Feel New: Snk Jean x Reader Ch. 2

Feel New Chapter Two: Drawing’s A Fucking Tease and You Feel Like A Stalker

"When she was just a girl
She expected the world,
But it flew away from her reach,
And the bullets catch in her teeth”
-Coldplay “Paradise”

The sound of a pencil falling to the floor snapped you out of your trance. You blinked, confused for moment, but then you remembered that your were in your room, attempting to draw. Creating things on paper got a lot more difficult since you had witnessed the end for many things.

Day Two at Crazy Ass Woman’s house: I still haven’t tried to kill anything. Or try to run away. Or destroy something. Haven’t seen that weird guy so far. I think he’s at school, since it is Friday.

You looked back at the white page in front of you, which was waiting patiently for you to lower your hand and sketch some lines. You were sure that if it were alive that it would be glaring at you for you to start. Nonetheless, you still haven’t been able to draw anything in the past hour. It was difficult; it seemed so much better in your head, but on paper, it wasn’t really the same. This was your pet peeve: not being able to portray your ideas the way you wanted them to. Suddenly, a new burst of motivation made you hunch over.

You stared at the page as your hands sketched lines from here to there, connecting and erasing and brushing off and smudging and more erasing. You snatched your color pencils and began overlapping your sketch in a primary color, your masterpiece now onto its second stage. With your watercolor pencils, you added layer after layer of color, then added water to a brush and gently stroked over the pencil marks, the marks dissolving into something that looked like actual water color. A splash of color there, a pencil mark here, and you glared at the white paper in disgust because you still hadn’t even drawn a single thing.

Damn imagination.

Sighing, you laid the pencil down and looked at your other pieces in the sketchbook. Most of them were still art or abstract, but some were of your own imagination and morbid thoughts. The last drawing you made was four months ago on the day of the accident. You stared at the drawing, a drawing of your little sister laughing in her booster seat, and the horrendous line that trailed from her unfinished hand to the top corner of the page. It was as if someone had jerked your hand suddenly, causing it to draw a line across the page. That actually did happen, except it wasn’t a hand, but truck full of oranges that had slammed into the side of your mom’s car.

Why did you keep this drawing anyway? It would always remind you of that horrible day. But it felt like that if you tore that page away, or scribbled all over, or erased it, that it would still be there. Yes, it would still be there. The imprints of the pencil would be on the next page, and if you erased it, there was only so much that pink rubber could do. If you scribbled it out, there would still be the outline of the drawing, like a layer below the scribbles that you couldn’t press the invisible icon to make it go away.

Yes, it would always be there, but not on the pages of your sketchbook, but on the never ending sketchbook of your memories.

You closed the book and stared out the window, taking in the bright sun high above the houses. You looked across the room to your nightstand, where a digital clock sat.

12:06

Sighing through your nose in boredom, you laid your chin on the desk, arms reaching for the window in front of you and fumbling with the latch. You pushed the window open and closed your eyes as a warm breeze entered your room and brushed your face.

So nice…,you thought, closing your eyes.

Your days spent at Hanji’s foster home slowly dragged on. You didn’t know what to do but take walks, eat, watch television, or attempt to draw. Hanji didn’t really make you do chores since she still wanted you to adjust to the house. Hell, you couldn’t find the bathroom sometimes. Or even your own room. The house was huge anyway.

Nights were spent tossing and turning. You never really adjusted to any foster home, so sleeping was always a problem. Thoughts and memories never left your mind. You mostly stated awake at night, staring out the window of the ceiling, trying to fall asleep. The first few weeks after the accident, you always ended up asleep after long hours of crying, trying to cope with the fear of being alone and no longer having your dear mother and innocent baby sister. You didn’t speak with anyone in that period of grieving and loss. It was terrible loosing something that had always been there your whole life.

You listened to your breathing for a while. You still weren’t able to cope with the fear and loss. You still haven’t gotten over it. Not yet. Possibly never. Because on days when you felt fine, felt at peace and content, the little black cat of your mind would come back to bite and scratch away at you, reminding you that it still had claws and fangs and it wasn’t always going to be all cuddly and a purring mess.

