Eren refused to follow Armin's suggestion about befriending Jean, not when two days could not go by without a prank. More than once, he thought about reporting Jean to HR, but he held back. For one, Jean was an expert at leaving no evidence that a prank was done by him; and two, Eren felt that if he reported anything, he was somehow losing. He would be Crybaby Jaeger or Snitchy Eren for the rest of his time working together with Jean.

(He went through all of First Grade being called Snitchy-Eren because he had told a teacher that Jean made Armin wet his pants by blocking him so he could not get into the restroom.)

It was Friday, and Eren could hardly wait to have two whole days away from the stress of work. The last hour dragged on. Many of the managers had skipped out early—one of the perks of having a higher position—so the office workers had little to do besides wait for the clock to strike 5:00.

Jean took the relaxed atmosphere of the Friday afternoon to pull a chair over to Reiner and Bertholdt, chatting with them about the good old days. He had not kept track of anyone in school, so he asked about the ones he could remember.

"There was that hot blond chick ... what was her name ... Historia! Yeah, what happened to her?"

Eren rolled his eyes. Of course, most of the people Jean could remember were the girls. Eren had always wondered how in the world Jean managed to date so many girls. Every few weeks, he was with a new one, no girlfriend lasting more than two months. His prolific dating was one of the things Jean used against Eren. He would ask Eren how many girls he had dated—only two by the time Jean moved away—and compare it to his own record of well over twenty.

Eren never saw why that was something to brag about. The two girls he had dated both lasted half a year and were deep, meaningful relationships. Jean bluntly admitted once, "I'll fuck anything with a curvy body and big boobs." Even back then, he tended to forget the names of the girls he had slept with, so Eren was surprised that he could recall any names at all.

Despite a reputation for cycling through girls, Eren realized early on that not a single girl Jean dumped hated him. When he once asked why anyone would still like a guy after he used them and threw them away, one of Jean's exes bashfully admitted, "It's hard to hate someone who's so good in bed."

Eren felt sick remembering that conversation. What could that horse-faced pervert offer that was enough to forgive him when he dumped a girl to date another purely because of breast size?

"Historia?" Reiner rubbed his chin. "I heard that she's married and expecting a baby."

"No way! I thought for sure she was a dyke."

Eren shot a glare across the room. At least a dozen people must have heard that.

Bertholdt looked awkward, glancing around, also realizing that homophobic language like that in the workplace could get them in trouble. "Well, I can see why that might have been the rumor. She was best friends with Ymir, who was openly bisexual even back then, so ... you know, people talked."

Eren muttered under his breath, "Rumors Jean started."

Jean glanced over to him. "Did you say something, Jaeger?"

"Nope," he said, keeping his eyes focused on an email he was writing to a client. "Only that I know for a fact Historia wasn't a lesbian."

"How would you know that?" Jean challenged.

Eren glanced over to him. "We dated for two years. In fact, I was her first." He smiled faintly at the memory. Historia was such a sweet girl, regal in a way. He often felt that she deserved someone better to be her first, yet he had treated the moment like it was a great honor.

Jean burst into a laugh. "You took her V-card? Don't tell me she was your first."

Eren looked back over at his screen as a darkness sank over his face. "No, she wasn't."

"I bet you're lying and you didn't lose your virginity until college," Jean taunted.

"You're wrong, but there's nothing wrong with people who wait," Eren retorted. "Some people follow the Bible, Torah, or Quran, some simply have their own moral codes, and some just aren't as sex-crazed as you," he ended with an acidic glare over at Jean.

"That's enough of that," Reiner warned. "This is the sort of talk for happy hour after work, not the middle of the day."

Eren gladly turned back to his computer, hoping that Reiner would put Jean in his place. They had been friends in high school, after all. With any luck, Reiner could control Jean and his foul mouth.

Instead, Jean blurted out, "Hey, what about that Japanese orphan girl, Mikasa? She was hot and dangerous, if you know what I mean. She had that Bond Girl vibe going, like she was an ultra sexy assassin hiding a sword somewhere in her dress. I remember trying to ask her out twice. You know what she said the second time? She said I'd die if I ever crossed paths with her again. What a girl!" Jean said dreamily. He looked toward Eren. "Too bad her brother was such a loser."

Eren's patience was nearly out. Hearing Jean talk about random girls was one thing. Hearing him lust after his adopted sister made Eren's stomach boil, and his hands drew into fists.

