When Jean looked back at his My Chemical Romance days, full of "lolz ;)" and Marco scolding him for his smoking habit while still covering the closeted space with a cloud of heavy cologne, he would cringe and look at his iPod playlist, to truly see that it had been a nightmare. He was a man now.

His piercings were still on his face, a pack of Marlboro in his pocket, and yes, still single. Single and gay, Armin would sigh as he punched numbers in his calculator, scribbling down his taxes like the nerd he truly was. Marco would hum in agreement, take a sip of cherry vodka, and Ymir would give Christa a peck on her cheek. He was lucky his friends put up with his shit, especially in his freshmen year in college.

College was a different ride altogether. It was overwhelming to know that he was preparing for the rest of his life, and c'mon Jean, what do you want to do until you can't have an erection? Do something that can get you money. Get involved with some big industry, hey, technology's looking pretty good right now.

Then again, these were engineer majors,and he was a fuck up that had no idea how he passed high school. Armin was telling him he was smart, practically an ace at math. So he did what any grungy college student under peer pressure would do, he majored in Computer Sciences, smoked less, bought coffee a bit more, and ta-da, degree in C.S., and a job in 7-Eleven. It worked in a way that he could write a lame memoir and publish it under some stupid fake ass name, but Jean would never admit this out loud because it usually meant a drunken phone call to his mother.

It turned out that 7-Eleven wasn't really working out either. Two months later, he quit retail/fast food (industry?) after realizing that a) the toilet will stay clean for two days at a maximum, and b) he was still too poor and his degree was useless.

God bless Armin, beautiful blond genius and the cause of it all, because who could hate Armin with that bowl cut he's had since third grade? Erwin Smith didn't, and that was why Jean was hired to work in the Geek Squad at Best Buy, his degree finally being put to use (with some begging on Armin's part). He could keep his piercings, smoke and drink on weekends, marathon shows with Marco crashed on his couch, cry when fictional characters died and his credit score plummeted.

Jean was living the high life, sort of.

Marco: We'll hit Armin's house at 6.30, be there or be square. You're still a square, Jean

He glanced at the order forms he was supposed to be cataloguing, thanking any higher power for Levi's absence. The guy was brutally intense, Jean still couldn't believe he was not gay (although that has yet to be confirmed), head of the Geek Squad, a worshipper of Clorox. Ever since he started working here, Febreze became such a pain in the ass, suck my dick Mr. Clean—

"Um, Levi told me to tell you to fill in for him." A shy voice he recognized instantly, and he didn't have to turn around to see Christa fiddle with her small blonde ponytail like she always did, eyes darting everywhere for Ymir. He fumbled with his pen, because he was a good employee. Yes, Christa, you saw nothing, I wasn't texting Marco, thinking about 1997 Leonardo DiCaprio. Instead, he did what Ymir would do. Ask one-worded questions.

"Why?"

He didn't expect this so early in the afternoon, Levi gone, Hanji nowhere to be seen, and Mike probably napping in a closet. A brief pause. Christa was a goddess, she was a walking bulletin board when it came to information.

"Well, I think he's debriefing with Erwin right now, so that might take a while," she said, smiling at Jean's scowl. "And we're still waiting for Armin's pen pal so we can go celebrate."

"Pen pal?" Celebrate?

She nodded,not even bothering to end their conversation.

Of course Armin was planning a whole new shabang, everyone was always ready to meet someone new and confused, ready to be devirginized in the United States. Blondie had friends all over the world, and the last time he brought his Japanese friend along, Mikasa Ackerman, Jean had to condition his hair and anxiously sneak glances at her curls while trying to look hot himself. She was a beauty, a dark one, silence was her sex appeal it almost gave him heart burn. So he saw it fit to follow her on Instagram, and realized that yeah, Mikasa Ackerman was a hot lesbian dating a hot lesbian, Annie Leonhart, who made his testicles shrivel with fear when she smoked a cigarette and glared icily at anything with two legs.

Mikasa now owned her yoga studio, while Annie worked at a law firm, and they would crash at Sasha and Connie's place occasionally, and everyone loved celebrating. The joys of being twenty-five.

Thirty seven minutes. It took thirty-seven minutes until he got a customer, meaning today was fucking slow. It's like life was made to be filled with tech cataloguing and overpriced coffee, maybe standardized testing. Jean sighed, glad that he at least managed to clear a few laptops from its viruses. Fuck people who didn't buy protection software.

"Excuse me, is Armin here?" No, obviously not, but I'm here so why don't you just ask me for help, he wanted to say. Armin had the highest requests from customers, and it was a pain in the ass telling people Armin called in sick, that no, he wasn't available. But cataloguing and tending to idiots required making eye contact, Levi droned every morning about the mandates of customer service."Excuse me?" The voice was rough and sounded tired.

And the guy who owned it was motherfucking hot as hell, was probably masturbated to by kids he tutored on Saturdays. Bless Armin for bringing hot men.

"No, called in sick today. My name's Jean Kirschtein, how can I help you?" He replied smoothly, glad the man smiled. Dimples. Fuck. Heart burn was coming back. Smile, eye contact, articulation.

"I'm Eren." The stranger—Eren extended his hand for a handshake, formal and shit, grinning when Jean cleared his throat and shook it. "Armin said he would be here."

"Well, he isn't here. Should I take a message?"

"I'm his friend, the one who's coming from Berlin."

"Are you the pen pal?" Jean asked, raising an eyebrow and scanning a package to look productive. Eren nodded, looking around curiously. "You wanna call him?" Might as well make conversation with the guy if they're going to celebrate later.

"Nah, I'll just wait here with you. He said a bunch of his friends would also be here," Eren said easily.

"Yeah, go ahead." Jean knew he sounded like an asshole who didn't care about saving his job, but Eren didn't seem bothered, he was probably a dick too. "Do your parents know you're here?"

"My mom's in Germany with my dad, so they know I decided to visit Armin. Haven't seen him in ages, y'know?" Eren sat down on one of the customer service chairs, tapping his hand to a nonexistent beat. "I haven't seen him for two or three years, but shit got boring without Mikasa babying me either, so now I'm here. Forever and ever," Eren continued. He looked like hell, like the jetlag was still creeping up on him. Yet he still looked good enough to party.

Jean laughed. "So you're German?"

"Yeah, a little Turkish. You?"

"French," he replied, typing whatever the system wanted. Levi won't be here for another three hours. Best Buy was trying to tell him something. Get laid. Something along those lines. He caught Eren looking at him less platonically than he should, and he tried his best to suppress a smug smirk. He couldn't look like an asshole. At least not yet.

"French kisses are the best. And I'm really excited about celebrating. Haven't been in America for a proper get-together," Eren murmured, tugging on his sleeve absentmindedly. "What time you clock out?" Jean shot him a look of confusion.

"I'll crash here with you a bit more," Eren explained.

Jean tried to look focused on his work. God, he couldn't risk getting fired. Armin would freak, Marco would sigh. Maybe give him a drink. Fuck those cliché romantic movies that made him cry, and fuck Eren for looking so hot when all he was doing was sitting and playing with his phone, looking genuinely interested in whatever the fuck Jean was doing with the fax machine. "Uh, we leave at six," he answered.

"What time is it now?"

Eren was an impatient little shit. Probably liked it quick and fast in bed too. Jean felt his chest constrict at the thought. "It's 5:48. I'm going to Armin's too, so—"

"Wait, my mom's calling," Eren mumbled, sliding his finger on the screen and shooting Jean a you-better-stay quiet-as-fuck-my-mom-can't-know-I'm-at-Best-Buy-with-a-hot-stranger look. At least that's what Jean assumed, and his assumptions tended to be correct. Yet all he heard was some garbled German. "Yes, I arrived safely; I'm going to Armin's in a few." More words. "No, I'm getting a job tomorrow. Yes, I know it's too soon, but—Yeah, absolutely. Mikasa will be there. Yeah. Yep, I brought my glasses with me. No, I'm not walking around blind. Okay. I won't smoke. Okay. Bye." He hanged up, giving Jean a sharp look, almost impressed that he stayed quiet for so long.

"Momma's boy, aren't we?" Jean chuckled, feeling like a cute dick when he was a momma's boy too. Probably just as intense as Eren's mom, except sassy French and a threat to stop sending him expensive wine.

"Shut the fuck up. She knows I'm a mess," he shot back, green eyes blazed brilliantly with irritation. "And you should take me to Armin's then, if you're going."

"Blind and angry. I knew you Germans were always angry," Jean snorted.

"What?"

"Big dicks too," he added. Eren's face went pink, not saying anything. God, that was uncalled for, but still. "Don't worry, I'm sure yours won't disappoint. I call shotgun by the way, we leave in ten," Jean said, clicking his e-mail icon. Forward today's inventory. "So you're blind?"

"Well, technically, I wear contacts. But I need a new prescription, so I'm wearing these for now." Eren explained, pulling out black framed glasses hipsters wear. "But I hate them, so blind it is."

"Same." It's not like Levi had to know that he was far-sighted, couldn't really see what was on the computer screen.

"Aren't you part of the Geek Squad, so shouldn't you try to look like a nerd? The piercings will kill it though."

"Blow me, I look hot as fuck with my piercings."

"Not today, Kirschtein." Eren glared at him, and eyed the clock. "Let's go now, it's 5:57."

"Yeah, I can read." He shoved his ID in the drawer. JEAN KIRSCHTEIN, member of the Geek Squad was long forgotten as he signed out.

