Work Text:
Jean isn’t sure when exactly this great revelation dawns on him.
It’s definitely somewhere between the two of them meeting on the playground (ages 5 and 6 respectively, both still too childish and explosive to be able to have a peaceful interaction) to him laying on Eren’s bed, feet propped up on the wall, ignoring how he feels his blood running towards his head slightly, and watching the brown-haired boy inhale another cloud of smoke.
It’s then that Jean Kirstein realizes that, hey, maybe it’s not a normal thing for one to want to kiss the living daylights out of their totally platonic friend.
But what was it exactly?
They’d been spending a weird amount of time together over the past months, considering the fact that at 16, last year, they were still eager to kill each other over the slightest mishaps. Then, Eren had moved in with his mom, away from his asshole of a dad, and suddenly they were neighbors. Jean was now able to lean out of his window and see the Yeager household from much closer than he probably would’ve liked to. Their bedrooms faced each other, much to their initial dismay.
He’d still disliked Eren. Then, Carla had come over one night with a casserole and that same sweet smile he could rarely recognize on Eren’s face, and asked if they could do her a favor and let Eren hitch a ride to school from now on. “With my late nights at the hospital I won’t be able to bring him myself. He still does not have his permit, so it would be a great help.”
When Jean’s mom agreed with a “Yeah, of course! It won’t be any problem, will it, Jeanbo?” She’d looked at Jean, then, this stern look on her face that told him--no discussion possible.
He’d reluctantly mumbled a “yes, mama”.
Between Eren propping his feet up on his dashboard and always smelling like a dizzying mix of laundry detergent-- “so my mom uses this great ass laundry shit that makes your clothes all soft--no, dude , feel my fucking shirt, you will be fucking mindblown”--and lingering cigarette smoke, as well as his annoying demands to go through the Starbucks drive-thru, like, twice a week, Jean found it actually helped . He didn’t feel the urge to punch in Eren’s stupid face anymore. Or, well, occasionally, only.
Inevitably, the others noticed this, too.
Sasha had watched Eren drop a package of Slim Jims onto Jean’s table before math class one afternoon, because Jean had mentioned being hungry over text when Eren told him he was swinging by the vending machines, and Eren had somehow gotten to know him so well over the past few weeks of carpooling that he now knew Jean preferred salty snacks over sweet ones.
“You two seem awfully close.” She sounded smug as she snatched the packet from Jean’s hands, ripping it open and sticking one in her mouth.
Jean had snatched the packet back quickly. “I’m just driving him. This is his way of trying to return the favor.”
“Yeah, but,” Sasha started, chewing with her mouth wide open (how the elegant, poised Mikasa Ackerman was dating this cavewoman of a person, Jean was still unsure of), “you two couldn’t even look each other in the eye before this without yelling at each other. ‘S so weird. I can’t even remember the last time the two of you had a fight.”
“And I can’t remember the last time you brought me a snack instead of stealing my shit,” Jean bit back as he held his food out of reach from her grabby hands. “Buy your own, you trashcan of a person.”
“I hate you.”
Jean wasn’t stupid. He knew the shift in their dynamic caught eyes--especially those of the ones closest to Eren, meaning a particular blond-haired blue-eyed hyper-intelligent gremlin. Armin hadn’t said anything about their behavior out right, but he could feel him watching the two of them like a hawk.
Once, as he came to pick up Eren at the picnic tables in front of their school, Armin had been there two, greeting him with a sweet smile as he stopped in front of the table. “Eren, dude, let’s dip.” The day had ended with a double period in Latin, and Jean was more than eager to have a long nap in the quaint hideaway of his bedroom.
“Eren?” Armin wondered aloud.
The two other boys had shared a quick look, and Jean could feel his face heat up. “Uh, Yeager. Whatever. Dude , let’s go.”
Eren, who was staring up at him oddly, jumped from his seat, dragging his backpack along. He looked like he’d stepped directly off the casting for some melodramatic teenage indie film, with his shaggy band-shirt, ragged jeans. His dark hair was tied back half-heartedly, and Jean’s eyes lingered on the few strands framing the boy’s face prettily.
