Chapter Text
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
“Can you quit that?”
Armin glances up at Annie across the table. Her face is calm, but there’s that look in her eye that dares him to continue. He looks down at his work and sighs at himself, before mumbling a sheepish, “Sorry, Annie.”
He shouldn’t even be at this particular desk. His usual desk is up on another floor, by the windows. He likes basking in the warm sunlight when he studies. However, it was a busy week for students at the university, and he hadn’t been able to snag his usual spot. He’d almost driven himself into a panic when he realized most desks were taken, until he saw someone familiar at an empty table.
He realized in the hours he’d been sitting here why the table was empty, save for Annie.
Footsteps approach, the third person now, and Armin doesn’t even have time to glance at them before they’re redirecting their course. He looks at Annie, the way her piercing gray eyes still stare daggers into the stranger’s back as they walk away. Eventually, she returns his gaze, and her face softens a bit.
“Don’t do it again,” she says, her pale blonde bangs falling into her face as she leans back over her textbook.
“Of course,” Armin agrees immediately. He even sets his pencil aside for the moment, so he can look over what he’s done.
He doesn’t know just quite what he did, for her to have a soft spot for him, but he doesn’t take it for granted. He thinks maybe it was the way he doesn’t treat her the way others tend to, doesn’t shy away from her tough exterior. He likes the comfortable silence that comes along with her company. She probably thought the same until he started tapping his pencil.
It’s just… He doesn’t know what he was thinking when he decided on a major that requires so much science.
Who knew wanting to know more about the world would be so hard, he thinks, blowing out a quiet sigh that ruffles his bangs.
But, he loves it too much to give up. He just wishes Professor Zoё would give him a break. Just a small one. Please.
He pulls his notebook closer, looking over the various equations he has to use for the chemistry assignment he’s currently stressing over. The numbers and letters seem to be swirling together, frustrated tears blurring his vision. His head pounds. He closes his eyes and rubs his hands over them, wishing the sudden emotion away.
“Maybe you should take a break,” Annie suggests quietly, but Armin just shakes his head.
“I can’t, not yet,” he whispers.
Annie doesn’t push, but she does gather her things and tucks them away in her messenger bag. She doesn’t leave immediately, gives him time to decide if he wants to go with her, most likely to the cafeteria for a late lunch. He’s accompanied her a few times.
His eyes stay glued to his papers, though. She walks away.
He loses himself in the work again, numbers and letters and chemical names rushing through his head at full speed as his pencil scratches across the paper. Time flies when he’s found his groove.
“Armin.”
Just ten more problems, and then he can go back to his dorm.
“Hey, Armin.”
Maybe if he skips checking his work, he can leave faster.
“Just shake him or something!”
“No, Eren.”
“Fine, if you won’t I will!”
A hand landing on his shoulder shakes him out of his trance, and he just about jumps out of his skin with a little yelp.
“You scared him,” Mikasa admonishes Eren, yanking his hand off Armin’s shoulder.
Armin runs a hand through his hair, no doubt making it stick up, blinking back into reality as Eren and Mikasa continue to argue beside him.
“Hey, it’s not my fault he got scared,” Eren grumbles, but he mutters an apology anyway, his green eyes cutting to the side.
“I’m fine,” Armin tries, but Mikasa’s already smacking Eren on the back of the arm.
“It is,” She insists. Then, she looks at Armin for one second before reaching over him and grabbing all his papers. “You’re coming with us.”
Armin scrambles into action, grabbing hold of his papers and tugging on them, but not hard enough to rip. “Hey, no!” He cries.
“How long have you even been here anyway?” Eren asks, looking around the library with wide eyes. “This place is full of nerds.”
Mikasa gives a firm yank, successfully taking the papers from his grip without so much as a wrinkle. Armin can only sink into his seat and watch as she carefully places everything into their rightful folders, then into his backpack. She slips her arms through the straps, not even staggering with the weight of all his textbooks.
When she turns and starts heading for the nearest elevator, Eren pulls Armin up out of his seat and starts dragging him along.
“Come on, we’re gonna get food then watch movies at Mika’s dorm. Ymir and Historia are picking the movie, so it should be good,” Eren prattles, disturbing everyone as they go past.
