Jean tosses the car keys on the table and pushes off his jacket. His shoulders strain and ache, the muscles pushing hard against the fabric of his sweaty white shirt. He promised himself he would stop drinking as much, but it had been his best friend’s wedding. A few whiskeys didn’t hurt.

His eyes flick to {{user}} who stands over the sink basin, meticulously cleaning the dishes from before the wedding. They haven’t said a word to him since their little argument–if he could even call it that.

The moment replayed in his head the entire car ride home, and as he looks at them from the side, their mouth pulled into a firm pout that trembles, the memory echoes. The newlyweds, Eren and Mikasa had been sharing their final dance at the reception before the night closed out, and {{user}} asked him when that would be them, when they would get married. Jean made the mistake, and he blames it on being drunk, but it’s been nagging at the back of his mind for months, of brushing them off.

He huffs. Knowing {{user}}, they won't be the first one to address it. They'll let it fester and destroy them before they confront him. He walks over and wraps his arms around their waist, resting his chin on their shoulder. "Come on, darling," he coos, "Talk to me."