“Sure. Bye, ‘Min. Ooh, don’t forget to send me those notes from math, pretty please.”
“Um. Yes.” Armin kept glancing back and forth between the two of them, as if trying to figure out a difficult question. “Bye.”
Once in his passenger’s seat (Jean wondered when it had become his passenger’s seat) Eren had started texting quickly, not looking at Jean as he started up the car. “You going to Reiner’s tonight?”
“Hmm, dunno. Last time Bertholdt threw up in my sneakers, so I’m not really eager for an experience similar to that.”
“C’mon, dude,” Eren whined. God, he could be such a toddler. “
“Well, maybe I’ll come by, for like, an hour. Nothing too long-- take your damn feet off from my dashboard, you ass --I have some shit for school I still need to finish.”
“Oh, yeah, Ackerman’s essay. Man, fuck him.” Eren didn’t put his feet down. “I’m just going to blackmail Mika into writing it for me.”
“She’s his niece, you dumb fuck. Besides, he’ll notice the differences between an essay written by his own niece and some idiot who has five functioning brain cells on a good day.”
“Okay, rude .”
The banter was nice. The accompanying itch under his skin when going back and forth with Eren turned into something… different. It burned a little, made his stomach swoop when that idiot looked at him with his sharp grin, green eyes gleaming. Jean had just rolled his eyes, backing out of the parking spot.
That night, he’d gone to Reiner’s party, where he found Eren and Connie doing shots at the kitchen counter. “First one to quit is going skinny dipping,” Sasha informed him with a wicked grin.
“Of course the idiots are going skinny dipping in sixty degree weather,” Jean had groaned into his coke. Still, he was weirdly relieved when Connie was the one to lose. He didn’t know if he’d been able to handle seeing Eren’s bare ass on display.
Eren did not end up in the pool, but he did end up on the backseat of Jean’s jeep, where Mikasa dropped him after he’d thrown up into Reiner’s bathroom for an agonizing 30 minutes. She shoved his feet in unkindly, ignoring his whining as she shut the door with a bang. “You will bring him back to his bed. All the way.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jean saluted, glad he’d stuck to soda all night. “Need me to do his skincare too? Maybe put on some fuzzy pajamas and bring him a heating pad?”
Mikasa just settled him with a sharp look. Jean swore he’d felt a shiver down his spine--the Ackerman-stare wasn’t something one was eager to be the focus of. “Home. Bed. Got it.”
He’d dragged Eren all the way up the stairs, shushing him as they passed what he assumed was Carla’s bedroom. With a groan, he’d dropped the boy onto his twin-size bed, sitting down himself as well. It took some whining and cursing before he managed to get Eren’s shoes off, and, once he did, he heaved a sigh upon seeing the other boy dead asleep.
“Some friend you are,” he murmured, stiffening as he realized his own words. Friend . God damn it all.
Now, see--friend wouldn’t have been so bad. Eren Yeager had a tight-knit group of people around him, and was generally well-liked past his erratic behavior and loose-lipped commentary. Jean being friends with him wasn’t the oddest thing to ever happen, despite their history. Eren Yeager and Jean Kirstein were capable of being friends.
Yet, it wasn’t like that at all, was it?
The first time he could pinpoint Eren’s flirting may not have been the first time the boy was actually flirting, but, hey, Jean wasn’t the most observant person, alright? It had been lunchtime, and they were sitting on the grass in the school’s courtyard. Marco and Connie were there too, Connie eagerly talking about this new game he’d started on as Jean scuffled down his sandwich.
Eren’s hand had snuck up to his lunchbox, and before Jean could process it, the boy was snacking on his cucumber snacks. “Hey, what the hell?”
“And you’re weird as hell. Who brings cucumber snacks to school?”
“My mom made them, you ass.” Jean sneered. “And you’re eating them.”