Armin's words came back to him. "You're an adult now. You won't simply get detention; you'll get arrested. You can't risk losing your job over him."

Eren silently repeated in his head: Jean wasn't worth it. He wasn't worth jeopardizing his job; he wasn't worth the assault charges that would come against him if he punched Jean in the face.

"Mikasa?" Bertholdt exclaimed. "Oh wow, I haven't seen her since the year Eren brought her to the company Christmas party. She works in Hollywood."

Jean's mouth dropped. "As a model?"

"No, a stunt actor. Remember how she was the top athlete in the karate, track, and fencing teams? Oh wait, maybe you moved away before then. But yeah, she was really athletic, and I guess that landed her a job as a stunt actor. You can see her in a few films. I heard she's even in The Matrix. She seriously kicks ass."

Eren laughed to himself. Mikasa wasn't actually in The Matrix, but everyone assumed she was Trinity's stunt double.

Jean exclaimed, "Holy shit, you've gotta tell me all the movies she's been in. I wanna see that hot body in action."

Eren's eye twitched. No! He couldn't give in to Jean's taunts. He wasn't a kid anymore.

He buried his anger deep inside as his knuckles turned white and one bone popped from the tension of his fists. He repeated what he told Armin—He's not worth it, he's not worth it—as he tried to calm down, but his patience was quickly wearing thin.

"Too bad that means she's out of town. She really is an amazing woman, unlike her pathetic excuse of a brother." Jean shot another glance over at Eren. "Maybe she skipped town because she couldn't handle being near a sore-ass loser. I would too, if I were in her shoes. Even now, I'm worried that his stupidity will rub off on me." Jean ended with a playful laugh.

Eren slammed his hands on his desk, shooting a murderous scowl toward Jean and his nonchalant, mocking attitude.

Jean smirked over at Eren. It looked like he was having loads of fun making a mockery out of him, especially when Eren could not fight him back while they were at work.

"Eren," Reiner scolded. "Calm down. You know Jean has always been like this. You shouldn't allow him to get you so worked up over nothing."

Eren shot back with a quaver of rage deep in his throat, "Maybe you shouldn't tolerate it when he calls women dykes and lusts over them at work."

"Eren's right," Bertholdt said, looking worriedly at Jean. "You're taking this a bit too far."

Jean protested, "Hey, I've got a right to Free Speech."

Bertholdt calmly explained, "That only applies to the government not being allowed to stop you from speaking. Businesses are different. They have the freedom to fire you."

Jean scoffed and folded his arms stubbornly. "We're just talking about old friends."

Eren snarled, "Mikasa was never your friend."

"Hey, what happened to that other kid in the Jaeger Loser's Club? The tiny gay geek with blond hair. Armin, right?"

Eren fumed under his breath, "Oh hell, no, don't you dare!"

Jean called out across the room, "Hey, Eren. Where's Armin now? San Francisco with all the other fruitcakes?"

"France!" he snapped. Far away from assholes like you, Jean!

"Oh, that's right," said Reiner. "He went to Paris to study. Not surprising. He graduated top in our class and immediately got a full ride to Harvard."

Jean whistled. "France, huh? Isn't that the fatherland of faggots? He'd fit right in. Maybe he'll receive his doctorates in how many times a fag can get fucked in the ass before he gets AIDS." He ended with a chuckle.

"Whoa, hey!" Reiner warned sternly. "Not cool, man. That's going way too far."

Bertholdt fidgeted in his seat. "Seriously, Jean! Using language like that will get you fired."

He waved it off. "None of the managers are around, and you know I'm only kidding."

Meanwhile, Eren's patience snapped. Armin had always been his weakness, and hearing that homophobic language aimed at his best friend brought up a surge of dark memories of all the times Jean had made Armin cry. Eren had hoped that, at the very, very least, Jean would have matured out of that hate. It seemed he hadn't changed one bit.

Eren shot up sharply from his chair, stormed over to Jean, and grabbed him by the collar. Seething with painful memories, he whispered in a deadly threatening voice, "One more word out of your mouth and I'll give you such a fat lip, you won't speak for a week."

Jean did not feel intimidated one bit and smirked at the victory of finally riling Eren up. "You wanna fight, little Jaeger? Bring it on." He grabbed Eren's collar harshly in return. "I'll beat you like I always did before."

