re acting like it’s okay. I mean Jean, look at Historia!”
I turn, the girl has aged a couple of years within the last time I saw her today. Fuck.
“She’s done aging Jean. And…and… and so am I. Tonight she fell over and fucking remember her past life. The damn life she lived with me and you and Marco and…” Ymir cried into her pillow. I'm not even in awe. I'm not surprised. I can’t say I knew this already or that I understand it now, but it doesn’t surprise me.
“Wait.”
“Jean no please just ignore what I said.”
“Did you say me? Marco?”
“Jean please I’m begging you to not go to Mar—.”
I was already out the door.