“Well,” that wicked smirk appeared on Eren’s face again, and Jean’s stomach made that weird swoopy motion as the boy raked his eyes over him suggestively. “You mom makes nice things, what can I say?”
A beat of silence. Connie snorted into his juice box. Marco blinked, and Jean was sure he’d turned a bright red. “Weirdo,” he muttered, with not as much fire behind it as he would have liked. Conversation resumed after a second and Jean tried to ignore that pair of eyes staring at him smugly.
The comment had shifted their dynamic even more. Halfway through March, Jean was reeling as he thought of the way their relationship had developed. He knew Eren was gay as hell, and he himself was pan, which Eren knew, too, but Eren was also flirty by nature, so, all in all, Jean was not sure what to make of it. Still, he blushed like a maiden whenever he got another suggestive comment, and every time he muttered some half-hearted insult back.
Six months after he’d first had Eren in his car, he was invited back to his bedroom after dropping him off. “Come to my room, dude. I got some fire zaza.” Jean opted between letting out a scream of frustration at the way the sunlight was hitting Eren’s face just right and the fact that the boy had just used the words “fire zaza” unironically.
Great. Just great, really. He was crushing on the dumbest fucker to ever roam planet Earth.
It became routine, because, whether Jean liked it or not, Eren did have fire zaza, curse him and his cringy internet vocabulary.
He also found out that the boy had a pretentious yet good taste in music, forcing him to listen to obscure 90’s bands and podcasts on the latest celebrity drama. In turn, he asked Jean about his favorite poet--Keats--and his favorite poem--not from Keats, but from Moore, The Fish --because he knew that Jean was planning to study English Language in college, and apparently he cared about what he had to say, too.
That had been a whole other realization, too. Before, the two of them had been so eager to get their point across, loving the sound of their own voices as they cursed and yelled at each other. Now, he laid back on Eren’s bed and stared at the posters on the ceiling as the boy talked on and on about some poem he’d read in class that he wanted Jean to read, and he found himself liking it. He didn’t mind listening to Eren. On the contrary, actually; if he could, he’d lay here forever.
Of course, Marco was the first to figure this out. Though Jean thought he was hiding it pretty well, the freckled little bastard always managed to see through him like he was a strip of cellophane wrap.
A get-together at the beach one late evening had his friend turning to him--Jean had been staring at Eren, watching the boy run around on the sand with Mikasa and Sasha, kicking around a soccer ball. At one point, Eren tumbled over his own feet into the sand, laughing hysterically as he was doing so. When he calmed down a bit, Sasha helped him up, and as he dusted the sand off himself, he caught Jean watching. And then he winked . Jean was a dead man.
Marco, on the other hand, let out a huff. Then, after a beat of silence, asked the million dollar question:
“Do you like him?”
“What.”
“Eren?”
Jean’s laugh was fake and totally not convincing. “Yeah, right. That idiot.” Even the word “idiot” came out with a hint of adoration in his voice. To hell with it all.
“You know, I’m not surprised.”
Jean shot Marco an exasperated look.
“Well, it’s not that weird, if you think about it.” Taking a swig of his iced tea, Marco then shrugged his shoulders. “The fighting between the two of you always seemed like two middle schoolers with a crush on each other. Constantly pestering each other and everything. It was clear Eren liked you, I just wasn’t sure about you.”
It was clear Eren liked him.
Huh. For some reason, the sure-steady tone of that statement made Jean a little dizzy in the head. Also, his heart was going into overdrive. This whole crush thing was really too intense to be healthy. “I mean. Um. I don’t know? Yet?”
“If you like him? Or if you want to do something about liking him?”
“The latter,” Jean admitted with a sigh. He knew keeping anything from Marco was a lost cause, anyway. “He’s just… I’m… I don’t know.”
“Being in love is weird. Boys are weird,” Marco’s nose crinkled, as if he was tasting something bad. “But I think you should tell him. Eren’s flirting really takes away one’s desire to eat.”
Jean liked Eren’s flirting. He’d kept that fact to himself, though.
