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On the roof of the apartment complex, the two of them share a cigarette. In between his fingers is that nearly-gone burning stick, and resting gently in her palm is the lighter keeping them going.
Pulling it up to his lips, Jean inhales slowly and allows all the smoke to enter his lungs before it’s exhaled with all the same softness. His head is resting against Ymir’s shoulder, legs right beside hers.
She’s never been as touchy with her platonic affections as he is, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t appreciate the closeness. In the late hours of the night, the company is greatly appreciated.
Ymir allows him to have the rest of that first cigarette. There’s plenty more available if they choose indulgence over caution.
Little dialogue comes between them. Her head leans against his own, like a sort of half-embrace. Keeping close to her most cherished friend while a mild breeze brushes over her skin and annoyingly forces some strands of hair over her eyes.
Sometimes Ymir can’t help but think that the feature of Jean’s she is most jealous of is his perfectly well-kempt mullet. Never even an individual hair out of its proper place, unless she decides to be an asshole and mess it up for him. Just to get some anger out of him by instinct. Just to rile him up for her personal entertainment.
He can’t even remember when the two of them decided to pick up smoking. Must’ve been a spontaneous decision. Maybe Eren recommended they give it a go and they had no better reason to decline the offer. Regardless, it’s become a little hobby of theirs. Just once a week, they make sure to meet somewhere to light up and just . . Relax. Talk about whatever comes to mind. It’s a source of comfort for both of them.
When he runs out of cigarette left to smoke, the tiny remnants get flicked away, plummeting from the rooftop down all the stories, likely landing under some strangers' foot, pressed into the pavement.
Not that it’s any of their concern.
It’s already forgotten about, no longer relevant.
Jean reaches for the box beside him and pulls out another one. Bringing it up between his lips again, he lifts his head and leans closer to Ymir. Giving her an obvious signal that it’s her time to shine.
A playful scoff escapes her, along with a grin.
“You’re greedy, Kirstein. Didn’t your momma teach you how to share things?”
Still, she raises the lighter and ignites the end of the cigarette, starting the process all over again before closing her fingers around it and hiding it once more.
He only takes one drag before his wrist shifts and the drug is offered to his companion. Jean wears a similar expression to the girl beside him, so full of amusement even at this time of night.
“Just wanted to get it started for you, dumbass. Where’s my ‘please’ and ‘thank you’?”
Taking it from his possession, Ymir takes her sweet time before she decides to give a response. The smoke gets blown out impossibly slow, with full awareness that it’ll knock at Jean’s wavering patience. A compulsive need to have the final clever word.
“You don’t deserve it.”
Now that his hands are completely free, he’s willing to wrap his arms around her neck from the side, hugging her closer as she smokes. Still keeping his cheek pressed against the top of her shoulder.
“That’s so disappointing. You used to be so much meaner to me. You getting a soft spot for me?”
Neither of them seems to be able to resist the chance to tease the other. Relentlessly. A never-ending constant that just showcases how close of a bond they share. Normal friends express their adoration through kind affirmations and sweet gestures — these two aren’t satisfied unless they’re laughing and throwing insults they don’t actually mean.
Ymir just shakes her head and shoves some of her body weight into him. He was partially right. When they met, she didn’t like him nearly as much as she does now. Jean really grew on her like some kind of invasive weed. Meant in the nicest way possible.
“You want me to keep insulting you? Must be some kind of weird kink of yours. What are you doing with a real sweetheart like Marco?”
That manages to get him to blush. His face flushes bright red even at a simple mention of his beloved boyfriend. She knows just how much Jean adores the boy and uses that to her advantage, just to get him all flustered and embarrassed.
“Quit it.”
Even from those two words, Ymir can hear that his voice has gotten quieter. More meek. Trying his hardest to cover up the fact that his head is now consumed by thoughts of Marco Bodt (and failing miserably).
“Nah. It’s cute, Kirstein. I’m just glad you recovered from the heartbreak of Mikasa Ackerman back in high school. You were such a mess . . It was a little embarrassing.”
Her bringing up those memories only turns him a brighter shade of red, though he’s not allowing her the satisfaction of seeing it for herself. Continuously hiding in her shoulder does the trick, with the moonlight providing further protection.
“You were a good wing-woman.”
