Chapter Text
Jean takes a long drag on his cigarette, examining the sketchpad before him. The cold metal of the bleachers bites through the denim of his pants. He wraps his hoodie around him tighter, rolling his shoulders within the fabric. He exhales smoke into the morning air, closing his eyes. For some reason, he managed to drag himself to the school’s soccer field to get some drawing done. His ears perk up as the shrill sound of a whistle breaks through the silence. His eyes scan the green expanse of grass, watching the soccer team start their drills. It’s the middle of the season and the cool autumn air has decided to come early this year. Just as he adjusts his grip on his charcoal, his eyes lock onto a familiar figure. He starts from his muddy cleats, trailing his gaze up to the boy’s face. Eren Jaeger is precisely the reason why he is sitting on the bleachers at this time of day.
Jean watches Eren run around the field, brings his cigarette up to his lips, and closes his eyes. He returns his attention to the sketchpad on his lap, flipping to a fresh page. He picks up the charcoal next to him and makes a bold stroke along the paper. Eren Jaeger. Familiar is a stretch, anyway. He’s never spoken to him before. So he decides to lose himself in the way his hand moves, one stroke after another. By the time he’s finished, the team is running another set of drills. He turns to a new page, the white so pristine before his eyes.
He looks up, watches the muscles in his back ripple through his t-shirt as he stretches. He kills his cigarette absent-mindedly, the action ingrained into his body. He lights another and sucks greedily. Goddamn Eren Jaeger. He shakes his head, turning back to his sketchpad. He clenches his hand, fingers already cold from the weather. He starts again, thinking of Eren’s shoulders and shaggy hair.
Jean is two more pages into his sketchbook when he decides that he’s cold enough. He starts packing up, taking his time, glancing at Eren every few seconds. By the time he’s finished he notices that the team is on break. He finds Eren by the bench closest to the bleachers. He’ll have to pass by Eren to get down. They’ll cross paths for at least a millisecond, but the thought makes Jean’s heart beat a little faster.
“God, no,” Jean mutters to himself, shaking his head.
It’s not like he has a crush on Eren. He just likes the way his body’s built. Likes his shoulders, his neck, likes the slope of his nose, the curve of his spine, the dimples embedded into the small of his back. Not like Jean sees them much, anyway, but sometimes Eren wipes at his face with the hem of his t-shirt and Jean’s mouth goes a little dry at the sight. So he takes a deep breath, sets his shoulders, mentally preparing himself. He picks up his pack of cigarettes and his lighter, beginning his descent down the bleachers.
He’s doing good, actually, right up until he’s just a few inches away from Eren. The sight of the boy makes his hands spazz and he drops his lighter just as Eren is reaching into his bag. He curses at himself in his head, bending down to pick it up, but a hand beats him to it.
“Shouldn’t smoke on school property,” comes Eren’s voice, a bit out of breath, but still somehow smooth like honey. “Coach might actually start giving a shit about rules.” He holds his hand out, lighter resting in the middle of his palm.
“I’ll take my chances,” Jean mumbles, charcoal stained fingers reaching for his lighter. The skin contact lasts for a tenth of a second but Jean swears it feels like a little bit longer. “Thanks, dude.”
Eren lingers, but Jean refuses to meet his eyes.
“You’re a junior, right?” Eren asks, trying to make conversation. He can’t help but be a little interested in their (sort of) regular spectator. “I think we have the same study hall, but—“ His voice stops when Jean finally raises his head.
Jean’s eyes aren’t anything special, really, but Eren likes them. The amber colour looking almost golden in the sunlight. He likes his eyelashes, likes his bleached hair.
“I’m Eren,” Eren says dumbly, holding out his hand.
Jean shakes it slowly, drowning in the shades of green in Eren’s eyes. “Jean.”
“Cool,” Eren nods. “You French?”
“My dad is,” Jean replies, hand still in Eren’s. “You German?”
“Yeah,” Eren breathes. Suddenly he’s aware of Jean’s skin touching his and pulls his hand away. “Holy shit, I can’t believe I just asked for a handshake. Shit, sorry, I’m so lame.”
“It’s cool, dude,” Jean lets out a nervous laugh. “And yeah, I’m a junior.”
“Cool, dude, so am I,” Eren says. “How come we’ve never —“
“Jaeger!” A loud voice makes them turn their heads. “Get your ass over here right now!” The owner of the voice is a short man with an undercut, glaring at them menacingly.
Eren jolts, then turns his head towards Jean again. “Shit, sorry,” He starts jogging back to the field slowly. “I’ll see you around, Jean!”
Jean raises his hand as a goodbye, then starts his walk back to the front gate.
“A handshake, really,” He hears Undercut’s voice mocking Eren. “You picked up his lighter, not his business card.”
Jean laughs to himself quietly, then stops walking. He stares at his hand. “Holy shit.”