More like a hissing and spitting mess, you thought bitterly, scrunching up your face for a moment.

You opened your eyes and reached for the window, hands grasping for the blue sky with puffy cotton clouds that looked liked they were pulled out recklessly from a pillow and the shining gold orb in the sky. You grasped the sky in your hands, holding onto the air, holding onto the only thing keeping you alive. All this god damn grief. You wondered if dying now would save you and the people around you from a lot of trouble…No one would miss you, right? Dad was too drunk too care…

"No," you said aloud to yourself. "Don’t think that way."

You were right; thinking like that would get you into another doctor’s office. You thought of your last psychiatrist, which, like a lot of of things, ending up in a disaster. Well, for the psychiatrist. After breaking the tips of all of his pencils while waiting in his office as he spoke to your foster parent, you snuck out his window and ran away back to social services, where you knew Levi would be waiting. You had a complicated relationship with him, you realized. Despite him always calling you ‘brat’, you knew he felt sorry for you about what you were going through. You lied to the people working at social services that your foster parents were not taking care of you. Naturally, they believed you though you were pretty sure they shouldn’t have. You always thought Levi had something to do with letting you go to another foster home.

Even if you really didn’t want to.

That was your 5th foster home. Now you were on número ocho, number eight. Hanji Zoe. The Crazy Ass Woman With A Collection of Carving Knives.

You rolled your pencil aimlessly on the tabletop, watching it fall over the edge.

”__!” screamed a voice from two floors down, though it sounded like it came from right beside your ear. You jumped and pushed away from the table in a hurry, worried for a moment Hanji was hurt or something. Still very startled, you fell off your chair and crawled to the door, opening it a crack.

”__!!”

You banged your head on the door, once again surprised as fuck by her sudden call. Cringing, you stood and slipped out of your room, descending from the stairs into the living room.

"Hanji?" you called. Her head popped into view from the kitchen.

"Ah! Come on, grab your coat and head outside."

You raised your eyebrows.

"We’re going to look around town! Go sight seeing, shop, get you some school supplies, eat ice cream, whatever you want!"

You paused for a moment. Whoa, what the fuck? Is she actually letting you decide where to spend her money? Let me repeat that: her money. Not yours because you don’t have any, but hers.

Is this a dream come true?

Smiling slightly at Hanji, you raced upstairs and grabbed your sweater (choosing carefully this time so you don’t have to get something that will make you throw up) and your phone and ran back down, breathless. Hanji stood in her regular floral dress and sandals, only she wore a nice blue cardigan and a sun hat. She twirled her car keys around her finger and tugged at her purse strap that was slung across her shoulder. She beamed at you before heading for the door.

"Yahooo!" she cried cheerfully, raising her arms in rapture.

You scurried after her out the door and locked it for her as she made a beeline for the car, which was a bright yellow…convertible? With the black hood still on.

Groovy, you thought sarcastically as you neared, finding Elvis bumper stickers on the car.

But the real Elvis fan club was inside the car. Your eyes widened when you sat in the passenger seat, gazing around, hand still on the open door beside you. All over the dashboard of the car was Elvis merchandise: bobble heads, mats, and figurines. Piled below your seat were a stack of more albums and cassettes. Hell, there was even a little poster hanging over the backs of each of the seats of the King of Rock. Hanji closed the car door with a sigh, gazing around at her cult of Elvises.

"Hello my dears!" she chirped.

"Well now we know who’s the crazy one," you muttered, but you were smiling. Something about her happiness made you feel the same way. It was fucking contagious, that grin on her face. She made you feel glee, for some reason. It blossomed inside of you, the warm and tickling sensation brought back after months of hibernation.

Hanji giggled, playing one of her cd’s and beginning to drive. You watched your foster home grow smaller in the distance until it was no longer there. You turned back around and faced forward, facing what was coming in the future.

A hell of a lot shopping, that was for sure.

