Chapter Text
Sometimes Jean thinks his honesty is a curse.
It’s a trait many his age lacks out of some irrational fear of not being liked or hurting someone’s feelings.
Not Jean. It never made sense to him why others find it so difficult to tell the truth. For him, it’s as easy as breathing.
But as he’s gotten older, he’s learned the drawbacks of honesty. The first being that he’s honest to a fault, borderline blunt at times that can (and has) ruffle feathers. The second reason: when he’s honest, it creates space for people to insert their opinions.
It’s not like Jean overshares or flaunts. If he’s asked for an opinion on something, he’ll give it with truth. If he’s asked about superficial topics, music, what he’s majoring in and why, how he likes his coffee, etc. Jean has nothing to hide.
The same goes for his personal life. And that’s the arena Jean’s realizing he should keep much more private.
Leaning against the wall of the local pool hall, Jean’s friends rib him for his lack of dating life—again.
After an entire day working on an outline at the campus library, Jean agreed to meet with his friends.
It was a last minute get together to break the monotony of the week. All full-time upperclassmen at university left them stretched thin between projects, tests, extracurriculars, and personal lives. While the weekends were spared to recover from the week, it’s nice to slip in some casual fun midway.
Reiner had asked where Jean’s roommates were tonight, and the latter supplied that they were both out on separate study dates.
A few more questions followed from Reiner and Jean’s other friends, Eren and Connie, and it wasn’t long before Jean was placed in the hot seat regarding the same topic.
“Do those girls they see have any friends?” Connie takes his pole, aiming it at the eight ball on the table. “Single ones that you can meet.”
Jean finishes his glass of tequila, slumping against the wall. “Next time you see them you can ask for yourself.”
Connie is unfazed by the redirection. “Yeah, I will. But you never go on dates, Jean. You keeping them a secret or something?”
Eren snorts. “Not a single one pans out that’s why he’s not sharing.”
Jean’s brow twitches. “If you want to talk about your love life, Eren, be our guest. Besides, I’m busy.”
“Yeah? What about during school breaks then?” Eren points out. “There are so many cute girls around here, especially in your neighborhood.”
“Point being?” Jean deadpans, already aware of where the conversation is headed.
Eren shrugs, exchanging a look with Connie. “If I lived where you did, I wouldn’t waste an opportunity. It’s just dating. It doesn’t have to be serious unless you want it to be.”
Connie frowns as the balls scatter along the pool table, not even one falling into the pockets. “Yeah, if you meet a girl that you really like, then you can start something with her. But it won’t happen if you don’t actually go on dates. Otherwise, collect the notch and move on.”
Reiner takes a turn. “You just haven’t met someone special yet, or you’re picky, nothing wrong with that either. Like Connie says, only way to is to give it a go.”
Eren leans against the pool table, scoring a few balls in the pockets. “You miss out on one hundred percent of the shots you don’t make. It’s not like there aren’t any options available. Ever heard of online dating?”
Reiner and Connie snicker.
“Ever heard of minding your own business?” Jean snaps, straightening from the wall to glare at Eren.
Jean’s last nerve flares. He never catches a break on why he hasn’t dated anyone. While his friends want to dig deep, it’s shallower than they believe, though Reiner isn’t far off.
Jean hasn’t met anyone he’s wanted to date. Even he can’t explain why he hasn’t asked a girl out in a while. The last time he did was a year ago with a random hook-up or two over the summer that faded by the time September hit.
University keeps him busy enough and he’s content with his routine, going to class, hanging with his roommates, seeing friends, going to the gym—not dating.
Sometimes it does cross his mind, but it never lingers enough that he feels as though he’s missing out.
Eren’s right, there are plenty of pretty girls around campus, around his neighborhood, and at his apartment building. And one face does come to mind, not a face he sees daily but one that he sees from time to time.
But Jean’s used to his life without dating. It didn’t matter that his roommates are seeing people or that Eren, Connie, and Reiner go on about dating, asking girls out, or hooking up with them. Jean couldn’t care less.
“Dating’s fun.” Eren rests an arm on the edge of the pool table. “Meeting people’s fun, such as…” Trailing off, Jean and the others pick up on Eren’s attention.
A group of young women, all no doubt university students enter the pool hall, passing through, sending them all interested looks with one that boldly stares at Jean as she follows her friends to the neighboring pool table.
Jean smiles in response, averting his eyes after a few seconds.
