Jean Kirschtein - Blog Posts

I LOVE REIJEAN

I drew this for too long… but I'm glad I finally finished it! reference

by the way, while I was drawing this I thought about the AU It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia and Attack on Titan. Even though Reiner is in Charlie's place here, I would say he is Mac, Jean is Dennis, and Charlie is Connie. Dee could be Sasha. I thought about Frank for a long time… I decided that Hange would be suitable for this role, but I'm not sure.

Sh*t Jean Kirschtein says — Happy birthday, Jean! (07.04) (part 2) (part 1 here)

hi valmendy! i love your art! have you ever thought of drawing marlowe? 🥺

Marlo +annie and jean

What if we kissed 😳 in the middle of a war 😳🔥

In which Marco never died because I said so

In which Marco surprises Jean with a small kiss when they’re being goofy and jean thinks about it for the whole week

Chapter 4: Yes or yes

||I said I’d make a new chapter, so here it is! This one may end up being on the shorter side since it’s late but I’m experiencing a huge burst of energy haha! Also I really love this song because, vibes 😎 Anyways, enjoy the chapter and look out on Friday! (Also just in time for Valentines Day)||

[Restaurant. Thursday, 5:00 pm. {name}’s pov]

“What I’m going to say next might sound silly…but…I-“ I got cut off with the sound of Levi saying “We’re going to leave as soon as I pay for the meal. We need to prepare for the concert and get ready.” We all hummed in response. “I’ll tell you after the concert, alright?”. Jean responded with a nod and we left after Levi paid.

The car ride to the hotel was silent, other than the radio that played a song. The song “Yes or yes” by Twice played. I smiled and sang along, and I got surprised looks from everyone but Armin. I continued to sing along, a smile on my face. Once the song ended, I was greeted by the surprise from the members of the group. “I didn’t know you could sing so well!” Jean said, acting like a child in a candy store.

“Thanks” I said with a smile. “I told you she could sing well” Armin said in a teasing voice. “You should sing with us some day. As a guest” Eren suggested. “I…I’m not sure I can sing THAT well, but I’ll consider it” I said with a shrug. “It doesn’t hurt to try!” Connie said, with an encouraging smile. “Like I said, I’ll consider it” I said in a teasing voice as we entered the parking lot for the hotel.

[The concert. Thursday, 10:00 pm, Jeans pov]

Crowds singing. Dance. Sing. Lights, flashing. Sound. Lots of sound. Why? Why must I feel so warm inside?? I mean, dancing causes that, but…it’s a different kind of warmth. One that I haven’t felt in an long time…

While dancing and singing on the stage, I couldn’t help but feel nervous, despite me looking all happy (and serious when called for) on stage. I mean, it’s normal to feel nervous around your crush? Right? Or is it perhaps more than a crush? Perhaps, it’s this feeling of love I’m feeling…

I took a quick glance to where {name} was and I saw her smiling, looking super happy, the lanyard around her neck following her movements, entranced by the way a snake would be by a snake-charmer. Seeing her all happy motivated me to continue to dance, despite me being on the brink of collapse. Do it for her, make her proud. You can collapse later, just not right now…mows definitely not a good time.

Once the concert ended, we were greeted by a happy {name}, saying loads of praises on how good we were singing, her favorite parts, and a “You are all so talented and amazing! I loved the part when-“ while she continued to spout praises and her excitement on being backstage, I fell a bit more deeper for her. Once we were in the green room, {name}, Connie, and Eren were trying to convince her to sing onstage (with Levi listening and commenting once in a while), while I was talking to Armin.

“I see you have feeling for someone” he teased. “Is it that obvious?” I asked, my voice low. “Nope, I can just happen to read people that well. You might have what people call Aitai ga jou, mitai ga yamai.” “Eh?! No I don’t” I said, crossing my arms. “Yeah, sure. Uso o tsuite iru koto ga wakarimasu” He said with a smile and he gently nudged my arm. I sighed, “Īdeshou, tabun”

[Hotel balcony. Thursday, 11:00 pm, {name}’s pov]

I stood on the balcony, watching the sky above glitter with stars, sparkling and shining like tiny flashlights, the moon giving off a soft glow, contrast to the darkness night brought. I heard the sliding glass door open and close. “Hello there Jean.” I said with a smile. Jean responded with a hello. I looked up at the sky…I’m going to do it, tonight is the perfect night! You got this…

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked before I looked at Jean, smiling softly.