As much as Eren really did want to slam his fist into Jean's smug face, he heard whispers around him and saw Reiner and Bertholdt standing nearby, ready to break them up. He threw Jean back and whispered, "You're not worth it."

"Afraid?" Jean goaded.

Louder, so the whole office could hear, Eren said, "As the new guy around here, maybe you're not aware of our Zero-Tolerance policy, particularly about sexist, racist, antisemitic, and ... oh, look at that ... homophobic language. Calling people fags and dykes is not allowed in this company, and we are to report anyone who speaks like that."

"Snitchy-Eren," Jean muttered.

"However, Jean Kirschtein," he said, definitely loud enough so anyone who had not overheard what Jean said at least knew why Eren was angry, "I'll be lenient this one time, and instead I will explain our company's policies to you in a clear, concise way. Follow me." He leaned in and whispered, "Unless you're chicken."

Eren turned and stomped off. Jean smirked victoriously and followed with an arrogant gait.

Reiner and Bertholdt looked at each other with worry contorting their faces.

"Should we stop them?" asked Bertholdt.

"Eren isn't a fool," Reiner muttered. "Hotheaded, yes, but stupid? No. Still..." He sighed and shook his head in disappointment. "Seriously, those two never change."

* * *

https://youtu.be/2H5uWRjFsGc

Eren led Jean out into the hallway and kept his pace brisk. He pulled out his cellphone and dialed a number.

"Holger? It's Jaeger," he whispered. "Ignore anything on the CCTVs in the conference rooms. Just dealing with a noob. Thanks." He hung up and shoved the cellphone back into his pocket.

Jean shouted out as he tried to keep pace, "What's the hurry, asshole? Or are you trying to run away?"

Eren glanced back. "Room CR-2." That was all he said before continuing on.

Jean had learned in his orientation that these were the conference rooms, used for when the executive officers had meetings with big clients. Eren walked into one of the rooms and held the door open.

"After you," he said with mock cordiality.

Jean walked in. As soon as he was past the door, Eren shoved Jean hard into the long table and slammed the door closed behind him.

"You are one seriously idiotic asshole, using language like that at work."

"Did I say anything false?" Jean asked with a fake-innocent smile.

Eren's lip curled into a sneer. "Don't you dare badmouth Armin again! You don't know what he went through because of shitheads like you. And don't you dare utter a word about Mikasa, you—"

"Whoa, whoa," Jean said, laughing as he backed away from Eren. "I feel threatened here. Isn't that part of the company's Zero-Tolerance policy as well?"

Eren backed down, bottling his rage again.

To Jean, seeing Eren fume, his jaw twitching, his fists shivering to punch into action, yet struggling to restrain himself was a sight to behold, so nostalgic, and he could not help but enjoy it.

He gave a huge, nonchalant sigh. "I guess you just can't handle the truth."

Eren breathed hard to calm himself, and his voice came out low and strained. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"That your adopted sister is hot," Jean said with a shrug. "It's a compliment. She was always a really pretty girl. Why would you get mad at me for thinking she's pretty?" Although he saw Eren's face twitch in buried rage, it was not enough for Jean. He wanted to see more, to push him just far enough. He smirked sadistically. "And the truth that your best friend ... is a weak, pathetic, cock-sucking faggot."

Eren sneered, but he glanced at the security camera in the room and held back. Then suddenly he laughed vilely.

"I swear, you're always so preoccupied with Armin. His boyfriend should be jealous about how much you're obsessed with him."

"I'm not obsessed," Jean sneered. "He's a fucking fairy."

"Maybe you act homophobic because you actually like cock yourself."

In a flash, Jean was right at Eren, slamming him against the wall, his hand clenching his shirt. He bared his teeth and growled, his tone laced with pure hatred.

"Don't you dare say I'm a faggot, you sonuvabitch."

"Is that deflection?" Eren teased. "They do say, the more a person acts like they hate gay people, the more they love having a cock rammed up their ass."

With a scream of rage, Jean slammed his fist into Eren's jaw. "I swear I'll fucking kill you!" he howled, veins popping up on the sides of his head.

Eren plowed his fist into Jean's gut. "Just teaching you a lesson! The more you're homophobic, the more people will think you're a closet gay."

Jean threw another punch, but Eren dodged. Jean grabbed Eren by the hair, and they fell to the ground, slamming punches into each other's stomachs. Jean managed to wrestle his way on top and trapped Eren's arms down. Eren struggled to free himself.

