Title: My Days with Miss Potato Head
Summary: In which Jean finds himself encountering Sasha Braus more than he'd like to. — "You're like a potato. Mind if I take my time peeling you?"
Pairing: Jean x Sasha
Type: On-going
Rating: T
Warnings: Language; AU, high school-setting
Disclaimer: I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin.

chapter one—bad impressions

The girl is strange.

And by strange, he means, like, fucking weird.

It begins innocently enough. It is his lunch break. He sits on the right side of the cafeteria room, on the second-to-last table in the far back. Its surrounding seats are empty, but that is okay with Jean; he likes arriving early to lunch. That way, he's able to get dibs on food fresh out the kitchen (more like microwaved, anyway).

"U-Uhm, excuse me, do you want—"

Apparently, Sasha Braus arrives early, as well.

He barely maintains suppressing his disgust. "Just take it already, damn it."

She surprises him when she bends her head so low and so quickly that it nearly bangs off the cafeteria table. "Thank you so much!"

Then, to his utter horror, she begins tearing at the meat—that she swipes off his tray in, like, a fucking millisecond—and grease begins dripping at the corners of her mouth. In the few seconds she manages to eat the whole chicken, he spots bits of meat between her teeth and also underneath some of her fingernails.

I mean, it's kind of hard not having to watch in pure fascination how someone of the female species is capable of devouring food at a remarkable pace. Her eating habits probably rival his. Jean feels momentarily emasculated.

"Are you done or what?" he says through his teeth, edging away as her oily hand hovers across the napkin beside his tray before picking it up.

His napkin. "Are you serious—"

She cuts him off with another bow of her head and says, "Thank you for the napkin." Then she begins to gracefully pat her lips and around her mouth, as if she were someone of a higher status that just had a royal feast, rather than the role of the gluttonous fool she just portrayed.

"Whatever," he grumbles, deciding not to comment on the fact that she took his only not-proffered napkin. "Get outta here."

She stands and bows once more, grinning as she does so. Still shreds of chicken wedged inside teeth. "Thank you, Jean."

He mutters a 'whatever', refraining from adding 'freak', as she skips off cheerfully like the well-fed, sedated bear she is.

Well, there goes his good deed of the day. He involuntarily shared his food. Great. Now he's hungry.

"Hello, Jean."

The teenager's mood considerably brightens as he looks from his half-empty tray and into the face of his somewhat-friend, Marco Bodt. "Yeah, yeah."

Marco smiles. Jean, inwardly, is glad for it. The kid's nice. And because he's so nice, Jean doesn't have to be nice in order to return the favor. Or, something like that.

"Point is, go get me some chicken."

Jean is also glad that Marco chooses to ignore his odd use of words in the beginning of his demand. He really needs to stop thinking aloud.

Marco nods, smiling. "Sure. I had just forgotten my eating utensils, anyway."

'Eating utensils', Jean thinks, sighing as he stares after Marco's retreating back. See what I mean? What a nice guy.

Five minutes later, Jean stands from his seat to look for the teenager who's yet to return with his chicken—to replace the one that was wrongfully taken from him from the she-gorilla.

Even from such a far distance, he spots the person he is looking for—with her. "Shit, man." He falls back onto his seat and taps his nose impatiently with the end of his fork.

It seems like his good ol' buddy Marco is having a difficult time in escaping the creature most equivalent to a pig, who has her hands clasped together in a pleading manner, with lips set in a full pout. Marco looks nearly ready to give in. He takes a step back; she takes a step toward him. He shakes his head; her lower lip sticks out further, hoping to wordlessly coax him into handing over the chicken. He places a hand over the meat in question; she bares her teeth and attacks.

Marco is across from him a minute later. "Jean, I apologize, but Sasha—"

He never has the chance to explain what has already been witnessed, for Jean is quickly on his feet and in the face of one Sasha Braus, who pays his newly made presence no mind as she peels the fat over the meat of the chicken before discarding it on an oily napkin.

She doesn't get the chance to bite in before he slaps the chicken breast from her hand.

Sasha blinks, confused. "What—"

"Next time, get your own fucking food and stop mooching off others, you stupid bitch."

At that moment, in the dead silence that rapidly overcame the whole cafeteria room, Jean ignores the audible gasps and hushed, angry whispers.

He can only stare at Sasha's face, with her mouth hung open and eyes widened in shock, pupils darting left and right, trying to prevent an onslaught of tears that is already forming at the corner of her eyes. She speaks, finally.

"O-Oh."

Jean felt like the biggest piece of shit.

Author's note: These two are my OTP. 'Nuff said.