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As all reasonable things, sharing a room with Eren had its pros. But sharing a room with Eren was anything but reasonable, and rather, as Jean liked to put it: a never ending pain in the ass.
Especially today.
“You know, I’m starting to think these admirers of yours really just want you to get diabetes,” said Jean as he studied the small mountain of chocolate boxes littering Eren’s nightstand. That, and a dozen of shockingly pink cards, heart-covered envelopes and pieces of fancy parchment cloistering the vicinity of Eren’s four poster bed.
“Don’t be jealous, Jeannie-boy, you’ll find your mare,” snickered Eren, popping his head out of the neck of his school sweater. His feet slipped a little as he dodged the pillow Jean threw his way. "You want one?" he offered, picking up a box of candy and making a face. "Who sends rose infused chocolate anyway?"
Jean watched Eren open the box and plop a chocolate into his mouth. "The same people who think sending you a Valentine's Day gift is a good idea, apparently."
"You know, I really am starting to think you're jealous," Eren said, still munching on the candy and looking every bit like he was regretting his decision of ever eating anything rose-flavored. "Valentine's not that big of a deal anyway. Gosh, these are outrageous…"
"Let me try," Jean reached for the box Eren was holding. "Valentine's not the problem here, Jaeger. It's the fuss people make out of it. Besides, the girls in this place must be crazy if they're sending these gifts to you, of all people," he said, chewing on the chocolate monstrosity and trying not to gag. “Oh wow, these really are terrible.”
And yeah, Jean was being a prick about this. Because he could certainly understand why people fell for Eren. Hell, he was in a perfect position to understand, as he happened to be one of them.
Most days Jean considered it a curse. A rather severe case of bad luck. Wonky karma. Because the stupidly pretty green eyes and the mischievious smile made ignoring his feelings all the more difficult. That, and sharing most classes and a room with the bastard. From the moment he woke up Jean would be reminded of Eren's presence, when he would slip out of bed and hear the pop-rock blaring through the bathroom's door, or have to step over heaps of discarded clothing. It was etched into the way the room always faintly smelled of Eren's shampoo, or how Jean would be reminded of Eren's fingers plucking guitar chords whenever he heard notes of a particular song. It was in the way the coffee tasted a little too sweet in the morning, because Eren liked it that way, or the way the boy's whispered name reached Jean's ears when he passed a group of giggling third-years in the hallway.
And yet, Eren was so much more than a fleeting presence in Jean's life. He was the spark and the flame all at once: a fire that roared bright and fierce. And most days Jean found himself burning from its sheer intensity.
Absent-mindedly, he thumbed the Headboy badge fastened to his shirt, all the while watching Eren course through the pile of sweets. They had class in less than thirty minutes --- History of Magic for Jean and Charms for Eren --- and they haven't even been down to breakfast yet. Armin and Marco had left a while ago, and judging by the pointed look Armin had thrown Jean before disappearing into the door frame -- a knowing look, a compassionate look -- the upcoming day was promising to be a nightmare to deal with. Because the chocolates and the notes and even the single red rose Eren had woken up to this morning were only the beginning of Jean's troubles. And he damn well knew it.
Ten minutes later, with Eren at his side, Jean marched into the Great Hall, bracing himself for the assault of red-and-pink on his occipital lobe, and --- yep, yep , sure enough, it hit him in a flutter of heart-shaped confetti. He was still sputtering and picking the annoying little pieces of paper off his clothes when they sat down at the Gryffindor table across from Mikasa, whose gaze flickered, lightning-quick, from Eren to Jean and back again, and Jean felt his face heat from the unspoken question woven into the girl's glance. He coughed awkwardly and reached for a piece of French toast, proceeding to top it with an absurd and undoubtedly unhealthy amount of raspberry jam. On his left, Eren was busy stirring sugar into his Earl Grey.
Jean took a look around himself. Overnight, the Great Hall had been tastefully furnished with all kinds of heart-shaped decorations. The banisters along the walls had been drawn up and replaced with long ribbons of flowing silk, and scented candles strategically lined the House tables, engulfing the place in a heady scent of vanilla. Morning classes had already begun for the first-to-third years, and the Great Hall was mainly filled with older students. The usual morning chatter seemed louder, however, and the underlying excitement and thrill of Valentine's Day was palpable in the way girls kept adjusting their precarious hairdos and boys would fidget, hands shoved into pockets, nervous fingers playing with soon-to-be-gifted candy boxes.
