( JEAN KIRSTEIN, AOT )
IV. H3ARTBROK3N F-BOY. ‧₊˚♥︎
0.04 | 3:22 PM | 愛

˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ༘ you have the jersey-jacket in your backpack, along with the shorts jean lended you. right now, you're headed to the lockeroom, and you're looking around; it's difficult to navigate through all the stares, and whispers. ugh, people were acting like you slept with him. you half-expected this after your conversation with april yesterday, but experiencing it in real time is a surreal experience.

you're waiting in front of the gym room, your arms crossed over your chest. ugh, can he take any longer? you don't want anyone to know you're meeting him here; you can't end up on that school's website again.

you see jean approaching in the distance. like usual, he has that guitar holder slung across his shoulder; and he's dressed fashionably. an affliction-styled shirt, cargos, and coordinating jewelry. still, the clothes do nothing to hide the athletic body hiding beneath. alright, you got this, [name]. just hand him the uniform, and ask him if he's seen your bag.

you hold your hand out for him to take the bag. "mornin'," he says, sternly. "did you wash it?" he questions, taking the bag from you. the scent of your perfume is seeping from the bag; of course you washed it, but it's still affected—whatever.

"yeah," you say, looking up at him. "anyways, i still ain't find my bag. just wondering, would you happen to know who has it?" you question, your arms crossed over your chest. you're wearing a black tube top, and a dark wash pair of baggy jeans; paired with your converse. "my wallet was in there."

jean takes the jacket-jersey out of the bag, and begins to analyze it. "yeah," he replies, barely paying you any attention. "probably in the hands of someone on the hockey team."

phew. "well, could you get it back for me?" you ask.

jean looks at you. "and why should i?" ugh, not this shit again.

"because i asked? you got me in this situation in the first place," you roll your eyes. "get my back my things, or i'll make sure you regret it," it's not a threat, it's a promise. you aren't inherently evil or anything, but you can and will pull a few strings if push comes to shove.

"yeah, sure," jean slangs the jersey across his shoulder, his gaze finally falling on you. he's giving you a one-over; he's checking you out again. "and how exactly do you plan on doing that? you aren't really in a favorable position; half of the school thinks you're a prolonged slut."

prolonged is fucking insane—like really.

"you knew what you were doing when you gave me that jersey," you've already had enough of jean's careless attitude. and wrong; you were up all night reading the new comments under that post. no one thinks you're a slut, but they aren't exactly saying you're innocent either.

"maybe i did," jean leans against the wall beside him. you're about to snap on him until he continues speaking. "but then again, maybe i was just as clueless as you are. quit thinking you're special, or something. i only gave you it because it was the only thing i had available at the time."

blah, blah, blah.

"are you gonna help, or not?" you flat out question. "if not, save me the time of wasting it. i'll just head to the headmistresses office, and see if she's willing to do anything to help. i'm sure she'll believe me, over a bunch of dumbass jocks."

jean glares at you, but theres undoubtedly a hint of interest swirling those eyes of his. "same place, be here at four o'clock," he says to you, before heading away with the bag in hand. you truly feel accomplished, knowing your plan had potentially worked. still, this is definitely some work you have to go through for your stuff. it's annoying, but it'll be worth it in the end, right?

˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ༘. you expected jean to show up late. it's around twenty minutes after your scheduled meet up time, and you aren't even sure why you waited so long after. maybe a part of you was hoping he still showed up, regardless of the fact that he flat out lied. ugh, this is so annoying; now you have to make an appearance at his little ice rink, and do things your way.

once you find the school's rink, you head inside, pulling your jacket on before you do so. it's really cold in here... which is expected—it's a damn ice rink. there are stadium lights everywhere, and it's extremely spacious. from the distance you're at, you can see an array of men on the team gliding down the ice; pucks in gloved hands.

and then, you see jean. now that you're getting a better look at him in his uniform, you find out the jacket he gave you wasn't actually his jersey, it's what goes over it. his actual jersey is made out of a stretchy material, which makes a lot more fucking sense. damn, and people were making a big deal out of that? some people really don't have lives.

the way the lights hit his face almost makes the man look angelic. damn. too bad he's an asshole, no wonder he can't stick to one girl. are the women really just with him for sex, or does his attitude get rid of them before they can consider staying? ugh, but with the way april described him, it just seems like every single girl wants him.

jean notices you, and his eyes go wide for a second. you wave casually, a hint of a smirk on your lips. "hey," you greet, watching as he skated his way over. "in case you didn't notice, it's thirty minutes past our scheduled time, and i have places to be. you know, like home."

jean looks like he wants to roll his eyes, but he refrains from doing so. "don't you have practice? how do you have so much free time?"

