jean kirschstein. (
jeankirschstein) wrote in
destinytown2013-08-29 08:47 pm
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[ snapshots from the 104th ]; jean, armin (spam/log)
[ achoo!
jean can't sleep. this is normal; with tensions running so high this close to graduation day, it's a wonder that any given member of the 104th can manage a good night's rest. even the top cadets—they know who they are—must be feeling it, teetering on the edge. no one is safe. no one is immune.
some surely feel the pressure more than others. jean would like to think he's one of them, given that he's put everything at stake to not only make it out of training alive, but into the military police in the process. into the inner wall...where he can finally relax for a change, take it easy.
that won't be happening tonight. he knew that long before his sneezing stirred the other restless bodies surrounding him, snot trickling from his nose while they mutter in complaint. screw 'em. if he has to suffer out here in the cold, why shouldn't they?
for that matter, what's up with having to be out here in the first place? it'd be one thing if jean's eyes were set on joining the hijinks of the reconnaissance legion in the near future, but that hardly applies to him, let alone the majority of his fellow trainees. most, he figures, probably have their sights set on the garrison. maybe there are a scant few who share his ambitions, though whether or not they're actually up to the job remains to be seen. jean knows he is. he has to be, or it all ends here.
and what a way to end it! trampling about through the frigid, winter air, huddling like mice around an abandoned outpost—who's to say that an eoten or twelve won't stumble upon them in the dead of night, anyway? what good is a little campout a few miles from the wall going to teach anyone about survival, or the rages of war? they'd be better off just tearing the roof off the barracks and leaving it at that, honestly. at least jean would be in better company.
he doesn't know anyone around here. some of his friends were pulled off into tightly-knit (and largely unnecessary, in jean's eyes) patrols hours ago, or dragged to stand watch while the rest of the group settled down for the evening. it'd be nice if jean had been hand-picked for any of those, but of course, he's left both overlooked and to his own devices. is he not good enough, try as he might? he may be no ackerman—beautiful, beautiful ackerman—but that shouldn't mean he'll never get his own chance to shine. ]
To hell with this— [ jean's up in a flourish, much to the complaint of everyone else still struggling to get warm, far from the fires that dot along the outpost. if he can't silently sulk down the long, long road to slumber, then he may as well be up and at it, roaming the campsite like he would be if he were on more familiar ground, with familiar faces at his side to play hooky with him rather than be driven insane by a cacophony of snores in the dark. the girls' dorm doesn't have it that bad, do they?
there are others like him who think they have better things to do in their downtime than catch forty winks. many can be found merely talking amongst themselves, while others nervously peer at their surroundings, not wholly convinced they're going to be safe from an eoten attack. jean isn't, either, but he has faith in the regulars who are keeping peace around here. as long as they and the patrollers are doing their duty, then there's little to fear. it's when daylight shines upon them that they should be at their most afraid, according to what their everyday lessons have taught them.
not in much of a mood to be simply chewing the fat, jean has a grander scheme in mind as he continues his walk. he's half-hoping he'll be able to catch the eye of someone he recognizes among the guard, maybe play a round of cards or two, steal a drink to warm his bones that no one will notice, not this late in the day. it'd be far more effective than the scrap that's supposed to pass for a cloak clinging to him, hand-me-downs from the cadets who survived before him, and before that. can't even afford to give their ready-to-die young soldiers equipment well and truly up to date, can they...? ]
jean can't sleep. this is normal; with tensions running so high this close to graduation day, it's a wonder that any given member of the 104th can manage a good night's rest. even the top cadets—they know who they are—must be feeling it, teetering on the edge. no one is safe. no one is immune.
some surely feel the pressure more than others. jean would like to think he's one of them, given that he's put everything at stake to not only make it out of training alive, but into the military police in the process. into the inner wall...where he can finally relax for a change, take it easy.
that won't be happening tonight. he knew that long before his sneezing stirred the other restless bodies surrounding him, snot trickling from his nose while they mutter in complaint. screw 'em. if he has to suffer out here in the cold, why shouldn't they?
for that matter, what's up with having to be out here in the first place? it'd be one thing if jean's eyes were set on joining the hijinks of the reconnaissance legion in the near future, but that hardly applies to him, let alone the majority of his fellow trainees. most, he figures, probably have their sights set on the garrison. maybe there are a scant few who share his ambitions, though whether or not they're actually up to the job remains to be seen. jean knows he is. he has to be, or it all ends here.
and what a way to end it! trampling about through the frigid, winter air, huddling like mice around an abandoned outpost—who's to say that an eoten or twelve won't stumble upon them in the dead of night, anyway? what good is a little campout a few miles from the wall going to teach anyone about survival, or the rages of war? they'd be better off just tearing the roof off the barracks and leaving it at that, honestly. at least jean would be in better company.
