Chapter Text
The wind cuts impossibly sharp across the training grounds. With it carries dust, sweat, and the faint metallic scent of fear. We stand in rows—too straight, too stiff, too perfect, like we’re all already pretending we belong here.
I don’t. Not really. Shiganshina never left me. It sits in my chest like something unfinished. and as the sun was a blistering weight against the back of your neck stuck in the perfect, rigid lines of the 104th Training Corps. all of us three hundred teenagers, all of us praying to stay invisible.
**"Who the hell are you?!"**
The scream of Commandant Keith Shadis was like a physical blow. He moved through the ranks like a tank, his shadow looming over the cadets he chose to break. You kept your eyes locked straight ahead, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. but there was a flicker of that "unstable" defiance in your gut that refused to let your knees buckle.
Shadis stopped directly in front of the boy to your left. "And you! What do you call yourself?!"
"Jean Kirstein, from the Trost District, sir!" Jean’s voice was loud, brimming with an arrogance he hadn't yet learned to hide.
"And why are you here, cadet?!"
"To join the Military Police, sir! To live in peace within the Interior!"
The headbutt that followed was legendary. As Jean stumbled back, hissing and cursing under his breath, Shadis’s cold, dead eyes shifted to you. He stepped into your personal space, the smell of old tobacco and discipline radiating off him. He didn't scream at you immediately; instead, he lingered, his gaze taking in your frame—
"You look like you haven't seen a full meal since the Fall," Shadis hissed, his voice low and dangerous. **"Are you here to be a soldier, or are you just here to be live bait for the Titans?"**
You didn't flinch. You stared through him, your jaw tight. "To be a soldier, sir."
"We'll see," he muttered, finally moving past you to terrorize a boy who looked like he was about to faint.
As Shadis moved further down the line, you felt a gaze burning into the side of your face. You glanced sideways just enough to see Jean. He was rubbing his forehead, his face flushed with embarrassment, but he was looking at you with a curious, unreadable intensity—as if he couldn't decide if you were genuinely brave or just too far gone to be scared.
It was the first time your world collided with his.
What feels like hours pass the hot sun creating small beads of sweat on the back of your necks, it was torture but a rude awakening to what comes next, yet thankfully you guys we’re finally excused to chill out before dinner.
“Shiganshina, huh?” someone says casually. Not loud. But definitely not quiet. The smooth voice knocks me out of my thoughts and
I stop and slowly turn my head. He’s walking next to me like he didn’t just open a door on purpose. I don’t answer right away, trying to ignore him honestly, because there’s a thousand things I could say. None of them worth the breath.
“…Yeah,” I finally say.
Jean’s smirk flickers like he’s deciding what that answer means. “You don’t look like you’re doing great for someone who made it out.”
That should’ve stung more than it does. “you dont look too good for someone that just took a headbutt from shadis.” he just scoffs and walks off. Just like that. Like I was never even the point of the conversation. But I feel it anyway. Not the words. The attention. It sticks, Just then the barracks come into view as we’re herded forward in groups. Long wooden structures. Rows of bunk beds visible through open windows. Voices echoing inside already—some excited, some anxious, some trying too hard to sound confident. I step inside with the other girls. I look around, too many unfamiliar faces in here it's almost eerie. I pick my bunk, somewhat close to the actually only familiar face, Mikasa, then quietly wait for dinner, not wishing for any more socialization.
The mess hall is just full of chaos pretending to be normal. Awkward laughter that’s too loud. Conversations that don’t matter. I sit with Eren, Armin, and Mikasa for tonight—familiar people in a place that doesn’t quite feel real yet.
Eren is already fired up, talking about Titans. “I’m going to kill every last one of them.”
“You say that every single day,” I mutter, nudging his tray.
“And I mean it every time.”
Armin smiles faintly. Mikasa watches Eren like she’s making sure he doesn’t explode. And me? I’m distracted. Because I can feel it again—that stare.
Jean.
Across the room, he’s mid-conversation with Connie and Sasha, but his attention keeps drifting. Towards our direction. Before I can think too much about it, the noise shifts. Slowly a group starts circling our table. Cadets pulling up, leaning in too close, voices overlapping.
“So what actually happened that day?”
“Is it true the Titan could jump over the wall!?”
“No way, I heard—”
Armin straightens, already trying to explain calmly. But Eren scoffs like he’s about to explode.
“It wasn't like that,” Eren cuts in. “People panicked like cowards. That’s all.”
More people rise. Voices get quieter. Then, someone laughs like it’s a joke, and he snaps. Eren stands so fast the table shakes.
“What, you think you could’ve done better?” he fires at the cadet.