“I can die happy” He responded smiling back. “How did you know?” I asked, smiling with a blush on my face. “Armin told me in case” he said with a small laugh. Our faces grew a few inches closer, the wind bringing in a whisper, a conscience asking, is this right? Is this wrong? But in the moment…it felt so right… I closed my eyes and our lips touched, at first slightly awkward, then it slowly bloomed into something I didn’t want end.

|| Translation (rough, may not be entirely correct but it’s close enough 😅):

“Aitai ga jou, mitai ga yamai.” - love sickness

“Uso o tsuite iru koto ga wakarimasu” - I can tell you’re lying (basically)

“Ideshou tabun” - Okay, maybe

Also! The phrase “The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” Which is a Japanese phrase (“tsuki ga kirei desu ne?”) where one confesses their love to. Well, if you want to be cheesy, that is. The least unrealistic response (the one I decided to use) is “I can die happy” or “shindemo iiwa”

The most realistic response (which I’m deciding to include here) is “Sōda ne 〜. Tokorode daiji daijina hanashi hanashi ga aru tte gen ittenakatta? Nani nani?” Which roughly means, “Yep. Isn’t there something important you would want to tell me?”

The responses on the internet can be rather false and incorrect 😅

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this “mini chapter” and have a great Valentine’s Day ❤️

-Lucky 🐾

|| Taglist: @1-800-asuka

Chapter 2: Maria

|| Hello and welcome to a new chapter! This chapter and from now on may have some cursing (I’m sure y’all can handle, but I understand if not ^^ ) also there may be a smut chapter depending on if I feel comfortable 😅 ALSO I will add warnings beforehand and I’ll try not to add important dialogue in there so those who skip won’t miss important stuff! I have never written smut before so we’ll see! Another really fast note, this fanfic will have she/her pronouns, but feel free to change them according to what suits you best! Enough of my rambling, lets resume our story!||

[Hotel, Wednesday, Jeans pov]

I was hanging out with Eren, Armin, and Connie in the dimly lit living room, playing a game of UNO. Yesterday, we got notified of the winner being someone named {name}. They sound like an nice person. I hope they’re nice. “UNO!” Connie shouts, snapping me out of my thoughts. Damn it. He won again. His second round of winning. Little bitch. “Another round?” Asked Armin, not willing to give up just yet. When it comes to games like these, he’s not one to accept losing so easily. Neither am I.

We agree to Armins suggestion. Levi has been watching us play UNO for the past…half hour? Well, it felt like that. It probably was longer than I thought. “You’re on” Connie and I say in unison with a few laughs before we heard a few knocks coming from the tree-bark-brown door. Everyone fell silent. That must be them.

[Hotel, 2:00 pm, {name}’s pov]

I knocked on the door. Room 2456. I hope this is the right one. I hear the door open, which revealed Levi. “Oh. You must be {name} right?” The man asked. I responded with a nod. “Yeah, that’s me” I responded more awkwardly than I had hoped. “Come inside then. You can put your stuff in the closet”. He stated before heading to a light brown sofa. I did as he instructed before deciding to say hello to the others.

“Good afternoon” I said with a smile. “Hello” everyone responded. I had no idea why, but I couldn’t help but look at Jean. Oh god, since when was he so hot? I blinked before deciding to sit in between Armin and Jean. “playing Uno?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood. “Uh, yeah! Would you like to join? You got just in time! We just finished a round” Connie responded with a smile. “I would love to!” I said with a smile back.

[2 hours later]

I ended up beating them in 3 rounds before Levi said it was time to eat dinner so we can get ready to sleep. I decided to enter the balcony to enjoy the sunset, closing the sliding door behind me. The sky turned into a beautiful cotton candy pink, the birds chirping and soaring through the sky. I had always loved watching the sun set. Especially watching the cars below and the people walking on the busy sidewalk.

I heard the door open and close. “Just checking on you. You okay?” Asked a voice that I knew so well. “I’m doing alright, Mr. Kirstein” I said with a small laugh. “How did you know it’s me?” Asked Jean, who was pretty shocked. “Your voice is one I can recognize” I responded, looking at him with a smile. I watched him smile back, the sunset making him practically glow. Quite literally. The uncontrollable urge to fall just a bit more in love with that man intensified. “I was watching the sunset. I did that a lot back home. Would you like to join?” I asked. “Sure! I would love to”

[Wednesday, Balcony, Hotel, precisely sunset. Jean’s pov]

The girl who entered the door. They were pretty. She also looked familiar. Did she sit at the front row during the concert? I’m pretty sure she did. I think I’m right, she probably did!

“We’re you at the concert yesterday?” I asked them after a brief moment of the two of us, gazing at the sunset, being partially blocked by the buildings across from us. She looked at me and nodded. “Yeah, I was there. Why?” She asked, Her head slightly tilted to the left. “We’ll, I-“ the rest of my sentence got cut off by an airplane that was passing overhead, it’s engines making a low growling sound as it soared.

After a few seconds I opened my mouth to say something, then I closed it muttering a “Nevermind” before looking at the now, faded sunset, it’s color slowing inching towards a black. “You can say it” She responded after a few moments. “Don’t worry, I won’t judge” she said with a reassuring smile. “I was just wondering” I said with a shrug. “I was thinking that you looked familiar and I guessed it was from a concert.” I glanced at her and looked at the remnants of what once was a beautiful sunset.

