Feel New: Snk Jean x Reader Ch.5

Feel New Chapter Five: Blossom Trees And Freckles

"Most of my sweet memories
Were buried in the sand
The fire and the pain
Will now be coming to an end
How did you manage to save me
From this desolate wasteland?
In your eyes I see the dawn
Of brighter days again”
-WoodKid “Wasteland”

You shuddered, turning your head away from the sink, and gagging. Touching wet food was so disgusting, you thought you might need to go to therapy to get over it. Shuddering once again, you reached for the sponge and continued in washing the dishes, listening to Hanji’s tunes.

“You ain’t nothing but a hound dog!” Elvis sang, breaking the silence and starting a new song.

You were beginning to actually like Hanji’s music. Though it was mostly Elvis, the upbeat and sometimes sad music couldn’t stop you from swaying your hips or humming along. The best part of the music to you was how old it was, almost like you were going back in time, dancing in a diner after school and ordering five cent fizzy sodas.

Behind you, you could hear Hanji flipping the pages of the local newspaper. She was sitting at the dining table, sipping at her coffee while reading the paper, ready to leave for work in a few minutes.

"Almost done, __?" she asked, looking at you from above the rim of her glasses.

You shook your head, getting impatient at a particular cheese stain on a plate. You were just wondering how it got there, scrubbing furiously at the food.

"Okay. Finish that up and don’t forget to clean your room. I’m going to work!"

"See you later, Hange!"

You heard the door shut and you sighed, finally alone. You were just itching for it to be noon already. Your new favorite show would be on. Scrubbing harder at the food stains on the plates, you let out a low growl of frustration.

It had been two days since Jean had come over to comfort you. You still had been prone to crying, but they were only a few tears. It seemed like Jean’s comfort had worked. You wanted to thank him, somehow. Perhaps comfort him when the time comes. But will there ever be a time like that? He was always so…you, with the walls and everything. But at least he was open to you, which still kept you wondering. You guessed you really could mend each other.

Soon Elvis’s song ended and began playing a new song, one of your favorites, ‘Jailhouse Rock.’ Humming along, you failed to notice that someone had knocked on your door. It was when they knocked for the third time that you heard. You quickly wiped your hands dry and strode over to the door, curious. You looked through the peephole, a flash of copper hair catching your eye.

You opened the door, revealing Jean. He was leaning against the porch railings, hands shoved into 
his pockets. He looked up to you, seemingly embarrassed at first. “Uh, hi.”

"Hi."

There was an awkward silence as the two of regarded each other with curious eyes. Jean straightened and cleared his throat. “Um. I just wanted to know if you were feeling okay…well my mom wanted to know so I…yeah.”

You raised an eyebrow, knowing that was an obvious lie. “Jean, you suck at lying. Try sticking to what you’re good at, like honesty.” You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms as ‘Jailhouse Rock’ blasted from inside behind you. “And I’m doing Jim Dandy, thanks.” You voice was thick with sarcasm.

"Oh…okay."

"Are you okay?" you asked, startling him.

"Hah?"

"I asked if you are okay."

He thought for a moment and opened his mouth, choosing his words carefully. “I…guess…”

You sighed, disappointed at his lame answer. You opened the door wider. “Come in if ya want,” you said, turning away.

He paused for a moment.

You looked back at him and rolled your eyes. “Don’t worry: I’m letting you in this time so you don’t have to break in like the last time.”

He scowled and stepped inside. “Shut up. And I didn’t break in. I just happened to know where the spare key is.”

You closed the door, raising an eyebrow. “How did you find out that piece of information?”

He cringed. “When you decide to not talk with anyone for months, you start to see and observe things you shouldn’t.”

You stared at him and blinked. “Okaaay,” you said, prolonging the word. You stepped into the kitchen and up to the sink, hearing Jean follow you.

But then his words sunk in as you turned the water on. “Wait,” you said, glancing sideways to him. “You decided not to talk with anyone?”

He regarded you for a moment. “Yeah,” he answered averting your gaze. He fiddled with his watch, unhooking and hooking the straps.

"Why?"