To Jean, Valentine's mattered very little -- he was a down-to-Earth guy after all, not one to be easily swayed by sugar-coated daydreams -- but what with the way Mikasa kept glancing his way, her stormy eyes curious and daunting, Jean was finding it increasingly more difficult to remain indifferent to his sickeningly pink surroundings. What? he mouthed when he caught her looking once again, but she pretended not to notice his frustrated gesturing.
Only after Jean had parted ways with Eren and began climbing the stairs to the fourth floor did she catch up to him. He nodded once, acknowledging her presence, and felt her schoolbag bump against his hip a tad too aggressively to be passed off as coincidental.
"So," he sighed, feeling tired and resigned, "what's this all about?"
"Are you planning to confess?" Mikasa asked then, which caused Jean to flush red. He ran a shaky hand through his hair in a desperate and vain attempt to collect himself. Because of course Mikasa knew. Of course. Not that Jean minded, though. It did not particularly worry him, as long as she kept the knowledge to herself and didn’t bring it up. And she was doing exactly that at the moment.
“I really don’t see how this is any of your business,” snorted Jean. “Besides, all it would do is fuck things up between us. So, nah. I’ll pass.”
“I think you should give it some thought,” shrugged Mikasa. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”
And — okay. That was a weird thing to hear, especially from Mikasa. Jean eyed her suspiciously, as though daring her to say more, but she kept silent as her pace quickened and Jean had to skip some steps to catch up to her.
“But what if I do mess it all up?” he asked, dejected.
“You’ll never know,” Mikasa contended, and immediately disappeared around the third-floor corner, leaving Jean dumbfounded and infinitely confused.
Jean was almost finished setting up his workstation when a sudden slap to the back nearly made him knock over his cauldron. He whirled around, wand raised and menacing, only to come face to face with Eren’s smug expression.
“Woah, careful there,” the boy smiled goodheartedly, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “What’re we boiling today, huh?”
“Moonseed potion,” answered Jean, turning back to his desk and pretending to sort through his potion ingredients, while his thoughts spun a thousand miles per hour. Mikasa’s words kept echoing in his mind, making him feel scary things — making him feel hopeful. And that was dangerously stupid. He shook his head. Delusional.
Eren produced a small package from the pocket of his robes. “Some girl gave this to me after breakfast, d’you want some?”
Jean eyed the tiny pieces of chocolate Eren was offering and shook his head. “Don’t wanna end up at the hospital wing.”
“Your loss,” shrugged Eren and plopped a heart-shaped chocolate into his mouth, giving Jean a shit-eating grin. “Jean-bo.”
And yet, as class began and students set off to work on their potions and Jean could see from the corner of his eye Eren chopping his own ingredients, the strangest thing seemed to happen. Jean popped open his vial of Mandragore extract, only to realize there was not nearly enough of it for the potion they were meant to be making. He wiped his hands on his robes, feeling slightly irritated with himself for not checking his stock earlier, and made his way to the supply closet. He was eyeing the rows of containers before him when he heard the door open and close behind his back. Quiet footsteps echoed in the closed space, and Eren’s figure appeared at Jean’s side.
“What is it for you?” asked Jean. He turned to Eren, letting his shoulder casually bump against his, but the boy flinched at the touch. Dumbfounded, Jean watched Eren recoil slightly and smile apologetically, cheeks lightly dusted with embarrassment. The boy quickly grabbed a bottle from the shelf, dropped a quiet little “Nevermind that”, and just like that, in a matter of seconds, he was gone.
Back at his workstation, Jean let exactly seven drops of Mandragore extract drip into his cauldron and used his wand to transfer the rest of his ingredients into the potion. Up til the end of class, he kept trying to catch Eren’s gaze, but the other seemed to be utterly oblivious to Jean’s futile attempts.
The situation at Potions was weird enough to begin with. However, to Jean’s surprise, Eren’s strange behavior lasted all through that morning. The boy was more fidgety than usual —- and that was saying something, considering Eren already was a vibrating ball of energy on most days —- and Jean kept noticing the color occasionally rise to Eren’s cheeks.
It was odd, the way Jean would catch Eren’s gaze more than once during class, or how focused on his work Eren suddenly became whenever Jean turned to him to share a joke.
Maybe Jean was reading too much into things. Maybe he was letting Mikasa’s words work their way into his mind, so much that he was fixating on things he normally wouldn’t give a second thought to.
But maybe — maybe — there was a tiny, tiny little part of Jean’s stupid heart that longed to believe all of this wasn’t just Jean’s overthinking.
Jean parted ways with Eren after Transfiguration, making his way to the greenhouses for Herbology while Eren set off to Defense against the Dark Arts. He was passing a group of Ravenclaw girls whom he vaguely recognized when Eren’s name made him stop dead in his tracks.
