Chapter Text
Eren grew up watching Degrassi and thought he had an idea what high school would be like. Unfortunately, television had a nasty habit of exaggerating things.
"I could have told you that," Armin states, taking a bite out of his hashbrown, so lovingly bestowed upon him by Mikasa before they’d left Eren’s house. "Actually, I'm pretty sure I did." He keeps his eyes focused on the sidewalk, ignoring his friend’s moderate disappointment.
Eren takes the last bite of his McMuffin. "Yeah, yeah," he mutters. "It's not like I actually thought it'd be exactly the same. Just makes me a little underwhelmed."
"Such a big word for a dope like you at seven in the morning," he retorts, earning himself a punch in the arm, which only serves to make him stumble ever so slightly and burst out in laughter.
Today marks the beginning of their second week since entering Trost High as freshmen. The first week consisted of teachers outlining the school's guidelines and a syllabus for each class, lists of things needed that weren't on the general ones Mikasa picked a month before. All Eren seemed to sit through were ice breakers and "Welcome to high school!" crash courses, but he wasn’t going to complain; Armin had a schedule full of honors and AP classes, and was left with homework to do all weekend.
When Eren came over he ended up playing the shit out of his PS2 and watched him scour four different textbooks for three hours before he finally picked up a controller and joined in. It was enough to make Eren realize that he'd need to make more friends soon or else he'd find himself staring holes into his bedroom wall until next summer.
Armin was quick to quip that he could probably do so and be enthralled—there was still a nice dark color left on his leg where Eren had punched him for it in the midst of a heated race in Burnout. Eren apologized, of course, not meaning to hit so hard.
On the rest of the way to school Armin complained about the teachers leaving something to be desired, and mentioned a handful of his classmates. One in particular seemed to come up often. How anyone managed to get so high up on Armin's list of things to talk about in a matter of five days was beyond Eren.
"He actually lectured Shadis for five whole minutes about Japanese culture. Lectured him, Eren," he stresses, throwing his hands up in front of him for further emphasis, "with every intent to make him look stupid."
Armin's expression conveys something along the lines of admiration and Eren smirks. "Trying to make a teacher look stupid? What a great thing to do your first week of school. What's his name again?" he forgoes teasing Armin about the look on his face, realizing that in spite of how full of himself the kid sounded he might make an entertaining addition to the group.
"His name is Jean, the one with the short undercut," he answers, crumpling up the wrapper to his breakfast and tossing it as they walk past a trash can; the paper misses and Eren laughs, he blames it on a gust of wind though Eren’s positive he didn't feel anything.
"Oh, the one whose hair has that two color thing goin’ on? Does he actually dye his hair like that or does it just fade out that way?"
"Dunno, haven't asked yet. Hold on." Armin digs into his pocket and retrieves his phone, and when Eren raises an eyebrow at him he adds, "I asked for it just in case I needed someone with more than fifteen brain cells to help with my homework."
"Fifteen?" he notes aloud, still snickering at the fact that Armin asked for Jean's number (and at his imagination's depiction of how red Armin’s face must have been). "I've improved, you said ten last time."
Armin chooses to ignore him and for the rest of the walk they don't say much, years of friendship making the silence comfortable and not at all awkward. Jean doesn't reply and five minutes later when they step on campus it doesn't matter anymore. The kid in question is in the courtyard near the atrium doors, laughing obnoxiously with what seems to be one of his friends. Eren grates his teeth at the sound carrying across to the circle driveway, and wonders if he'll actually be able to put up with the guy.
With the way his best friend's staring at him as they approach he’s thinking he’s going to have to, whether he wants to or not.
"Hey, Armin!"
Armin's whole face lights up at the sound of Jean's voice and Eren attempts to recover from the stagger it throws into his step. "Hey, Jean," he mumbles when they reach the small retainer wall around the side of the building. "Did you finish your abstract this weekend?"
At the sound of 'abstract' Eren tunes out. Armin happily joins Jean on the edge of the retainer; with nothing else for him to do, Eren resigns to sit next to Armin and pulls out his phone. Three messages pop up and they’re all from Mikasa since leaving fifteen minutes ago, all of them coming across as motherly and endearing, and one demanding that he do the dishes when he gets home. He sighs and pockets the device once more.
