The deafening sound of the door slamming shut stirred you from your slumber. Looking at the time, you saw that I was eleven o'clock at night, which only meant one thing; Jean was home from work.

You hadn't even meant to fall asleep— after returning home to your apartment you immediately jumped in the shower to wash away your sins from the afternoon's events; afterwards laying down for just a quick rest, ended up with you falling fast— a combination of the weed, pleasure and stress you've endured all within the span of a few hours.

You didn't straighten up the place, nor did you make anything for dinner— Jean was not happy, that much was apparent by the sound of his feet stomping loudly about as griped and groaned from the living space outside of your bedroom door.

It was no use in pretending to be asleep, he would just come in there to wake you up and complain about how you didn't do your job.

Maybe this time, you'd let him— after all, the reason why you didn't was because you were... well, you know. Sitting up from the comfort of your warm mattress, you wrap yourself up in a soft cardigan and head out into the belly of the beast.

"Jean..."

You call out to him tenderly, waiting for him to at least look in your direction... but he doesn't. Instead, he stands in front of the fridge, angrily peering inside of it— the light from inside illuminates his handsome, but tired features; his light brown eyes that normally glow candescently, now seem flat and lifeless.

You walk over to him, gently placing your hand on his back. Finally, he looks at you, dissatisfaction practically oozing out of his indignant gaze.

"Thanks for cleaning up and making dinner, babe. Really appreciate all your hard work." He spits sarcastic, condescending words as you only sit there and take it.

"I'm sorry, was just really tired." You apologize, playing with the hem of your sweater. It's hard to look him in the eye. "I can make you something real quick-"

"Just forget it." He says, closing the fridge after grabbing an apple and a beer. "Won't have time to eat since I've gotta clean up here, even though I just got done working a fucking double shift."

"I'll do it, just... calm down."

You didn't mean to sound so snarky, but it was getting harder and harder to bite your tongue as he continued to berate you like a child.

"I'll calm down once you stop smoking weed all fucking day and start doing shit with your life."

"I don't even smoke all day? I don't clean up and make dinner one time and all of a sudden I'm a lazy piece of shit?" The line had been crossed— it wasn't in your nature to let someone speak to you in such a way, regardless of what you've done.

"I worked for twelve hours, y/n. The least I ask for is to come home to a clean house and something to eat."

"The least you ask for? You want me to clean the house, cook all your meals, do your laundry, do the grocery shopping— all while going to school, having homework and papers to write, exams to study for..."

"You didn't even have class to day, though? So what the fuck were you doing all day?"

"I-I was ...out! Am I not allowed to enjoy some time to my fucking self?" Your stomach churned as you spoke your statement; surely you weren't completely innocent here... but fuck, Jean just really knew how to get under your skin.

"Must be nice, wish I could 'enjoy myself' too."

"I don't mind doing those things for you, Jean I really don't... but when you come home yelling and scolding me about it— I'm not your little fucking housewife."

His eyes darken at your words, the scowl on his face turns even more demeaning as he saunters over to you.

"Housewife? You aren't even wife material, y/n. You're lucky I even care about you enough to support you like I do. Think anyone else would put up with your shit?" He's so close,

You can smell the bitter scent of beer on his breath as he leans in, backing you against the wall.

He goes to kiss you, as he usually would to try as a way to 'apologize' for the mean things he's said to you. Normally, you'd accept it— but this time, your head turns, avoiding his lips that desperately seek out for you.

He looks offended, his eyes fervently scanning your expression for any semblance of reason for the way you've rejected his lips.

You think back to what Armin said to you earlier today, as you stare into Jean's choleric face; "it doesn't make sense to torture yourself, y/n, just for the sake of history."

He was right.

Of course he was.

"... I need a break." You surprise yourself when you mutter out those four words.

"From?" He asks, even though he already knows the answer.

"From... you... us. We aren't working anymore Jean, all we do is fight and I can't live like thi-"

"God fucking damnit, y/n!" He slams his fist into the wall as he shouts at you, a mere couple of inches more to the right and he would've connected with your face.

You jump at the sudden impact, tears welling in your eyes from fear and despondency; this was the first time that he's ever had a physical reaction to one of your fights.

"Oh, fuck... I'm sorry, y/n..." His expression instantly turns soft as he realizes what he's actually done, and the effect that it's had on you.

He wipes at your puffy cheeks as he cradles your face in his hands, soon pulling you into a hug as you sob violently into his chest— everything that you've kept buried away inside releases in the form of salty tears that stain his stark white uniform.

"So sorry baby, please don't cry..." he murmurs softly into the top of your head as he rubs your back; his hold on you is surprisingly comforting, despite the fact that he was the one who put you in such a state— mostly, anyways, not to forget the overwhelming sense of guilt you still harbored.

Pulling away, sniffling with tears still in your eyes, you look at him with sincerity.

"I love you, Jean... but-"

"I love you too, so much." He interrupts you, taking your words as a means to forgive and forget.

"No, you need to listen to me... I'm serious when say that I want a break." Your words are soft, but your expression is firm. His brows furrowed with remorse, though he nods in agreement.

"I'm gonna stay with Sasha and Connie for a few days... I just need some time to think, please."

You don't even know why you were begging— probably because you knew that it would only take Jean a day at maximum to make some excuse to go over there, to 'hang out with his friends' of course, definitely not to see you.

Truthfully, you would've stayed elsewhere if you could— you hated bringing them into your relationship problems, but you really didn't have any other choice. Getting a hotel would just give him an excuse to taunt you about using money that he earned, and well... you certainly couldn't stay with Eren, who was right across the hall.

Throwing some essentials into a duffel bag, you make your way to the front door. Jean stops you with a gentle grasp of your wrist and pleading eyes.

"Y/n, can't we talk about this, please?"

You say nothing, shaking yourself free from his hold and exiting out the door. It startles you, to see a pair of gunmetal eyes staring at you from the door across.

Soft black tresses blow sheepishly in the breeze of the frigid midnight's air— she gives you a subtle smile as she stomps out the light of her cigarette from underneath her Doc Marten's.

"You okay?" She asks sincerely, brow quirked as she waits for your response.

"No... but I will be, I think." You retort, embarrassed. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Enough." She chuckles lightly, turning her back to you briefly as she starts to open the door her and Eren's shared apartment. "Was kinda hard not to, you guys were pretty loud."

"I'm so sorry..." you trail off, your face burning with awkwardness.

"If you need anything, let me know." She says smoothly, gorgeous features peeking at you from over her shoulder.

"Thanks." You smile, before you watch her disappear behind the door.

Reaching into your pocket, you pull out your phone to call Sasha. It's late; you realize that you may have shot yourself in the foot if she doesn't answer. After a few rings, she picks up— her voice rasped and groggy from drowsiness.

"Hey, y/n... everything okay?"

"I'm sorry to bother you so late, sash— but...

"