"Still weak!" Jean said victoriously.

Eren managed to break one arm free. With a shout of years of rage, he aimed his fist right into Jean's shoulder. Jean let out a howl of agony. Eren had not thought he hit all that hard, but Jean began to turn pale and looked sick in pain.

Eren aimed at the shoulder again, figuring it was a weak spot. Defensively, Jean scuttled back, clutching his shoulder and barely avoiding another hit. However, in pushing his body away, his hand accidentally pressed down on Eren's crotch.

Eren whined in a flash of pain, and Jean looked down at where he was touching. Rather than pull his hand away, Jean smirked sadistically.

"What? Do you like when men touch you?" He pressed down even harder, and Eren wailed.

"Stop it, you asshole!"

"Are you a homo too? I should have guessed. Was Armin your fuck-buddy all these years?"

"Bastard!" Eren landed a hard kick to Jean's chest, sending him rolling backward. Eren leaped up and instantly kicked Jean in the stomach while he was down. "You're a piece of shit, just as immature now as back then. You're nothing but trash." Eren leaned over Jean as he clutched his stomach. "Everyone in that office heard you calling Historia a dyke and Armin a fag. They're all witnesses. And now, everyone is going to see this bruise on my face. They'll all know that you hit me. I'll simply say I choose not to press charges. I'm not a snitch, after all."

"Bastard," Jean seethed.

Eren rubbed his aching jaw. "I purposely avoided hitting your face. Oh, I'd love to break your nose again, but as it stands now ... well, you look perfectly fine, and I was obviously punched across the face." He touched the bright red spot on his jaw. "By the way, your punches are pathetic. When was the last time you went to a gym? Weak!"

"Says the guy who went soft and skinny," Jean seethed, but he still held his shoulder and labored to take a breath through his bruised abdomen.

Eren's face went serious. "This is your only warning. One word from me to HR, and your ass is fired. Understood? You say anything about Armin again—anything—you so much as utter his name, and I will make sure you never have a job in this city again." He turned toward the door.

"Coward!" Jean shouted. "Fucking homo coward!"

"Oh trust me, I want nothing more than to wipe the floor with your pathetic ass, but you're not worth it." Eren paused at the door and looked back. "Clean up the blood before you clock out. If the execs wonder why there's blood on the conference room carpet, they'll check the security tapes." He pointed over to the camera in the corner of the room. "It'd be a shame if they saw all this."

"You'd get fired too."

"I can claim I didn't throw the first punch. Self-defense! Plus I'd have the pleasure of seeing you pack up your desk and moving the hell away from me."

Eren left, rubbing the bruise already coming up on his jaw. Silently, he cursed Jean. He would never forgive him for the things he said about Armin. Never! Not in a million years. However, the security cameras were really an issue. He pulled his cellphone out again.

"Hey Holger? Yeah, I'm fine. Nah, he's an old classmate. Just needed to clear the air. Forty bucks are in it for you if you save the tape for me." He laughed. "Yeah, it's some huge blackmail. Should I pick it up now? Awesome, you're a lifesaver. Heading to the control room now. Want me to grab you a coke? Yeah, no prob, it's on me. Be a minute." He hung up and headed to the break room.

* * *

In the conference room, Jean remained on the floor, struggling not only with the pain, but with something much darker. He hissed as he rubbed his shoulder, but the pain was just a shadow of a far worse agony in his mind.

Jean yanked loose his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and tugged the fabric aside. He looked down at his shoulder and a ghastly pink scar of a bullet wound. A single finger rubbed the uneven skin and the pink mark starting to come up around it. His lips began to quiver.

"Fucker," he whispered.

Jean collapsed his head back against the wall. His breathing went erratic. He suddenly punched the floor and let out a scream of anger. Then he pinched his arm, over and over, harder and harder, trying to keep from slipping into the darkness.

Think of something better.

Something nicer.

Happy thoughts.

* * *

https://youtu.be/nKaWQxlTsRM

1986 (Age 7)

Across a grassy park, Jean and Eren were rolling over each other, wrestling and laughing as their tiny fists flew.

"Jean-boy, don't punch his face," Nancy Kirschtein called over from a picnic set up under the trees.

Her husband Linny laughed as he barbecued burgers and sausages. "Those two boys sure do have a lot of energy."

Jean finally managed to roll on top and pin Eren down under him.

"Still weak!" he declared victoriously.

