Chapter Text
Erwin Smith runs his grocery store like the fucking navy. Eren Jaeger is simply trying to fund his next bong hit.
And his next trip to the liquor store. And his next weed pen. And his next nic vape. None of this is a problem and Eren does not have a problem—thank you very much.
Eren is on his mandated half-hour break at the back of Erwin Smith’s brick enterprise, Paradis Grocer, cursing at his phone in his stupid official grocery-branded apron. He’s trying to calculate how much weed, alcohol, and rent he’ll be able to afford with next week’s paycheck, fairly disappointed with the number he ends up with. Adding up the numbers again has the same result, so he shoves his phone into his pocket to avoid tossing the whole thing into the bushes. He settles for hitting his nasty depleted pen, gagging at the bottom-of-the-cart taste of spent weed and burnt plastic. An annoying voice interrupts his coughing.
“Yo, lemme hit it,” Floch says it with a possessive tone, as if the pen belonged to him and Eren was a child who had stolen it. He curls his fingers to emphasize the request when Eren doesn’t immediately comply.
“You gonna let me light up in your car when we’re off?” Eren retorts back. A little bartering never hurt anyone. Floch rolls his eyes.
“Fucking fine, Jaeger.”
Eren squints at the irritant in front of him. Clutches the pen closer.
“…And give me a ride home?” Eren tests his luck.
“Fucking fine, just let me hit it, dude,” Floch whines out his answer, but Eren ignores the piss poor attitude and grins when he tosses the pen at Floch. A win is a win and Eren just won the hilariously pathetic view of Floch hacking at the burnt coil taste and a ride home.
He might even be able to save the stashed pre-roll and bat his eyelashes all pretty to score from the grinder and bong he knows Floch keeps under the nasty sweater in his backseat. Eren thinks Floch might be gay and Eren’s willing to use that to his advantage. Gay rights and shit but no homo.
Floch is still coughing and gearing up for the next hit when Connie plops his ass down on the sidewalk next to Eren. Eren smiles and nods slowly as a greeting.
“Shit, dude,” Connie says, “your eyes are red as hell.”
Astute observation. Eren’s high as fuck. Eren giggles at his own inner monologue while Connie rips his own vape and Floch—jesus christ he’s gagging so hard he looks like he’s about to yack—returns Eren’s pen.
“We”—Floch's dumbass interrupts himself with own hacking—“we have to go back inside.”
Eren looks at Floch. Looks at Connie. Points at Floch then points at himself. We?
“Yes, we, dumbass,” Floch jeers. “Erwin’s on the floor today because he’s making an announcement at close.”
Eren shudders. Erwin being on the floor meant he might actually have to stock shelves instead of slinking through the aisles and pretending to be busy between trips to the coolers in the back where he can sit on his phone and vape behind boxes of frozen chicken strips.
He looks at the time on his phone. Seven minutes left for his break. If he stretches that by a minute or two, goes to the bathroom for another five, drinks a cup or two of water in the break room, then slowly walks to the grocery section of the back, carefully picks up the cereal boxes he’s supposed to be stocking today, that can extend his worklessness by at least fifteen, even twenty, minutes. If he’s careful enough to avoid Erwin he might even be able to barely touch his stocking duties and spend the remainder of his shift lurking around Mikasa at the coffee station for a free coffee and brownie.
Eren groans then lies down on the sidewalk.
“Just let me stay here ‘til my break’s over,” he fusses.
“Cheers to that,” Connie says through a cloud, proceeding to lay down next to Eren.
Floch walks away. Eren waits until he’s out of earshot to giggle again.
“Bro, he wants me so bad,” he snickers out.
“Wants you dead in a ditch.”
Eren and Connie pass the nicotine back and forth until Eren thinks he’s pushed his break as long as he can and returns to the fluorescent lights of Paradis Grocer.
He takes the main entrance, passing through the large automatic doors, sticks to his right where the bakery is to avoid the checkouts to his left where someone might delegate him to a task. Historia’s standing behind the bakery display case, smiling widely at a shopper and child and holding her signature tray of cookies that she prepares for customers’ children. The kids love them. Eren does, too. He pauses to stare idly at white bread in hopes he can nab one of the cookies when the customer leaves the vicinity.
Devastatingly, Historia notes his presence and beckons him.
“Eren!” she calls out, “This customer is wondering what aisle the organic raw cacao is in, do you know?”
“Uh… Aisle four,” he blurts out. Fuck if he knows. It’s probably not aisle four but they’ll figure that out.
