compyuutah | frotlog2013

Entry tags:

frotlog2013

[After Armin's death the atmosphere between the 104th Squad had been tense. The death of a comrade–a friend in most cases–hit everyone at varying levels, though none so much as three. Mikasa seemed the most visibly upset, hunting down a "murderer" that may or may not be real while Jean and Eren worked it out their own ways.

For Jean, it meant working past it. Moving forward. Numbing himself to the sights and sounds so that it was easier to forget and easier to run away from. The problem was, he needed distractions for it. Work. Extra training. Prolonged patrols. That sort of thing. The Commander was more than willing to comply but the issue lied within who he was paired with.

It was hard to move on when your patrolling partner was the person who held the other shovel.

Through a substantial miracle, they had managed to almost complete their first patrol–albeit in an uncomfortable silence. The discomfort was familiar, at least, which made it slightly better. But the fact of the matter was that the distance between the two of them was bridged by words left unuttered and hanging; dead weights of possible conversations. Multiple elephants in a tiny room.

It's halfway through the Outskirts that Jean decides he's had enough.]

If you've got a problem you should come out and say it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Eren, meanwhile, is on the verge of self-destructing. Death is one thing he's tremendously familiar with (they both are, and will grow to learn it better still) but this was different: he wasn't there for his best friend. Mikasa didn't need protecting and Jean was too practical to die, but Armin? Armin was someone he'd wanted to shove into a library and lock him in so he wouldn't get the crap beat out of him anymore. Someone he was supposed to look out for.

And now he's dead.

He spends most of his waking moments in anger, and the entire patrol stewing in fruitless frustration. His feet alternate from dragging and stomping, and small talk or bickering is the last thing on his mind— the fact that Jean even speaks is unnecessary, and Eren does little but glare in his direction when he starts. ]

A problem? [ He repeats slowly, tosses his head with a disbelieving grunt. ] What do you think it is, Jean?

[Jean knows that tone and brushes past it, continuing on his way without a glance back.]

I think Armin's dead and you can't get past it. [The words seem overly stiff. It's hard to say he's dealing with it any better. Ignorance and numbness only covers up what he already knows–he's failed again. That promise he made at the cremation–wasn't it to protect the people he knew from a worthless death? Give them at least the benefit of a meaningful passing or don't let them die at all, that was what he had promised.

Yet Armin still died and yet again no one knew how. Whether the death had been unseen or simply impossible to help made no matter–it was a repeat and that made it a breach of contract with someone highlighting the terms of his failure in bright red ink.

All he can do is keep walking. Fight towards getting better while distancing himself from reminders.]

You need to. [A beat and his voice becomes a touch gentler. Jean glances over his shoulder.] There's nothing we could've done about it.

[Another pause and he looks froward again.] There's still nothing we can do.

[ They'd both failed. From wandering around in the forest together, he knew that Jean cared (in his own, socially inept kind of way) about Armin, and the loss struck them both. Not in the same way, but on another day Eren probably would've empathized.

Today, though, he glares sharply at the back of Jean's head. He forces himself to trudge onward, blind to whatever sympathy that the other teen was showing him because it's hard to think straight with the heavy lump growing in his throat. ]

Don't. [ There's already a warning in his tone, something in the way it starts to tense that promises violence. ] I could've saved him.

[ Though he's not sure what's worse: the idea that he's right, and he simply abandoned his friend... or that he didn't have the power to do anything in the first place. ]

[It's unclear whether Jean heard the warning or if he's ignoring it, turning back towards Eren with a hard look. Fists clench underneath the Scouting Legion cloak and a frown thins his mouth; he wouldn't say no to a fight. Anger at oneself is easier to face when it's pinned on someone else and Eren is the perfect target.]

Yeah. Maybe. If the past was completely different. [A step forward, an incline of the head.] It's not, is it. It won't be. No matter your efforts it'll stay the same and he'll still be dead. That's the consequence of failure, Eren. You have to accept it and move on.

[Perhaps if he said it in a different way it would sound sympathetic. Yet there's a sharpness in his tone that sounds accusatory and confrontation in every step he takes forward. A dare to punch, to start something, give him another distraction. Challenge him so he can further forget.]