he doesn't know anyone around here. some of his friends were pulled off into tightly-knit (and largely unnecessary, in jean's eyes) patrols hours ago, or dragged to stand watch while the rest of the group settled down for the evening. it'd be nice if jean had been hand-picked for any of those, but of course, he's left both overlooked and to his own devices. is he not good enough, try as he might? he may be no ackerman—beautiful, beautiful ackerman—but that shouldn't mean he'll never get his own chance to shine. ]
To hell with this— [ jean's up in a flourish, much to the complaint of everyone else still struggling to get warm, far from the fires that dot along the outpost. if he can't silently sulk down the long, long road to slumber, then he may as well be up and at it, roaming the campsite like he would be if he were on more familiar ground, with familiar faces at his side to play hooky with him rather than be driven insane by a cacophony of snores in the dark. the girls' dorm doesn't have it that bad, do they?
there are others like him who think they have better things to do in their downtime than catch forty winks. many can be found merely talking amongst themselves, while others nervously peer at their surroundings, not wholly convinced they're going to be safe from an eoten attack. jean isn't, either, but he has faith in the regulars who are keeping peace around here. as long as they and the patrollers are doing their duty, then there's little to fear. it's when daylight shines upon them that they should be at their most afraid, according to what their everyday lessons have taught them.
not in much of a mood to be simply chewing the fat, jean has a grander scheme in mind as he continues his walk. he's half-hoping he'll be able to catch the eye of someone he recognizes among the guard, maybe play a round of cards or two, steal a drink to warm his bones that no one will notice, not this late in the day. it'd be far more effective than the scrap that's supposed to pass for a cloak clinging to him, hand-me-downs from the cadets who survived before him, and before that. can't even afford to give their ready-to-die young soldiers equipment well and truly up to date, can they...? ]
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Kinda... [ and then it dawns on him— ] But we did it already, so...
[ months ago. they've spoken of it recently, yet jean's still convinced that armin doesn't entirely remember how that evening played out. ]
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[ he finds some humor in it, not hiding the way he presses the side of his face into the pillow, glancing at jean sidelong. ]
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[ you've lost him, armin. ]
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Mm. Because I'm tired, and you're lending me a place to sleep. It's kind of the same, isn't it?
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[ after all, jean's burdened armin enough for tonight. he shuffles forward again, legs swinging over the edge of his bunk like he's ready to leave. ]
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[ so he says as he grabs on to the other's jacket, attempting to tug him back into bed with him. ]
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... [ this is definitely weird, but as it is with everything else that's concerned armin, it isn't necessarily bad, wrong, unwelcome. jean just...isn't entirely certain of what this all means, what it's leading up to. he could see this happening between their fairer comrades, but is this really something that friends do? guy friends?
probably not. they don't exactly pull the scene that took place out by the funeral pyre, either. what does it all mean?
this is actually something that jean's of a mind to pursue. with a newfound determination, he slows, comes to a stop, and starts to peel off his jacket while looking at armin head-on.
to be fair, it's all he does, but it's still the sign of—well—something. ]
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politely averting his eyes a moment too late, armin realizes that it's probably best that he does the same. he can't help but turn away once he's sitting up again, slowly, carefully taking off his own jacket so he can fold it and put it to the side.
his fingers itch to remove the belts and straps covering his body, wondering if it's appropriate to do so. well, it certainly isn't comfortable to sleep in them, using that thought to propel him into fiddling and fussing with the buckles and awkward loops that circle around his limbs, brows furrowing in concentration.
are his hands shaking? his hands must be shaking, he just cannot get any of it off of his body... ]
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likewise, there's a more...official manner in which they could be doing this, storing their gear till they need use of it again (probably soon, considering), but at this point, jean really couldn't care less. just as with his jacket, it's tossed aside haphazardly.
thankfully his hands are far more steady than armin's, and he's doing a second take of him when he sees him struggling. ] Problem...? [ and here jean thought he'd be the one who's having issues. the longer he spends around armin, weirdly, his head gets clearer and clearer. ]
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[ at least he's gotten one of the straps undone. at this rate, he'll be done a little after the sun rises. ]
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[ do you need help, jean wants to say, but he just sits back and continues to watch armin struggle. he doesn't always have troubles like this, does he? ]
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after some deliberation, it seems only fitting that the best course of action is to...well, help armin out.
it is more hands-on than jean might like to be, but after considering the care that's already been laid onto him, it can't be much worse than when he was all but bodily pressed up against armin. in his defense, the other boy started it, not him. ]
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letting out a deep sigh of resignation, armin slides back on upward, giving jean a better angle to work with, head hanging low in defeat. ]
Sorry...