Bringing the cigarette down and away temporarily, Ymir starts laughing so hard she starts coughing. Causing herself to feel such an enjoyable amount of amusement, and she hasn’t even gotten to say what she’s thinking.
“Everyone knew you were in love with him except you, Jean. I was scared the poor boy was going to explode if you waited much longer to figure it out. Just gave you the little push you needed.”
The teasing thoroughly ruffles him, plastering his face with the sweetest shade of pink, different than the hue it had before. Takes on a more romantic element, rather than pure embarrassment. She wasn’t wrong, not even a little bit, even Jean was willing to temporarily toss away his stubborn nature to admit that. After all, how many guys stare so long at their ‘best friend’ that they start drooling and fall into a trance? Everything was so obvious, Jean felt compelled to profusely apologize for his idiocy after they’d settled in together.
That reminds him, though, that he isn’t the only one here with that experience.
Feeling some mischievous tendencies, Jean can’t resist a gentle smirk from forming, a soft laugh surfacing. His head comes off of her shoulder, giving him the ability to make eye contact laced with arrogance, a cat preparing to pounce. Though he may be less intimidating with a blush adorning his features, Ymir knows that expression /well/.
“Don’t you fuckin’ dare, Kirstein.”
But she knows that there’s no stopping him once he’s started.
“If I remember correctly, you couldn’t keep your eyes off Historia in class. I’d try and talk to you but you ignored me .. too busy staring at the pretty girl in the front row. Or am I remembering that wrong?”
Flustered, more than she’d like to admit, Ymir starts a new cigarette, stealing the lighter and igniting the end, hogging the drug for herself. Not even offering to her companion. She feels he doesn’t deserve it after pulling such a trick.
“You’re an ass, you know that?”
That doesn’t change the fact that she’s smiling. Grinning, in a more accurate term.
“Didn’t answer my question.”
Realizing she’s been caught in a trap with no escape but indulging in the truth, Ymir shakes her head at him and laughs through the embarrassment of being made a little lovesick fool.
“Alright, alright … You got me. But you still took longer . . I’m impatient. Felt like I was gonna go insane if I didn’t tell her.”
“I’m impatient, too . . I’m just also an idiot.”
His self-deprecation eases the space between them, making them both start laughing like they’re back in high school, joking around about the dumbest things in the back of Mr. Smith’s English lecture. Jean looks at Ymir as she smokes her cigarette, smiling . . Reflecting on how fortunate he was to get a best friend that suits his humor so well.
When they calm down, breathing simultaneous sighs of relaxation, he poses a question. Something he’s been thinking about for a while.
“How’d we get so lucky?”
Jean thinks about it often. Thinks about it when he’s cuddling Marco as they nap, as that absolute sweetheart rests right over his boyfriend’s heartbeat and gets his head cradled as gently as possible. Thinks about it when he’s about to fall asleep himself, and when they both wake up the next morning. When he’s presented with the opportunity to silently gush over the boy he’s in love with, Jean seizes it without hesitation.
Still, the silence leaves ample space for doubting himself and his worthiness to be the ever-beloved chosen of, in his perspective, the single most incredible person that’s ever walked the Earth.
Ymir feels the same.
Completely unsure how a real jerk like her managed to woo the prettiest girl in town, a girl that everyone was vying for, and yet . . Historia chose her. Between all the obnoxious jokes and not-so-subtle flirting . . There had always been something growing between them. When Ymir’s got her arm draped over Historia’s shoulders, walking around in public, she wonders if people see them together, wonders what’s going through their heads. As much as she’d like to preserve her outwardly arrogant shell, those thoughts still eat at her. Being with the girl of her dreams is the best thing to ever happen to her.
She only worries because she’s scared of fucking everything up, ruining the one thing that seems to be going perfect for her.
They both lose themselves in thought.
Only after a decent pause does Ymir finally acknowledge Jean’s original question. Still lacking all the vulnerability she’d like to express aloud, with the assistance of the nicotine. Sarcasm and snarky insults are what she relies on.
“Gotta be dumb luck, right? I doubt it was your flirting skills that got Marco hooked.”
“Yeah? Not sure how Historia could’ve fallen for you . . Never seen someone look so pissed all the time. Like you wanna strangle someone.”
“You’re full of shit, Jean. You look in the mirror too much for that to be true.”
It’s incessant, the backtalk, the rude comments. With anyone else, there would be tears, hurt feelings. With them, it’s all to be expected. Despite those expectations, there’s an urge within Jean to make things sweet again.