Normally, he paid very little attention when this happened. Eren was popular, especially among girls, and it wasn’t rare for Jean to overhear whispered conversation, Eren’s name being muttered with rosy cheeks and shy smiles. Yet this time, Jean couldn’t help but strain his ears as he paused, pretending to dig through his bag in search of some thing or the next. Was it Eren’s strange behavior this morning that got Jean on edge, or was it something else entirely, Jean didn’t know, and, frankly, forgot to care about when he picked up on what one of the Ravenclaws — dark hair, pretty eyes — was saying.
The girl blushed and sighed quietly as she threw her friends a defeated look. “I saturated the chocolate in a love potion that would make him fall in love with me. I meant to give it to him at breakfast, so that I would be the first person he saw after eating it, that’s how the potion would’ve worked.” She twisted her fingers, visibly embarrassed. “But he just thanked me and said he’ll eat it later.” Her voice trailed off. And —-
Oh. Oh. That explained it. It felt as though Jean’s insides got dipped in icy water. His heart sank under the weight of realization.
Because naturally, there was no way it was real. Jean didn’t even need to read into things, the answer was that simple: a love potion.
A love potion specifically designed to make the drinker fall in love with the first person in sight after consumption. And by a twisted turn of fate, Jean happened to be that first person. The first person Eren had looked at after he had eaten the damned chocolate.
They had Quidditch practice right after lunchtime. They stumbled out of the castle, hurriedly pulling on gloves and hats and scarfs and squinting against the whiteness of the winter sun. It was a windless winter day, one of pale blue skies and creaky snow. Clutching their brooms against their chests, Jean and Eren made their way towards the Quidditch pitch, where the rest of the team awaited, hunching their shoulders in a futile attempt to brave the cold that kept seeping under their thin robes.
" 's fucking freezing," Eren declared with a shake of his head once they were in the air, lazily circling the pitch in wait of the balls being released. He swung his bat around a few times, warming up before the game began. "Can't feel my fucking toes."
Jean nodded in solidarity. "Brown's gone mad making us play in this weather. Though I guess you never know how it'll be during the match."
"Yeah," agreed Eren, then shouted "Left wing!" and flew off after one of the freed Bludgers, leaving Jean to chase after the other one, which was currently trying to knock Sasha over.
Practice turned out to be demanding and draining, especially so because of the cold that forced them to finish early, but that made it all the more exhilarating. The winter air was bitingly cold against their burning faces. Sunlight, reflecting off of snow, made the air glow — the world was luminous around them. Broomsticks in hand, Eren and Jean dragged their heavy feet through the snow, sluggish and drowsy with exhaustion, walking in a twisty path towards the castle. Their breaths came out in clouds of frosty vapor. Suddenly, Jean stumbled and fell, raising a small cloud of snow into the air. He cursed, loud and open.
“A hand would be appreciated,” he scowled at Eren, but the words held no real bite to them. Eren, already shaking with laughter, extended a hand to help Jean stand up. For a moment, Jean considered taking that hand and pulling , but resigned, feeling too tired. He let himself be hoisted up, feeling Eren’s firm grip.
“Thanks,” said Jean, back to his feet. And then realized how close Eren’s smiling face was. In a matter of seconds, Jean became acutely aware of Eren’s hand, still grasping his, and the minuteness of the space between their bodies. He could see the specks of gold in Eren’s irises at this distance, the rosy hue of his cheeks. Eren kept smiling, all sunny and bright, but even he felt when the tension shifted. The corners of his mouth dropped slowly, and Jean watched, as though in slow motion, as Eren’s tongue quickly darted out to wet his lips. Time slowed.
Don’t look at his lips, idiot , Jean thought over and over and knew he was failing, his gaze constantly flicking back to Eren’s mouth. Jean hoped Eren wouldn’t notice, but when he looked up, Eren’s eyes were glued to Jean’s own lips. Space didn’t count for much, at this point. It just kept shrinking.
Jean felt himself melt into it. Eren's lips against his were impossibly soft. He almost made a move to disentangle himself from Eren's hand, still grasping Jean’s, the few shreds of sanity yelling at Jean to stop , to get away, that this was all a terrible misunderstanding and that he's bound to get hurt if he keeps going, but then Eren's cold fingers dipped under the cuff of Jean's glove, and suddenly Jean found it very easy to discard intruding thoughts.
The world narrowed down to sensation: the soft press of Eren’s lips; their careful, almost tentative movement; the light of a crisp winter day seeping through Jean’s eyelids. There was a whole universe there — in the way the world seemed to split into an infinity of fragments: each its own, distinct reality, begging to be felt.
