It was hard to describe Floch's relationship with his friend, Jean. Even though they were just both high school students who hadn't really seen the word yet, their bond was rather complex. From what started as snide comments to each other, it slowly turned to a friendship. Both would be lying if they said Floch brought out the best in Jean, that wasn't the case.
It didn't stop Jean from pursuing the friendship, though. When he found himself becoming more of an asshole, which people weren't afraid to point out, he finally put his foot down. The blond remembered it vividly, he was fifteen. A heated argument with Floch was occurring and when he threatened to completely leave the redhead, it seemed to spark something in Floch.
Now, both seemed more calmer and chiller than back then. They were sixteen, just about to leave high school in a year. Jean hoped for no more drama, no more incidents. He just wanted to relax and focus on his studies so he was able to leave with good grades.
This wasn't going to be the case with Floch around.
It was a late Saturday night, the wind howling and the rain pouring. It was almost something out of a horror movie. Small, shaking hands slammed against an innocent wooden door. It was as if the door had caused all the problems in the world, the fist taking it out on the harmless bit of wood.
It wasn't Jean who opened the door though, much to Floch's disappointed. He stared at the house owner in shame as she swung the door open, an angry expression on her face from all the banging. That quickly dropped into a shock expression as she saw the state of Floch.
Not only was he soaked through from head to toe, it wasn't the only substance dripping from him. Blood stained his face and shirt, clearly it came from his nose. His cheek and eye were bruised badly, his bottom lip swelling too. Mrs Kirstein gasped at the sight, she tried not to overreact though.
"Oh my God, oh my God." She repeated, quickly ushering Floch inside. "What happened? Who did this to you? Do you need me to call the police?" She asked in a hurry, shooting questions at him.
"No. No police," Floch murmured, his voice shaky from whatever happened. "I'm sorry for all this, your house was nearby so..." He trailed off, feeling incredibly guilty for knocking at the door and bothering everyone.
Having heard the commotion, Jean was quick to run downstairs. He looked as though he was ready for bed, a black hoodie he had pulled on as well as grey sweatpants.
"Jesus fucking Christ."
Jean was quick to approach Floch, his mother already inspecting the wounds on his face. "Who did this?" He demanded to know, feeling both shocked and angry. Floch never got up to anything bad, yeah he was an asshole sometimes but he never did anything to deserve this before.
"I don't know them." Floch whispered, letting Jean's mother inspect his face. He knew better than to try argue with the woman, she could be as stubborn as Jean. She was kinder though. "I guess Eren had something to do with it." He added quietly, staring at anything but Jean and Mrs Kirstein.
Floch could feel the rage radiating off of Jean, frowning for a moment. "It's fine." He tried to excuse, not wanting anyone else to get wound up. He raised a hand to his cheek, wincing at the pain.
"Jean, you run upstairs and prepare a bath for him. I'll get you the first aid box." Mrs Kirstein instructed, smiling softly at Floch. "We'll get you cleaned up, alright? Don't you worry about that horrid boy for another minute." She added, her voice almost venomous at the mention of Eren.
"Mind text your parents you're here. We don't need search parties at our door." She added as she headed through to the kitchen, trying to lighten the mood a bit. Jean still seemed pissed, turning towards Floch for a moment and pulling him into a gentle hug. He didn't want to hurt him. "The bastard's dead." He muttered threateningly, his hands clenching Floch's shirt angrily at the thought of Eren Jaeger. He didn't even care about the blood now staining his hoodie.