Jean paused, gazing down at Eren, and his eyes widened in astonishment. The sun shone upon him, reflecting in Eren's eyes, his face flushed from exertion, his fluffy hair moving with the slight breeze that played over the yellow dandelions and purple clovers. Eren gave him a bright smile, and Jean's brow furrowed as he felt a lump catch in his throat.

When had Eren become ... cute? It made Jean a little envious. Many grownups had told Carla and Grisha that Eren was "such a pretty boy." No one ever said that about Jean. Now Jean saw what they meant. With those huge eyes and soft face, Eren was really pretty.

Eren declared defiantly, "This isn't over. I'm gonna get stronger and beat you."

Jean barked a haughty laugh. "Not in a million years. I'll kick your ass anytime."

"Jean-boy, language!" his mother scolded.

"Sorry, Mama," he called over.

While Jean was distracted and looking over at the adults, Eren made his attack. He grabbed Jean and surprised him with a fierce roll, until he was the one on top.

"Gotcha!"

Jean gasped at the speed of the attack. "Why you..."

Just as his fist raised to punch Eren in the face, Carla called over.

"Eren, Jean, time to stop."

"But Mom!" Eren whined. "I've finally got him."

"Then leave it at that. Jean," she said with a beaming smile but a glare only a mother could give. "Drop your fist, dear."

He gulped hard and raised his hands up innocently in surrender. "Sorry, Mrs. Jaeger."

Eren leaped off, grumbling but obedient. Jean slowly stood from the grass and wildflowers.

"Food's done," Linny called out.

Eren pumped his fist into the air. "Hamburgers! Hamburgers! Hamburgers!"

Carla smiled over to her husband. "Grisha, let's get a picture now before we eat."

"Oh, good idea. Linny ... no, no, keep the apron on. You deserve the honor of being the cook. Come on, boys."

Eren and Jean raced back, shouldering roughly and trying to push the other over. Eren ran right to the grill, drooling over hamburgers, but Carla maneuvered him to stand up front, so he could be seen easily. Jean's mother pulled her petulant son over close to her.

"Mama, stop," he said, yanking away from her doting hands.

Nancy merely laughed. "Oh-ho, he's getting up to that age already."

"What are you talking about?" Jean grumbled.

Eren glared over. "Hey, be nicer to your mother."

"Shut up, little Jaeger."

"Boys!" Carla scolded.

Grisha set up a tripod for his Nikon camera, looked through the viewfinder, and adjusted the lens as everyone got into place.

"Okay, get in nice and close. Eren, fix your hair a little. It's sticking up. Ready?" Grisha called out. "Delay is set. It'll take three photos back-to-back, so keep smiling. Hopefully one of them has nobody blinking."

"Such a fancy camera, Grisha," Nancy said in admiration.

"It's a hobby," Grisha said humbly. He clicked a button on the camera, then raced over to the group and stood next to his wife. "Everyone say cheese!"

Eren cried out joyfully, "Cheeeeeeeeeese!"

As Jean waited for the camera's timer, he began to smirk slyly. Suddenly, he put his arm around Eren's shoulder, gripping his neck in a choke hold.

The camera flashed three times.

* * *

PRESENT DAY: APRIL 25, 2003

Jean arrived at his tiny apartment, dropped his briefcase with a thud, yanked off his tie, and stripped off his shirt. He was lean, his muscles taut, and he had two tattoos, one on his right bicep of two angel's wings folded together to create a shield, the other across his chest of a Nimitz class aircraft carrier with the number 99 on the tarmac.

He looked down at his scarred shoulder again and rotated the joint to work out lingering pain. He went to the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, pulled out a bottle of liniment, and rolled it onto the area. Then he opened a pill bottle, shook a couple out, and gulped them down with the coffee dredges in his travel mug.

He walked through the house shirtless and over to the kitchen. He pulled out a frozen meal and put it into the microwave. While it cooked, he poured himself two shots of whiskey on the rocks, walked over to the television, and flopped onto a plush leather chair. He used the remote to turn on the television, yanked on a wooden handle on the side of the chair to lift the leg rest, and relaxed to his whiskey.

Dan Rather was just starting the CBS Evening News. The drone of the TV along with the hum of the microwave made enough noise to drown out the ghostly voices in his head. However, as the segment turned to the fighting in Iraq, the darkness surged.

Jean turned off the television and whispered, "I hate the fucking desert."