"Oh, by the way," Armin starts, grabbing Eren’s arm to get his attention, "Jean, Eren. Eren, Jean."
Eren gives the kid a good, hard look for the first time. He's got one of those faces that is a strange combination between human and horse. The strangeness of it makes it almost stunning, and for a brief moment he thinks he understands why Armin finds him so interesting. Remembering that Jean is not just a (horse) face, Eren glances down and tries not to snicker; he's a total fucking hipster . The thick-framed glasses, his sickly yellow plaid shirt, his brown-nearing-black skinny jeans, and those stupid moccasins no one should be allowed to wear ever. It takes every ounce of his willpower not to sneer at him.
Jean pushes his frames up the bridge of his nose in an unbelievably nerdy manner and gives him a scrutinizing look that he imagines mirrors his own. "Hey," he says, rather candidly.
Eren chooses to ignore it. "I'm gonna go grab some tots. I'll see you at lunch, Armin." He can't decide if the look on Armin's face is one of gratefulness or horror, and he doesn't stick around to get an answer.
At twenty past seven the line for breakfast is lengthy, a multitude of chatting, laughing teenagers. Eren is mildly jealous of their ability to be so lively and finds himself rubbing vigorously at his face to keep awake—a habit Armin constantly tells him is a bad one. Remembering his advice, Eren procures a Styrofoam cup of coffee instead. When he reaches the hot bar there's only four packages of tater tots still left, and as he grabs one of them the remaining three are snatched simultaneously. Eren stands back in awe at the speed in which they've been obtained.
"Oh, hey— sorry, didn't see you there," the culprit immediately apologizes. "I, uh, you want another?"
For a moment Eren can only stare.
"Oh, no, it's fine," he manages to say, clutching the last bag of tots. The pure look in her warm brown eyes, paired with radiant olive skin and dark chestnut hair falling just below her shoulders in a loose ponytail, is almost breathtaking. Maybe high school's not that disappointing . "I'm Eren." The words leave his lips before he has time to think of something charming.
She smiles at this and joins the line for the cashier, Eren in tow. "I'm Sasha," she replies. "Nice to meet you. I've never seen you before, what year are you?" She says this as she stuffs a concerning amount of tater tots into her mouth in one go. He gets the feeling that if anyone else did it he wouldn't find it nearly as endearing.
"I'm a freshman," he says as lowly as possible while trying his hardest not to sound nervous.
"Oh, fresh meat." There's an amused look in her eyes and for a moment he thinks she's going to tease her. "I'm a junior. Don't worry," she adds reassuringly before being interrupted by the lunch lady, paying for her meal and saying a brief thanks. "The upperclassmen are usually really nice."
She sticks around and waits for Eren to pay for his breakfast, then asks if he’s already got someone to hang out with in the mornings. "Well there's my best friend, Armin, but he's currently up this kid's ass from one of his classes," he admits almost sheepishly.
Because this is how you win a lady over, by admitting your fresh meat status and being shy.
"Come thiiiis way!"
Her enthusiasm is infectious and he follows like a lost puppy, past the front doors and into the hall jutting off to the right, where the stairwell descending down into the math wing sits, the atrium doors in front of it. A group crowds around it on either side of the half-wall separating said stairs from the hall, one blond in particular sitting on top of the partition. He forgets about Sasha for a moment as he stares at the blond because fuck , this guy is handsome. His magnetism hits Eren hard.
Is Trost High just filled with beautiful people? Is this the real life American Degrassi? This has got to be a dream.
"Hey," the nameless handsome man greets Sasha, the two bumping fists as his gaze lifts in my direction. "Who's the pretty boy?" His comment almost immediately makes heat rise in Eren’s cheeks and as much as he wants to look away to hide it, he can't.
"I, um, I'm Eren," he stammers.
"Don't take offense to anything he says," a girl pipes in from the other side of the wall; he’s greeted by another olive-skinned goddess. Goddess seems too delicate a word but he doesn't have the vocabulary to replace it. "Erd likes to scare little boys."