“I’m heading back inside” the female called out with a small smile. “It was nice talking to you Mr. Kirstein” she said, happiness and relaxation radiating from her. One can’t help but feel a sense of calm, when talking to her. “Please, call me Jean. We’re friends now, right?” I asked with a smile. Maybe we can become more than that. I’m ready whoever you are. I wanted to say that, but it’s too early. Maybe she won’t return my feelings. Worst

case scenario is I get rejected. It will hurt, but maybe I’ll get over it.

Falling in love with someone you just met that day. How pathetic. “Alright Jean. I’m heading inside. Is there a place for me to sleep?” She asked, holding the handle of the glass sliding door, frozen in place. “No, we don’t have a spare room. Would you like me to book one for you? I would be happy to-“ I got cut off with a “I can sleep on the sofa. I don’t mind, really, I don’t.” I looked at her like I thought she was crazy. “No, I can’t do that to our guest, especially after a long day. Uh, do you have any ideas?” I asked, trying to think of one.

[Wednesday, balcony, night time, 9:00 pm, {name}’s pov]

“I have one. I don’t know if you’d be comfortable with it though….” I said, feeling embarrassed by the thought. “Er, promise not to laugh, okay?” She asked, looking like she has seen a ghost. “I won’t, don’t worry.” Jean said before flashing a reassuring smile. “Icould sleepwithyouifyou’dlike” I said, before feeling the temperature grow 5x more warmer than the before, changing from partially chilly to hot as an oven. “I mean…if you’re not okay with that, then I completely-“ I got cut off with a small laugh. “No need to get worked up kid, it’s perfectly fine by me” Jean said with a smile.

I felt the breeze brush me, which resulted in my shivering a little. “Let’s head inside, if you want. It’s nice and all but…it’s kind of cold, not gonna lie” Jean nodded in agreement and we went inside the building, shutting the sliding door with a small thump. “Are you still cold? The heater in this room hasn’t been working for a while. You can borrow a jacket if you’d like” the man offered. “Sure. I…thank you” I said with a warm smile. This must be a dream

As I got ready for bed, Jean was ready, sitting on the queen sized bed. When I exited the bathroom, I was greeted by him, reading a book. The Great Gatsby. I remember reading that book junior year of high school. “Interesting book you got there good sir” I say with a teasing tone, which made him jump “Ah, I didn’t expect you to be done so quickly! Damn. Well, I guess we can call it a night. How does that sound?” He asked, before setting the slightly faded book on the bedside table. “Sounds good Jean.” I entered the bed and was greeted by a nice warmth, like sitting in front of a fire on a cold, winters day. I turned off the lampshade and laid down. “Goodnight Jean. See you tomorrow” I said while pulling the blanket over myself. “Goodnight {name}. Rest well” the man responded. Before I knew it, I was out like a light.

|| Thank you so much for reading this chapter of Red Lights! I hope ya’ll enjoyed this chapter! I apologize for this being out a tad bit late! I fell asleep yesterday after staying up studying 😅 Anyways, I hope y’all have a great day/night! - Lucky 🐾 ||

Taglist: @1-800-asuka

Chapter 1: From home

|| Welcome to Chapter 1! I made a collage to make things more interesting! I hope you like it! Also feel free to reblog as you’d like! It will be greatly appreciated 😌! Now, without a further ado, lets let continue the story! ||

[Monday, hotel room, noon, 5 hours till performance. Jean’s pov]

The day of performances is always the most nerve-wracking day. Yes, preforming is fun, but the fear of messing up in front of thousands can make one really nervous. I glance from my phone and watch Armin frantically going over the song list for the umpteenth time. “Hey, Armin. No need to stress yourself out okay? You’re shaking so much that you might cause an earthquake” I remark, trying to lighten his mood. Armin looked like he might faint at any moment, I can’t help but feel bad for him.

“I’m not stressed…” he lies and I quirk an eyebrow. “Uh huh. Sure, sure.” I pause before I inhale and ask “ Would you like to go over a few songs before we preform?” I ask. “Aniyo” he murmurs absent-mindedly, staring at the song list….again. “Alright, I’ll ask the others if they’d like to join. I’ll be right back. Geogi seo” I say before I leave.

I ask the others if they’d like to join and they nod in unison. “Alright, we’ll go over the encore and the hardest ones. How does that sound?” I ask. Everyone looked at each other for a brief moment before agreeing to my idea. After about half an hour of singing with the track, Armin seemed less nervous. “We should get ready. Also, try not to look sweaty before we even start” Levi states before we nod and get ready to preform.

[Monday, {name}’s car, venue of the concert, 20 minutes till performance. {name}’s pov]

This venue is super crowded. Damn. Finding parking is such a nightmare, especially at concerts like this. I didn’t think 9inety-9ine would be the same, fairly empty parking lots...man, was I wrong. After a minute, I find a parking spot and exit my car. As I enter the venue, I see a table with a giveaway where the winner gets to join them on their tour. Hmmm should I do it? I pause for a minute before saying Why not and decided to give it a shot! I fill out my information. The winner is announced by e-mail tomorrow at noon. I wonder what happens if I win?

