~Jean's POV~

I never intended to kill him, but when I did, God, it sent the most euphoric spark pulsing through the bulging veins in my neck and filled my tar-coated lungs with a breath of fresh air. My cold hands were warmed and my dry mouth was quenched with a waterfall of his warm blood. My hungry stomach was filled thanks to a plate of his tender flesh, and my arousal was relieved after I first plunged that knife into his stomach.

My name is Jean Kirschtein, and never really liked Eren Jaeger.

Thank God I won't have to deal with him from this point forward.

-Rose's Coffee-

"That will be... $2.49," I say as my lazy finger punches buttons on the cash register. The tray bursts open and I take the money the customer hands me, tuck it into the slots, and give them their change. A warm cup with a printed sleeve is handed to me by another worker in the coffee shop and I hand that cylinder to the customer.

"Enjoy."

I hate my job.

Once the woman leaves, I huff out and leave the register. "Twat."

"Rough day today?" Sasha asks. I scoff.

"As if a good day exists for me."

I leave the register and walk into the employee's bathroom to wash my face and wake myself up.

"Hello, Handsome," I smile, looking at my reflection. I'm a narcissist, a strong one. Running my hands through my two-toned hair, I turn the faucet on cold, cup some of the water into my already freezing hands, and splash it over my face. Refreshing. Very refreshing. I focus on every drop that glides down my skin like cold fingers.

Glide.

Drip.

Glide.

Drip.

And I recite the same sentence I've said time and time before into the mirror.

"My name is Jean Kirschtein and I've killed eight people."

It sounds even better when that number increases.

After patting my face dry and crumpling up the towel, I lean on the porcelain sink and stare myself in the mirror. Hazel eyes, a long but rather charming face, tousled hair, and the thinnest layer of stubble on my jaw. Now I'm no Ted Bundy, having women swoon and be swept off their feet, but I definitely have that friendly charisma. But... that's only on the outside. On the inside, baby, I'm a monster. A scratching, clawing, raging beast who feasts on blood and lives off screaming. I'm sorry, mother. What have I become?

Walking out of the bathroom, I crack my neck and make my way back to the counter only to see that a man is already waiting in line on his phone. He's too engrossed in that little screen to see that I was standing there, and so I clear my throat, tapping my fingers on the counter. It was then he looks up and gazes at me with warm mocha brown eyes.

"I'm sorry, sir," he says, stowing his phone away in his back pocket.

"Meh."

The man smiles awkwardly and takes a look up at the menu, then to me.

"I'll take a small white mocha, please."

As I punch in his order, I can feel those coffee bean eyes staring me down, observing my every move and probably even looking into my mind. I look up quickly.

"$1.30."

He hands me the exact amount and smiles some more, watching as my hands put the cash into the trays.

I look up at him and lean my hands on the counter.

"And can I get a name?"

"Marco."

My eyes glance in his direction as I get an empty cup and sneer.

"How do you do that?"

The man, putting his wallet away, catches my stare. "Do what?"

"Smile all the time. S'weird."

Marco smiles at that as well, his hands behind his back and his body rocking back and forth toe to heel. "I dunno. I'm just a happy guy!"

He gives me an awkward chuckle and goes to sit down at a table. For a buff looking guy, he was pretty flamboyant. Large, expressive eyes, light brown skin, freckles dusting his cheeks, and a small button nose. He wore a white button-up shirt, rolled up to his elbows, that was tucked into a pair of black slacks with matching dress shoes. On his left hand, he wore an expensive looking wristwatch. Rolex. If only I could somehow slip that off him. It was worth a fortune.

It's my turn to observe him. He puts his phone down and rests his head in his hand with his index finger resting against his temple. With his eyes distracted and gazing out of the shop window, I try to get a closer look at him. He looked to be in his late-twenties. His laugh lines were visible as his soft lips curl into the slightest of smiles and his eyes close. He basks in gentle rays of sunlight that leak through the glass as his shoulders rise and fall slowly with a deep breath. If I had to be honest, he was a very attractive, posh looking man. My observations are interrupted when his order is handed to me by Sasha.

"Got yourself a hottie, huh?" she says, giving me a snarky grin and nudging me with her elbow.

"Shut up."

I go to the counter with the man's order and call his name. "Marco!"

It rolls off my tongue nicely. Marco looks up to the counter, smiles more, and stands up before walking over to me.

"Thank you," he says, putting a five dollar tip into the plastic jar. I hand the cup to him, and for a brief moment, our fingertips slide over each other, causing the man to give me a light blush and nervous laugh. I see his eyes drift down to my name tag. "Jean? Like blue jeans?"

I give a fake and mostly passive-aggressive smile. "It's pronounced 'John'. French."

"French? Fancy!" he smiles, showing his teeth, and repeats my name correctly. "Jean."

I can't help but change my smile to a more genuine one. "That's me."

The man holds out his right hand. "Well, you know me. Marco Bodt."

I shake his hand hesitantly. "Jean Kirschtein."

With a final grin, he turns around and leaves the shop. That's Sasha's cue to immediately start swooning over the two of us.

"Oooh!! That was so cute!"

"Sasha."

"He totally has the hots for you, Jean."

I groan at my coworker and watch the man leave in an older car. He was definitely a very friendly, sociable person - something I was not. I replay his words in my head.

"I dunno. I'm just a happy guy!"

"Marco Bodt," I say I under my breath. The car goes out of view eventually. "How do you do it?"