[ How could anyone write that off? How could he move on and pretend it wasn't weighing him down day to day? Even worse— why the hell was Jean talking down to him? It's not like it was his best friend that died (no, he'd lost his already, something rational and quiet reminds him in the back of his mind. He ignores it), and if they didn't have to go patrol together Eren would've avoided the other boy as best he could.

Because it always turned out like this between them, Jean telling him exactly what he already knew and needed to hear again. His mouth twists, teeth bared in a slight snarl. ] Back off!

[ He shoves Jean, knocking him back by the shoulders, punctuating each word as his temper flares. ] And shut the fuck up— I don't need to hear this shit from you.

[One, two steps back he stumbles, weight placed on his right leg. He freezes there for a moment, frowning hard before pushing off his heel and returning the shove.]

Then show it! [Another shove.] Do something other than mope! You know how obnoxious it is? Looking at that shitty face when you could stop everything!? [Another step forward and he's yanking Eren to him by his cloak.] You're too caught up in what you couldn't do to stop what you can!

[ Eren staggers forward, meeting eyes with Jean and it's like they never grew up. All that maturity they'd found in Trost was fraying at the edges and all Eren wants is to punch his teeth in, get him to stop yammering on about not trying or moping or whatever the hell he thinks is going on. He didn't know jack.

Because that was the problem. He was trying. It just hadn't mattered in the end. He grips at Jean's wrist, yanking him away with needless force, voice climbing louder. ]

Get off your high horse, Jean—!

[ His fingers dig into his cloak almost by instinct. Falling back into an old routine because right now that's easiest, and he doesn't have to be good or responsible or humanity's hope around Jean. ] Lecturing me, pretending you don't give a shit— you think you're doing any better!?

[ But after a second Eren lets go, nearly drawing away as his eyes narrow and his nose wrinkles. He rarely reaches for words that sting, preferring to land blows and break noses, but he's sick of his shit and his anger makes him crueler than he has any right to be. ] Or maybe you really don't care.

[It's hard to stop his fist from moving–not that he wants to. His fist strikes skin and it feels so satisfying.]

You little shit.

[A firmer grip on his cloak, another yank to shake him–make their eyes meet again. ] You think you're the only one affected by this?! [How many scenarios had he run through? His imagination had killed Armin four times over trying to figure out how it had happened. How it could have been prevented if he were in a different location, time, anything.

Eren was baiting him, he knew. But the bait was too easy to take.]

[ Eren knows how to press Jean's buttons; at one point, he'd done it to get him to focus on his hand-to-hand training. Now, it's because he needs to vent steam, someone who won't hold back and that he's not afraid to hurt a little—

He grunts with the first punch, jaw set and letting his eyes slide over to meet Jean's with deliberate, indignant slowness. ]

No. [ He practically spits out the word. ] But I'm not the one acting like it never happened.

[ And Eren's chest grows heavy and tight, heart pounding so hard it hurts. Even if he's the one doing the goading, all of this is wrong and he speaks in a low, frustrated hiss. ] Like it didn't fucking matter.

[ With that, he snaps back— there's not much space between them, so he settles for grabbing the other boy by the lapels and trying to bring him down onto his knee. ]

[There's not much Jean can do to stop it. He falls hard, stomach wrapping over the knee and a spitting out a cough and a grunt. It sets off a fit and a pattern, a short cycle of coughing and trying to breathe. One hand still grips Eren's cloak, curling into it as he glares up at him.]

I'm trying to do my job!

[Halfway through the sentence he shifts, turning on his heel and pushing off it again. The closeness of the attack leaves Eren open to the only retaliation he knows. At the last syllable, Jean pushes into Eren with a tackle.]

[ He reels back, ready to punch Jean again while he's down when he retaliates and Eren's forced to stagger as he coughs up air. Feet backpedaling and struggling to keep his weight even as he starts to lose his balance.

And that's fine. Fighting's a good distraction, and Eren's voice grows into a low roar. ]

Bullshit! I always thought you were an asshole, but—

[ I thought you were better than that. He rams his elbow down onto Jean's back, grinding the bone to try and get him to let go. ]

[The accusation, though unspoken, freezes him still just for the time for the elbow to come down. He barks out a sharp shout of pain and drops lower, feet slipping back in the dirt as he keeps pushing Eren forward. Stubborn, if nothing else.]