[Monday, Venue, 10 seconds till performance. {Name}’s pov. ]

I find my seat and look around and see a good majority of the venue (myself included) holding a lightstick. I notice the lights fade to black and the stage lights up. I hear the beginning of a song as well as the screams of fangirls and guys alike. I see them on stage and smile widely. Seeing them preform is amazing! If I do win, it would be nice, I think. I continued to watch the performance, lights flashing and changing from one song to the next.

Watching concerts like these is fun! If I do meet them, I would definitely tell them that I appreciate their music and dances.

[Venue. Jean’s pov]

Preforming is loads of fun, getting to dance, sing, and making others happy is the best feeling. Ever since our trainee days, our number one goal was to create music, dances, and share it with people all over the world. Our lifelong dream has come true!

I look at the audience, waving their lightsticks and singing along, and screaming with excitement. Looking back at how much we’ve grown, it makes me smile inside. We worked so hard, and to finally preform and feel proud is the best feeling. I can’t help but think about that one day at the studio. 3 years ago on that Wednesday is a day I’ll never forget

[Flashback: Dance studio, Wednesday, 3 years ago. Jean’s pov]

“I wonder how long it will be until we finally become idols” Connie asks out loud as we take a break from our session of dancing, . “It probably won’t take too long! We’ll be on that stage soon, naneun yagsoghanda” Armin says with a reassuring smile. Connie responds with a nod and a smile “Thanks ‘Min. Maybe your prediction will be right” “Considering how hard we’ve worked, it shouldn’t be too long” Levi states before drinking some water. “I agree” I say, with a smile. “If we do become idols, it would be nice” Eren spoke with a small smile.

[End of flashback. Present day, last song before end of concert. Jean’s pov]

Our concert is finally coming to an end, the energy still sky high. We say a few words of thanks to the audience before starting our last song: From home. For the song, Armin sang in Japanese and Korean , and the rest of us just sang in Korean . Levi was the one who first came up with the idea of the song. A song that we hold dear to our heart. After the song ended, we said our thanks and bowed before heading offstage, the roaring of our fans fading as we walked to our respective green rooms.

[Tuesday, the day after the concert, noon. {name}’s pov]

There is something people call post-concert blues. The feeling you get after a concert ends. Sometimes it lasts for days, BUT weeks, or even months. It’s hard to describe. It’s a sense of something being missing, perhaps it’s loneliness. I soon hear a ding and I turn on my phone. A notification from my email.

I look at the email. My heart skips a beat. No way this could be real.

Dear {name},

Congratulations! You are one of the lucky winners who won the lottery! You get to stay with 9inety-9ine for the rest of their tour! How exiting! All your rooms and transportation are booked for you! All you need to bring is money for food, and that’s about it! The date you get to join them is tomorrow at precisely 2:00 pm! Hope to see you then!

Sincerely,

[company name]

I can’t believe it. Going on tour with them will be so fun! I can’t wait! I smile and start preparing for tomorrow. I overhear a passing of a plane outside my open, window the noise burning out the chirping of the birds. A plane. Maybe we get to travel on a plane too? I would imagine we would. How fun that would be…

||Translations (these are rough translations that I got online lol, they may not be 100% accurat):

Aniyo - Yes (informal)

Geogi seo - stay right there

naneun yagsoghanda - I promise

Note: I hope y’all had a blast reading this! Sorry it took forever for this to come out! 😅 I might post again today or on Friday as scheduled! Keep your eyes peeled!

Until then, take care out there ^^

- Lucky🐾||

***Note 2.0: I would also like to say that there is going to be symbolism in this story {including this one and the previous one} so if y’all detectives can guess right by the end, then I’ll be proud ^^ consider this a challenge hehe

**Taglist: @1-800-asuka

An announcement!!

I wasn’t able to release a chapter yesterday because I got sick :( I’ll try to release one today (or tonight) or tomorrow in the morning :) I’m feeling better now and I hope y’all are looking foreword to the 1st chapter of Red lights! Thank you for your patience:)

-Lucky 🐾

Taglist: @1-800-asuka

イェレナ yelena portrait study (maam pls step on m—)

i also finished ch139 and i have no words. my mind is trying to comprehend everything, it doesn't make sense. the only thing i felt satisfied about was levi's arc. him fulfilling his promise to his old comrades— shinzou wo sasageyo (i cry aah)

when i saw THAT meme i automatically thought of them 🤭❤

jean's only here for moral support, connie is dead inside and sasha is t1r3d (understandable, have a good day!!)

I am very attached to Hugo. I want a Hugo for myself too.

the sunrise after the storm

Mikasa Ackerman. Jean Kirschtein. Post-Rumbling. Train Rides. Lovesickness. Reunions. Sequel to before the storm, after the flood. 16416 words. (ao3.)

Then.

So I Stayed in the Darkness With You.

Like many nights before, Mikasa resides in a restless sleep. The moments where she can keep her eyes shut are merciful, but ultimately she spends most of the night staring up at the ceiling — her body unmoving, her heart heavy like a stone. 