He has an urge to retort indignantly but something about her composure actually makes him think twice. It reminds him of Mikasa.
That's when he—Erd—leans forward, the one leg he'd had folded across the top of the half-wall now falling down the other side to leave him straddling it, and says, "Don't listen to Ymir, she doesn't know what she's talking about. Nice to meet you, Eren." He offers a handshake. Eren is almost ashamed by how much he enjoys it.
Eren is bombarded with a few more introductions; Marco, the student council president, and Gunter, the vice president. Connie’s happy-go-lucky aura seeps into the air despite Gunter's stern presence, though he gets the sense they’re not just a stiff. The man next to Gunter, however, seems so stiff it's borderline awkward. Which confuses Eren to some degree because he has his own flavor of magnetism that almost cancels it out. Ymir's arm is threaded through his and Eren is left wondering if they're an item, and what he possibly possessed to make such a fierce lady interested.
"That titan over there is Bertholdt, our school's star basketball player," Erd explains, "He's a big ol' teddy bear even though he plays like a brute."
Eren tries not to stare at him more than what's considered polite. "Oh man, I feel like I met all the cool kids just now," he mumbles, scratching at the collar of his shirt involuntarily. The words make Erd laugh; Connie and Sasha do their best to stifle their giggles (and in Sasha's case, she attempts not to choke on her tater tots), the remaining three staying true to their stoic attitudes.
They keep Eren occupied until the first bell rings, and when he glances out through the glass doors to where Armin had been with Jean he's gone. Horse Face too. He can't help the momentary frown that develops at the fact.
"Hey, Eren." He turns back to the wall at the sound of Connie's voice. All the others had already dashed away to their classes but he had stayed behind. A smile lights up their tan features and Eren quickly forgets his frown. "What's your first class? I'm a senior so I don't think we have the same class but maybe it's on the way."
"Algebra I with Borst."
"Perfect, my class is close to the math wing!" Connie slings his book bag over his shoulder and claps their hands together, poised to start down the stairs. "I'll make sure you get there without getting lost.”
After having math and biology back to back, Eren is glad that he’s gotten the first lunch block of the day rather than the second. Tomorrow would be different and the notion made Eren unhappy until he came closer to the stone tables in the courtyard, near the atrium doors; he was looking forward to having lunch with Armin but Horse Face is there too, and sitting far too close to Armin for his own comfort.
Eren had a sinking feeling in his stomach all morning that whatever this was would turn into something more, and as Jean whispers something into Armin’s ear obscured by cupped hands he’s sure he’ll be seeing way more of Jean than he’d like.
Just as he begins to resign to the idea that he'd have to watch the schmooze fest as a miserable third wheel, Sasha comes out of nowhere, three servings of toasted raviolis and a soda in her grasp. "Eren!" she cries enthusiastically, effectively grabbing everyone's attention in the process. "You have first block too? Wicked!"
She offers a high five and Eren meets her halfway. "Today, anyways." He sighs and takes a seat on the stone bench next to Armin. At the vaguely suggestive look Armin shoots him, Eren explains, "This is Sasha, I met her this morning—"
"Hi!" she interjects, mouth full of ravioli and marinara sauce. Eren can't hold back his laughter. "You must be Armin. Hey, Jean," she says, almost dismissively, to which Jean acknowledges with a curt nod. Eren shoots a look Armin’s way for an explanation but his own expression tells Eren that he has no clue either. "How's Trost for you?"
Armin shrugs, taking a bite of his pizza—which looked rather pitiable as far as pizza went. "It's not bad. Food could be better." He grumbles the last part but eats his food nonetheless. It doesn't make Eren excited at all to try the raviolis he'd gotten for myself, but they surprise him by tasting pretty damn good.
"These are good, Armin, shoulda got 'em instead." Armin punches his bicep and reminds him to finish chewing before speaking; Eren laughs and attempts not to choke while swallowing his food.
"You're so disgusting, I can't believe I call you my best friend," he sighs, exasperated.
"Aw, I love you too!" Eren grins, throwing his arms around Armin and hugging him tight. He squirms, trying to get out of Eren’s hold until he's laughing too. Looking over him at Jean he can't help but feel smug.