June was summer vacation and the AC cranked up to the highest setting as they laid on Eren’s floor, the carpet soft under their bare skin. Eren wasn’t even wearing a shirt--just his shorts, and Jean fought to keep his eyes on the ceiling, watching smoke trail by. “Mikasa is asking if we want to go to the movies with her and Sash tonight,” he heard Eren read from his phone beside him. “Should I tell her yes or no?”
“What, and third and fourth wheel all night? No thank you,” Jean dead-panned. Those two were horrible when they got the chance at PDA.
“We could just make out in front of them out of spite,” Eren snorted. “Take that for PDA.”
Jean’s brain short-circuited as he pushed out the words “yeah, no thank you.”
“What, you opposed to some lip-locking? I’m not that bad of a kisser, dude.”
Jean shot him a short glare, ignoring his sweaty palms and the way his face was heating up again. “If I would want to make out with someone, I would have done so already.”
“Awe. Too bad.” Eren grinned at him, before he turned back to his phone to shoot a quick text back. “We should go clubbing sometime soon. Maybe you can finally find someone to handle your annoying ass.”
“I don’t need anyone to handle my ass.”
“You not participating in hot girl summer?” Eren teased, turning back to face him. “C’mon, I know the girls at school stare at you like you’re a five course meal. I’m sure you can get with one of them, at least. If you don’t say something weird. Or, well, maybe just don’t talk at all. Pretend to be mute or something.”
He was looking at him now, propped up on his elbow on his side, so much bare tan skin and those dark brown locks spilling past his face. Linger by The Cranberries played over Eren’s crappy Dollar Store speaker set. Jean tried to remember his last name as he stared enthralled at those green eyes, feeling like some kind of damn middle school girl staring at her BTS poster. “Uh,” he hummed unintelligently.
“Uh,” Eren mocked him with a laugh, snatching back the joint from between Jean’s fingers and taking a long drag. The smoke swirled from his mouth, before he licked his lips, keeping his eyes on Jean’s. “I mean it, though. You’re a catch.”
With half his brain incognant, Jean murmured “you sound like my grandma convincing me I’m worthy of a girlfriend.”
“I’m not a grandma , I’m a friend, dude.”
“Point taken. Gimme that.” Eager to blur his senses a bit more, Jean coughed as he inhaled a bit too deeply, ignoring the way Eren was still looking at him.
That fucker was so close, too close to be platonic, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to cross that line. He wanted , he wanted so badly to reach out and let his hands slide past his bare skin, taste it, wondering if Eren would writhe and mewl under him if he bit his neck.
Yeah. Okay. What if, after this, he went and tried to find Jesus Christ instead?
“You’re thinking so hard, Jeanbo,” Eren said, pressing his finger to the tip of Jean’s nose with a small tilt of the head. “What can it possibly be, now that we don’t have anything school-related to worry about?”
“Nothing. Just… Nothing.”
“Very convincing.” Eren’s hand then dragged up, and suddenly his fingers were in Jean’s hair, combing through his locks, the gesture so sweet and sudden that Jean had to close his eyes for a second.
“What are you doing,” his voice came out wrangled.
“Trying to make you think less.” Eren hummed. “Is it working?”
“No,” Jean gritted out stubbornly, opening his eyes to give Eren a glare. With how hot his cheeks were, he wondered if it was even the slightest bit convincing.
Eren pouted. “Would a hug help?”
“Don’t be stupid --Hey-- What-- ”
Jean spluttered as the brown haired boy moved to push him down, then, he was straddling him, looking down on him with sparkling eyes.
“Eren…”
“...”
“What are you doing ,” Jean repeated with a hiss, because this was too close to the line he’d carefully drawn between them somewhere in the past months, too close to passing that imaginary boundary. At what point was there no going back? Having Eren sitting on top of him like this, looking like some wet dream come to life, Jean wasn’t sure if he could ever continue living after today.
Eren didn’t seem too concerned with his position. “You know, I really think I’ve been obvious.”
“Obvious? About what ?” Jean was just confused, so confused, and his heart was beating so loud and, really, the view of a half-naked boy on top of him wasn’t helping.