"I’d rather not say."

"Humph." You looked down at the last few plates.

"You almost done?" he asked.

"Yeah. Why?"

"I want to take you somewhere."

Somewhere?

You glanced at him, looking for further explanation, but only found him staring at the wall in front of him, thick emotions swirling in his eyes. “Okay,” you said, turning back to the dishes. “But it better be near.”

Suddenly there was a loud bark and Bean padded into the kitchen, yawning. He was taking a lot more naps then usual, you noted. The German Shepard stopped dead in his tracks when he looked at Jean, but then shot forward and tackled into him, making him stumble. Jean’s back pressed into yours as the dog licked and sniffed him. The teen laughed, speaking in between giggles, “I didn’t know…pfft…you had a dog!”

You cringed, Jean’s heavy back making you bend over the sink. “Jean, you mind? You can get off me now.”

"Ah, sorry." You felt his back disappear, as well as the warmth it gave yours.

"And yeah, Hanji has a dog. And a cat."

Jean crouched down, letting Bean sniff his hand. “Hey there, big guy!” He rubbed his head, patting the dog’s side.

"His name’s Bean," you said, smiling as you placed the last cup on the rack.

"You’re a big cutie!" he said in one of those voices you give to animals or babies.

You burst out laughing, causing Jean to turn his head to you. “What?” he asked, annoyed.

"Oh god, Jean," you chuckled. "You’re a big softie."

He huffed. “I can be tough,” he said defensively.

You shook your head and patted his shoulder, walking by him and switching off the music. “Uh huh. And I can grow wings.”

Jean scowled despite the smile on his face. Bean barked again, trotting behind you as you walked into the living room. Jean stood with a dramatic groan and followed as you stood by the door, Bean wagging his tail beside you.

"So what do you want to show me?" you asked.

"I’ll show you when we get there," he simply said, letting you open the door.

The cool morning air hit you like a punch to the face, making you stumble. You haven’t been outside in days. Jean looked at strangely as Bean trotted out of the house, barking happily. He descended down the stairs in two leaps and waited for you at the end of the grey stone path. You ran after him, Jean taking the lead. You yawned and stretched, walking alongside Bean. He barked again and dropped his tongue out of his mouth, the pink flesh hanging limply and bobbing as he walked. You looked back up to Jean, noting just how tall he was.

He was about two heads taller than you. You never had met someone so tall. He didn’t say anything as the three of you walked down the street. Cautiously, you walked forward a little, angling yourself so you could see his face. His eye stared ahead, solemn, trained on the street ahead of him. You followed his eyes until they stopped at the forest ahead.

Was he taking you there?

At the sight of the forest, Bean barked happily and ran ahead. “Bean!” you called, increasing your pace. If he got hurt Hanji was going to definitely murder you.

Jean and you caught up to Bean at the edge of the forest. You took in the scenery; it was where you had met Jean.

Without a word, he clambered through the underbrush, Bean following him. With a huff, you followed both. It was hard to keep up since Bean was an animal and Jean had long ass legs. You ducked under branches, the occasional leaf sacking you in the face or a tree root being an ass and sticking out of the ground tripping you. After doing so for about the fifth time, you stopped, stepping into the same clearing you stood in a week ago.

The blossom tree swayed in the breeze, bright pink petals floating to the ground. The petals piled in the bright green grass like snow. The soft sloshing sounds of the cream only enhanced the beauty of the forest, combining with other sounds and features. You looked at Jean, who only sat in the same position by the tree that same day you had stared at him. Bean lay down in the long grass beside him. You walked over, the long grass making it difficult to walk through. You sat down, back against the dark wood of the tree. You breathed in, inhaling the scents of the forest.

"I used to come here almost everyday," Jean said, startling you. You turned to look at him as he went on.

"I would always come here. Everyday. Whatever time it was. I didn’t care. Because my friend would be here. Marco would be waiting for me."

Marco. Why did it sound so familiar now?

"You remind me of him, actually."

You stared at him, searching for some sort of emotion on his face. There was only the mask of indifference.