Jean lets a huff of breath and looks away, chewing a bite of his hamburger in a miffed manner.
What is this, Eren? Are you jealous? No, pfft , no way. I just don't particularly like Horse Face, that's all.
"Oi, Eren!" He perks up at the sound of his name, Armin finally wriggling out of his arms while he’s distracted.
Erd crosses the courtyard in quick, long strides and squeezes himself between Eren and Sasha. "How you holdin' up?" He's got a burger in each hand and takes a bite of one, the other still wrapped in its plastic bag. "Have you had the cheeseburgers yet? Aside from the raviolis they're one of the only things edible around here." He speaks with food in his mouth and it reminds him of Sasha, his radiant charm making up for the occasional gross glimpse of half-chewed food. "Oh, and sometimes they have these peach cups on the cold bar, but those disappear fast!"
"Not yet.” He pauses, wondering how to introduce Mikasa. She was the closest thing he had to a mother or a sister. “I was forced to bring sandwiches the first week by my... friend, Mikasa. I had to convince her I'd survive without them." Releasing the blond in his hold, he ate another ravioli. "Actually," he starts again, still chewing, "I probably wouldn't survive with them. Mikasa and preparing food in any manner do not mix."
Before anyone asks the question he knows is coming next, he answers, “She’s kind of like my sister but not. Long story, and not mine to tell honestly.”
"How did you even eat those?" Armin interjects, still impressed with Eren’s feat of stomaching two sandwiches a day for five days in a row—her handiwork in the kitchen left much to be desired, and that was the nicest way of putting it.
"I don't believe in wasting food I guess."
"It already was wasted food." After a fit of laughter from the whole table, he adds, "I think it's time we finally banned Mikasa from the kitchen, we're too broke to put her through cooking classes and it'd probably be a lost cause—"
He chokes on a mouthful of food, trying to swallow it quite ungracefully. "Oh god, can you even imagine what would happen to the poor instructor?"
Twenty minutes fly by without any of them noticing, the conversation endlessly flowing. From Mikasa's awful cooking to Erd's mother's vastly differing cooking skills, Sasha's love for Erd's family, and said family's close knit ties with Jean's by way of the equestrian center they run and own. At this point in the conversation Eren laughed unbelievably hard and had to apologize to a very red-faced Jean, ready to jump across the table and suffocate him. He couldn't possibly tell him why he—
"In all fairness, you do have an equine-likeness, Jean," Erd intercedes, successfully sending Eren into another hysteric fit. Jean watches helplessly, clearly disgruntled by the fact that now the whole table is in an uproar over the state of his aesthetic.
Not long after the bell rings and they head to their next classes, breaking off from the group whenever their turn comes until it was just Armin and Eren accompanying each other.
"Two more classes and then you're free," Eren reminds Armin, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. His face has turned suddenly grim and Eren knows it has everything to do with honors Biology, the only subject that gave him trouble over the weekend.
"Yeah, I guess that's a good thing."
So focused on his best friend, Eren doesn't notice that he’s on a collision course for another body; they both catch eyes, a moment too late for either of them to get out of the way in time. He could swear he already saw their face darken with malice in those fleeting seconds before they clashed and the papers in their hands scattered around them.
"Oh, shit I am so —"
"Language," the short, dark haired man scolds Eren. It takes another moment or two for Eren to realize that he's not a student at all but a part of the faculty , and he’s instantly mortified. That dark look in his eyes makes him shudder. He stumbles with his words and hands, trying to apologize as he fumbles with picking up the mess around them, but the older man dismisses Eren’s words before they start to form proper sentences.
"Get off the floor before one of the janitors mistakes you for trash." He stands, papers settled in his arms once more; for what Eren feels like may or may not be the last time, he looks up at him, completely flabbergasted.
"Filthy," he mutters at his own hands, dirtied from catching himself on the floor, and heads down the hall without another word.
"Who's that?" Eren whispers frantically to Armin as he helps him off the floor.
His mood is even more gloomy than it was before. "Levi, the guidance counselor for our class."