—
“Hanji!” you groaned, straining from all the bags you were carrying. This was only the second store you were going to and she already bought you enough clothes to last a whole year. It wasn’t like you were going to stay there for that long or anything.

Hanji led you across the street to a small shop with a sign that said, ‘Arlert’s’. “This won’t take long, I promise! Then we can put the bags in the car and go grab a bite to eat, kay?”

"Yeah, sure, let’s just hurry, please," you whined.

You followed her into the small shop, bells jingling. It was a little bookstore, you realized, when you entered. Carrying your load of bags, you followed Hanji to the front desk. A blond teenage boy stood behind the register, helping a costumer check out. Once the woman left, Hanji took her place and beamed at the boy. “Hey Armin! Where’s your Grandfather?”

"Hello, Hanji," he said politely. "He’s not here today. Had to fix something back at home so he let me come and run the store."

You peered around Hanji’s shoulder and stared at Armin, looking at the second teenage boy since you got here. He had chin length blond hair and bright blue eyes. His eyes were wide, like a deer’s. He caught your gaze and smiled politely at you. You deadpanned him, not smiling back. You weren’t sure what to make of this guy.

"Um, hello," he greeted. "I’m Armin."

”__,” you replied simply, turning sideways and pretending to be interested in the books behind you.

"Oh, ah, okay," Armin looked quizzically at Hanji for an explanation.

"Don’t mind her; she’s my new foster kid! She’s so nice," she sighed, grinning. You felt Armin’s stare practically boring a hole into your skull.

"So, do you have the book I ordered?" Hanji asked him.

You stopped listening there, bored. You opened a book and leafed through its pages, only vaguely interested in what it contained. Your little sister liked to read, you remembered sadly. You used to read to her all the time. She would annoy you so much to read to her, but only because of the different voices and sound effects you made for each character. It made her want to read all the time. You closed the book and breathed in, not wanting to deal with the memories here.

”__?”

You turned around. “Hm?”

Hanji smiled at you, knowing that you had remembered something. “Why don’t you talk with Armin for a while? He could tell you about the high school? I’ll be quick to get what I need, mkay?”

She left before you could even reply. You turned back to Armin, who stood awkwardly behind the counter. You two stared at each other, not really liking the fact that you were both forced to talk with each other.

"Erm," he spoke up, scratching the back of his neck. "So you’re Hanji’s new foster kid, huh?"

You raised an eyebrow. Who the fuck just says it so casually? Yeah, I lost my mom and little sister in a car accident and my dad is too drunk to give a fuck about me, no biggie. What did he want you to say?

He bit his lip, glancing around at anything but you, cheeks aflame.

Sighing, you spoke up quietly, “How’s the high school?”

You caught him off guard, it seems, by the look on his face. “Huh?” he asked.

"How’s the high school?" you repeated. "Since I’m starting school Monday."

"Oh. Wow, that late into the school year? You might as well not even come to school. Um, it’s really fun actually. We have the regular stuff, ya know, like dances and proms. At the end if every school year we have a little celebration since everyone loves summer here. The celebration is open to everyone. It’s really cool. And the classes we have at school are great. The teaches are awesome."

You nodded your head, though you were only half listening. That Jean guy just randomly popped up in your head. Did he go to the high school? Of course he did, that was the only high school in town. But it was a small town, so.

"You look like you want to ask me something but are wondering if you should or shouldn’t," Armin said with a faint smile. You met his gaze. The perceptive little bastard, you thought.

"Do you know…a guy named Jean?"

Armin’s smile wavered for a moment, and then all together vanished. His eyes grew wider and filled with curiosity and something else you couldn’t pinpoint. Pity? Sadness? “Jean? Do you know him?”

"You could say that."

"Oh. Yeah, of course I know him. Why?"

"Just asking. No need to get so stiff, man."

"O-oh. Okay." He cleared his throat nervously and relaxed like he just avoided a conversation he didn’t want to have, which was pretty much true.