But just then, Jean’s voice cuts through from the other side of the crowd. “I know I would’ve done better.”
Silence flickers—just for a second. Eren turns.
“Oh yeah?” he snaps. “From the guy who was hiding behind the walls?”
Jean pushes his chair back. “At least I dont act all confident like this infront of these poor cadets.”
The room tightens around them instantly. People back up, forming that loose familiar circle—like they’re waiting for something to break. Eren steps forward. Jean meets him halfway.
“I swear you just like hearing yourself talk,” Eren says.
“And I swear you like getting people's hopes up for nothing,” Jean shoots back.
That does it. Eren lunges.
Jean doesn’t fully dodge—just shoves him off, and suddenly they’re both grabbing at each other, on the floor yelling over the noise, chairs scraping, everyone shouting at once.
“Hey—HEY!”
“Break it up!” Commander Shadis yells as he barely peeks into the dining hall.
Mikasa is up instantly, but she doesn’t say anything—just watching, calculating. Armin tries to step between them and nearly gets caught in the middle. I don’t even realize I’ve stood up until I’m already half a step forward.
Then—a whistle. A shout from Shadis before he leaves.
The pressure breaks. Eren pulls back first, still glaring. Jean wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, breathing hard like he’s furious he even got pulled into it.
“Whatever,” Eren spits, turning away. “Not worth it.”
Eren sits back down angrily, still simmering. The crowd disperses in awkward waves, conversations restarting like nothing happened. But it doesn’t feel normal anymore. Then, Eren storms out of the dining hall, leaving a moment of silence.
Mikasa exhales softly. “I’m going after him” she says, quickly standing.
No one stops her, not even daring to say a word. She walks out without hesitation, scarf shifting slightly as she goes.
That’s when it happened. Jean, still halfway turned away, glances up
“Hey.”
Mikasa pauses at the doorway. Jean hesitates, like the words are annoying him for existing.
“…Your hair,” he says, quieter now. “It’s beautiful.”
Mikasa blinks at him. “…Thank you,” she says as she turns away. Then she’s gone.
Jean stands there for a second longer than he needs to, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud at all. Then he turns away, jaw tight.
I just stare down at my tray. Appetite gone, like it magically disappeared. Jean glances over to me—just once, just before leaving. And I hate that I even noticed that. I get up to leave, leaving my tray to whoever—most likely Sasha—wants it, before heading back to the barracks tonight.
I couldn’t help but stare at Mikasa as I walk through the door. A wave of jealousy and guilt washes over me; I couldn't hate or be mad at her but i hated the way he looks at her.
Then the dust of the training grounds eventually gave way to a shimmering, oppressive heat haze. By mid-summer, the air was so thick you could almost taste the humidity, and the daily hand-to-hand drills became a battle against both your opponent and the sun.
The heat was stifling, the kind of heavy, humid air that made the wooden training knives feel slippery in your grip. You were paired with Annie Leonhart. She moved like water—cold, precise, and utterly disinterested.
You lunged, using the speed you’d been honing for months, but she didn’t even blink. With a flick of her wrist and a sweep of her leg, she had you spinning. Your head hit the dirt with a dull thud, your ears ringing as the world blurred. Annie didn't offer a hand; she just looked down at you with those bored, icy eyes as if she’d been playing with a particularly persistent kitten before walking away.
"Hey, don't let it get to you," a deep voice said from above.
Reiner leaned over, blocking the sun. He reached down, his hand massive as he pulled you effortlessly to your feet. He didn't let go immediately, his thumb grazing the back of your hand. "You’ve got heart. A little more muscle on those bones and you'll be dangerous. Maybe I can show you some better leverage techniques tonight?"
Before you could answer the subtle flirt in his tone, a shadow cut between you.
"She doesn't need 'leverage lessons,' Braun. She needs to actually eat her rations instead of giving them to Sasha," Jean snapped, stepping into the space between you and Reiner.
His jaw was tight, his amber eyes flashing sharp.
"You're overexerted. Go sit down before you embarrass yourself further."
That familiar hurt in your chest flared. You snatched a wooden practice knife from the floor and tossed it at his chest. He caught it out of sheer reflex, looking startled.
"If you think I'm so weak, Jean, prove it," you challenged, your voice low. "Or are you too busy dreaming about the Interior to even fight?" i hissed memories from earlier un-admittedly flashing through my throbbing head.
A tiny crowd began to form—Connie and Sasha whispering, Eren watching from afar with a grim sort of curiosity. Jean’s pride took the bait. He settled into a stance, his face hardening. "Fine. Don't cry when you hit the dirt."
