(a mini sequel/continuation of this fic)

“You look like shit.”

Jean glared at Eren over his sandwich.

“Is it because you have to take a shit?” Eren asked.

“Your student is rubbing off on you,” Jean said as he put his sandwich down.

“He’s also rubbing on me. Like every day. It’s great. Just this morning--”

“Why are you here?” Jean sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing at his temples. There went his appetite.

“Got your email. And while I appreciate the time and effort you must have gone through to make all those backslashes look like a middle finger, I don’t think it’s appropriate. Or very nice.”

“How about the real thing then?” Jean asked, flipping him the bird on both hands.

Eren gasped dramatically and put his hand over his heart. “You’ve wounded me.”

Jean scoffed.

“Seriously, though, you look worried about something.” Eren leaned his hip against Jean’s desk. “What’s up?”

Jean leaned back in his chair, elbows on the armrests, fingers steepled against his chin. If there was anyone to talk to it would be Eren.

“So...about your relationship with --”

“Oh my God, are you firing me?!”

“What? No! For fucks sake will you let me finish?”

“Sorry.”

Jean sighed and regathered his thoughts.

“How does the relationship between you two...work exactly?”

Eren furrowed his brows. He was quiet for a far longer time than Jean had ever thought possible when it came to Eren.

It made him nervous.

“I mean,” Eren started slowly, “I’m open to a three-way, but I’d have to ask Levi if--”

“No. No. Why...why is that the first place your mind went?”

Eren opened his mouth to answer and Jean held up his hand.

“Rhetorical question. Let’s try this a different way. Do you remember that student I had a few semesters ago in art history. The one I told you about?”

“Uh?”

“Got a perfect score on every test and paper? Actually corrected one of my notations on an essay he wrote and he was so fucking right I wanted to die? Blonde hair, blue--”

“Oh!” Eren snapped his fingers. “Eyebrows!”

Jean sighed. Well, Eren wasn’t wrong, but. “What is it with you and bad nicknames?”

“Asks the man who accepted the horse faced sculpture I made in his image.” He looked pointedly at the bust on Jean’s windowsill.

“It’s very well crafted. I couldn’t just pitch it. I hate it. Shut up.”

Eren smirked, but didn’t say anything more about it.

“So,” he began instead, “you’ve got the hots for Eyebrows, huh?”

“His name is Erwin.”

“So you’ve got the hots for Erwin, huh?”

Jean worked his jaw, trying to think of something to say other than yes.

“Yes.”

He waited for the comeback. The laughter, the teasing. He did not expect the frown.

“You look serious for once,” Jean said.

“Because this is serious.”

Jean’s eyebrows arched on his forehead in surprise.

“Look, I know I joke about my relationship with Levi, but I don’t actually see it as a joke, you know?”

Eren rounded the desk, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared intently down at Jean.

“You can’t just jump into it. You have to make sure he feels the same, or is at least willing to explore having those feelings with you. You have to make sure he’s comfortable having a relationship with you, whether it’s just physical or something else. You can’t force him to do anything. You can’t stake his school career on the whim of your dick.

“And you have to be prepared for people that don’t understand, or refuse to. Connie and I used to go to the bar together every weekend but he’s barely spoken to me since he found out about me and Levi. It’s been three fucking months. Maybe he’s still working it out in his head, or maybe he just thinks I’m a pervert. I don’t know. But I can’t say it doesn’t hurt that I’ve more or less lost a best friend.”

Eren paused and took a deep breath through his nose. His eyes flitted away for a few moments, and he blinked rapidly to get rid of the wetness there. Then he looked back at Jean, gaze stern.

“My point is there’s a lot you have to think about. Okay?”

Jean nodded solemnly. “Okay.”

Eren sighed and dropped his arms, rotated his shoulders to release the tension there.

“Never thought I’d have to lecture you,” he said with a grin.

“Yeah, this whole ‘shoe on the other foot’ thing is weird. Say something stupid.”

“The strawberry flavored condoms actually don’t taste that much like strawberries. It’s a lie. The chocolate ones, though.” He gave Jean two thumbs up.

Jean snorted and smiled. “Get out.”

“Rude. But fine. I have my own lunch to eat. And by lunch I mean Levi’s di--”

“Out.”

He was gone from Jean’s office all of two seconds before he opened the door and poked his head back in.

“One more piece of advice,” he said, face severe.

“What?”

“I highly recommend moving any important paperwork if you have after hours desk sex. It can get kind of messy.”

Jean threw a pen at Eren’s head and he ducked back out of the room, his laughter ringing down the hallway.

Erwin poked at the food on his plate. The sign said shepherd’s pie, but this looked nothing like what his mother made. It did, however, look like the droppings of what shepherds looked after.

“Tastes better than it looks,” Mike said, his plate already empty.

“I’ll take your word for it.” Erwin pushed his plate away and pulled his notebook in front of him instead. “Besides I’m too stressed about next semester to eat.”

Mike snorted. “It hasn’t even started yet.”

“That’s the thing. I need to fill some credits and I don’t know what to take.”

“Can you take anything?” Mike asked, digging his phone out of his pocket and tapping at the screen.

“Yeah.”

Mike hummed and scrolled through his phone.

“There’s swimming.”

“Eh.”

“Orchestra.”

“I hate playing the french horn, Mike, you know that.”

“How about…what the fuck…xylography?” he pronounced slowly.

“Xylo-what now?”

“Um.” He squinted at the screen as he started to skim the course description. “Looks like it’s a printing technique using wood carvings.”

“Sounds like an art course.”

“Yeah. You’ve taken those before, right?”

Erwin hummed. “None that were so interactive, though.”

Erwin had taken an introductory art class his freshman year and an art history class in his sophomore year. Both had been mostly textbooks and powerpoints and droning lectures, nowhere near as intense sounding as this class.

Of course Erwin was willing to take the course if…

“Who teaches it?”

Mike smirked. “Professor Kirstein.”

He had taught the history course Erwin had taken before and Erwin had been embarrassingly smitten with him ever since.

“I’ll do it.”

“Better hurry then. Looks like there’s limited spots.”

And just like that Erwin was gathering his things and running for the library.