He got up and walked around the small apartment aimlessly with his whiskey, sipping it and trying to burn away the past.

That picnic ... so long ago...

Why, of all things, would he remember that guy?

Stupid baby-faced Eren.

It had to have been because of the fight. Eren might have avoided his face, but looking down, Jean saw a purple bruise starting to come up on his abdomen, and there was the issue with his shoulder still. He was glad he had all weekend to heal.

He drifted over to a small bookshelf, not much, just a Bible, small photo album, and a few comic books. He pulled out the photo album and flipped through the pages.

It only held twenty photos, mostly pictures of friends from throughout his life. He opened it to the last page, him with a group of Navy buddies posing on the deck of an aircraft carrier. He touched that picture with a bittersweet smile.

Then he flipped back toward the beginning. The very first picture was of him as a toddler, held in his mother's arms, with another woman also holding a baby.

"Marco," he whispered, smiling nostalgically.

He flipped the page, and there was him and Eren on the first day of kindergarten. Beside that was a picture of them with Armin—he joined their group later on. Flipping the next page, he saw a photo of the picnic. This photograph was of him and his parents all holding hot dogs like they were about to take a bite, but Jean realized Carla was in the background, someone was hiding behind Jean and giving him bunny ears, and by the quality of the photo, it was definitely Grisha Jaeger's camera. He realized there were multiple photos slid into the plastic holder. He pulled them out and flipped through one by one.

There was a lovely and stylish picture of Jean's mother looking so young and lively. Next was the bashful face of Eren's mother as she tried to avoid the camera. He saw one with Linny wearing an apron and proudly holding up his barbecue utensils. Another was of Jean and Eren sitting next to one another, smiling stupidly, Jean's face and hair covered in watermelon while Eren had ketchup and mustard all over his face and clothes.

Jean laughed and muttered "Oh yeah" as he remembered the two of them got into a food fight.

Amid all of these were three pictures taken of the whole group.

In the first picture, Eren looked at the camera while Jean grinned mischievously over at Eren. In the second, he was half-strangling Eren in a faux-friendly squeeze of his arm around his shoulders and neck. In the last picture, Eren now had his arm around Jean as well, pretending to strangle his neck as they both looked at the camera with stupid smiles.

Jean gazed at their faces, both of them with a missing front tooth making their beaming smiles that much more childish.

"That was a long time ago," Jean muttered. He pulled that picture up to the front of the pile and shoved them all back into the album's plastic sleeve. "I should give my folks a call. It's been a while."

He returned the small album to the bookshelf and went back to the kitchen. His meager dinner was done, and he ate while watching Boston Public. Finally, he went to bed.

Although he closed his eyes, his brain struggled to fall asleep. Something was still nagging him about that memory. There was a reason he remembered it, something he instinctively felt was important about that day. He drifted off as he wondered about that.

What was it about that picnic? Why, of all the childhood memories, did that one remain so clear in his mind? Why remember it now, after all these years?

Then Eren's flushed face glowing in the dandelions and clovers surged back up at him, and Jean felt his younger self once again getting a lump caught in his throat as he thought to himself, "When has Eren become cute?"

This was instantly followed by a loud bellow of rage: "I will not have a faggot for a son!"

Jean suddenly had a hypnic jerk, bolting straight up right as he was on the cusp of sleep, with that scream resonating in his head. He growled and pulled the pillow around his ears as if to block it out.

"I was a kid. Shut up, old man," he grumbled at the voice. He sighed as his body sagged under memories he wished had remained buried. "I was a kid," he whispered.

# # #

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#

https://youtu.be/2H5uWRjFsGc

Tubthumbing was a 1997 hit by British anarcho-punk group Chumbawamba with its iconic chorus "I get knocked down but I get up again. You're never gonna keep me down."

https://youtu.be/nKaWQxlTsRM

You've Got a Friend was written and originally performed in 1971 by Carole King. When James Taylor heard it, he loved the song so much that he asked her for permission to record it as well, that very same year. She agreed, and his version soared to #1 on the Billboard Hot 100. Both would go on to win Grammys for the same song, Taylor winning Best Male Pop Vocal Performance, and King winning Song of the Year. The two would later sing it as a duet. Many others would record covers of the song, including Aretha Franklin, Barbra Streisand, Dusty Springfield, Celine Dion, Shania Twain, Gloria Estefan, and it was featured on the TV show Glee.