And on this night in particular, the presence of another body in the bed does nothing to quell the anxiousness in her soul.

Every once in a while she will glance aside as if Jean will suddenly disappear if she doesn’t. 

Shrouded in both darkness and blankets, he is evidently experiencing a more peaceful sleep than she is, the bedding draped comfortably over his frame and his hair messily obscuring his face.

A strange sense of guilt comes upon her every time she looks over. The reality is that she only began sleeping in his space because doing so makes her feel less alone, even if she sticks to her side of the bed and he sticks to his. 

For a reason she doesn't even know her heart sinks lower and lower, making her wonder if all her efforts were in vain. A pervasive sense of isolation fills her like a rising tide, reminding her that there may be no point in him being here when his presence barely comforts her.

Mikasa sighs before staring up at the ceiling yet again. She tries to think of the usual things that keep her calm — like her father’s laughter or her mother singing a lullaby on a stormy night, the scent of Auntie Carla’s cooking wafting through the household or the way Uncle Grisha would ruffle her hair whenever he passed her by.

When thoughts of Eren enter her mind, Mikasa can’t help but feel that she’s back to where she started. 

She thinks of what was shared between her and Jean mere hours ago, a friendly late-night chess game turned into a tumultuous conversation by the mere mention of the guy. Even now she remembers sensations more than statements, feelings more than words. She recalls a familiar pain forming in her head as she struggled to hold back back tears, as well as an inescapable emptiness forming in her chest. 

And even now the distress lingers with her. 

But in the midst of her muddled memories, she remembers Jean’s voice — a soothing sound like a warm blanket on a cold night. 

“He loved you, did you know that?” she recalls Jean saying, words that her instincts tell her to repeat like a mantra. 

When it doesn’t work, Mikasa forces her eyes shut and hides her face on her pillow. She tries to think of anything else Jean had said and her mind settles on —

“Mikasa, I could never hate you.” 

The words echo in her mind like a whisper in a cave. Curiously, she opens one eye to spy Jean across the bed — sweet Jean who is here, who is present, and all for the slightest chance that he could bring her peace on such a restless night. She envies the way that he can sleep despite everything. 

As tries to breathe and bring herself back to earth, an idea creeps into her mind. It stays there for a moment, floating aimlessly in a sea of turbulent thoughts. Feeling like she’s at her wits end, she only briefly weighs the ups and downs of the notion before deciding to go forth.

Mikasa closes the space between her and Jean, shifting on the bed until her head is resting on his chest, basking in his warmth like he’s her anchor in a storm. From there on she shuts her eyes and listens to his heartbeat until she falls asleep. 

…

…

…

In the morning she wakes to a quiet room. She’s still entangled with him, her legs entwined with his and her hair spilling across his torso in every direction. His heartbeat continues to soothe her like the world’s sweetest lullaby.

And the warmth between them is still there.  

When Mikasa opens her eyes she wonders if Jean had awoken at any point during the night. As her eyes adjust in the dark room and the faintest hints of sunlight at the edge of the curtains, she can recall something akin to a hand on her head and fingers playing with her hair. The memories aren’t clear enough though, just fuzzy enough to be a dream. 

But instead of dwelling on the thoughts for too long, she reminds herself to move. 

She presses a brief kiss to Jean’s chest — just above his heart — and detangles herself from him. The air is cold against her skin the second she leaves the bed.  

With haste, she leaves the bedroom before he can truly wake. 

…

…

…

Breakfast isn’t as awkward as she expects. 

As per usual she clings to Armin’s side, stirring milk into her tea as he rambles to his heart’s desire. He talks about things that do not pertain to the Peace Talks, recalling passages of the book he read on the ship ride here. As he speaks, the rest of the Ambassadors engage in their usual morning habits.

She hears bits of banter exchanged over pots of hot coffee, bowls of warm oatmeal, and platters of fried sausages. Pieck and Annie had evidently spent the night playing some kind of card game that led to a certain sum of money being lost, whereas Reiner and Connie had spent theirs with a wine bottle snagged from one of the palace’s kitchen. And throughout the discussion of the headache Reiner will be experiencing in their next meeting, Mikasa keeps expecting to hear a familiar voice.

But it never comes. 

Once in a while she’ll glance aside and observe the rest of the table. Jean sits at the furthest end, taking slow sips of his coffee as his friends talk over him. His hair is unbrushed and unkempt, his chin resting in his hand as he tries not to look too exhausted. 

Their eyes never meet when she looks his way, yet she can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking about. She guesses that he didn’t even notice her spending the night asleep on his chest, and even if he did perhaps the details were so hazy that he could deem it all a dream. The instances of his fingers playing in her hair could have easily been reflex, nothing more. 

The ordeal bothers her in a way she can’t explain. She grasps her teacup hard, trying to ignore the heat in her face as the rest of the Ambassadors have a normal breakfast. Suddenly she can’t eat, the toast on her plate remaining untouched as her stomach becomes tied up in knots. 