Armin barely manages to shoot Annie a text explaining he had to leave. She immediately replies with a short and simple, “K.”
As Eren drags him along behind Mikasa, Armin can’t help but smile, grateful to his friends for pulling him out of his own head.
Chemistry can wait.
Jean stares up the stairs of the library, nothing but dread fogging his thoughts.
He shakes the fog out of his head and starts his trek up the steps.
“‘Just go the library,’ he said,” Jean mutters, recalling the conversation he’d had with Connie just twenty minutes before. “‘There will be plenty of people to sketch in there,” he said. Nah fucking duh!”
He pushes the door open and almost hits someone just standing there in the lobby.
“Move it,” Jean snarks under his breath, walking past without so much as an apology. They shouldn’t have been standing there.
He looks around, trying to find an interesting place to hunker down, but it’s like every single desk is taken, even the ones in the corners with shitty lighting. He takes the stairs to the next floor, only for what seems like the same results. He blows out a frustrated sigh and ventures forth, crossing his fingers.
It takes him a few minutes, but eventually, like a shining light in the darkness, he finds an empty table, nestled up against a wall.
As he approaches, it’s like the students around him are staring at him, trying to warn him of something, but he thinks nothing short of a pile of vomit would stop him from taking the desk. And, since there aren’t any spill signs or the smell of disinfectant spray, he decides to take his chances.
He plops his bag onto the desk with a clatter and takes one of the seats against the wall, huffing as he looks out at the students, who are adamantly not paying him any mind, for whatever reason.
He rolls his eyes and pulls out his sketchbook, figuring the scene set before him was interesting enough for an okay grade. He’d title it something poetic, write some flowery description, and move along.
Art was fun before I was told what to do, he laments.
He settles in for a good while of sketching, turning in his seat, intending to stretch his legs out in front of him on the seat adjacent, but his feet catch on something, the sound of crinkling paper disturbing the silence.
Jean’s brows furrow as he ducks down under the table and pulls up an open notebook, now covered in the dirt from his boots.
He curses, guilt bubbling up in his chest as he sets the book on the desk and flips it to the cover, hoping it isn’t something important–
CHEMISTRY, neatly written in permanent marker on the green cover.
Well, fuck.
He turns the cover again, hoping a name was written on the inside, and he lets himself get hopeful when he sees the words, This book belongs to, but resists smacking his hand down on the table when he realizes his dirty shoes smudged the name written below.
A… something.
“All I get is an A?!” He whispers to himself.
He takes in a calming breath and taps his fingers on the desk for a few moments, then grabs the book and takes off to find the nearest librarian. He finds one with a cart of books in the middle of an aisle and approaches, reminding himself to be quiet.
“Hey,” he greets, holding the notebook up, hoping to skip the small talk and get right to business.
The woman, nearly a foot shorter than him, with strawberry blonde hair, nods with a polite smile.
“I found this on the floor at the table over there,” Jean explains, gesturing vaguely in the direction he’d come from. “You wouldn’t happen to remember who was over there?”
He realizes too late what a stupid question that is, but he waits for… he checks the librarian’s name tag… Petra to make a confused face, that then morphs to apologetic.
“I’m sorry, so many students come through, especially this week, but I can take it to the front desk, if you want,” she offers, holding her hand out for the notebook.
For some reason he can’t explain as anything other than his own annoying ego and hero complex, Jean tucks the notebook close to his chest and shakes his head.
“No, I’ll, uh… I’ll find who it belongs to.”
Petra gives him an unsure look and says, “If you’re sure…”
“I am,” Jean says, backing out of the aisle. “Thank you, though.”
He makes his way back to his desk, a frown stuck on his face. What the hell am I thinking?
He sighs as he sits back down and turns in the seat, stretching his legs out as he’d planned before, his legs so long, his feet hang off the edge. He sets his bag in his lap and shoves the green notebook inside before propping his sketchbook up against it, then gets started on the sketch.
As he sketches out basic forms, he knows his heart isn’t really in it. The students are still acting weird about him being there, possibly too aware that they’re being drawn. They’re not supposed to know, is the issue. It’s a stupid assignment. He doesn’t like drawing strangers and feels especially worse when he doesn’t ask permission.
But the professor has the eyes of a hawk, apparently, and can tell when people are aware they’re being drawn.