Just then, Hanji appeared from the bookcases and back to the register holding an assortment of books. “I’ll takes these along with my order, Armin!”

"Oh, yes, of course!" he beamed, quickly entering the prices on the computer. After a few more taps and glances at the prices on the books, he said to Hanji, "That’ll be $43.90."

After Hanji paid, she waved goodbye to Armin and you followed her back to the car, where you dropped the bags into the trunk with a sigh. You sat in the passenger’s seat as Hanji went around the car. She pressed a button and the hood slowly came off.

"Nice," you breathed as the warm air was now present.

"Cool, huh? Hey, do you wanna get some ice cream? I know this really great place by the river!"

You paused. When had going to a foster home been this…fun? It felt like you were actually part of a family again, like your old life. It was nice, being like that again. You hoped you could stay up and watch movies like you used to, or read storybooks to each other in funny voices and creative sound effects. Hanji was really something if she could crack your shell, and right now, there was dent in it. But it would crack.

”__?” she asked, worry streaked across her face.

You gave her a smile, a real genuine smile, and said, “Let’s go stuff ourselves fat with the cream of ice.”

And then Hanji proceeded to pump her fist into the air, chanting, “Cream of ice! Cream of ice! Cream of ice!”

Soon enough, you had joined her.

The drive to the parlor was fast; the river was really close by. Hanji parked the car before you stepped out, the aroma of water and nature in the air. You gazed around, surprised by the parlor’s location. A few feet below you was the river, which rushed by calmly. The parlor was just above it on the ridge. It was pretty…remote. You watched the birds fly through the sky, calling to each other. A dragonfly buzzed by you, wings flapping quickly. You followed Hanji inside the ice cream parlor, sneakers making scuffing sounds on the gravel.

The bell jingled when you entered. Only a few people were inside eating despite the heat outside. The ceiling fans twirled slowly as soft music played. The walls were painted with red and white stripes, booths, tables, and chairs matching the red strips. The counters were marble and looked really shiny. You could practically see your reflection. High stools stood by the counters, only a few people occupying them. The bustle of employees moving around behind the counters could be heard.

"How may I help you today, Hanji?" spoke a relaxed voice from behind the register. It was a woman with red shoulder length hair. Her wide hazel eyes glanced between you and Hanji, a smile curving the corners of her mouth and creating little crinkles by her eyes. The woman was short as hell, maybe even shorter than Levi.

"Ah! Hello, Petra. Nice to see you again," Hanji spoke, smiling at the other woman. You stood a little off to the side, glancing around the parlor. Your eyes quickly scanned the menu, and you noted that they not only served ice cream, but milkshakes, margaritas, and few other select food choices. But the margaritas caught your eye. What the fuck is a margarita, you thought.

"Hey, Petra, meet __, my new foster kid," Hanji said, gesturing to you. You glanced down from the menu to Petra, who smiled warmly at you, pity in her eyes. There it was again: that pity that would always be there whenever someone said "foster child". You gave her a slight smiled before waving a little.

"Nice to meet you, __." Petra beamed at you some more. Her teeth were incredibly white.

"See anything you like, __?" your foster parent asked.

Immediately, your eyes flickered to the margarita on the menu. You pointed to it. “What’s that?”

"Oh~! A margarita?" Petra suddenly seemed interested in your choice. "It’s a slushie that contains everything an alcoholic drink would have, only without the alcohol."

You nodded. “I’ll have that.”

Hanji slammed a ten dollar bill on the counter. “Give me the regular, Captain Ral!”

Petra saluted her tall friend. “Straight away, Commander!” And with that, she disappeared into the kitchen.

Captain Ral?

Commander?

They were so god damn childish despite them being adults. You rolled your eyes despite the smile. You haven’t been smiling this frequently before…

"Hello? __, I asked you something."

You blinked, snapped out of your trance by your foster parent. “Hm?”

"I asked if you would like to go home after this."

You looked around the store and your eyes settled on a clock. 2:44…

"Yeah, sure," you said.