"He was so nice. And I don’t mean the kind of creepy nice that would make you feel like he wants something in return. I’m talking about the nice that makes you nice, that makes you smile. And it always confused me; why would someone like him hang out with someone like me? A fucking jerk who only cares about himself…"

Whoa, hold up.

"I know why," you said, catching his attention. "Because you’re nice, too."

He snorted. “Yeah right.”

"What do you mean? You dumbass; you’re the one who broke into my house just to comfort me, idiot. And I didn’t even ask for it."

He didn’t answer. With a sigh, you lay in the grass on your back, scratching Bean’s jaw. Marco…

The sign.

Your eyes widened at the realization. “Jean…tell me about Marco.”

"Hm?"

"Tell me about him. I want to know him."

There was a pause until he replied, “Okay…”

And so he told you. He told you about Marco. Marco Bodt was his best friend for life since kindergarten. Jean didn’t even like Marco at first. But then as time went on, Jean became less and less blunt with Marco and more and more open with him. He told you that they told each other everything. It was a part of the pact they made in third grade.

"The pact was pretty stupid, but for third graders like us, it was the perfect way to ensure we would never leave each other’s sides. We were always together everywhere."

"How does Marco look like?"

"He has freckles, lots of them, all over his body. In the summer, when he wears shorts and short sleeved shirts, I could see all the freckles on his arms and legs. I memorized where they were and how many were on his face. He had them on his cheeks and nose and even his hands. Everywhere. He had dark hair that would always fall into his eyes, and his mom would always tell him to brush it aside or else he won’t be able to see and he’ll fall. He never did it, and he never fell. His eyes are like chocolate, like the chocolate my mom brings home when my grandmother sends it to her from Paris.

"He’s tall, too. If you think I’m tall, then you haven’t seem Marco, him with his long ass legs. He loved to garden, so his knees and hands were usually covered in some sort of dirt or grime. He always told the cheesiest puns, too. His nose was button shaped. I remember how when I was little, the first thing I did when I met him was just poke it and say, ‘Boop’."

What was with all the past tense? Was Marco…dead?

"Jean, where’s Marco?" you asked.

Silence.

"I don’t know. But I know he’s not coming back."

"What happened to him?"

"He just disappeared one day…"

"Why do you say he’s not coming back?"

He let out a bitter laugh. “It’s been over eight months, __. I know when to give up hope.”

Give up? You remembered how you felt when you woke up in the hospital. You had never cried so much. Giving up always seemed like a good idea to you. You wanted to give up when your father started to drink away his grief, when you had to clean up the broken bottles and every last shard from the carpet, when you sent to your first foster, when you raised the razor to your wrists; giving up hope always seemed reasonable there. Giving up the thought that things could never get better. Jean’s words from days ago replayed in your head. “We can mend. If you need me, I’ll come, and if I need you, you better fucking come you lazy shit.” Was this a time when you could help him? Repay him for comforting you? Give him hope?

"Jean, tell me more about Marco."

Jean thought for a moment before opening his mouth like he did that day you first came here, only now he was opening his mouth for the first time, even if it wasn’t the first time. He opened his mouth for the first time, nonetheless, but to speak about Marco.

"He would always cheer me up, no matter what he did. His smile and laugh was just so fucking contagious. The idiot wouldn’t stop smiling. I could never stay mad at him, or he could never stay mad at me. We always had to end up laughing or playing Mario Kart. Sometimes we would end up wrestling…" Jean began to laugh a little.

"Tell me more," you urged.

"He loved peanut butter and jelly. Almost every time I was over his house there was always a full jar of peanut butter and jelly and one beside it that was almost empty. I don’t know why, but I never got sick of eating those damn sandwiches with him, even though I didn’t like peanut butter that much. Maybe it was because he was there." You could hear the smile in his voice.

"More," you urged, closing your eyes. Whatever it took to keep him smiling.