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jean does his utmost to not linger too long on the latter area, trying not to think about the implications behind it, either. armin's only trembling there due to stress, nothing more. jean'd done much of the same, shoulders shaking, when he'd held him on the ground. there's no problem here, no big deal.
that being said, it does take longer than anticipated to get the job done. jean's letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding, rocking back onto his haunches when it's all said and done. hopefully he won't have to do that again for a while. or maybe ever, depending. ]
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come on, armin, get it together— at least this time he can resist burying his face into his palms, resorting to staring at some far-off wall as jean continues his work. luck is on his side when he gets lost in thought, taking a moment or two to realize that the job has been done. ]
Ah, thank you. [ tentatively rolls and folds the straps so he can neatly set them off to the side, right next to his boots. ]
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what now? he expects armin will lie down again, succumbing to his exhaustion after such a trying day. jean can't fault him for that, might even feel somewhat envious, in a way; as much as he might want to, he knows that as soon as he stretches out, he's just going to be haunted by his memories, and the knowledge of having to face the future alone. it won't be the same without marco by his side.
by his side... jean's eyes are drawn to the bunk next to his, marco's former resting place. glancing at armin, he's on the verge of declaring this, but shuts his mouth at the last minute, changing his mind. it might make the boy feel...guilty, especially if he knew how many nights marco had playfully stolen into this very bed. jean spared it so little thought at the time, not really minding being caught in such a position, but now...
ugh. it's inescapable, these feelings. he hunches back into himself, head resting on his knees. maybe this wasn't such a good idea. he won't be very good company for armin. ]
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looking towards jean, armin's lips form another thin line, slowly hiking his legs up to rest close to his chest.
there's nothing more than he can do, is there? talking was a no-go, it just ended up going nowhere at this point in time. nobody can fault either of them for that, armin had prepared himself for that, after all, and now that they've come to a halt once more, there's only one thing he can think of relying on now that everything has been said and done.
slides his legs down the rest of the bed, one hand lifting to gently pat and tug at jean's shirt to get his attention. whenever he looks over, armin wordlessly points to the open spot beneath them, showing jean that he wants him to lay down by doing a demonstration, positioning his body to face the other's. whether he follows along or not is up to jean, but the offer is there for him to take or leave. ]
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oh, well. it's better than being given no directions at all, armin hoping he'll catch on to something that seems so obvious. he isn't one for making assumptions, which is good. this is armin, after all, who always had a leg up on the rest of the 104th when it came to critical thinking.
jean would be a fool to pass up the invitation, and though he looks self-conscious while doing so, he's slowly lowering himself down, making the transition into being more horizontal. it's during this that he realizes he has...no idea where to put his arms and legs without getting in armin's way. the best he can do is flatten himself towards the wall, but that still leaves him wondering how to position himself.
in the end he's still relatively hunched, and he looks at armin helplessly. this isn't jean's proudest moment. ]
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Come here. [ is what he finally says once he's calmed down, opening his arms up for jean to move into if he so wishes. ]
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there's still time to abort this mission, back out of it, laugh it off and roll away from armin to simply sleep in silence and never speak of this again. it's not like in training, where jean could use the convenient excuse of just wanting to keep them both warm. this, here, isn't something he'd do for anyone. does armin qualify?
like before, there's a sudden, determined compulsion to see this through. so after working through the logistics on his own, jean's head ducks down, and he lurches as close as he can. this leaves the problem of where his hands should go unresolved, but they should follow suit with the rest of him in due time. ]
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with an arm snugly wrapped around jean's shoulders and another curling over his head, the boy wiggles to get comfortable as he gently presses closer, holding jean closer to his chest. ]
My parents used to do this when I was sad. [ he feels warm at the memory, even though it's faint, a little too hazy from his childhood. ] Then they'd tell me stories about the outside world. About something called the "ocean", like how the water moves on its own, that it has something to do with the moon...
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[ it's a tired mutter on jean's end, as well as the only leap in logic he can take. if most people haven't left the walls in decades—if not longer—how do they know what's out there?
why even take the risk? jean at least has enough tact not to give voice to those thoughts, but it's something to keep his mind off the folds of armin's shirt pressed snugly to his cheek. this is a lot different than when he can't see straight, can't function, needs the solid foundation of another human to literally help him back to his feet. ]
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[ which is more or less true, though again, he casually forgo telling jean that it's also due to a promise between him and eren. still, it goes much further than that, an idle thought as fingers fiddle with jean's hair, a thumb stroking and repeating the gesture several times over. ]
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What's an ocean got to do with water, anyway? [ jean's not putting two and two together here. ]
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