compyuutah | frotlog2013

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[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.

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[ Eren is still shellshocked, reeling away weakly for a second as Jean pushes his face. Was this really happening? No— they. Had to be delusional. Or... something.

But he's not very good at leaving anything alone; he snaps awake, shoving Jean back down roughly, hands curled into his collar as he stumbles over his words. ]

What the fuck!? Why are you— [ he tries to glare, but it falls flat into horrified, accusatory staring again ] You started this!

I started talking! I didn't cause any of this shit!

[He hits the ground again and practically gawks up at Eren.]

Why the hell did you push me back down?!

[IT'S LIKE YOU WANT THIS OR SOMETHING oh my god get off his lap]

[ He stays where he is, fingers wringing into the fabric and trying not to fidget. And he blanks, because he really... has no idea what he's doing.

He looks off, then back, then away again, trying to sort out his thoughts (which is difficult due to Circumstances but). And eventually, Eren does what Eren does best which is to just barrel down the path of least resistance and blurt out the first thing on his mind.

Nevermind the fact that he sounds marginally more tentative than he's used to, which is kind of infuriating of its own right. ]

Do you want me to go?

[Oddly enough, Eren's question gets more of a reaction out of him than anything else.]

Are you kidding?

[He frowns.] I'm not fighting my way back alone.

[ He scowls, glaring more intently. He doesn't really get his feelings, but he's willing to roll with them because that's how he always works. Understanding comes second to emotion, and good judgment is nothing to instinct.

So he leans forward a bit, faces close and a hand bracing against Jean's arm less forcibly than before. ]

That's not what I mean, you dense piece of shit.

[Uh.

Wait.

Jean turns his face to he side, casting a wary glance.]

A couple minutes ago you were screaming at me.

[And now? What? He wanted to literally kiss and make up?]

If you've got a fever it better not be contagious.

[ Was he sick? Could be. Sure was better than any other explanation his mind was drawing up so far.

Eren still doesn't move, maybe out of pure spite and stubbornness. But given the fact that he speaks up, it's probably neither. ]

I'm upset, not sick. [ Not past tense. His best friend was dead and it was his fault— not just his fault, but that didn't change the truth of things. And it'd worn him down more than anything else he'd gone through in Zelien. More than death and torture or whatever the hell else. After several more seconds of silence and mulling, he admits, voice hoarse: ] I was trying to start a fight. Tired of dealing with it by myself.

[ He doesn't draw away, bangs falling over his eyes as he stares Jean down, something heavy in the way his head hangs lower. ] Happy?

[Out of the two of them, Jean's the more honest. Confessions spill easily from him, not Eren. Hearing it reversed startles him. Calms him down and sobers him. He glances away. Meeting Eren's gaze is too hard.]

Why the hell would I be happy about that, asshole?

[It's grumbled and quiet.] Just what type of guy do you think I am?

[They're on the same page, in the end. The only difference is Eren tries to change it, fight against it. And him? Jean's brows crease upwards. Cowardice took time to die out, didn't it?]

I miss him too.

...I know.

[ Which is weird, because for the longest time he'd thought Jean was a lazy, inconsiderate asshole with a head full of air and avarice. A loudmouthed braggart who he'd never see again past their official enlistment. But here they are, mourning over the same friends, fighting the same battles, and it's clear that at least one of them's grown up and Eren's not sure it's himself.

And he may be marginally less prone to foot-in-mouth syndrome, but he's the more impulsive of the two, and he knows he's in the wrong. So he draws his hands under the other teen's jaw, nudging his face forward and meeting eyes again. Despite how horrifically, undeniably awkward the situation was, he manages to sound sincere. ]

Sorry. For goading you.

[ For a lot of things, really. ]

Ha. [He breathes out a laugh, the smallest smirk pulling at his lips.] Don't give yourself too much credit. I was doing it first.

[There's no need to apologize and it feels weird thinking that. Their past has been tied together with aggravation and exasperation yet nothing felt wrong. They were comrades. Frustration was part of the job description, wasn't it?