The customer thanks him and pushes their cart and child away. Eren shrugs at Historia, who’s looking at him with a corner of her mouth crooking upward. She’s more mischievous than people give her credit for, which Eren can appreciate.
“It’s not in aisle four, is it?” she notes.
“Doubt it. Can I have one?” he reaches toward the tray of cookies, which Historia pulls away. Eren makes a disgruntled noise.
She puts the tray down, takes off one cookie then snaps it in half.
“You can have half. Bring the other half to Sasha, I promised her a treat today,” she passes him both halves and Eren munches on the brown butter chocolatey goodness, putting the other half in his apron pocket.
“Aye aye, captain,” he assents with his mouth full, saluting with one hand and wiping crumbs from his mouth with the other.
“Also,” she smirks, “you should stop by the pharmacy for eye drops.”
Eren waves her off, makes an unenthusiastic grunt, and takes his exit. He would not be stopping by the pharmacy: the pharmacist, Hange, always seems to offer him a flu shot, and he’s not convinced it’s ever actually a flu shot.
He slouches through the grocery aisles, careful to avoid the more populated ones and especially the fourth aisle, taking the least visible route to the kitchen and deli where Sasha is. It’s always a risk to slack off in this area. The meat and seafood department is beside the kitchen, and the short, black-haired manager of the department and second manager of the entire store—Levi—is fucking insane. Eren thinks the knife-wielding man might be onto Eren’s habit of bumming around the store.
Creeping around the frozen section, Eren peeks around a freezer, and sees Levi’s back. He’s filling the seafood case with freshly, neatly, sliced salmon. Perfectly deboned, no mistaken knicks in the dead fish. Eren gulps and takes his chance, sprints toward the kitchen and ducks through the employee-only entrance and bursts past the swinging doors to the back of the kitchen.
Sasha yelps at the intrusion. She’s standing in front of a pile of dishes at the industrial sink, wide-eyed and frozen with a half-eaten chicken strip in her hand.
“Hey,” Eren pants out, leaning over with his hands on his knees.
Sasha exhales and finishes chewing her chicken strip, shoves the other half in her mouth and chews while she speaks. “Jesus Christ, Eren, I thought you were Levi, or Mike, or… Erwin!” she exclaims through the mouthful, swallowing quickly. “They’re around here, y’know?”
She grabs onto Eren’s shoulders, eyes darting around the enclosed space.
“And,” she whispers, panic seeping through her voice, “they’re onto me. Mike said I smelled like breaded chicken and salami yesterday. I’m so fucked!”
“Huh? You always smell like that. Ask Connie.”
Sasha steps back and sniffs her shoulder. Looks confused by the scent. Frowns a little then grabs another chicken strip. Having caught his breath, Eren remembers the reason he ventured over and takes the half-cookie out of his pocket.
“I’ll trade you this for that chicken strip,” he proposes. Sasha squints at him and tightens her grip on the chicken. Eren squints right back. “It’s from Historia. I’ll eat it in front of you right now if you don’t trade with me.”
Sasha’s eyes light up at the knowledge it’s one of Historia’s cookies—everyone knows her cookies are the best—and she seizes the baked good in an instant, shoving the chicken strip into Eren’s chest. They snack in silence together until Sasha starts shoving Eren out of the kitchen’s backroom.
“Now, get out before someone gets us in trouble—go, skedaddle!” she hisses at him. Eren whines, swatting her hands away.
“C’mon, I just got here,” he complains, trying to stay behind a corner. “At least tell me if there’s a manager around who’s gonna shit if they see me.”
Sasha scouts the area. Eren has never been more grateful that Sasha grew up hunting with her dad.
“No managers in sight. Go bother Mikasa, I’ve got hams and cheeses to slice,” Sasha ushers him out and ditches him in the direction of the coffee station, where Eren can see Mikasa tamping espresso for some long-faced fuck leaning over the barista counter.
Eren makes his way toward the coffee station, grimacing the whole while. The dumb smile on Jean’s stupid face falls when he sees Eren walking up.
“Oh, great, wouldy’a look at who’s finally made an appearance despite being here for the past, what? Six hours?” Jean greets.
“What about it, fuckface?” Eren shoots back.
“Y’know I just walked down the suspiciously empty cereal aisle—I wonder who was supposed to stock that today?” Jean pretends to think about it. “Oh! I know! You!”
“Get off my fucking back, dude, it’s just cereal, who gives a shit?” Eren groans.
“I give a shit—how am I supposed to get that stupid assistant night manager role when the people I share shifts with make the store look like nothing’s been done?” Jean gripes, inching toward Eren. “I know you already had your break, too, so what the hell are you doing over here?”