Soon Petra returned with a cup full of green slush and a large double scoop cone with chocolate and coconut shavings on top as well as hot fudge. You decided not to judge the weird looking cone. You stared at your margarita, taking in the snow like drink. You tipped the cup over and took a sip, ice and lime flavored slush dripping into your mouth. You shivered as the ice touched your mouth, pleased to find that the drink was a hell of lot better than you thought. You placed it on your list of ‘Foods I Would Eat Nonstop Until I Die.’

Petra grinned at your reaction. “Great, right? Stop by anytime! See you guys later!”

As you walked back to the car, you couldn’t stop stealing sips from the cup. You couldn’t really walk and drink at the same time, so you paused every single step to sip at the delicious fluid. Oh god this should be so fucking illegal right now.

"Hurry up, __!" Hanji urged playfully.

"Don’t get your panties in a twist!" you called back, running to the passenger seat. The ride home was spent mostly in silence while you consumed your foods, caught up in the delectable food. It was a short ride home, and you even managed to get home before 3:00.

You stared at your empty cup in your room, almost feeling a single tear fall down from your eyes as you came to the horrifying realization that you no longer had anymore of your drink, for you had drank it all. You crushed the cup and flung it across your room to the trash can, where it plopped into its target. With a noise of success, you spun around in your wheely chair and pulled yourself to your drawing desk. Sighing, you picked up a pencil from the floor and opened the sketchbook, the tip of your pencil touching the paper. You pulled back to reveal a little faint mark. Groaning and stomping your feet in frustration, your eyes wandered outside your open window.

Since it was the end of the school day, you expected buses to be out. But on the drive home, you didn’t really see any. Instead you saw walkers, clutching at their bookbags and listening to music, making sure to look both ways before crossing the street and not to talk to strangers. But there were no buses reeking of fuel and creating those loud squeaky groans and no bustling of children inside.

You watched as a pair of kids walked into the neighborhood, one a dark haired girl with a red scarf, the other a boy with dark brown hair and a nasty look on his face. They seemed to be bickering over something, and at one point the boy said rather loudly, “Mikasa!”

Oh. So these were the other kids on the street? Mikasa and…Eren, yeah. Oh and Jean. Where was he anyway…?

You glanced around the street before your gaze caught a copper haired boy walking slowly on the sidewalk, head lowered and eyes staring at the ground. He wore the same tan jacket from when you had first met him. Your gaze followed Jean as he walked, glancing all over him. He looked worn out and by the look on his face, annoyed. His face was scrunched up like he was deep in thought. What was going on in his little hippie mind?

Gotta go sleep in another woods. You snickered to yourself.

You still watched him, not the other two kids, but only him. He was more interesting. How did it feel like to loose something that had always been there your whole life?

Wait, you already knew. It felt terrible, the fear and the loneliness. You still felt hollow inside. So incredibly hollow. The only thing that kept you alive was the air, and nothing else. No goals, no revenge, nothing. Just the air. Maybe that was the only thing he kept living on. But was there something else? Something that he hoped for? Longed for?

You still watched him as he walked up his stone path to his brick house. You felt like some sort of weird stalker for watching him now, and you noticed how warm your cheeks felt. You slapped them lightly, trying to the get the feeling to go away. Jean entered his house and disappeared from your line of sight. Dammit, if only you had laser vision. It took you a moment to realized what you had just wished for.

Great, I really am some weird stalker, you thought, leaning back in your chair and burying in your sweater. You inhaled the scent of fabric softener and…oranges. You tore the sweater off and stuffed it the garbage, glaring daggers at the piece of damn fabric.

No oranges are allowed anywhere near me, you declared to yourself.

You pressed a hand to your forehead, closing your eyes. Those god damn oranges… You wrinkled your nose. You used to love oranges. But ever since the accident, you couldn’t stand them, or anything that had to do with those cursed citrus fruit. The smell of them to you was as unwelcome as someone blowing cigarette smoke in your face.

You opened your eyes and stretched, arms behind your head. Yawning, you went downstairs to the kitchen in hopes Hanji would be making dinner. She was, but was only getting the ingredients out. You guessed lasagna.