But what, asshole.

[Harder, he pushes, speaking through grinding teeth.] Finish your damn sentence!

[ Eren's feet finally slip out from under him from the extra weight and they both go spilling across the dirt and grass. Landing heavily, he barely affords himself time to wince, thrashing his legs to get some distance and maybe shake this idiot off of him— if this were a friendlier spar or something, he might've been impressed by his tenacity.

But he's not. It's just annoying as fuck. So instead, he keeps kicking at him, trying to slide his boots free and snarling. ]

I thought— [ kick. ] thought that you'd call him your friend.

[Ha! Victory. Or a small taste of it. Once they're on the ground, it's pretty easy to stop the movement. Or stop getting hit by it. With difficulty, Jean places weight on Eren's knees, one hand holding his lapel as the other gets ready to punch downwards.

His fist freezes before he punches downwards; the words hit him hard. Empty out his gut and refill it with anger that threatens to boil over. His knuckles turn white. A sneer pulls at his lip.

He punches down hard.]

Say that again, asshole! [Another punch.] Say it!

[ Eren's the better fighter, but when they're this close it doesn't matter much— one of his hands wraps around Jean's wrist, tugging at it. But he can't pull free fast enough before Jean's punch lands, pain spreading below his cheekbone with a cry and his vision flashes white. He twists his wrist harder, nails breaking into his skin because fuck honor and chivalry and whatever else.

He snaps his head back and growls, eyes wide with fury. ]

Fuck you!

[ He yanks his legs with renewed vigor, getting one free and kicking at his chest. ] You weren't there for him either!

[Eren yanks them down so that they're too close–faces almost touching. It's a welcome reprieve when the kick hits his gut and pushes him back. His wrist is stinging and his skin is torn, small pricks of blood swelling up but he doesn't care, grabbing a kicking leg and dragging Eren to him, yanking up his hair if he manages to get close enough.]

I wasn't the one he would always cling to!

[ There's something primitively satisfying about landing his kick, the feeling of flesh under his boot and adrenaline replacing reason. And his hand stays firmly locked around his wrist, feeling the other teen's pulse between his fingers when he gets dragged across the dirt, fingers in his hair and nails dragging across his scalp. He lets out a guttural snarl by Jean's cheek as they're far too close again.

And for a second he stays there, the purple beginnings of a bruise on his cheek and eyes narrowed as he breathes out in low, heavy breaths. ]

No. You weren't.

[ He doesn't care that it hurts when he jerks his head, lunging forward to try and get the upper ground over Jean, pinning his arm down and shouting inches from his face. ]

What, are you jealous, Jean—? That you didn't let him down the most!?

[With a grunt he's shoved to the ground, twisting with a pained shout as Eren falls on top of him. Legs cramped and arms bent at slightly odd angles–Jean's position and uncomfortable. His limbs scream in protest as Eren presses down but he ignores it in favor of his words.

With a snarl, he tries to push up, his snarl only inches from Eren's.]

Am I jealous?!

[Futilely, he struggles, trying to kick Eren off of him and getting stuck, knees catching between his thighs. Jean pushes anyway. A knee to the groin should be just as painful as anything else.]

He was the only one I had left!

[Eren had Mikasa. Eren was respected, liked, trusted. If Jean died would anyone care? Would Mikasa blink, would Annie glance? Would there be anyone to remember him the same way he'd be for them?

Anger builds up and brings him shouting into Eren's mouth.]

I'm doing the only thing I can!

[ Eren hikes up, leaning forward to avoid the full blow to his crotch, forehead hovering above Jean's with the full intent to right himself a second later and punch him in the throat.

But there's still someone's thigh sliding up between his and way, way too much friction against his trousers. They'd fought at least a dozen times before this, when Shadis wasn't looking and sometimes during spars, but it was never. Emotionally charged besides with dumb teenage testosterone and bravado. And there's a heat in his gut and it's almost hilariously mistimed despite the situation and unwelcome and—

Eren breathes out an automatic, slightly horrified noise that dies halfway in his throat: he's immediately torn between scrambling away and staying put so he can beat some sense into him. And in the end he goes with an awkward mix of both, because Jean's words make his temper and confusion flare up; what was this idiot going on about? Did he really think Armin was the only person who cared?