(My husband's grandfather's 1975 Vivitar camera. I learned film photography on this camera and its multiple lenses.)

In my story, Grisha's hobby was photography. My family couldn't afford a nice camera; we mostly used disposable cameras. However, my husband's family are avid photographers; his father's photos have even been in magazines. My husband inherited his grandfather's Vivitar 220 SL, although finding a place to develop film these days is getting harder.

Every family in the 1980s had multiple photo albums, often faux leather with gold lines to make them look fancy. My family, with 5 kids spread across 12 years, ended up with albums for each kid, plus "family albums" for vacations and parties. This was long before scrapbooking was a common hobby, so if your album held only 20 photos but your dad was a bit of a shutterbug who could go through multiple roles of film, all of the photos tended to get shoved into a single sleeve. I still have my childhood photo album packed away in a box.

(Me in 1988. When people joke that "everything in the 80s was brown," that couch is what they're talking about. Everyone had some variation of that brown striped couch and brown wood paneling.)

I actually looked up what was on TV in America on a Friday in 2003. At 6:30 was the evening news. I never really set a specific date for this story, but I randomly picked April 4th and found the news listing for that day.

I also mentioned Boston Public, which aired on Fridays. Personal note: I was an extra in one episode. My marching band was hired to portray the Boston Public school band, protesting budget cuts to the arts by marching back and forth in our underwear. I am in the very front row! So yep, I was on TV in a blue bra playing my trombone. Hey, I got to meet Jeri Ryan, so it was totally worth it.

Jean's parents are never named in the manga, and his father is never even shown. They will be an important element to this story, so I gave his mother the name Nancy (quite popular at the time) and his father is named "Linny" after Lincoln Kirstein, who had an amazing life.

In WWII, he was a private first class in General Patton's 3rd Army, assigned to a group known as the Monuments Men. Composed of mostly middle-aged men and women, museum curators, artists, history professors, all tasked with preserving European culture. They would go ahead of the army, sneak into enemy territory, and risk their lives to pull out paintings and statues from the middle of war zones, catalog them, take them to safe locations, and later return the art to their cities of origin. They also rescued tens of thousands of artworks plundered by the Nazis as part of Hitler's plan to build a massive museum to show off his loot from France, Belgium, Poland, and in his mind, one day the world!

Lincoln Kirstein also collected paintings done by Allied soldiers and later turned these into an art exhibit. After the war, he co-founded the New York City Ballet and commissioned the New York State Theater building at Lincoln Center. In 1984, President Ronald Reagan presented Lincoln Kirstein with the Presidential Medal of Freedom for his contributions to the arts.

So maybe Jean's dad isn't the greatest way to honor such a remarkable man, but Lincoln Kirstein is already portrayed in the movie The Monuments Men. (I highly recommend that movie. Some great comedy mixed with history.)

To be honest, I was coming up blank for a name, and since the German surname Kirschtein is often spelled in American as "Kirstein" (due to Ellis Island changing surnames to Americanize immigrants) and I knew a bit about the founder of the Lincoln Center, well ... it works.

So, meet Linny Kirschtein, Jean's dad.

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Rhov's Ramble

As a writer, sometimes a little change in the story makes a huge ripple effect.

Moonlessnight and I started on this story in 2014. Thankfully, the level of homophobia portrayed in this story has lessened since then, but that created an issue. I fixed it by setting the story in the past. I picked 2003 since that was the year the Supreme Court banished the Sodomy Laws and legalized gay sex across the nation, so homophobia among conservatives was soaring high.

Looking into what else was going on in 2003, I thought that it would be interesting if Jean served in the military, since that would mean he may have been in Afghanistan. However, he would have joined in 1997. When an American volunteers for the military, they typically sign a contract to serve for either 4 or 6 years. If Jean served for 4 years, he would have been out in 2001, literally just before 9/11 and Operation Enduring Freedom. If he served 6 years (which is far more common) he would still be in the military for a few more months.

There was one way he might have been dismissed after 5 years: medical discharge. That's when it struck me: he was wounded in combat. He may also have some PTSD. This could absolutely play into why he acts the way he does.

It was such a little change—have Jean serve in the military—but it really improved his character.

It's also a bit of a tie-in with my WWII fanfic, "Dangerous Territory." In that story, Jean gets taken out of the war due to suffering two gunshot wounds. Except here, Jean's wounded shoulder mirrors Eren's wound at the hands of Hauptmann Kitz Woermann.