A silence stretches between them now and despite the clear awkwardness of the situation, Jean feels calm. They're on the same plane, just moving different ways. It was how it had always been. The one part of this whole universe that was, really. There's a comfort there that makes Jean move a hand, tentative and slow, around the back of Eren's neck.]

Hey. I know I'm not that good at this stuff but. Uh.

[He doesn't think about it, just bringing Eren down against his shoulder and taking a deep breath.] I'm sorry. That I wasn't there to protect him.

[ He doesn't smile back, the space between his brows wrinkling as Jean brushes off his apology. But he doesn't want to protest, either, because the silence that settles in is comforting. Eren had stewed by himself, mostly, and Mikasa, sometimes. Otherwise he'd thrown himself into training and combing the city over, grasping at clues and answers of vengeance that didn't exist— which didn't matter. He needed purpose, he needed to fix things. Even if he knows that Jean's right, and that they need to move on and protect who they have left and that a loss was a loss and the dead were staying dead.

Reality was hard, and slowing down to accept it was unbearable. But now they have a novelty that was never afforded to them back home, because there was actually time to revel in emotions, sometimes: to find comfort in someone else's presence for a day and get through it together.

Absently, he thinks it's... nice.

He gets pulled down and his muscles tense automatically, nearly shoving himself away in surprise, hands braced against Jean's chest. But he lands against his shoulder and there's nothing antagonistic about it, and he's a bundle of nerves for a few seconds longer as they just... hug. And breathe, in tandem. Eventually he adjusts his arms, sliding them underneath Jean and clutching to his back, returning the gesture fervently as he digs his face into his collar, voice muffled: ]

I wasn't either.

[It feels weird, having Eren this close to him. Their fights had brought them into close contact before but nothing had this... tenderness.

It's not unwelcome. Even if it makes his chest grow tight and his throat clog in nervousness or fear or some other emotion he can't quite pinpoint. It's nice besides that.

With a nervous laugh he speaks:]

Looks like he outsmarted us.

[It's broken halfway through, tinged with too much leftover regret to be light-hearted. It weighs on him–makes his brow crease in support and his frown tremble. He grips Eren tighter to stop it, one hand slowly reaching up to the back of his head and cupping it gently.

He stays like that for several minutes, silent and staring up at the sky. It's hard to believe in souls and life after death, but he can see the appeal now. The sky is so vast and accommodating it's hard to look up and not feel hope.]

Where do you think he went?

[It's a stupid question and he knows. But being trapped in the ground or turning to dust is too harsh an end right now–too mundane and lackluster. Grandeur, for once, is more comforting.]

[ The minutes pass too quickly— even without speaking, it's easy to revel in the presence of another person this close. Warmth and someone tangible, someone alive. He feels him laugh (a heavy, painful noise) against his chest, the 'joke' passing between them like a lead weight, and Jean's hand is in his hair and he can't bring himself to mind.

But he ruins it by opening his mouth again. Idiot. The question goes unanswered for a second. ]

I—

[ I don't know.

The words die in his throat, and he goes into an awkward silence, because Eren's learned that sometimes he can't afford to be honest. And sometimes, he didn't want to be— what he wanted was the best from the world.

And that meant being a little delusional.

So he lifts his head to look him in the eye, then presses his forehead to Jean's, hands wrapping into his shirt until his fingers hurt and his knuckles go bone-white, tone raw. ]

I think he went home.

Ha. [It's too harsh and humorless to be called a laugh. If their eyes are meeting then it's clear that the prospect doesn't comfort him–Jean's eyes are wide and scared. Of what that means for Armin; of what that means for them. The lump in his throat grows bigger and his breathing gets shallow as he forces out a laugh that he doesn't mean.

Was home supposed to be a joke? What good would it do him? Bring him back to life only to kill him again but at a later date?

Would he really stand a chance without the rest of them? Or would he die again, where none of them could see?

Jean's breathing settles, his head tipped back and watching the stars. Odd, how something that had never mattered to him suddenly became significant. A comforitng presence he couldn't turn down.]