And as he told you more and more about Marco, he was cracking. That wall that he battled so defiantly to keep up, was crumbling ever so slightly at each word. A pebble fell, a crack appeared, rubble crumpled, and the wall was straining to keep up. He was laughing as he remembered the memories that were funny, he was smiling at the memories that made him smile, and he was cursing and turning red at the memories that were embarrassing. You laughed along, Bean sleeping peacefully between you. Jean found himself leaving his position from the tree to lay down beside you in the grass. It tickled your skin and ants bit at your knees, but your were too busy listening to Jean, listening and hearing and seeing and feeling his happiness. You felt it all like there was a connection, even if Bean was in the way, but yet there was a connection nonetheless.

And it was beautiful.

You were finally connected with someone.

Finally.

And then there was silence when Jean stopped talking because his throat hurt, and it was already about three in the afternoon, and you were hungry and tired, but you were still here with him. That meant something. Big. You listened to him breathing, he listened to you.

"Do you ever…feel guilty sometimes?" he asked, breaking the silence.

You thought it over. “Yes.”

He shifted so he was on his side, curled up, staring at you intently. “I feel like I shouldn’t be laughing sometimes, or smiling, or even appreciating that I’m here…”

"And that you wish they were still here, or that you could trade places with them, or see them one last time," you added. The grief was building up within.

"We’re selfish," he declared, just like that.

You looked at him. “Yeah…we are.”

He blushed a little and he hid his face in his palm, looking away. “But we’re human, so we can’t help it, right?”

You only nodded, lost in thought. “Do you think they want us to forget about them? Is the the only way to move on?”

His eyes flickered back to you, and unlike the other questions you asked, there wasn’t an answer. His eyebrows furrowed in thought. “I don’t know.”

"We should be happy, right?"

He didn’t answer.

"But how can we? It feels like there’s a hole in me that I can’t fill up. I know it sounds cheesy. But I can’t help it."

You felt something take your hand and you looked down. His fingers laced with yours and held onto your hand tightly. He rolled onto his back, arm cast across his face, blocking the sun. You blushed, feeling how warm his hand was. So warm…hotter than a million suns. Why was it so warm? You looked up to Jean and found his face red, most of the blush hidden by his arm. You only smiled a little and held onto his hand tightly, feeling the hole…fill up a little. And even if it wasn’t much, it was something. And that’s what mattered.

"Ah…you’re kinda hurting my hand there, __," Jean said, glancing at you. His eyes widened and he sat up.

"Oh geez. Uh, __. Why are you crying?"

You sniffed and felt another tear fall. You smiled at him, vision blurred from the tears. “I’m just…happy, Jean. Can’t I cry when I’m happy?”

Dammit, not again, you thought. Why was it so easy to cry around him?

Jean glanced all over your face before smiling back. “Idiot. Of course you can.” You still held onto his hand tightly. You sniffed again as the tears spilled, falling onto the grass and dirt and staining it.

A gust of wind blew, causing more petals to fall to the ground. You stared at the stains on the dirt, smiling through your tears. Everything was beautiful. You looked back up to Jean to find him staring at you, his golden eyes warm and open. Why were they so different from before? What was that slight glint in those honey golden eyes, those very eyes that watched you cry, those very eyes that watched you smile, and laugh, and run, and walk, and everything that you did?

What was so different about those eyes that watched every single move you made, that small growing glint in them?

"Jean?"

He blinked, snapped out of his trance by your voice.

"What?"

"Nothing." You glanced down at your hand in his, blushing a little harder. Jean scowled and looked away, obviously just as embarrassed as you.

Suddenly you heard a bark and Bean tackled Jean, now awake. Jean screamed, voice high pitched, and you burst out laughing. You were cut off when Jean took you down with him, hand still holding onto yours. Bean sat atop the both of you, a paw planted on each of your chest. You groaned, head throbbing from where you hit Jean’s bony shoulder. He laughed.

"What the fuck was that, man? You sounded like a guinea pig!" you said, laughing too.

"What? My scream?"

"Is that as manly as you can get it to be?"

"Shut up!"

You imitated his scream, making him scowl. You laughed even harder. “You sounded like an idiot!” you wheezed.

"Shut up!" he whined, laughing. Bean leaned down and licked his face, making him sputter.