“Lay off me, idiot . . You’re just trying to get out of talking about your feelings.”
He hits the nail right on the head, and Ymir averts her gaze. Too stubborn to verbally validate his assessment, accurate as it may be.
Seeing that, Jean smiles, reaching over to steal the cigarette from right between her fingers. Amused as he enjoys his find, he doesn’t add any more lightheartedly taunting words . . Allows the silence to soothe his friend.
It works.
She sighs, immediately shifting to bump Jean on the shoulder. Looking down at the pavement beneath them.
“Ah . . You got me. You’re real smart, huh?”
Feeling like progress was made, Jean is content with advancing the conversation. Blowing out a cloud of smoke before adjusting into a position where she’s forced to look at him again, sitting right in front of her and poking her. Annoying, but effective.
“Go on, then . . Tell me about her.”
Pushing the envelope, testing her limits.
Testing her patience, how much she can take before giving him a smack.
Luckily, his insistence wears her down.
Ymir knows damn well she isn’t getting out of this without a big fight, one she’s too tired to engage in.
“She’s nothing like what people think about her, you know? Everyone thinks she’s just a prissy trust-fund baby . . But that’s not true, not at all. She’s such a sweet girl . . You know it’s not easy to make me smile big . . She can do it.”
Watching, Jean can see her getting more and more excited as she talks. Voice losing its typical underlying tone of boredom. That’s the detail that makes him happiest.
“I’ve never thought of getting married . . Not until I met her. All that sappy shit . . That was your thing, not mine. She’s driving me crazy, now . . Got me thinking about a fancy wedding with her. How pretty she’d look in a big white dress.”
Smiling, he gently hits her again, just to regain some of her attention.
“You’d look good, too. Don’t forget that.”
“Yeah, yeah . . Let me focus on her.”
An eye-roll and Jean moves his body away, propping himself up against a hard surface. Facing her, but giving some distance.
“Sorry . . Thought I’d be nice.”
The space allows Ymir to stretch out her arms and legs, groaning in the process. Their choice of seating isn’t exactly comfortable.
“Well . . Your turn.”
Only natural.
Would’ve been asking too much of her to spill her guts to him without getting something in return.
“I never tell him how much I love him enough . . At least, that’s what it feels like. I say it ten thousand times a day but it never feels like enough. He’ll get all blushy when I grab his face before kissing him and calling him handsome . . But I wanna do more. You know what I mean?”
“‘Course I do. I get it. But you’re a real romantic, Jean. I’m sure you’re doing fine. Got that boy wrapped around your pretty little finger.”
The compliment makes him flush again. Takes everything within Jean to not plead Ymir to start blushing for once as well, just to prove she can, and to not leave him isolated.
“I’m gonna put a ring on /his/ pretty little finger one day. Maybe you can be the flower girl or somethin’ funny like that.”
Ymir snorts at the thought of her wearing a dress, tossing flower petals down the aisle. What a sight, never anything she could imagine without laughing.
“Nah, I’m Best Man material. Tell Connie he’s got competition there, will ya?”
Imagining the petty conflict that could arise from that makes Jean join her in her amusement. Definitely a possibility to consider.
“Will do. I’m sure he’ll be happy.”
“I can handle him. Rough him up if I gotta. Maybe we can have a boxing match to decide who gets the spot.”
As silly as the conversation is, thinking about a future wedding is making Jean feel so relaxed, at ease. The only thing capable of suppressing his smile is when there’s a cigarette interrupting it temporarily.
An idea arises. Some sort of compromise.
“Let’s get married together. Double wedding. You think Historia will agree to it? I’m sure Marco would.”
“Don’t know . . Have to ask. Might take some convincing.”
Forming a plan. A good step, for a couple of twenty-somethings just starting adulthood. Maybe getting ahead of themselves a little, but neither seems to care much. Instead, Jean only pushes them further into their daydreams.
“Be cheaper if we did it together. Might help to sweeten the deal.”
“I’ll book the chapel.”
“I’ll get an officiant.”
Flicking away the remainder of the cigarette, he resigns, designating that as his last one for the time being. Enough nicotine in the system to last for hours on end. His eyes fixate on his best friend again, and a cocksure smile takes center stage again.
“Sounds like a plan.”