“Maybe I just want a coffee, dumbass,” Eren spits out, leaning toward the taller man.
“Caramel macchiato with extra caramel drizzle and whip for Jean,” Mikasa announces flatly, startling the two away from each other. Jean glares at Eren and takes his drink, leaning back on the counter.
“Caramel shitiato with extra shit,” Eren mumbles under his breath.
Mikasa is discarding the used espresso grounds when she speaks up.
“There’s only a couple hours until close, just do the cereal,” she says. “The managers are all over the place today for Erwin’s announcement tonight.”
Eren makes a noise somewhere between a grunt, wail, and exhale.
“Fine,” he yields. Eren’s got one last trick up his sleeve and he’s willing to do anything to slack off for the last couple hours of his shift, so he puts his elbows on the counter and puts his face in his hands, makes his best impression of a kicked puppy and wills his eyes to water a little bit when he looks at Jean through his eyelashes.
“Jean…” he pules the name in the sweetest voice he can gamble, “I’m sorry for calling you fuckface—but, like, you know how bad I am with the cereals… It’s like, I just get so confused about the name-brands, and off-brands, because they look so similar, and, like, the organic stuff has a whole different section and I don’t know which ones are organic—”
“No,” Jean cuts Eren off. “Nuh-uh, that shit doesn’t work on me, Jaeger. Go stock the fucking cereals.”
Eren drops the act, replaces it with a sneering sigh. He looks to Mikasa with some sliver of hope that she might back him up, but she’s already turned away, wiping her work counter down. Makes sense. That act stopped working on her years ago.
He pushes off the counter and sulks away, departs with his middle finger raised at Jean who responds with the exact same gesture.
Fine. Fine. Eren can stock the stupid cereal shelves. He’ll do a shit job at it, blame someone else if anyone comments on the poor quality, and then be on his merry way home in Floch’s piece of shit car, high on Floch’s stale-ass weed, then he can drink cheap beer and play Overwatch until 2:00 a.m., and repeat the day tomorrow.
By the time he reaches the back of the store, he can feel his high fading. So he hides in a bathroom stall and hits the nasty coil-end of his pen—gagging through each drag, fuck, maybe he can convince Floch to stop by a dispensary on their way home—takes a piss and makes his way to delivery dock where several boxes filled with even more boxes of cereal wait for him.
The task is mind-numbing enough that he’s able to float through most of the remaining time of his shift. And he’s evidently irritated enough that customers don’t approach him with questions. He gets through a third of the boxes when the chime signalling that the store is closing sounds over the speaker system, and Erwin’s voice comes through, delegating all employees to the front of the store near the checkout.
Eren deserts the outstanding boxes in the back, hits the pen a couple more times, hacks, and finds that most employees have already gathered at the front by the time he makes his way up. Erwin nods solemnly when he sees Eren walking up to stand beside Armin and Mikasa.
“That should be all of us now in attendance,” Erwin announces in his booming voice. “Dedication to finishing the job is exemplified by Eren’s belated arrival, signalling a dutiful commitment to the completion of your tasks as the individuals within a collective who uphold and maintain our Paradis Grocer.”
Eren coughs. Yeah, sure, dedication. Eren can see one of Jean’s eyes is twitching; he looks like he’s about to bust an artery or a nut.
“That dedication, duty, commitment to the collective,” Erwin continues, “is what I have called you all here for tonight. As we all know, Freedom Day is quickly approaching”—Eren actually forgot about that—“and it is of utmost importance that Paradis Grocer stands out as a reliable provider to the people during the public holidays.”
This is why Erwin runs the place. He’s managed to get Eren feeling patriotic for a damn grocery store.
“Freedom Day is one of Paradis Grocer’s busiest times of the year as a holiday that celebrates our right to life and nutrition, and it is the nourishment we provide that sustains life. The day is upheld by feasts; communal, familial gatherings; and the bonds that are strengthened, or come to being, proven unshakable over meals with neighbours, relatives, friends, and acquaintances. That is why I am asking you all to take pride in your position as provider to the people, and consider my request to support Paradis Grocer through this upcoming holiday. I will be approving additional hours and double shifts to everyone who wishes to assist our mission as the institution that bestows the people their ability to celebrate with feast. I implore you all to consider supporting your comrades, your people, your community over the next three days, as we make preparations for and strive through this holiday. Thank you for gracious consideration.”
He’s good. There are some stray claps.