The fight was fast. Jean was taller and stronger, but you were determined. You moved in his blind spots, forcing him to work for every inch. For a moment, he had the upper hand, his arm moving to sweep you off your feet—a move that would have ended the match instantly.
But he hesitated.
He saw the sweat on your brow, the way your chest heaved, and for a split second, he couldn't bring himself to slam you into the hard-packed earth. But that half-second was all you needed.
You twisted, your body low, and swept his legs out from under him. He went down with a grunt, and before he could scramble up, you were on top of him. You straddled his waist, pinning his arms back with the wooden knife pressed firmly against the pulse point of his throat.
The air left the clearing. You were inches from his face, your eyes burning with a smug, wild triumph.
Jean went completely still. His breath hitched, his pupils blown wide as he stared up at you. He wasn't thinking about the knife or the loss anymore. He was feeling the weight of you on his hips and the sheer, overwhelming reality of how he is pinned to the floor by u with a knife pressed to his throat.
"I win," you whispered, the smirk on your lips enough to make his heart hammer against his ribs.
You hopped off him lightly, tossing the wooden knife aside without a second glance. "Try to keep up, Kirstein."
Jean stayed on the ground for a beat too long, his face turning a light shade of red that had nothing to do with the sun. He scrambled to his feet, adjusting his belt with clumsy hands.
"I... I have to go," he coughed out, not looking at anyone. "I have to um I have to pee. The water at lunch was... just stay out of the sun!"
He swung around toward the barracks, leaving Connie and Sasha howling with laughter. You stood there, wiping the dirt from your palms
The relentless sun finally began to dip lower in the sky, turning the horizon a bruised purple. The first crisp breeze of September swept through the camp, carrying the scent of dying leaves and the promise of a long, cold autumn.
The transition into our now second fall brought a crisp, a unique oddly soft golden stillness to the camp. The air smelled of drying leaves and woodsmoke, a welcome relief from the suffocating humidity of the summer. Shadis had declared it a "deep-clean" day, a military tradition designed to keep the cadets busy and the barracks from smelling like a battlefield.
You found yourself assigned to the stables, the one place in the camp that felt like a sanctuary. Coincidentally—or perhaps because the universe had a sense of humor—you were paired with Jean.
"Move it, Reiner! The pasture won't rake itself!" Jean shouted toward the field, leaning on a pitchfork as he watched Reiner and Annie head toward the fences.
Reiner gave a silly mock salute, his large frame silhouetted against the orange autumn sun. Annie didn't even look back; she just dragged her rake behind her with a practiced, rhythmic indifference that suggested she was already planning her escape to a nap the moment they hit the tall grass.
The heavy wooden doors of the stable creaked shut, muffling the sounds of the camp and leaving the two of you in the cool, dim light. The scent of hay and horses was thick and familiar.
"Great," Jean muttered, though his voice lacked any real bite. He began tossing fresh straw into a stall with a focused, almost meditative energy. "At least it’s quiet in here. If I had to spend the afternoon listening to Eren yell about 'freedom' while scrubbing floors, I think I’d actually join the Titans."
You laughed, the sound echoing softly against the rafters. "Admit it, Jean. You’d miss him. Who else would you have a mid-day brawl with to keep your heart rate up?"
"I'd manage," he scoffed, though a small, betraying smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
For a while, you both worked in a comfortable, rhythmic silence. The initial tension of being alone together smoothed out as the dust settled. You moved to the long wooden bench at the back, pulling a crate of leather bridles toward you. Jean eventually joined you, sitting at the far end, his movements slow and deliberate as he began to polish the worn tack.
"You've gotten... a lot steadier," he noted quietly, his eyes focused on the leather in his hands rather than your face. "Better than Connie, anyway. He tried to help me with the saddles last month and nearly oiled up the horse instead."
You nudged his shoulder with yours, a small, grounding gesture that felt natural in the dim light. "Low bar, Jean. But I'll take the compliment."
He didn't pull away from the contact. Instead, he just gave a small, genuine nod, his amber eyes catching the golden light filtering through the hayloft. For a moment, the "Interior" dreams and the "Top 10" pressure were only miles away, yet he looked like he wanted to say something—finish his sentence or something—but the silence between you was enough. It was a simple kind of peace, the kind where words weren't really needed to bridge the gap.
The moment was interrupted by the sound of Sasha and Connie howling with laughter outside as they "accidentally" dumped a bucket of soapy water on each other, but the warmth in the stables remained. It was the last truly calm fall before the world ended, a golden memory you’d find yourself holding onto when the sky eventually turn to dark.