Connie sidles up to him, darting his attention to the women again before lightly punching Jean’s arm. “Opportunity is knocking. Have fun and answer it!”
Reiner drops his voice. “The one with the curls keeps looking over at you.”
Jean ventures a glimpse and the same one smiles at him. He returns the gesture but looks away again.
He’s not a shy person. Maybe he is picky, though he doubts he even knows what he’s looking for.
“Do you need a wingman?” Eren gives Jean a pointed look. “I’ll talk to her for you if you don’t have the balls to—”
“Just drop it, Eren—”
Jean’s face softens, voice cutting short as the woman with curly hair approaches, ignoring the growing tension between the men.
“Hi.” She beams up at him.
Jean’s friends all gather around the pool table, shooting looks at him, curious to see how this unfolds.
Cutting a glance at the other pool table where the group of girls are, they make idle chat, giving their friend space.
“Hi,” Jean utters. “You and your friends starting the weekend early too?” Despite the abrupt shift in mood, Jean falls into conversation smoothly thanks to his natural charisma and friendly demeanor.
She gestures to her friends. “Yeah, they like to play pool sometimes, but I just come along for the drinks. What about you? I saw that you weren’t playing.”
Jean shakes his head. “Sometimes, but not tonight, been working on an outline all day, not really up for a game.”
She nods at the empty glass in his hand. “What about another drink?”
Jean falls silent. This got awkward. He looks over her head, restraining an eyeroll as his friends all balk at him, mouthing instructions to accept her offer.
“I’m good, thank you.”
To his relief, she’s not bothered. Instead, her smile widens. “No worries, I get it Thursday night, you don’t want to overdo it before Friday.”
Jean nods with nothing to follow up.
“But,” she prompts, tucking a tendril behind her ear, eyes alight. “If you’re free this weekend, did you want to grab that second drink or something else…”
His brows rise. She’s bolder than he thought, and he admires that. She’s pretty and Jean imagines they would get along, but even so, he’s not interested.
Gathering a response, Jean bites his tongue. He does a sweep of his surroundings. Her friends are watching now, albeit discreetly. While the guys, void of any discretion have abandoned their game, watching him with expectant looks.
With eyes on him, the pressure stifles the room. Jean’s not sure what comes over him. Whether from mental fatigue, the tequila, or his desperation to be left alone in that moment, he doesn’t think, only blurts, “I’m seeing someone.”
The woman blinks. “Oh.” She rocks back on her heels. Now it’s even more awkward.
But she regains her composure, smiling sincerely. “My bad.” She turns away without another word and joins her friends.
Reiner is quiet, his expression unreadable.
By contrast, Eren and Connie are already on his case.
“It’s painful to watch you sometimes.” Eren crosses his arms, shaking his head. “A cutie walks right up to you, offers you a drink, you say ‘return to sender’, and lie about dating someone?”
“She’s still checking you out,” Connie says, sneaking a peek at the other table. “Eren’s right, you are painful to watch. Why the lie though?”
“Yeah, that’s unlike you,” Reiner says.
Jean winces inwardly. He can’t explain it, but a seed takes root in his mind. A white lie could be helpful.
Clearing his throat, Jean says, “It’s not a lie.”
Reiner, Eren, and Connie all trade looks of disbelief.
“You’re serious?” Humor colors Connie’s voice, volume rising. “No way—Who? Since when? You have a girlfriend?”
Jean narrows his eyes. “I’m seeing someone,” he echoes, not trusting himself to say anything more.
“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Eren asks.
Jean reads the suspicion in his face. “Like I said, ever heard of minding your own business?”
Eren clicks his tongue. “Alright then, who is she? You must like her enough to turn that girl down.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder.
“You don’t know her.”
“Are you sure?”
Jean scoffs. “Get over yourself. She’s not someone you’ve gone out with.”
“But she’s real?” Eren pipes up. “Does she have any socials?”
“Bring her around next time,” Connie adds.
“What—get off my fucking back already!”
Reiner intervenes, defusing the tension. “Alright, let’s drop it. We’re here to play pool.” His eyes slide over to the group of women. “And we’ve got some new friends to make. Let’s invite them to play a game.”
Remembering the ladies, Eren and Connie perk up, making their way over to chat them up.
Setting his glass down on the pool table, Jean nods at Reiner.
“I’m headed out.”
You balance the empty laundry basket on your hip. Approaching the elevator, you see your floormate, Jean massaging his temple as he steps through the doors.
Drawing closer, he turns, giving you a nod.
You do the same with an audible, “Hey.”