"it's only the second day, tryouts are still in place," you take a step back, cold balls of gas following every word that left your lips. "so yeah, i'll be having plenty of free time until next week. now, did you at least ask around for my stuff?"

jean pulls off his helmet, tucking the gear beneath his arm. "i did, i've got your precious little bag in my locker," he admits sarcastically, and you mentally sigh at the admission. good, this better had been the case, because you're ready to get this over with. "and i ain't giving you the combination, so you're gonna wait till i'm finished with practice."

you've never hated someone so much before.

alright then. "fine with me," you lie. "where can i sit?" jean sees you looking around the spacious rink for a place to cozy up, and from the looks of it he's starting to regret his decision. there are plenty of empty seats in the place, and you think you've found one that'll give you the perfect view.

"in your car?" jean replies. "look, you can't sit in here—you want the dating allegations to worsen? get out," but you're already sitting down. you just shrug, and you can tell that sets him off even more. "it's already bad enough i'm talking to you, don't make this shitty for us both—get up."

you sit down anyway. you ignore him, and pull out your phone. he stands frozen for a couple of seconds, before he roughly grabs his puck and heads away. you feel satisfied, as you pocket your phone and look over to watch him. if looks could do anything, you'd be in his bed right now. he looks like he wants to murder you, and you think it's hilarious. and hot.

jean's practice doesn't end for another hour. you watch him play; and even though you aren't fond of him, you have to admit he's a great player. on the other half of the large rink, there are people still undergoing tryouts. you don't entirely understand hockey, but eh. based on the scrimmage, it still looks interesting and competitive.

when jean is finished, he disappears for about twenty minutes. when he returns, he smells like men's body wash, and he's wearing a new change of clothes. "finally, took you long enough," you say, arising from your spot.

he doesn't even reply to you, he just starts walking. he's really fast, so it's difficult to catch up with him. is he really that upset you waited? it's not like you had anything better to do. besides, you didn't want him to lie again—and yeah, it was partially done because you resented him.

when you get to his locker, jean pops it open. he hands you your bag, and you gesture for him to wait until you've finished making sure everything was inside. he scoffs, and glares at you. "what, so you accusing me of stealing, or something?" you're crouched, and zipping the bag open. "besides, i already went through it. your id picture was terrifying."

you want to berate him for going through your things—and implying that your id picture (which was taken in your freshman year of high school) was ugly, but you're just happy everything is in place. "thank goodness," you say, before zipping it close. even all the cash you left was still inside—that was supposed to be for your future nail appointments.

"you know, you're only making things worse for yourself," he suddenly says, as you arise from your spot on the ground. "you into me, or something?" dude doesn't even sound like he believes his own words. "in case you're slow, lemme remind you that half of the school thinks we're into eachother."

"wish i could, but i really couldn't care less about what the school thinks," you pull the bag across your shoulder. "i just wanted my stuff, and if that means interacting with heartbroken fuckboy of the century, then i'll gladly be your guest."

jean scoffs at your words—he couldn't believe that was actually your impression of him. "so you do know me?" he clarifies, like that's the only useful thing he got out of your outburst. "and i ain't heartbroken, or a fuckboy. just cause i'm not into the whole commitment idea doesn't make me either of those things."

"i've heard some things," no use in hiding the information now. "and yeah, it kinda does. now, since you wasted my time, you'll be taking me home." april had to rush home after-school so she didn't miss her sister's baby shower. and yeah, your car is still in the shop. it's rough, it truly is.

author's note
didn't even realize i was
writing enemies to lovers until
it was too late, i fear?

updating this book
three times a week,
thursday-saturday 🕺🏾.