The golden leaves turned to brittle brown, then a few to skeletons as the first frost gripped the mountains. The sky turned a flat, heavy slate, and the rain grew so cold it felt like needles against your skin.
The transition into the first winter was a slow, agonizing crawl. The rain hadn't quite turned into the torrential downpour of white of mid-winter, but it was a persistent, cold drizzle that turned the forest floor into a treacherous slick of rotted leaves and mud.
You were running mid-paced,your breath coming in ragged, shallow puffs of steam. The cold was a psychological bridge; every time a freezing drop slid down your neck, you were back in the drafty, silent corners of Shiganshina. That old, impulsive itch flared in your nerves—the need to run faster, to be better, to outpace the memory of being helpless.
Ahead of you, Eren was a silhouette of pure, stubborn grit; Mikasa slightly ahead was a force that never seemed to slip. You felt like the outlier, the one whose feet were getting heavier with every mile.
You didn't notice Jean at first. How he was staying slightly ahead of most of you, maintaining his lead but clearly his focus split between his rank and the sound of your splashing footsteps behind him. He didn't even pretend to be oblivious; every time your pace lagged, he slowed just enough to keep you in his periphery. He knew you were flagging before you even admitted it to yourself.
The trail turned into a treacherous slick of thick mud. You tried to vault over a fallen log, your mind too busy screaming that you had to be faster, but your foot found no purchase on the mossy bark.
With a dull thud, you went down, sliding into a small shallow, mud and water-logged ditch. The freezing slush soaked through your trousers instantly. The grey sky above looked like the falling masonry of the gate, and the cold felt like the end.
A pair of heavy boots skidded to a halt at the edge of the ditch.
Jean didn't wait for you to ask. He didn't make a joke. He just reached down, his hand cutting through the soft grey curtain of rain, and hauled you up with a blunt, heavy strength that nearly lifted you off your feet. He pulled you right into his space, his fingers gripping your upper arms through the wet fabric.
He was soaked, his hair plastered to his forehead, but the heat radiating off his chest was staggering.
"You’re going to kill yourself," he hissed. His voice wasn't mocking—it was tight, vibrating with a raw, frustrated kind of worry. He gripped you a little too hard, his thumbs pressing into your skin. "Stop trying to prove something. You're going to get hurt, and..."
He cut himself off, he looked at your face, saw the way the cold made you look, and he winced. The fear of actually caring about someone out here made him stiffen. He let go of you as quickly as he’d grabbed you, turning his face away to hide the way his jaw was clenched.
"Just keep up with everyone," he muttered, his voice regaining its defensive, sharp edge as he looked back toward the trail. "Stay in the line. We're almost back."
He didn't wait for a reply. He turned and started a slow, focused jog back toward the rest, his shoulders hunched against the rain, never letting the distance between you grow an inch wider until the barracks finally came into view.
Then the rain finally froze into a deep, silent snow that buried the paths. The training moved indoors, and the world shrank to the size of mostly the barracks and the lecture hall, where the only thing thicker than the frost on the windows was the tension of a group of trapped teenagers.
The dead of winter brought a different kind of exhaustion—one that was less about aching muscles and more about the soul-crushing cold of the lecture hall. everyone huddled together for warmth while Shadis droned on about the internal combustion mechanics of the ODM wire-spool.
You were wedged onto a bench next to Armin, whose nose was a permanent shade of soft pink. Directly behind you, the air was thick with muffled snickers; Reiner and Ymir were taking turns whispering something that had Christa hiding her face in her hands to stifle her giggles. Even Jean was leaning back, a rare, relaxed smirk on his face as he watched the chaos. Shadis had already barked at your row three times, but the second he turned back to the chalkboard, the whispering started again.
In front of you, Eren and Mikasa sat like statues of focus, though Marco was leaning over to whisper a correction to Thomas’s notes. It was a rare, quiet pocket of the 104th family—even Annie, tucked into a corner seat, had her chin resting in her hand, her expression bored but her eyes not quite as icy as usual. She was stuck in the middle of it all, pretending she didn't find the rowdiness of the group atleast somewhat tolerable.
The heavy oak door groaned open, silencing the room in a heartbeat. A higher-ranking officer, his face drawn with some urgent news from the Interior, signaled for Shadis. With a final, soul-piercing glare that promised death to anyone who moved, Shadis stepped out.
For five minutes, the room was a tomb. You could hear the wind whistling against the frosted windowpanes.
By ten minutes, the tension snapped.
By the thirty minute mark, the "classroom" had ceased to exist.
"I'm telling you, he’s standing right behind the door waiting for one of us to move," Jean hissed, leaning his weight against the back of your bench. "It’s a trap. He wants an excuse to make us do laps in the snow."
