𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐑 | j. kirstein

𝐱𝐱.𝐯 | open eyes

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NOTE: This is a shorter chapter compared to the previous ones because it's a special/extra chapter, marking the end of season three of the anime. Therefore, it is set after the Return to Shiganshina Arc.

Enjoy!

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IT IS THREE IN the morning. Jean assumes he's been up since one, but it's hard to tell with the pitch darkness outside his window. It's getting harder and harder to make it through the night without the vivid horrors tormenting his mind as soon as he closes his eyes.

He has tried everything; going for a run, borrowing Armin's books, distracting himself, nothing can help him fall asleep and he'll always find himself remembering everything. It seems impossible to ignore the memory of the mountain of corpses upon corpses right after retaking Wall Maria.

Sometimes, he couldn't help but be suffocated by guilt, wondering why was it that only nine soldiers made it through, himself among them. There were so many people he wished he could bring back, and it made him sick to think that all of their dreams and hopes were stripped away at death's door.

Claiming Wall Maria could hardly feel like a success with all of the lives lost.

And as Jean stares up to the dark wooden ceiling, his arms crossed behind his head, he is reminded of the attack on Trost. The very first time he understood the utter terror of facing up to a Titan. It feels like forever ago when only a few months have passed.

Time sure is a funny thing, he realized.

For a long time, he was convinced he'd make his way through the ranks and join the Military Police. He didn't care if he came out as a brutally honest jerk. He knew what's best for him and wasn't afraid to say it. If living in the Interior secured his life inside these cramped walls, then he'd do it.

That was until he touched those ashy bones and couldn't distinguish which ones belonged to Marco. It was until he stood in front of that fire, watching his friends' corpses burn, that he realized he wasn't going to let anyone else die.

He had decided he'd join the Scouts.

Months later he still wonders if he made the right choice. Death is all he has witnessed up until now. Just how many more of his friends need to die for humanity's sake?

Marco's face flashes through his mind. A sudden heaviness takes up space in his heart.

What would he think of the person he has become? Would he still think of Jean as a leader?

If only he knew.

Jean lets out a long sigh, sitting up in he's bed with his back against the wall. His gaze falls to his night table, on the first drawer, the bright moonlight acting as a lantern. He reaches out for the knob and pulls it, revealing a small leather inside.

His fingers trace the leather cover once he takes it out, feeling nostalgia embrace him in that very moment. It's his sketchbook. As a Cadet, this book would be the only thing that could bring him peace.

Well, besides... her, as much as he hates to admit it now.

Drawing was a hidden talent of his. He'd always assumed everyone else would laugh at him, especially after behaving like a selfish jerk. He had sworn to himself that no pair of eyes would see what was inside, other than him. That would soon change when he met her.

He'll never forget the pure look of admiration she had on her face the day he showed her his drawings. They're beautiful, she had told him, gasping at every turn of every page. Her reaction alone had made him happier than anything else in this world.

Jean clenches his jaw at the memory, a bitter taste in his mouth. He couldn't keep thinking like this; like there's still a hope she is still the girl he fell in love with. There isn't, and he knows it.

She was never her. It was all a deception. A lie. He knew better than to believe otherwise. Hesitantly, he opens the book. A soft gasp.

They were sketches of a girl. Everywhere he looked, she was there. Long, dark curls. Eyes sharp as a blade, yet gentle as a feather. A sky of stars in her cheeks.

Her warm smile.

The sketchbook was full of her drawings. Jean couldn't believe he had actually forgotten it was. A sudden anger sparked within him. At the last page, his fingers grasp the corner of it, prepared to rip it off, but then, his eyes fall on her. His grip softens immediately.

That night, on his birthday. He sat on the grass, this sketchbook in his lap, and across him, she fidgeted with her fingers, trying her best to not look awkward as he drew her. He remembers holding her face, guiding her. Her gaze on him, soft. Everything just felt right.

He can still remember how bright the stars looked that night. They've never been so beautiful.

Then. The sudden and harsh reality appears in front of him. She is a traitor. His enemy. No amount of memories or drawings could change that.

Stop lying to yourself, he thought.

Lying. Yes. That's all she ever did. All they ever did. He has been suppressing all of this rage, this anger and betrayal, as if he still couldn't believe anything from that had happened, but his emotions were clear now.

He knows what he has to do.

He'll make them pay.

A sharp sigh leaves his lips. He closes the book abruptly and hides it again inside the drawer. His eyes attach themselves to the ceiling once more, and what was night soon became day, brining in light as the sun awakened.

Jean didn't even notice the flow of time. He kept staring at that ceiling with so much anger that his face muscles were starting to ache. It wasn't until he heard Connie yawn tiredly from his bed that Jean realized he stayed up all night.

"How long have you been up?" Connie asks as he sits up, stretching his arms above his head.

"Since one... I think."

Connie gives him a judging look through his heavy eyelids. "Since one? What were you doing?"

He had become aware of the very cruel reminder that the only thing this world has ever shown him is pain. There was nothing else that could make him think otherwise.

"I opened my eyes."

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1k words

NOTE:
I'm not so proud of this chapter and was definitely more improvised than the others but oh well 😭 at least season three is over y'all 🤞