To distract herself, she tries to focus on either Armin’s voice or the many others being thrown around the dining hall. She half-listens to her beloved friend discussing his book, then half-listens to the other Ambassadors mentioning how Nora Springer and Arielle Kirschtein will be visiting the palace today. And through it all — through every look that makes her clench her hand into a fist underneath the table — she finds that no amount of glancing Jean’s way will quell the unease that plagues her from within. 

…

…

…

Now.

Reunions and Departures.

Jean Kirschtein sits on a bench in the midst of a port town. The sun is shining, the air is crisp, and both the sound of the sea and citizens bustling about fills his ears. 

On the ground is both a rucksack filled with enough clothes for a week-long trip and the companion he couldn’t possibly make the journey without. Hugo naps at his master’s feet while the two wait, opting to pass the time by squeezing in a few more minutes of sleep. 

As per usual Jean keeps his head low, a habit he tends to rely on in public, even there's really nothing to hide from. With the hood of his field jacket over his head he balances a leather-bound sketchbook on his knee, using nothing but his trusty fountain pen to draw the town’s busiest street.

Every few seconds he glances up from the page, briefly taking in the market stands, cobblestones, and three-storey apartment buildings before looking down to ink them with strong, deliberate strokes. Pedestrians rush around him like a river, leaving him with little time to detail the few people he does include in his piece. 

Every few seconds, Jean will observes his creation as he waits for the ink to dry. It’s imperfect, smudged in a few corners and messily composed in others, yet he already anticipates the moment where he can sit down with his other materials and properly colour the piece. As of now he’s still not sure if he should use his trusty old paintbox or the tin of coloured pencils at the bottom of his rucksack.

Jean is just about to check the time on his pocket watch before a familiar voice enters his atmosphere, though not the one that he had been expecting. 

“Jehan?”

His stomach drops, the sound of that particular voice agitating him like a sudden ripple in a stagnant lake. He looks to Hugo, who is no longer napping and now sitting up, his tail happily moving back and forth.

Taking in a wary breath, Jean glances upwards and braces himself to acknowledge a part of his new life he thought he had left behind. 

“Hi, Loena,” Jean greets. 

It had been mere months since he last saw her, but that moment might as well be a lifetime ago. Her fiery hair is longer than when he last saw it, the loose strands now reaching the mid-point of her back. Her impeccably clean purple jacket neatly fits her slender frame and gives her an air of opulence that almost feels out of place so close to the sea.

The expression on her face is more neutral than he expects, almost apologetic — making him wonder how he must look on her end.

Before either of them can speak, the sound of high-pitched happy-squealing enters the space between them. 

Jean glances down to Hugo, who is now very excited to be around Loena again. The occurrence is very predictable, yet Jean can’t stop himself from sighing, exasperated. 

Like most human beings, the sight of the dog causes Loena to smile and kneel down, where she immediately begins petting the canine between the ears. For a dog initially bred for war, Hugo is certainly fond of getting head pets. 

“Hello again, Hugo,” she says softly, gladly giving the dog all the affection he deserves. 

The sight is sweet, too sweet — but it’s not enough to stop Jean from cutting to the chase.

“What are you doing here?” he asks in lieu of a proper greeting. 

“I should ask you the same thing,” Loena replies, looking up to meet his eyes. “Seb said he hasn’t seen you in weeks.” 

Jean lets out the kind of polite chuckle best used to mask discomfort, a staple from his Ambassador days. 

“Yeah, well… I’ve been busy,” he tells her, smiling half-heartedly. 

“More commissions?” Loena guesses. 

“That and… other stuff.”

Jean isn’t sure how much he should tell her, as nothing he could say would make this reunion any less awkward. In an attempt to quash the tense, sickly feeling now brewing inside of him, he inhales and closes his sketchbook a little harder than he usually does. 

“I’m actually waiting for someone, so…” 

“It’s fine, I have to be somewhere, too,” Loena says, unbothered. She stops petting the dog and stands, her hands now clasped in front of her. 

For a moment neither of them speak. With all the things that had changed in his life in the last few weeks alone, Jean can’t think of the right words. Truth be told, it had been a while since someone called him “Jehan” in such a personal way, a name he had nearly forgotten until Loena brought it back to him. 

“Jehan…” Loena begins. There’s something rueful in her emerald eyes as she looks at him. “I just wanted to say that I’m trying to patch things up with my husband, and… Oh. ” 

Jean sees her notice something to his left and looks in the same direction.

The sight of Mikasa standing on the cobblestones does nothing to ease the nervous knot inside of him — in fact, something about her presence intensifies it. She is bundled in Jean’s navy fisherman sweater and black overcoat, garments that are threadbare enough to make him wonder why she asked to borrow them in the first place. Her very sweet face holds a rather intense expression as she eyes Loena.

“Hello,” the redhead greets, seemingly unbothered by the look on Mikasa's face. “Are you a friend of Jehan’s?”

“I am,” the taller woman confirms, nodding. 