“Late night laundry, again?” he says.
You hover before the elevator. “Thursday night ritual, doing the sheets this time too.” You shrug.
“At least you’ll have clean laundry for the weekend,” Jean adds, and you have no clue where the conversation is going.
It’s a regular occurrence for you both. He sees you or vice versa every so often, and it’s only recent that you got his name. You’ll both stop to trade pleasantries that go nowhere. Aside from the building manager, he’s the only other person in the apartment building you speak with, even if briefly.
With nothing more to say, you smile in response, pressing the down button. The doors slide open in seconds. “See you around.”
Jean nods again, spinning to walk down the hall, his back disappears as the elevator doors shut to take you down.
Upon reaching the laundry room, it’s close to empty like it often is on Thursdays.
When you had moved into the building months ago, your laundry schedule varied, and you found that Thursdays were the quietest, while Sunday, Monday, and Fridays were the busiest.
You had no clue where the other tenants were on Thursdays, perhaps out on dates, parties, events, previewing the weekend to help them survive Friday. But the rest could also be in their units or working part-time at night.
It didn’t matter what day of the week it was. Your routine remains the same. Work during the day, come home at 5pm, prepare for dinner, and spend the evenings in your apartment.
By the time the weekend rolls around, your routine barely changes. No work means more sleep in the mornings. After that, nothing else, nothing different ever happens, and in a blink a new week starts.
While you’ve gotten comfortable with the routine, you’re bored, as though you’re in this state of suspension, waiting for something to happen—something to pull you out of the tedium.
Most of the tenants at the apartment are undergrad students. Because of the walking proximity to the university, students often clamored for a unit, screwing up the supply and demand. You got lucky.
But you feel out of your element. Despite being the same age as most of the tenants, you are not a college student, having dropped out last term.
It’s hard to relate to anyone, as you’re not cramming for exams, stressing over projects, or planning for fun weekends.
Sure, higher education isn’t a cakewalk, but you do miss the busy university life.
Oftentimes, you shrug it off, committing to your decision to leave college. Other times, you can’t help but reconsider, especially when you see tenants come and go with their friends, you’re hit with envy.
For the time being, you’re figuring it out. You’re just not sure how long that will take.
Jean’s migraine dwindles when he finishes a second bottle of water. He’s not a lightweight, positive the migraine came from the ugly turn his evening took.
Once out of the pool hall, Jean was seething.
It’s a mystery to him why his friends won’t shut up about his love life—or lack thereof. But tonight, was the tipping point that Jean’s reeling from the white lie he’s told.
There’s no one he’s dating. Not even close. It came out of nowhere, an idea that pricked his mind so sudden that it ran to the edge of his tongue before he could think things through. When his temper is stoked enough, all rational thinking escapes him.
The crinkle of plastic pulls him from his thoughts for a second. He tosses the bottle into the bin to run a hand through his hair.
The lie saved him this time, but he knows his friends won’t drop it. If anything, he’s made things worse. He predicts the next time he sees his friends, pestering him for proof of the person he’s “seeing/dating”.
Now, he understands why people struggle with the truth: to spare their ego. He didn’t have anything to be ashamed of, but after that white lie, Jean’s not so eager to backtrack.
He sighs. It’s ridiculous to drag out a fallacy. Maybe after a night of rest, Jean will reunite with rational thought and honesty.
There’s a buzz at the back of his pocket. Fishing out his phone, Jean’s sights redden again at Eren’s message.
Joining the ladies for a kickback.
Bring your girl with you—if she’s real ;P
Gritting his teeth, Jean’s blood boils, the gears in his head spinning madly, until a new thought plants itself in his mind.
Driven by ego, Jean storms out of his apartment with purchase.
Jean’s eyes fall to the ground, as though unable to take you gawping at him. There’s a flush at the tips of his ears and when you continue to stare at him in silence, the heat spreads to his face.
Your mouth parts for a response, though nothing comes out, floundering like a fish out of water. You are crossed between surprise, confusion, and…intrigue.
The two of you rarely speak, let alone know anything about the other. You’re floormates, that’s the extent of it.
You see him occasionally when you pick up your laundry, bump into him when you grab the mail, and offer a curt nod whenever passing in the hall.
Overall, you are total strangers.
To say you’re blind-sighted is an understatement. The last thing you expected in the evening was for Jean to wander in the laundry room, spot you, and ask you to be his pretend girlfriend or…to pretend to date him.