Hey, Eren.

[What if the stars were all the tears–small worlds and pockets of what could or was? Maybe, somewhere up in that vast sky, they were all safe. Couldn't that be a possibility?

His heart aches and he knows the answer but he asks anyway.] Do you think we're there with him? Other versions of us or something.

[ The thought clearly doesn't comfort him like it does Eren, and he wonders if he hadn't just made things worse. Because he'd rather die in the world he belongs in than end up buried in the dirt, dug up by friends and burned until they were nothing but bones in a casket.

His lips quirk, just barely. No. No, that really wasn't comforting at all.

Rather than watching the stars, he keeps his eyes on Jean, an impending sense of dread as he waits for him to speak. Because he will say something, and it'll cut deep, because he's good at that now. He's a loudmouth who can't filter his thoughts and when the question hits the air Eren winces. ]

Jean.

[ They were both slipping. Even he could see that. It's too much because of their proximity, that they've forgotten to be awkward despite how they're touching and now they're blurting out their thoughts, fears, hopes— the fact that they're both feeling and thinking too much.

So he trails his hands up, threading his fingers into the other boy's hair. He swallows, mouth suddenly dry, before he pulls Jean up so they're both sitting up, tilting his head forward. No more staring off, no more thinking about what skies the people back home were zipping through and whether or not there were Titans beneath them, whether there was a world where they didn't have to die. Thoughts that plague Eren constantly, and ones he didn't wish on anyone else.

He tilts his head up, pressing his mouth firmly against Jean's to shut him up. Or maybe to distract himself (not for long, it's his responsibility to care, but it's something). Or maybe it's purely physical. He doesn't know anymore. Whatever the case, Eren barely pulls away, voice thick and unsteady. ]

Stop.

[Jean's eyes grow to saucers and a half-heared protest dies in his throat. Hands that first grasp to Eren's arms fall to his sides, limp and weak; against his better judgment Jean moves into it.

He needs this. A distraction, physical or emotional. Something else to focus on: the movement of their tongues, the soft hitches of breath, the hand curling into the back of his hair–painful but not enough for him to notice. Or stop. Something within him is disappointed when Eren does.]

Wh-

[When the kiss breaks, his confusion grows. He can feel his brows rising, feel his tongue trip over itself in an attempt to gain an explanation. Beseechingly, he searches Eren's eyes instead, trying to find the answer there but to no avail. It's useless. He should just give up.

So he does.

Leans forward again and restarts the kiss, gentle and slow with one hand cupping the side of his face. It's tender–probably too much so–but he doesn't care. They're alone and lost at the same time. If this is the only thing that will help them back on track, he'll take it. At least it grounds them to something.]

[ Jean, for what might be the first time in many years, doesn't argue with him. Eren tells himself it's something visceral. Two frustrated, overly hormonal teenagers whose best friends are dead and have to settle with finding less meaningful comforts with less savory company. A pair of idiots taking a brief, shameless reprieve from reality— one that, in the long run, wouldn't help at-fucking-all.

But then Jean closes the gap between them and it's startlingly intimate, so much so that Eren's breath catches, brows knit, and he's not sure how to react because he's about as delicate as a bull in a china shop. It's much too gentle for them to just be letting off steam in the way he expects.

And, most frighteningly, he's all right with that.

It takes all his self-control not to shove or draw blood, leaning his cheek into the touch as he lets Jean work their mouths together, tongue skirting out to taste his lips and part their mouths and feel their warm, mismatched breaths collide because the two of them have never matched rhythms. And he trails his hands down to his neck, spreading his fingers to take in the mild roughness of his skin, reveling in the fact that despite how much is gone they're both still here and they're both alive and for once, how amazingly tangible that is.

Not that all his honest emotion makes him any better at this. He slides his hands eventually, crossing his arms behind Jean's head and pulling him deeper into the kiss, teeth knocking together uncomfortably as he hisses a muffled 'ow' against his mouth. ]

[After the fourth knock, Jean pulls away with a flat look.]