As she steps forward she gives Jean a knowing glance, something that makes him suck in a shaky breath and squeeze his hand into a fist. In a way it’s like a collision of worlds, a part of his old life meeting a part of his new one — however, nothing about the seemingly-friendly air between two ladies can stop Jean from wishing he could dive into the ocean and never return. Perhaps he'd be better off living the rest of his days amongst the sea urchins.

“I’m Mikasa,” she introduces, keeping the conversation going. She even manages a smile as she shakes hands with the redhead. “Let me guess… you’re Loena?”

Loena grins back, looking up slightly to meet Mikasa’s eyes. “How did you know?”

“Jea—” Mikasa starts, then stops to correct herself. “Jehan… told me a lot about you. He… he said you had red hair.”

Loena lets out a laugh that sounds as light as air. “That I do.” 

On instinct, Jean reaches over to pet Hugo, something that usually calms him yet his stomach still feels like a bottomless pit. 

“Uh… I wish I could stay and chat, but I really have to get going,” Loena insists, her smile looking increasingly more forced. “Suppose I’ll see you two in town then.” 

“We’re actually leaving,” Mikasa answers a little more quickly than Jean expects. 

When he looks her way he can already tell that she didn’t intend for the words to come out so abruptly.

“On a trip,” Mikasa adds, taking a brief breath to regain herself. “Together.” 

At a loss for words in a way he never thought he would be, Jean nods along and continues to pet Hugo. When he looks back to Loena he can see the revelation slowly settling into her. 

“Oh,” she says, almost sounding disappointed. She looks at Jean, smiling politely once more. “And here I thought you’d be locked up in that cottage forever. I’ll let you two go then.” She glances at Mikasa, “It was nice meeting you.” 

And without another word, Loena turns around and heads into the bustling crowd. In a few steps she slips into the sea of people and seamlessly disappearing like she was never there in the first place. 

Once she’s completely gone, Jean lets the noise of the port town fill his senses once more. He sighs, hunching over and rubbing his tired face. He feels more exhausted than he already was. 

Mikasa doesn’t say a word, prompting Jean to look her way. The friendliness she had shown in Loena’s presence has faded slightly — in its place is a pensive, contemplative look. 

“How was the call?” Jean asks, running a hand through his hair. He slips his sketchbook and fountain pen into his coat pocket, then stands from the bench.

“It was good,” she responds. “Historia will try to visit when she can.” 

Jean kneels to untie Hugo’s leash from the bench, chuckling warily to mask his nerves. “She doesn’t have to.” 

Mikasa hums, unconvinced. “I think she’d really like to see you, Jean.” 

As Jean holds his dog’s leash, he catches sight of the earnesty and warmth now filling his sweetheart’s eyes, something that had been absent barely a minute ago. As awkward as things had been with Loena, something about the way Mikasa looks at him eases the worries in his heart. His smile slowly returns as he steps forward, closing the space between them. He reaches towards her and she leans into his touch, his palm meeting her cheek. 

He brings her towards him, brushing her hair from her face and planting a kiss on her forehead. “We should go,” he whispers before taking her hand. 

After Jean pulls on his rucksack and Mikasa grabs her suitcase from off the ground, the two make the short walk from the bench near the telephone booth to the train station. 

One hand holds Hugo’s leash while the other holds hers, their fingers interlaced with every step. The weight of his bag feels heavy on his back, the straps digging into his shoulders and reminding him that he’s no longer the soldier he once was. The rucksacks he had once carried over mountains were certainly not this weighty.

Mikasa and Jean get to the station with time to spare. In quick succession they step into the building, show their tickets to the right people, and go to the platform. 

As to be expected the place is packed at this time of day. People coming in and out of the port town move around in their own rhythm, reducing the pair to just a few more faces in the crowd. 

Jean can still feel the wind of the ocean on his hair, the atmosphere chilling his skin and truly testing the limits of his old field coat. As he tightens the garment around his torso, he prays that today will not be the day that it fails him.

As they wait on the platform, Jean keeps an eye on Hugo, who seems quite calm despite the chaos surrounding them, a mix of sounds and sights and smells that he rarely ever sees. Even if the trip to Shiganshina is comparatively short, Jean wonders how Hugo will take to trains. He’s always known Hugo to be a mellow dog who could adapt to anything, but he can’t stop himself from worrying. 

“Is Loena always that nice?” Mikasa asks, breaking Jean out of his thoughts. 

He glances aside and meets her gaze, seeing nothing but concern behind her dark, glassy eyes.

“Ninety percent of the time."

Mikasa hums, then takes another moment to think. Her vexation doesn’t fade. 

“Did she really hit you?” she asks after a second of debilitation. “Last time you spoke?” 

The noise of the busy train station fills the space between them. Parts of the memory she had stirred are still fresh while others are faded, fuzzy. Ultimately, he remembers things in fragments, like little pieces of time. 

What Jean remembers the most is the sting in his cheek when Loena slapped it — and second to that, the way she called him a “piece of shit” as the heat of the argument burned like fire and pushed them to the point of no return. 