"Down boy!" he ordered, and Bean complied. You let go of Jean’s hand, missing the warmth right away, and stood. You stretched, stomach growling.

“I’m hungry,” you announced, just as Jean’s stomach grumbled loudly.

You snorted.

"Ready to go back, ya idiot?" he asked teasingly.

"Shut up, you dork."

"Once an idiot, always an idiot."

"To dork or not to dork." You smirked.

"Shut up." He smiled, teeth showing.

"No you!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, idiot."

You shook your head, smiling, as Jean turned away. But you grabbed onto his sleeve, catching his attention.

"Jean, what makes you happy?" you asked, gazing into his golden eyes.

He stared at you. “W-why do you ask?”

"We can mend each other right? Then…why don’t we?"

A pause. He glanced down at your hand on his sleeve, then back to you. He turned his face away, a blush settling on his cheeks. “Talking about Marco makes me happy. Talking about him with you,” he answered.

You blushed at his honesty. “Okay. Then talk to me when you want.” You let go of his sleeve.

He only stared at you some more before turning away, saying, “Like I’ll talk to anyone else.”

That was true.

"Why won’t you talk with anyone else?" you asked, following him as he lead the way back, Bean at your heels.

"I don’t know," he said simply.

You glared at him. “Really?”

No answer.

"Sometimes people just don’t know, __," he explained, glancing at you. You let his words sink in, not understanding them entirely.

You stepped over a rock carefully. “But there has to be a reason you’re talking to me.”

"Didn’t I already tell you?" he asked, turning to face you. "Because I’m pretty sure I already told you."

Oh yeah, you thought. He did.

"Well, could you at least tell me why you stopped talking?" you asked.

He scowled, probably annoyed at the questions. You were asking about Marco not ten minutes ago; why was he so defensive now? Was it because the questions were aimed at him? You realized your wall may tumble completely when you were around him, but his had a few pieces standing.

"I stopped talking because no one would understand," he looked away. "He was my best friend for life. We we even made a pact to always stay together. And he broke it. And I know I shouldn’t be…but I’m mad at him. I was never mad at him when he was here…"

Jean looked back to you and you realized there were tears welling up in his eyes. Now his wall had crumpled to the ground.

"Jean, stop saying ‘was’," you said quietly," and start saying ‘is’. Because he’ll be found."

He wiped at his eyes. “You really don’t know when to give up, do you?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

"You don’t get it, do you?" His eyes were full of anger now, and you felt very scared. Jean clenched his fists. "He’s not coming back. He’ll never come back. He’s probably dead-"

"Jean!" you shouted, cutting him off.

"What?" he asked harshly.

"Stop saying those things! I thought you wanted to mend. But all you’re doing is making it worse. I want to help you, but if you keep spewing those words from your mouth, then I will seriously shove the hope down your throat!"

You stared at him. He stared at you. Bean whined, nudging your foot. You looked down, sighing, and patted the German Shepard’s head reassuringly. Why was Jean being so difficult? Did he really think there was no chance of Marco ever coming back? Did someone tell him these things or did he convince himself?

“Jean ” you said.

"What?" He scowled again.

"Don’t say those things. Please.” He glanced at your eyes as you spoke, finding them thick with emotion. “Because if you loose hope, then I will, too.”

His gaze softened. He stared at his shoes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he whispered, loud enough for you to hear. “I’m sorry.”

You could only stare at him helplessly as he began walking again. Finally reaching the end of the forest, you looked back to Jean. He wiped his eyes and mumbled, “I’m sorry. I say stupid things.”

"Your feelings aren’t stupid," you replied. "I don’t know who told you that, but they’re wrong. They’re assholes."

He looked at you, surprise on his face. What, did he think what he had said was stupid? Really? Then if he thought like that, did he convince himself of it, of did somebody else tell him? Now you wanted to kick whoever told him that. Did he think you didn’t care what he said? Of course you cared about him. Did he not see it?

He blushed, looking away and scratching at his cheek. “T-thank you.”

You patted his shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

You parted ways, him crossing the street and you and Bean walking back home. That was when you realized you forget to clean your room.

And not to mention you promised to give Jean hope.