He’s close to giving up when a girl with pale blonde hair approaches the desk with a hard glint in her gray eyes. She looks generally harmless, in her sage green university hoodie and light gray joggers, but she’s got a certain vibe about her. The other students around have stopped moving, holding their breaths, and Jean slowly realizes why the desk was empty.
“Yep, right, sorry about that, I’ll just–”
He shoves his sketchbook into his bag beside the dirty green notebook and leaves, trying not to feel like complete shit about still not doing his assignment.
Maybe I should just change my major, do something that’ll give me a good career, help set mom up for retirement, and live comfortably, he thinks.
He knows his mom would hate that. Deep down, he knows he would, too. Besides, no business like that would hire a loser with a mullet and at least three piercings in each ear. He’d hate to have to take out his eyebrow piercing, it was a bitch to heal.
As he exits the library, he gets shoulder-checked.
“Hey!” He bites, turning towards the person. “Watch where you’re– oh.”
Eren Yeager glares at him, “Oh, it’s horse face.”
“Go die in a ditch already,” Jean scoffs, turning away. He doesn’t have time for this.
“Whatever,” Eren says, faked disinterest practically dripping off his tone.
As he jogs down the stairs, Jean pulls his hood up and tugs his denim coat tighter around himself, the chill air nipping at his skin. He doesn’t make a habit of hating very many people, but sometimes he truly wants to rip Eren Yeager’s head off. He’s always got something dumb to say. It’s like his very existence centers around being rage bait specifically for Jean.
Jean shakes his head and starts making his way to the campus coffee shop. If he can’t do his sketch assignment, he might as well get some caffeine before he has to make it to his last class for the day.
He pulls out his phone and asks Marco, Sasha, and Connie what they want from the shop.
Mongrel
donuts!
Oui Oui
to drink sash
Coconut
yeah sash to drink
gimme a latte
Freckles
i’ll take a chai pleaseee
Mongrel
iced caramel macchiato w whipped cream
and donuts
🔪
Freckles
i’ll send you money for the donuts
🥺
Mongrel
ily marco
Freckles
ily too!
Oui Oui
fine
but sasha has to share
Mongrel
no <3
Coconut
wait no now i want caramel n whipped cream too
Oui Oui
ur getting what she’s getting
Coconut
>:)
Jean rolls his eyes and shoves his phone into his pocket after reminding them to meet at their usual picnic table. He feels it vibrate in his pocket, no doubt Marco sending over the money for the donuts.
Jean keeps trying to think about what to do about the notebook, the tiny bit of extra weight in his backpack a constant reminder of the responsibility he’s taken on. He forces himself to clear his mind as he steps into the shop and takes his place in line.
It takes a little while before he’s walking out with four drinks in a carrier and a bag of donuts. The barista had given him the stink eye when he’d ordered his PSL with oat milk, two pumps of vanilla, whipped cream, and extra caramel drizzle, but he doesn’t care. He deserves it. He needs it, if he’s gonna get through the rest of the day.
Sasha and Connie are already huddled up at the picnic table, sharing a pair of earbuds. Sasha’s drowning in her bulky camo canvas jacket, her steel-toe work boots and the knees of her bootcut jeans muddy from her work in the university’s agriculture section.
Connie’s got his scuffed skate shoes kicked up on the bench as he leans his back into Sasha’s side. His knit beanie is tugged down over his slightly grown-out buzzcut. He’s chewing on one of his hoodie strings, the red material a dark burgundy where his spit has soaked through.
Jean barely sits down before Sasha snatches the bag of donuts from him and shoves one in her mouth. Crumbs fall from her mouth as she chews like a starving dog.
“Thanks, Jean, we love you, Jean, you’re so good to us, Jean,” Jean grumbles mockingly as he hands their drinks across the table.
“Thanks, Jean, we love you, Jean, you’re so good to us, Jean,” They repeat back to him, Sasha’s a lot more muffled by her full mouth. She nearly chokes but Connie whacks her back one good time.
“What happened to the library?” Connie asks, popping the dome lid off of his macchiato so he can slurp some whipped cream into his mouth. He licks his lips clean and tries to sneak a donut from Sasha, but she growls at him. He sticks his tongue out at her, then turns back to Jean. “You were there for barely ten minutes.”