~Marco's POV~

"Maggie!" I coo out when I walk into my apartment. I smile when I see my beagle, my loving pet for four years now, hop up on my waist and wag her tail. "Hiya, girl. Miss me?"

I begin to walk toward her food dish, feeling her paws come off my waist, and peer into the empty bowl.

"Hungry?"

As I grab her dish and scoop up a pile of brown pellets, my brain settles on Jean. I'm a people person. I make note of their gestures, their tone of voice, their actions, pretty much everything in the book. It's very important to me as a police officer to spot the danger in society.

My uniform and badge have been emblems of honour to me for three years now. It's a very difficult job, yes, but a very rewarding and empowering experience. When I'm dispatched, I never know what to expect. Fortunately, I've never had to shoot a man and I never wish to.

Jean was interesting. Right off the bat, he was definitely not the most careful or happiest of people judging from the stress lines in between his eyebrows and the messy stubble on his face, but everything else on him seemed decent besides the fact that he may have been a smoker. It was no accident when our fingertips brushed past each other, but a deliberate action. His fingers were cold and callused and his knuckles bore a rough texture from what could only be scabs. Could he be dangerous? Was he getting into regular fights? They ought to be brutal if they split his knuckles enough times to leave scars and scabs. His fingernails also seemed to be very well groomed and neatly cut, which adds to the decency in him.

Then there were his eyes - light brown, droopy, hollow, and containing the lightest hint of dominance within them. I noticed him notice me. Perhaps people watching is something we had in common. He seemed very careful mentally - again, not physically - and maintained a cool and calm character.

Something, though, seemed off about him. Time will tell.

I pet Maggie's head as she begins chowing down on her food and go to my bedroom to change.

My fingers work to undo the buttons to my dress shirt as I stare ahead of me at the wall until it slips off my shoulders and into the crooks of my arms. Shirtless, I lay the button-up on my bed and move onto my pants. About time I get into something comfortable.

I change into some Star Wars pyjamas, slip on a pair of cosy slippers, and walk into the living room with a sigh.

"It was a long day today," I tell Maggie as I lounge on the couch and grab the TV remote. "How was yours?"

My one story house was relatively bare save for a few portraits that perched atop the fireplace mantle. The largest and most important one was set in the centre; it was of my deceased mother and father. My beloved parents left me on a cold November night when I was eighteen never to return. Their bodies were found, their killer was not.

It was the prime reason I joined the men in blue. I wanted to, needed to find their murderer and nothing was going to stop me.

I grab a silver locket from the coffee table that was set on the left of the sofa and touch the charm to my lips; my mother's necklace

"I met someone today," I say in a soft voice. "His name is Jean. He said it was French. Isn't that nice?"

And as if I was in a phone call, I respond to my mother's inaudible replies.

"Oh, yes. He's very handsome... No, not so much... Of course... I'm planning on going back tomorrow."

I smile, kiss the locket, and set it on the coffee table again before laying down and staring at the ceiling.

I had the day off today, so that was definitely a plus. I met Jean; two pluses. It was a relatively a good day more or less.

"Maggie!" I call out, hearing her little claws scratch the floor as she bounced on over and hopped onto the couch and into my lap. Smiling, I pet her back and scratch her ears before drifting off to sleep.

~Jean's POV~

My shift ends at 12, thank God, and I untie my stupid apron before hanging it up in a separate closet and walking from around the counter out the doors with my things.

My car was a tan 1970 Volkswagen Beetle - a hand-me-down from my father. I kept it clean and polished. Dirty cars only screamed "lazy" and "sloppy" and that was the last thing I needed.

I step in and turn the car on before the radio quietly begins playing a punk rock cassette I had already put in this morning. Gravel crunches beneath the tires as I back out of the parking lot and roll into the street.

I lived in a cheap apartment that smelled of beer, cigarettes, and marijuana which is mainly the reason I never had people over (as if I had people over in the first place).

As I pull into the apartment parking lot, I unbuckle my seatbelt and step out onto the sidewalk that led to my room. It was on the second floor of the two-story building so I had to climb the stairs in order to get there.

As soon as I unlock the door and push it open, I smile wide.

"You're still alive?" I scoff, shutting the door quickly and walking across the tarp covered floors to the bound up, gagged, and bleeding woman on the floor. As I kneel down beside her, careful not to touch the blood, her head lazily turns toward me and her rattled breathing fills the silence.

"I loved you, Mikasa," I whisper, my head close to her ear. "All you had to do was love me back..."

I stand up and walk to the counter before grabbing the knife I had used to mutilate her with.

"Maybe... just maybe you wouldn't be like this."

I kneel down again and stab her in the stomach, but she makes no sound; just a weak squirm. As I slosh the blade around inside her stomach, watching as blood pooled up around the blade and dripped down her pale skin, I laugh lightly.

"Too bad, so sad."

The blade tears out of her and I move to her feet before opening her legs.

"I'd probably prefer it if you were less hairy, damn Jap."

I sigh.

"Oh, well."

The knife is raised and plunged into her throat before cutting back and forth.

"My name is Jean Kirchstein..."

Slice, slice, slice, slice.

I come in contact with her spinal cord and begin hacking and chopping at it.

Hack, hack, hack.

Her head peels right off the last sliver of flesh and rolls onto the floor before I grab onto her black, tangled hair, wet with blood, and raise her severed head to my eyes.

"...and I've killed nine people."