But realistically, there were no fireworks exploding, no supernovae blowing the sky apart above their heads. More than ever, Jean felt grounded. More than ever, Jean felt alive from the physicality of it all: the rhythmic pulsing of blood in his ears, the cold of Eren’s fingers creeping up his wrist. Eren drew a sharp breath, and that seemed to break it.
“Shit, shit, shit, wait,” Jean pulled away, eyes flickering back and forth across Eren’s face.
“What?” grinned Eren, and Jean’s heart broke a little at the happiness etched into the curve of Eren’s smile. Because all that happiness was not Jean’s to take, nor was it in his right to do so. That happiness —- that kiss —- were merely by-products of the damned love potion. Jean opened his mouth to say something, to protest , but the words died on his lips when Eren spoke first.
“I like you, Jean.”
And it all felt so terribly unfair.
“No. No, you don’t.”
So terribly cruel to have to see Eren’s eyebrows furrow, emerald eyes suddenly sharp and searching.
“What do you mean I don’t? I’m telling you I like you. I like you, Jean.”
So terribly wretched.
“No, Eren. It’s a mistake, you’re just thinking you like me, but really you–”
“What the fuck , Jean,” breathed Eren, voice laced with frustration and hurt and confusion all at once. He opened his mouth to speak but Jean beat him to it.
“I’ve got to go.” And Jean turned on his heel, and ran.
The sun was beginning to slip beneath the treeline when Jean had finally stopped shaking. His vision blurred for an instant when he stood up, and his hand flew to the wall as he tried to steady himself. He had spent the last hour or so curled up under the stairway to the Astronomy tour, his mind a churning, maddening beehive of thoughts. The memory of Eren’s face, painted with hurt, vivid and poignant.
Jean knew it was dumb. He knew it was all an unfortunate turn of events —- a coincidence, a mistake. He had no reason to feel the way he did: cheated .
On some nights, Jean let himself imagine what it could be like. To have his feelings returned. To have Eren to himself. He used to think that if he could have it, this thing he dreamed of, if just for a moment, it’d be enough. Yet now, now , that he knew what it was like —- how gentle Eren’s touch was, how dazzling the look in his emerald eyes when he told Jean that he liked him —- Jean felt it stronger than ever —- the scrape of useless, desperate want against that tender spot in his heart.
His back ached from being hunched for that long.
Slowly, Jean descended the steps. He was so lost in thought he barely noticed his surroundings, walking through the castle’s corridors on pure autopilot. He met students along the way, and their happy, excited faces caused bile to rise up Jean’s throat. Valentine’s day was a fucking mess. And Jean — Jean had been right that morning talking to Mikasa. He had fucked everything up.
“Hey, Jean.”
Dazed, Jean lifted his head only to find Armin standing in front of him, a book pressed to his chest and glasses pushed up on his forehead. The blond offered Jean a smile, which Jean did not reciprocate. Somehow, it felt obvious that Armin knew .
“You know Armin, I really don’t need you to lecture me on how much of an asshole I am,” Jean said. “And please don’t act like Eren didn’t tell you anything.”
At that, Armin sighed defeatedly and averted his gaze.
“Alright, yeah. I did talk to Eren,” he admitted. “But Jean, I think you’ve seriously misunderstood something in this situation.”
Jean would’ve laughed at the irony if he didn’t feel like flinging himself out of a window right now. Because —
“Misunderstood?” he huffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, guess I fucking did. That was kind of the main problem, actually. Tell Eren I’m sorry, will you?”
Armin’s big, blue eyes narrowed at Jean’s last sentence, and that’s how Jean knew he had blurted something wrong, yet again.
“You know Jean, I really think you ought to speak to Eren about this. Yourself.”
Obviously, Jean didn’t follow Armin’s advice. Instead of going down for supper by fear of seeing Eren there and ignoring how hungry he was in the process, he decided to go back to the dormitory. Go to sleep, maybe. Possibly shrivel up into a little ball under the covers and never be seen again.
For once, the world played in Jean’s favor, and the room was blissfully empty when Jean got back, letting himself fall face first onto his bed. He contemplated using this time to catch up on some homework, but his head hurt from all the worrying he’d done, and, truth be told, Jean felt too lazy to move. He had maybe an hour before the others got back, and he would much rather spend this time being depressed than being productive. Oh well.
Jean readjusted his position, pushing himself up on the bed to lay his head on a pillow when his eyes landed on a package.
It sat on the edge of Jean’s bed, a neatly wrapped box.
On the corner, Jean’s name, written in slanted handwriting.