Haven't you ever kissed someone before?

[Not that he has, either. It's all guesswork and fumbling about but it seems right. Minus Eren's fuck-ups _{(Jean's doing it too, just won't admit it)}.] You're not supposed to slam your face against mine.

[ His skin's tan enough that it hides a blush, but he scowls openly. Of course he hadn't done this before— Eren was too married to the idea of killing Titans to care about actual romance. It felt okay enough despite the overly enthusiastic nose bumping and teeth clicking, so what was he going on about?

He fiddles with the belt strapped across Jean's chest, lips twisting into an uncertain slant. Well, if there was room to improve... he eventually grumbles: ]

How the hell am I supposed to do it, then?

[ Cue expectant staring. If Jean was apparently so good at this, he could demonstrate. ]

Isn't that obvious?

[No. In fact, he's kind of hoping Eren would know the answer to that question and worries when he doesn't.] Isn't it... [Shit, his voice sounds too nervous. He clears his throat and leans forward again.] ... Shouldn't it be something like this?

[It was supposed to be a smooth tilt into a kiss but he misses, his nose fighting Eren's instead. Muttering a curse, he tries back and starts again only for his teeth to catch on Eren's lip. Again, he pulls back, blushing in embarrassment.] I-It's something better, alright?

Edited 2013-11-29 07:41 (UTC)

[ Their noses bump. Again. Eren snorts and rolls his eyes. Meanwhile, he fumbles with the buckle once, twice— and yanks it free when teeth skim his mouth, stinging slightly. ]

Ow— Jean, you... [ He narrows his eyes, immediately leaning forward to nip his bottom lip in retaliation, very much on purpose. ] Admit it. You suck just as bad.

[ There's an awkward pause where he hovers around his mouth some more, still unsure of how to... actually do this successfully. But he's also impatient as hell, and all this indecision is wearing on him. So he leans in again, this time shifting his weight further into Jean's lap— their hips proceed to knock into each other, and Eren completely misses his mark in surprise, lips sort of colliding into the other teen's face as he exhales harshly. After a second he adjusts to press his cheek to Jean's to hide his own blush, moving again so they weren't... so pressed together anymore as he chokes out, suave as all hell: ] Uh. Sorry.

Edited 2013-11-29 08:23 (UTC)

Ow! [Jean jerks back at the nip with a hiss, glaring at Eren until the distance between them closes. The pressure and the push squeezes a breath out of him. His fingers curl and pinpricks of warmth make him arch forward, meeting Eren's bruising kiss with distraction. Jean pulls away quickly, wrapping an arm around his waist before he has a chance to pull away.]

D-don't be.

[His own cheeks are burning up but it's a small sacrifice knowing that Eren can feel it. Two breaths and a swallow of trepidation before he uses his grip to pull him forward, mimicking the push Eren had accidentally done.

Bingo. Another breath pushes out.]

[ Their faces are burning warm, and it only gets worse when Jean holds him in place, the lines of his back pulling taut. He convinces himself it's muscle memory, years of dodging punches and elbow jabs, and not expectation— he's tense, arms wrapping tighter around his neck as he furrows his brow. ] W... What the fuck are you—

[ It's a dumb question, because he already knows, and when they grind against each other he feels their chests heave and a heat swell in his gut— he groans softly (by Eren's standards, anyway) before he can stop himself, a hand tangling its way into Jean's hair again as he plants a distracted kiss on his ear. And he presses forward, rocking into it as he tugs the other teen's shirt up to slide a hand against his side, demanding in that indignant, stubborn way Eren can get after they pass a few quiet breaths back and forth— ] Keep going.

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frotlog2013

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seventypercentethanol, the thread

it's like we're playing out one of her comics

i'm okay with this

wow that didn't last long

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no homo

pretty...sure this is homo........

no it's not because i said no homo also look it's not sad anymore

oh good, back to awkward teenage central

this thread is about as moody as a teenager

seems appropriate

kermit nods

god they're so fucking embarrassing