Jean sighs and sips on his latte.
“There were no free desks, and when I finally found one, this scary blondie told me to scram with her eyeballs.”
“So?” Connie asks, an eyebrow quirking.
“So I scrammed,” Jean says. “She looked like she’d wipe the floor with me.”
“Was she, like, buff or something?” Connie questions, slurping more cream into his mouth. Whipped cream sticks to his cheek, this time, and Jean tosses napkins at him. It’s useless, though. Connie just swipes at his face with his hand and licks his fingers clean.
“Not obviously, but I just knew, alright?”
The sound of footsteps quickly approaching draws their attention, and they all light up when they see Marco jogging towards them, his freckled cheeks red from a combination of exertion and cold air. His navy blue half-zip pullover covers his neck, but he’s got a scarf on anyway. He slips onto the bench beside Jean and scooches close, soaking up his body heat.
Marco’s pristine white sneakers bump into Jean’s muddy combats, making him cringe and shuffle them away. He doesn’t want to ruin something else with his dirty shoes.
“Sorry I’m late! I had to dash from the other side of campus.” Marco says, shrugging his backpack off. While he settles it down on the ground, Jean puts his tea in front of him. Marco leans back up, spots it, and beams with a grateful, “Thank you!”
Jean snaps his fingers at Sasha, and she begrudgingly passes the last two donuts to Marco and Connie, the rest having been devoured already.
“He’s talking about that girl who knocked Floch on his ass,” Sasha finally says, having swallowed all the food that was in her mouth. She sips on her macchiato to wash it down, then pops the lid off and starts slurping at the cream like Connie had. “He deserved it.”
“Annie Leonhart? What about her?” Marco asks, eyes wide. He looks at Jean, worried. “Did you offend her?”
“No!” Jean defends. “I did my damnedest not to offend her, actually!”
“He stole her desk,” Connie says, munching happily on his donut.
“I didn’t know,” Jean groans. Then, something clicks in his brain. “Wait, did you say Annie?”
He pulls the notebook out of his bag and examines the smudged signature again, but he still can’t make anything out of it other than that single A.
Sasha perks up. “What’s that?!”
Connie cringes. “Why’s it dirty?”
“Do you guys know what classes she’s in?” Jean asks, flipping the book closed again, showing the CHEMISTRY carefully written on the front.
Marco reaches for the book, and Jean easily hands it over, knowing the other boy would be careful with it. Sasha and Connie were too destructive and sticky for him to trust them with it, even if he already stepped all over the thing.
Marco hums to himself as he looks at the signature.
“I think she’s studying to become a lawyer, so I doubt she’d be taking this level of chemistry,” he says, tapping at one of the equations inside. “This is more complicated than the gen course.”
Jean groans and drops his head onto Marco’s shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” Marco asks, bringing one hand up to pet Jean’s hair.
“I found that in the library and want to find the owner but I ruined the signature when I stepped on it,” Jean laments. “Now there’s only an A left. I thought it’d be hers, but I guess not.”
Marco pats his head comfortingly before wrapping his arm around Jean’s shoulder.
“Maybe we can help!” Sasha says excitedly. “Like… You can ask the Dean for a list of students with names that start with A!”
Marco wrinkles his nose. “I feel like that’s a breach of privacy.”
“Yeah, Sasha,” Connie smirks. “It’s a breach of privacy, idiot.”
“Your face is a breach of privacy,” Sasha retorts, smacking him on the back of his head, knocking his beanie crooked.
He fixes it with a scowl, then turns to Jean and says, “Maybe you can, like, wait at the library every day and see if they come looking for it.”
“I can’t,” Jean sighs. “I can’t go there every day, I have things to do, and it’s out of the way.”
Marco taps his shoulder and offers, “You should ask Professor Zoё.”
Jean lifts his head. “Yeah?”
Marco shrugs. “It seems like your best shot, right now.”
Jean sits up, and Marco retracts his arm. Jean grabs his latte and sips at it, his mind running with the possibility of actually finding the person. He wonders why he wants to do it so bad. He wonders if he’ll even be able to. He doesn’t exactly have time for sidequests.
“I’ll do it tomorrow,” He decides.