“Moving rhetoric,” Levi says to Erwin as he steps forward, then turns his attention to the employees. “There will also be time and a half pay for your regular hours and whatever additional hours you pick up over the next three days.”
Eren can admit that Erwin’s words were moving enough, but it’s really the dollar signs he imagines hitting his bank account that make the more convincing argument. He might be too stoned to do the mental math of three doubles at time and a half pay, but he’s sober enough to remember the disappointing number he calculated earlier in the day.
Carts are expensive and Eren’s been huffing the fumes of one all day, so it’s with the promise of an excess of pristine cannabis oil coating his lungs that he raises his hand with an inquiry.
“Where do I sign up?”
“Ever the go-getter,” Erwin praises. He puts a hand on Eren’s shoulder and speaks up. “We’ll be providing overrides to the employee portal that will allow employees to log hours beyond their set schedule. All are invited to make use of this. Managers will be on the floor from pre-opening hours until end of day. Please reach out with any questions. Otherwise, dismissed.”
As Erwin is swarmed by employees with burning questions, Eren swings toward Armin and grips both of the blonde’s shoulders.
“Arlert, how much money is that?” Eren asks, but Armin is already carrying the one in his head, eyes shining.
“Enough for me to finally get a Switch 2 and some games,” Armin declares with a grin. Yes. Yes. Fuck yes. Eren is shaking Armin, both giddy at their incoming paychecks. He turns to Mikasa, who’s watching the two and looking like she’s trying to subdue a smile.
“You in?” he questions.
“If you’re both in, sure,” she answers. “I can make sure neither of you burn down the building.” Eren’s quite sure she’s pointing an imaginary finger toward himself rather than Armin, but he doesn’t have a reason to fight when he’s this elated.
Eren is still shaking Armin when he hears a cough and the jingling of car keys.
Oh, yeah. Floch exists.
Eren releases Armin, wobbling and rubbing his shoulders, and moves toward Floch.
“Forster. Floch,” Eren swings an arm around the redhead, leans his head down real close to make eye contact with Floch and smiles sweet as fucking honey. “You’re still offerin’ to drive me home?”
“I already said I would,” Floch snaps, shoving Eren away. But Eren can still see the evidence of pink cheeks under the fluorescent lights. Bingo.
“Aw, Flochie,” Eren tries to make it sound endearing. It comes out sounding more condescending than he means for it to. “C’mon, let’s celebrate a little before that fat paycheck hits… You are planning on working the extra hours with me, right? We can carpool. Let’s go to a dispo for a treat.” He reaches for Floch’s sleeve and holds it.
Floch looks at Eren’s grip on his sleeve. Looks at Eren. Twitches his head towards the parking lot.
“Let’s go before I decide to leave you on the side of the road,” Floch assents, ripping his arm away and heading to the store’s exit.
Eren turns grinning toward Mikasa and Armin, witnesses to the interaction. Sometimes he’s sorry they have to see others fall victim to the behavior they’ve long since become immune to, evident in the slightly disdainful expressions. They’ll live.
Eren catches up to Floch in the parking lot, enters the passenger seat and pulls his official Paradis Grocer apron off. He leans around to toss the apron into the backseat, eyeing the dingy sweater Floch keeps over his stash on the floor. Shoving the sweater to the side and grabbing the bong and grinder, Eren turns back to the front with the items to see Floch’s contempt wrinkling through his face.
“You said I could light up in here,” Eren states, raising his eyebrows in innocence. Floch is clenching his jaw.
“I thought you’d have your own shit, Jaeger,” Floch countered. “I don’t even have any water in here.”
Eren tilts his head back against the headrest. Foiled. Sure, he has a little aluminum tin with a pre-roll shoved in his pocket, but if he could find a way to smoke someone else’s weed, the day might just end on a perfect note. He purses his lips in deep thought.
“Well,” Eren starts, “we’re going to a dispo anyway. Just stop by a gas station, too.”
Floch is giving him a dirty look, so Eren leans toward him, blinks slowly, pouts.
“Am I being too much?” Eren asks in a low voice. Looks away before looking back, pulls his eyebrows together and slouches to make himself look smaller in the seat. Glances up at Floch from behind his eyelashes. If his parents had given him anything he’d ever been grateful for, it was those long, dark lashes.
“I just thought we could… I don’t know. Hang out a bit? Thought it’d be nice,” he looks out the window to emphasize the self-consciousness in his quiet tone. “You don’t have to or anything. I could just go home, I guess. You don’t even have to drive me, I’ll figure it out. Sorry if I’m annoying you.”
Floch puts his car in drive. Eren grins.