(Eren realizes he'd had at least had Mikasa to suffer with. Where did Jean go after they'd burned the body, who did he confide in—)

He draws back onto his knees, having to slack on his grip in the process. His voice is, however, just as forceful as ever. ]

I'm your friend, you stupid son of a bitch!

[The confession startles Jean out of his anger and into surprise. There was a difference, he had learned, between liking someone and being liked. It became something he didn't expect, settling with unrequited attachment simply because it was easier to accept than the alternative.

Yet here the alternative was re-emerging. Pushing itself to the surface and it catches him off-guard, propped up on his elbows blinking stupidly.]

What?

[His gaze drops down, embarrassment flooding over him in a flushed wave and it's then that he sees it.]

What the fuck is that?! [The moment is ruined quickly. Frantically, Jean tries to scramble back and fails. He settles with pulling back his shoulders, staring in horror and disgust at the tent in Eren's pants.] Did you get–

[He's got one leg free. Jean uses it to his advantage, using his foot push against Eren's crotch to both cause him pain and kick him off.] IS THAT A BONER!?

[ For about a split second, things are okay. And in their mutual anger they've... maybe reached a general consensus. Some kind of rare emotional understanding between the two of them.

But then Jean goes and fucking ruins it with his big mouth, as usual. As though that first crotchshot hadn't backfired miserably enough, Jean just. Insists on making this worse and there's a sudden pressure on his groin and he lets out some strangled noise halfway between a gasp and a groan; he grabs hold of the other teen's lapels to avoid getting tossed off, glaring. ]

Sh— [ It's kind of pathetic, but he loses his voice and kind of stares haplessly at Jean before starting up again. ] Shut up! [ He shouts into his face, teeth grinding together and ears burning red. ] Look we're— it's nothing, just...

[ He works to drag them both to their feet so he doesn't have to awkwardly straddle Jean, but he doesn't let go of his jacket either. They weren't done talking, and he knows he'd bolt the instant he could. ]

Ignore it, all right!? [ for the love of god could they just not talk about this ever again ]

Get the fuck off me!

[No. No touching lapels. No staying close to each other. Not when he knows there's. Another. Guest.

He tries hard to pull away, pushing at Eren's chest, face, hands–anything he can to remove himself from the other boy.]

Leave me out of your sick fantasies, you freak!

[ Everything that could go wrong, does go wrong. It's pretty much a fact of life between them, in their own universe and this one.

...But it's not at it's worst point yet. Eren blindly grips at his shirt as Jean tries to shove away from him, voice pitching off into way too loud territory again, in part because of residual anger, and now some mixed embarrassment. Because. He really wishes he'd stop roaming around so much with his hands? Who the fuck does that? Why is he so bad at reading this situation? ]

That's not it, you goddamn pervert—

[ With the struggle it's hard to pay attention to their surroundings, the fact that they're in the outskirts lost on Eren as he tries to keep Jean from leaving. Also, the fact that he's half-hard. That... makes things difficult too.

So when their legs tangle up, it sends them crashing shoulders-first into the grass, their combined weight sending them tumbling right over the hillside they were walking over to begin with. ] Shit—!

[Whatever Jean has to reply with gets cut short as the ground falls out from beneath them. With a string of unintelligible cursing and yelling, they fall intertwined. Jean tumbles in conflict–torn between pushing Eren off of him and grabbing hold of him for dear life.

That's how they land, actually. With Jean beneath Eren, one hand wrapped around his back and clawing while the other pushes at his face. With a blush of embarrassment, he releases the one around his back and has it quickly join in on the pushing.]

W-What the fuck is your problem?! Get off me!

[ He yells at every bump, wincing and clutching to Jean like a lifeline, and it's total luck that Eren ends up rolling over onto Jean once their momentum stops. They're both scratched up and there's bits of grass stuck in his hair as he keeps Jean pinned, disoriented before for several seconds before he finds his voice again. ]

Knock it off! I just... we should talk!

[ Even listening to himself it sounds dumb as hell, and he winces a little. And Jean is struggling too much, pushing him back— and despite his best efforts, he ends up on the other teen's lap and he takes in a sharp inale, hands gripping his arms until his knuckles go white. ]

And stop— moving so much!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

thanks, cards against humanity

you're welcome

thank you, rage boners

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject