.𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄 | jean x black reader

.the cut was deep

THE FOLLOWING WEEK, you concluded that the time had come to relinquish your valuable, delicate affections for jean and continue ahead. he was content with pieck and regardless of whether he wasn't, there was no justification for him to seek after anything with you in any case. it was difficult to deal with the unforgiving truth, however you needed to grow up. you weren't a youngster any longer and there were a lot of men out there that were able to give you the consideration you merited.

after a week of being distant from jean, you received a phone call from him. your first thought was to ignore it, but you were still considered his friend. it'd just be cruel to push him away just because you were trying to get over your unrequited feelings for him.

you sat up in bed and picked up your cell, pressing "answer" and put the phone to your ear. "hey, jean."

"hey, y/n." his voice was shaky and you could tell he was trying to hide it. he sounded happy yet broken all at once. "i was just...calling to check up on you. you've been a little quiet lately."

you cleared your throat and sighed. "yeah, i apologize. i just wanted to make sure i finished this semester strong. i had to stay focused, y'know?"

it was silent for a while. "yeah, i get it." his voice suddenly became painfully somber.

"are you alright, jean?" you asked him.

"yeah. i'm fine," he says. "anyways, i just wanted to make sure you were all good. i'll speak to you soon, okay?"

"okay-" he hung up the phone and even spoke as if his time to talk to you was limited, so fast. you hunched your eyebrows at your phone and looked off to the side trying to process what had happened.

you stopped yourself before you could think too hard about it. it's not that deep.

THE CUT WAS DEEP. jean tried to breathe through the excruciating pain, sitting on his knees on the bathroom floor. he had his eyes screwed shut and held a rag to the top of his hand, trying to stop the bleeding. minutes earlier, pieck and jean had gotten into another futile contention over something little that she some way or another figured out how to make significantly more emotional. jean couldn't process what had happened between the beginning of the quarrel and when pieck had a box cutter in her hand. all he was left with was broken pictures of the episode and an injured hand while pieck was left unarmed yet irate.

"you're fucking pathetic, you know?!" pieck's voice echoed throughout the halls outside of the bathroom. "i can't stand men like you."

tears rose to the edge of his eyes and unavoidably moved down his face, snot gradually crawling out of his nose. he started to cry as quiet as could be expected, needing to stay away from pieck's toxic affronts about being weak. he removes the rag on his hand slowly, examining the gash on his hand. he shuffles on his knees, opening the cabinet underneath the sink and finds the first-aid kit, trying to be as careful as possible.

i love you, pieck. jean couldn't fathom why his love for her had not vacillated during this past year. she had been only careless and fractious towards him without any justifiable cause. despite how frequently she'd slapped him, pushed him around, reviled at him, corrupted him and dismissed him, he ended up directly back home, giving her his affection. it began as petty arguments that he initially assumed all wedded couples had, yet they kept on developing more fiercely and she turned out to be more heartless.

pieck didn't make it any easier for jean to leave, managing to guilt-trip and manipulate jean on multiple occasions. she'd ramble on through fake cries about the family they'd start together and how happy they'll be once they move away to another country. she gave him all of this false-hope just to turn around and say things like "i wish we never met."

jean had convinced himself that he was weak at this point. pieck had put her hands on him more times than he could count, yet he never laid a finger on her. he loved her too much to ever hurt her, so all he could do was yell at her until his voice grew feeble, cowering away so that it all could stop. he started to anticipate those talks in the bedroom where she'd give a half-assed apology and tell him "you need to do better, jean." jean imbibed every word she told him, afraid that if he thought for himself, he was going to end up hurting himself and her.

as he treated the wound on his hand, he thought about you. i can't hide this one. this hand was the specific hand you gazed at in order to do your painting. he wrapped the bandage around his hand before clipping it to make sure it would fall off. he winced at the pain and closed his eyes again, sighing heavily.

your words echoed in his mind.

"jean, if anything is going on, y'know you could come here,no questions asked, at any time, right?"

he wondered if you still meant that now. it didn't seem likely to him anymore because you had become incredibly distant from him, but he couldn't understand why. maybe that was poor judgement. he didn't know. all he knew was that he wanted out, but wasn't sure who he should go to for help. anyone would find him pathetic.

a few stomps around the house and then the sound of heels clicking against the floor had inched closer to the bathroom door. "jean, i'm going out."

"w-where?" his voice cracked, confused on why pieck felt that it was a good time to be going out right now.

"out," was all pieck said, stomping away from the door. he heard the car and house keys jingle, the front door open and close and then she was gone. he was upset, but relieved that her presence was gone for the moment.

jean came out of the bathroom and trudged around the house, trying to find his cell phone. he found it on the couch and sat down, picking it up. a few scrolls and taps and his finger was hovering over the "call" button on your contact. he needed someone to listen. he just needed someone. his hand was practically trembling. why was it so hard to call you? it was you. you saw jean for his beauty and character and never let him feel guilty for anything. you made jean feel safe. he shut off his phone, backing out on the decision to call you but deep down, he knew he'd regret it later.