"Oh, __. Want to help?" she asked. You nodded and went to the sink to wash your hands.

"I’m not going to let you laze around while your here," the woman said, bending over to grab a large rectangular pan from a cabinet. "I’ll have you do chores around the house. But for now, you can do something simple, like keeping your room clean or washing the dishes."

"Seems fun," you remarked.

"Oh, it is!"

You helped Hanji prepare the lasagna. You actually found yourself enjoying spending time with Hanji. She was always trying to lighten your mood, or have you do something. She was always treating you as if she had known you for years, like you were old friends. You smiled to yourself as you cut the tomatoes, lost in thought. Maybe you could stay a while. Hanji was so much different than the other foster parents. But you still couldn’t shake off the fact of why you were here in the first place. And what about that weird kid, Jean?

You felt something push between your legs, and you looked down to see Bean trying to get a closer look at what you were doing. The German Shepard let out a light bark and you rubbed his head. He kicked your hand in response. You heard a meow behind you and saw Sawney on the tiled floor, pawing at the air. He purred and mewled, wanting something. You looked back at the pile of ingredients you were cutting. You took a piece of cooked meat and gave it to the ginger cat. He snatched it from your grip and faced away, not even saying a ‘thank you.’ Bean pulled back from between your legs and ran after Sawney, excitement in his eyes.

You snorted. Hanji giggled beside you from where she was washing an onion. “They’re great, huh?”

You nodded.

"You know, you’re only my sixth foster kid."

You glanced at her sideways for her to continue.

She caught onto your memo and went on. “My first one was a little boy, age seven I think? That was when Bean was only about a year old. He was great; always running around and playing with the animals. He loved to help me out. I don’t think you noticed, but his carving is on the windowsill in the living room, the one walking the dog.”

Oh, you noticed. It was a beautiful sculpture. Hanji smiled contently to herself as she was lost in her memories. “I once had a kid like you, a girl who’s life was tragic. She was like you: quiet, unapproachable, and quite rude.”

You raised an eyebrow at her at the last one. Rude? Okay, maybe you were a little rude, giving how you first reacted with Jean and your other foster parents.

"I changed her. Made her more open. I’m hoping I could do the same for you, __." She turned to smile at you, pushing up her glasses on her nose. She turned the water off and placed the onion on the cutting board and reached for a knife. She began to hack away at the purple vegetable.

You lowered your eyes to your cutting board. She really was trying hard. You glanced back up to Hanji, finding her still smiling to herself.

"Hanji," you began. "Why do you do this? The foster home, I mean."

She paused a moment from her cutting to glance up at the ceiling. With a sigh of sadness, she turned to you. “I had a child once, a baby. She was born stillborn. I carried a dead baby for a months, thinking that she was alive. I couldn’t have anymore, and when my husband found out, he left. I’ve always wanted a kid of my own. But I couldn’t. So I decided to help other children. It’s like having multiple children that aren’t mine, but still bring the same joy.”

She had a baby? How did it feel to loose something you wanted dearly? She hadn’t bonded with the baby, but you could tell she was devastated when she found out her baby was born dead. You imagined her giving one final push and hoping to hear the cries of a baby, but instead there being a heavy silence, despair in the air.

"I’m sorry," you said quietly,"for asking."

Hanji laid a hand on yours, smiling sadly at you. “No, it’s alright, honey. These are one of the things that you always need to tell, and you get used to that.”

You nodded, understanding. When would you tell her about your story? Soon? Now? Never? You weren’t really sure; talking about still brought back those terrifying memories. She knew you still needed time to make sure you wanted her to know. Maybe she already knew what had happened, maybe Levi had told her, but she didn’t know the details.

You helped Hanji finish the lasagna in silence, placing the pan in the oven. You went back up stairs, waiting for dinner to come out hot and ready.

You closed your eyes, lying on your bed, arms behind your head acting as a pillow, today’s events still going through your head.

You felt your shell crack.