Jean releases a low breath, eyes glued to the tiled floor.
You clear your throat. “I…I don’t really know what to say?”
Jean peers up, gulping. “You can say no,” comes his response. “Sorry, this is dumb.”
“Jean, no, it’s fine, just—” You shake your head, trying to find some sense in this. “Mind giving me an explanation? Why are you looking for a pretend girlfriend?”
He doesn’t respond for a while, but as you continue to wait, he sighs. “My friends are either paired up or dating around. At first it was avoidable whenever they asked why I was never with someone. Girlfriend or…otherwise.” Jean’s face blazes deeper.
You frown. “So, they rag on you for being single?”
Jean’s eyes go towards the ceiling. “Pretty much. They’re always going on dates, while I’m…not.”
You blink. To you, it didn’t seem to be like a big deal whatsoever. Here you thought, guys outgrew high school once in university, but you stand corrected, reminding you why you were glad you dropped out.
“It’s none of their business what you do,” you say, shrugging. “Why do guys always have to flex for each other?”
Jean rolls his eyes. “I’m with you, it’s dumb, juvenile, immature.”
You turn to where your clothes sit, damp in a stalled washer. Moving over, you open the door. “So, tell them that."
Jean leans on the nearby dryer. “About that. In the heat of the moment, I sort of slipped and said that I was seeing someone—but I’m not.”
The snort slips out before you can restrain yourself. You cut Jean an apologetic look.
“I just need someone to fill in, and help me convince them that I’m dating,” he continues.
A damp towel dangles from your arm. “But me?”
Jean’s face falls. You’re unsure of what to say, though you feel a pang of guilt.
“I know you…kind of,” Jean says, rubbing the back of his head. He clears his throat. “You’re literally the only woman I’ve interacted with consistently.”
You open your mouth to say something, but Jean’s rambling cuts you short.
“I get it, we don’t know each other beyond first names. I guessed you’d be here since I’ve noticed you do your laundry on Thursdays.”
You nod slowly. When you say nothing, you read the dilemma in his eyes.
“I honestly don’t know what more to say,” Jean finishes, voice trailing towards defeat. “It’s forward and a lot to ask I know, but if you’d like I can pay you—”
You frown again.
“Or…” Jean’s shoulders sag. “You don’t have to. Thought to ask.”
He averts his eyes again, looking at the ugly tiled floors in yearning like he wants them to swallow him up.
You digest his plight. It still seems immature. However, you can’t help the butterflies in your gut moving around at the thought of doing something like this.
Jean is right. You two didn’t know each other past first name basis. You’re still new to town since moving out. Because you dropped out, making friends is a lot harder to come by. You worked, and that was the extent of your social interactions. Sure, you could afford a social life, but you lacked friends to be social with.
He needs a stand-in girlfriend and you need to get out of your rut. It seems like a win-win.
“I’ll be your girlfriend.”
Jean’s expression goes slack-jaw.
“Pretend to be…” you correct. “I can say we’re dating, whatever it was you told your friends. You don’t have to pay me though.”
Jean’s eyes light up. “Really? You don’t mind? Because if you do, just say the word, and I’ll leave you alone.”
You smirk, stroked by a sense of mischief. Jean’s not a bad-looking guy. And you didn’t have anything else going for you aside from work, so there’s nothing else to lose. You’ll play the part. It might even be fun.
“I’m game,” you laugh. “And I appreciate you asking and being honest with me.”
Jean makes a move towards you only to stop. He smiles, extending a hand. “Thank you. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
You shrug, taking his hand to forge the contract. “How do we start this?”
“Should we tell them that we live in the same apartment building?”
“Yeah, it’s the truth,” you say. “Plus, it saves you from having to think up another lie.”
Jean blows out a long-winded sigh, a breath he must have been holding onto for a while. “Okay, sounds good. I…I haven’t gotten that far into planning this.” His expression turns sheepish.
“Okay, no sweat.” You empty the washer, setting your laundry basket near an available dryer. “We can plan it out a little more later. Take my number.”
Jean’s slow to react, eyeing you with confusion. But he takes his phone out of his back pocket and looks up again.
You give him your number and let him know that he can text you. Exchanging numbers is proof number one, and when the time comes, you’ll meet his friends.
Glancing over at your laundry basket, Jean takes the hint. He thanks you again and leaves the laundry room. Spinning around, you open the dryer door, sifting through your clothes and linens absentmindedly.
For the first time since moving here, you’re sparked with something new that’s been a long time coming.