“That I want you. Dumb fuck.”
A beat of silence. Eren looked down at him, as if he was waiting for Jean to stop buffering, taking another drag of his joint. His smug appearance was gone, now replaced by something a bit more serious, a bit more… mature. He looked as if he meant it, and if Jean was really looking, he could see the bit of uncertainty combined with a flicker of hope on Eren’s face.
“Me.”
“Uh, duh.”
Eren smiled sweetly, and Jean was reminded of how grateful he was to Carla for passing on that specific gene to her son, because he looked like an angel gracing the earth, making Jean’s chest all tight and shit so he couldn’t breathe properly anymore. He groaned as he hid his face in his hands. “Stop looking at me like that, shit , Eren.”
“Like what, Jean?”
Jean peaked through his fingers, up at this boy that had become so weirdly dear to him in the past few months, how he was now looking down on him with this face full of expectations and hopes, and on instinct, his hands dropped.
Then they were moving--and he was touching Eren by the waist, fingers on hot skin, gripping slightly, needing something solid to touch to ground himself right now. And Eren was solid and real , nothing like the handful of vague hot fantasies he’d had about him, nothing like the fading presence of some enticing dream but real . He was here, and he wanted him.
Alright. Jean was an idiot. But not that big of an idiot.
Somewhere between their eyes locking and Jean placing his hands on Eren’s waist, both of them had moved, and suddenly, he was sitting up and they were kissing , not pecking or mouth-touching or locking lips like Eren had called it, but kissing, breathing heavily and hands roaming everywhere, over bare skin and in Jean’s neck, Eren’s fingers scratching at the bottom of his haircut. Jean’s tongue licked at Eren’s bottom lip and when Eren bit his lip back in return, Jean tugged him back by a handful of hair. At this, Eren let out a breathy moan, and, oh, Jean was such a goner.
When they finally separated, both gasping for air, he found himself staring at Eren, at his spit-slicked, reddish lips, his wide-blown pupils, and he thought of the poems they’d read in this room, how many of them had been about kisses and love, and found himself coming up short. Maybe he was just a teenage boy being overdramatic, but all those poets seemed to lack the words to describe being able to kiss Eren Yeager.
“Stop,” Eren whispered as he pushed his forehead against Jean’s, their noses brushing. “Stop overthinking this too hard.”
“I just--” Eren pecked him again, interrupting his sentence, and when Jean tried to turn away, Eren pressed his face into his shoulder. They sat in that embrace, Eren on top of Jean, and Jean holding him tightly. This was so new and so scary . Somehow he was still slightly afraid Eren would just float off into the great big nothing if he let go a little. “I just have questions.”
“Like what?” There was no teasing in Eren’s voice, just genuinity.
“A lot,” Jean laughed a bit, despite his heart still hammering. “What this is supposed to be, mostly.”
“I like you. Like, an unhealthy amount. I thought I’d been clear about that, dude.”
“Okay, see, now, that almost cleared it up, but then you called me dude .”
Eren was shaking with laughter now, and leaned back a bit to face him. “What, am I supposed to call you pet-names now? Sweetheart? Sugarplum? No?”
“Not a fan,” Jean shook his head, probably as red as a tomato now.
“Hmm. I like baby. Can I call you baby?”
Jean’s face flared an even brighter red. As he pursed his lips, he gave Eren a silent glare, fingers digging into the bare skin just above the waistband of his shorts.
The other boy’s face was one of triumph, though. “You like that. Do you like that, baby ? Hmm?” He nuzzled Jean’s neck as he murmured the words, voice sweet and teasing.
“You’re horrible.”
“Hmm. Yeah, alright. Tell that again when you don’t have a boner for me.” Grinding down on his lap, both let out heavy breaths, the teasing atmosphere between them suddenly replaced by something more .
And as he pulled Eren down to kiss him again, he still wasn’t sure when this had happened, in the end. But pondering over the past just really wasn’t that appealing when now was so much better.