"He’s been gone an hour, Jean! He’s probably at the infirmary getting his blood pressure checked because of you," Eren shot back, standing up from his seat with a defiant stretch. "I’m not sitting here like a statue for another hour."
"Sit down, Yeager. Some of us actually want to graduate in the Top 10 without a disciplinary mark," Jean barked, though he was already halfway off his own seat.
"Shut up."
It took exactly three seconds for the verbal sparring to turn physical. Eren lunged, Jean grabbed his collar, and in a flurry of tangled limbs and flying papers, they went down. A heavy wooden chair flipped with a deafening *crash*, taking both of them with it as they rolled across the floor in a mess of boots and grunts.
That was basically the signal. Sasha and Connie scrambled to the front of the room like they were storming a fortress. Within seconds, the chalkboard—covered in Shadis’s meticulous, technical diagrams—was being overwritten with a massive, poorly drawn over caricature of a Titan eating a giant potato.
"Connie, give him more teeth! He looks too friendly!" Sasha cheered, chalk dust engulfing her fingers.
Behind you, the window creaked open, letting in a blast of sub-zero air. Ymir was perched on the sill, one leg swinging over the edge into the snowy abyss. "I’m going for a walk," she announced, looking back at the room with a wicked grin. "If I'm not back in twenty minutes, Christa, come save me."
"Ymir, get down! You'll freeze!" Christa squeaked, though she was smiling, her eyes bright with the thrill of the rebellion.
People were sitting on desks, trading stories and stolen snacks. You leaned back, feeling the warmth of the crowded room despite the winter chill. For a moment, the war outside the walls didn't exist. There was no Shiganshina, no Titans, and no impending graduation. There was just the sound of Jean and Eren’s muffled cursing, the scratching of chalk, and the rare, genuine feeling of being home.
You caught Jean’s eye as he poked his head around, hair messy and face flushed from the scuffle. He looked at you, then at the chaos of the room, and for the first time in weeks, his sarcasm was gone. He just gave you a small, breathless grin—the kind of understood look that said he’d stay in this messy, loud room forever if it meant he didn't have to face the world outside.
Then finally ice finally began to crack, and the sound of rushing meltwater echoed through the valley. The scent of pine returned, sharp and sweet, as the forest woke up for the third time since we’d arrived yet there was a silent understanding that nobody wanted it to end in spite of everything.
Then the arrival of the third and final spring didn't just bring the thaw; it brought the most grueling vertical maneuvers of the year. The air was finally sweet with the scent of pine and damp earth, but you were usually too busy flying through the canopy to notice.
By now, the instability of your first years had been forged into a sharpened focus. You were moving with a fluidity that finally rivaled the natural talents in the squad.
During a very rare break in the mid-morning drills, the squad had gathered on a high rocky outcrop overlooking the valley. The sun was actually warm for once, soaking into your gear as you sat on the edge of the cliff, your legs dangling over the view below.
"If I have to untangle another wire from a pine branch, I’m going to lose my mind," Connie groaned, sprawled out flat on his back next to you.
"Maybe if you stopped trying to do mid-air somersaults to outrun Sasha, you wouldn't get stuck," Jean remarked, with a light awkward chuckle. He was sitting a few feet away, leaning back on his elbows, squinting into the bright spring sky.
Sasha was busy trying to find blossoms near the treeline with mikasa, while Eren and Armin were off to the side, Eren still obsessively checking the gas pressure on his canisters. For a moment, the world felt vast and strangely peaceful. The valley below was a tapestry of budding greens, and the wind was soft enough that it didn't bite.
"You were quite today, focused?" Jean said quietly, his voice carrying a light humm, just enough that only you could hear it over Reiner’s almost dramatic snoring.
You looked over at him. He wasn't looking at the view anymore; he was looking at you, his expression stripped of the usual competitive mask. "I saw that recovery you made on the third line. Most people would have hit the trunk."
"I told you I was getting better," you replied, a small, confident smile playing on your lips. "You might actually have to work to keep that lead."
"I'm not worried," he scoffed, though he reached out and brushed a stray pine needle off your shoulder, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. "But it's good. Seeing you... not struggling. It makes this whole 'soldier' thing feel a little less like a death sentence."
You leaned back, mirroring his posture, the sun warming your face. "It’s a nice day, Jean. Don't ruin it by being sentimental."
He let out a genuine, soft laugh—the kind he only let out when the others weren't listening. "Right then, Your landing was still a little shaky on the last run."
"There he is," you laughed softly, closing your eyes and soaking in the fleeting, quiet warmth of a spring that you wished it could last forever.