Jean pushed himself up, watching the box as though it may suddenly explode and rip him to pieces. It was Valentine’s Day, for fuck’s sake, yet the last thing he’d expected was to receive a gift. Hesitantly, he took the box into his hands, examining the red wrapping with curiosity. Surprisingly, the decoration was not as excessive as he had come to expect from seeing the gifts Eren had received that day. It was simple, a little sloppy maybe, but it made Jean a little flattered nonetheless. His fingers reached for the ribbon, and he pulled, untying the bow and revealing a set of silver knives — each specifically designed for preparing potion ingredients — that Jean had wanted for the longest time.
He stared in wonder at the present. He had told nobody about wanting the set. He had spotted it during the summer wandering through the potion shops in Diagon Alley. Except that —
“Jean?”
Eren had been with Jean on that summer day.
Jean turned, and, sure enough, the boy was there, looking at Jean with those stupidly pretty green eyes, mouth slightly open. Jean had kissed that mouth .
“Eren,” Jean meant to say, but his voice got caught on the syllables, barely a whisper.
Eren’s cheeks colored slightly, and Jean’s heart dropped at the sight of Eren looking so uncomfortable. Of course he would , Jean reminded himself. After what had happened.
Eren’s eyes trailed to the package still clutched in Jean’s hands. “Do you like it?”
“Yeah,” breathed Jean. And then his brain caught up with reality. “You?”
What remarquable eloquence.
Jean felt his face heat up as he stumbled over his words. “I mean, was it you who sent me… this?”
“Yes, dumbass,” muttered Eren. “Who else did you think it could be?”
“You don’t have to use it,” Eren continued after a moment of silence. “l’ll understand if you don’t want to, given that you know how I… feel about you, now.”
And — okay. Alright. Things did not add up here. Eren would have had to buy the set in advance if he wanted to give it to Jean. Yet he had eaten the chocolate this morning during Potions, which meant that he couldn’t have fallen in love with Jean because of that Ravenclaw girl’s potion. Which meant that —
“You like me?” asked Jean, feeling increasingly more confused each second.
Eren snorted. “I’ve told you, like, three times? You’re smart Jean, but you’re being a huge fucking idiot about this.”
“But the chocolate?”
Then, at Eren’s confused glance: “That girl who gave you the chocolates after breakfast. I heard her talk to her friends after Trans’. The chocolate had a love potion in it.”
“Really?” Eren cocked his head to one side. “Even if it did, it doesn’t matter. I got Armin to check all of the candy before eating it. Specifically to avoid that sort of situation.”
“Oh.”
So Eren liked him back. Jean smiled involuntarily, because all of this was way too good to be real. “I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”
“Took you long enough.”
“Thank you for the gift, by the way. I really, really love it. And, uh, I like you too. But you’ve probably already figured that out.”
It was the second time that day that Jean saw Eren smile like that: sunny and wide, absolutely beautiful. The boy climbed onto Jean’s bed, making the mattress bounce, and all Jean could do was grin back, because he really was the happiest person in the entire fucking universe.
“Can I, uh. Can I kiss you?” Jean asked, feeling himself flush.
“Obviously,” said Eren, rolling his eyes.
And then they were kissing.
And this time, Jean let his mind go silent, because now — now he knew with certainty that Eren’s feelings for him were real. That no love potion could do that — make Eren kiss him with such mindnumbing tenderness, and Jean sighed into the kiss, because the little bubble growing in his chest was too much to hold inside, because he felt like he could explode in the best possible way simply from liking somebody this much.
Eren made a sound, something between a sigh and a whimper, as Jean ran his hands through Eren’s untidy hair. They were laying down now, Eren on top of Jean, and Jean felt Eren’s tongue against his lips. His hands wandered down Eren’s chest, then his sides, getting caught in the folds of Eren’s schoolrobe, and then he slipped his hands under Eren’s shirt and felt him shiver.
“Your fingers are fucking cold,” Eren mumbled into the kiss, but still he pressed down, and Jean’s brain short-circuited when he felt Eren’s hard-on press against him, his own pants feeling a bit too tight all of a sudden.
“Fuck, Eren, fucking-”
And then the door slammed open.
“Dear MERLIN, WHOOPS, SORRY GUYS.”
Yep. Marco. And Armin. Of course.
Valentine’s Day was a fucking mess. But Jean? Jean didn’t mind it so much anymore.
“You’ve confessed,” stated Mikasa the next morning at breakfast, watching Eren and Jean argue over toast. That got Jean’s attention, which allowed Eren to snatch the last piece of toast and shove it in his mouth. Jean watched his boyfriend — how insane was that — nearly choke on bread, and he shook his head, smiling.
“Yeah. Guess you were right on that one.”