Eren has never kissed Jean. He has never kissed Marco, either.

But if he could, without consequences, without any confusion or pain or anger, Eren would get up right now and stomp over to Jean’s bunk where the air is thick and boiling with heat from dark moans and tangled limbs under bed sheets.

But Eren is a coward.

All he’s ever done is lie awake in the middle of the night, eyes open and a hand pressed over his own mouth to muffle the pathetic little moans he’s choking on – listening to Jean whimper helplessly when a dark shadow leans down to him, wet warm kisses echoing in the warm barrack as Marco whispers “shh, they’ll hear us” and shifts the smallest bit. Then, Jean does that desperate sob, the tiniest noise of ‘oh god please more yes yes’, and Eren loves how vulnerable and fucking beautiful he is in the moonlight, under Marco’s stronger body, how the two other boys move as if it was just for him.

A private show he hasn’t been invited to.

Eren has never kissed Jean.

He’s never fallen apart on Marco’s cock with a cry dripping down his lips like fire, has never tasted Jean’s salty skin on his tongue, never adorned his neck with blue marks. But god, one day, he’ll be brave enough. Until then, Eren shuffles deeper under his covers, careful to be quiet, and continues to listen to the lewd, wet squelching that comes from where Marco thrusts deep into Jean, their mouths finding each other in dark rumbles of stuttered words, and then they’re just two silhouettes melting together.

Eren turns around and stares at the wall until he hears them breathe calmly. He grasps his chest and closes his eyes and tries not to choke on the bitter lust rising up his throat. One day.