…

"I hope you were lying to your mom when you said no smoking, because we're fucking smoking and drinking when we get to Armin's," Jean said loudly, the rock blaring from the car's stereo, which will forever be broken. "Stuffed crust pizza, hell yeah."

"Fuck, I knew that already. Armin's gonna flip his shit though," Eren sighed, pulling the window down, a cigarette perched on his lips. A cigarette Jean gave him, and Jean never shared his cigarettes. The smoke swirled around his face, making it look almost dream-like. His green eyes were brilliant in the dark, and Jean couldn't help but stare. He was glad he wasn't driving, because he needed to stare.

Eren probably noticed, but didn't say anything. And Jean was grateful. They arrived at 6:17, and Sasha was already buzzed, kissing Connie and eating at the same time, while Mikasa was snuggled closely with Annie, watching Avatar with keen interest. Armin looked like shit, his blond hair in disarray, nose red with the sniffles. Marco had yet to arrive, as well as Reiner and Bert, maybe Ymir and Christa. The whole cluster of losers.

"Eren!" It was Sasha. Of course. Everyone turned to look at him, Mikasa leaving her cuddle buddy and hugging him tightly, conditioned hair rivaling Eren's, Armin smiling and sneezing like a pug. Sasha stopped to give a crooked grin, and Connie whistled as he pulled out the pack of beer.

"Haven't seen you since uni, man! Class of twenty-twelve." Everyone sat down, watching the movie and eating pizza, sharing stories. It was weird to know that all of these people knew Eren before he did, but "save the best for last" always applied. As the hours began to unfold, Eren proved to be a smartass, a sassy asshole that hated raisins and loved World of Warcraft, didn't wear matching socks, and played the piano since fourth grade. He also had a thing for 1997 Leonardo DiCaprio. It was perfect. Eren was perfect.

But Jean knew that in the bottom of his Chemical Romance heart, Eren was the asshole he would've hated, especially because Jean did have a deep repulsion for people with mismatched socks.

Yet he sat next to him on the couch, his knee bouncing nervously, beer in hand. Reiner and Bert arrived eventually, Reiner high-fiving Eren and popping open a bottle like it was meant to be. It was all pleasant, being twenty-five, it was Friday, and Eren was still sitting next to him, laughing and making jokes, his accent going away with each sinful word coming out of his mouth. Marco texted him, letting him know he'll be there in twenty, Ymir called to say she'll be spending alone time with the babe a.k.a Christa.

It was 12 something when Jean felt his sanity go away, beer halfway empty, blowing a stream of smoke onto Eren's face. Many cans surrounded them, everyone lost and doing things Armin would complain about for the next thirty four years. Lord knew the guy had a thing for his carpet, an affair of sorts that only a vacuum cleaner could satisfy. They were tangled on the floor, a game of Truth and Dare gone wrong, he was almost hitting Shitfaced Status. Except he stumbled as Eren landed on his lap, and they kissed, Armin's 'single and gay' label fading away, Eren ripping it off as he shrugged off his grey cardigan. He tasted exotic as he looked, all fire and electric, eyes alight and flickering. It burned him more than the whiskey he gulped down, and he traced his tongue over Eren's adam's apple, biting and tension making this a spiritual experience. "Jean, yes.Right there." And Jean wanted to make Right There a landmark, the new Grand Canyon. Manifest Destiny.

Except Eren's hands were all over him, exploring, breathing and panting Jean's name like a spell, telling him that he was perfect, and God, those piercings. It was weird, because they were just kissing, and it gave him such ardor, more than Pornhub ever will, and he knew none of those videos would compare to this asshole. They took it to Armin's room, forgetting that they were on someone else's bed, forgetting that they just met less than twelve hours ago, and maybe everyone saw them be gay and intense. Marco probably took pictures, because Marco was quiet and all, but still a dick. A freckled dick.

And bless Armin once more, because Eren had tattoos underneath that shirt, fucking toned and lean, sun-kissed perfection. "You're really hot, y'know that?" Eren hummed, tugging his blue Best Buy polo off and grinning in appreciation to Jean's pierced nipples.

He didn't know how to stop. Not that he was going to, of course.

…

He woke up shirtless and confused, Eren was passed out on his chest, lashes tickling his shoulder every time he breathed. His head wasn't pounding, his stomach was because holy mother of god, not single and gay. He hooked up with an unbelievably hot piece of shit last night, and…no blowjobs. Just a really passionate make-out session, along with some body worshipping, mostly Eren nuzzling his freckled chest and Jean biting sculpted abs. Digging into his pocket, he found his trusty pen, making sure Eren was still asleep. Here's my number, asshole, or email me. Call me a horse again, no blowjob. . –Jean

Bless Armin.