“I don’t feel like talking about it,” he decides to tell her, ignoring the moments where he hated himself enough to believe he deserved it. Even now, a part of him is convinced that it’s what he should get for attempting to numb the sting of loneliness with the touch of (who turned out to be) a married woman — all while refusing to tell her the truth about himself. 

Before Jean can dwell on the past and wonder if Loena should have hit him harder, Mikasa squeezes his hand. When Jean meets her eyes again, her concern has faded into something warmer, something soft. The worry in his heart begins to lessen — by the time their train actually pulls up to the platform, the feeling is gone completely. 

The locomotive arrives and the passengers board, Mikasa and Jean included. This particular train is not too crowded, allowing the pair to shuffle through the narrow hallway and slip into the first empty compartment they can find. 

Things move quickly from there. Jean shrugs off his rucksack and aging field coat, stowing them on an overhead shelf before sitting down. Upon settling on his side of the compartment, he tugs on Hugo’s leash and taps his thigh, signalling for his dog to join him. To his delight, Hugo obeys the order and hops onto the seat with him, immediately lying down and resting his head on his master’s leg. 

As Mikasa finishes putting her things away, Jean pets Hugo between the ears and observes the world outside the window. The sight reminds him of his Ambassador days — his past life of getting shuffled around like cargo, where he would pass time on his travels by watching the scenery move from behind a pane of glass, or finding a comfortable spot to draw or paint because that was the only thing that kept him sane. 

When Jean looks across the compartment again, he sees Mikasa finally shedding her borrowed overcoat and carelessly placing it on the seat facing his own. A part of him still adores the sight of her wearing his sweater, a garment he thinks looks much better on her than on him. 

When the sound of a train whistle resonates throughout the station, Jean expects Mikasa to sit across from him. But to his surprise, she steps forward and settles in the space between him and the window. He doesn't protest as she lifts his arm and drapes it over her torso, soon resting her head on the spot between his shoulder and neck — right in the crook — and sighing blissfully as she gets comfortable. A smile creeps onto Jean’s face as she closest her eyes.

A final horn sounds throughout the station. Jean plants one more kiss on Mikasa’s forehead as the train below them begins to move. The rest of the journey continues in peace. 

…

…

…

Then.

Permission.

With the Ambassadors currently resigned to their usual slew of meetings, Mikasa is left to her own devices, a fate that she deems both a blessing and a curse. 

On one hand, she believes Pieck’s insistence that each day is as dreadfully boring as the last — but on the other, Mikasa is not entirely pleased to be left alone with her thoughts. 

To distract herself she spends the day with the Crown Princess of Paradis — a notion that goes unquestioned, as little Val never passes up the chance to turn Auntie Mika into her playmate. The Royal Nanny even seems relieved to get some time off. 

The pair spend their morning in the garden as the sun burns the sky a bright blue. They roll in the grass, chase each other amongst the flower beds, and happily use the pair of swings hanging from the center tree to their heart's content. As they move back and forth, Mikasa’s thoughts only briefly recall the time where she and Jean shared a cigarette at this very spot.

As the two move higher and higher, certain memories tug at Mikasa from within — like the heat from the burning stick warming her fingers or the smoke filling her lungs with every inhale. 

And even now, she cannot completely rid her thoughts of him. 

When Princess Val is too busy laughing and playing to look at her Auntie, Mikasa sighs to herself and wonders how one person can be so pathetic. 

…

…

…

The Princess and her Auntie Mika finish their bout of playtime and ultimately end up in a sitting room on the palace’s third storey, a space characterized by carpeted floors, beige walls with ornate trim, and a short table covered with enough teapots and platters of biscuits to feed an army. The atmosphere quiet, tranquil, which might have something to do with the Crown Princess of Paradis being tuckered out from her romp in the garden. 

Mikasa sits on the couch and stirs a sugarcube into her tea, periodically glances to the armchair across the coffee table. She observes the Princess and the Queen, the latter having shed her royal front and to spend a moment being a mother. 

Historia and Val look comical when crammed into the same spot. A sleeping Val tucks her face into the crook of her mother’s neck, safe and sound. Meanwhile, Historia is leaning her head at an angle that cannot possibly be comfortable, yet she has no reason to complain and simply tugs her daughter closer to her. 

As per usual, Mikasa and Historia fall into their usual routine of neither side pressing the other to talk, a habit not derived from disinterest, but rather an attempt to comfort. The silence that follows is almost sacred between them, as sometimes being the other person in the room is enough. Seeing how Mikasa and Historia have maintained some semblance of a friendship over the last few years, it’s fair to say that the tradition — to an extent — has achieved its intended purpose. 

And considering that Historia mothers her child when she’s not in Queen mode, Mikasa completely understands why her old friend might appreciate some peace and quiet every once in a while.

So Mikasa sips her drink, enjoying the subtle notes of this particular blend and only slightly fearing the possibility that she’s turning into Levi.

As the taste of sweetened black tea runs over her tongue, she thinks of what the other Ambassadors must be doing at this time of day. That morning she had heard Armin mention something about strolling through the gardens with Annie, as it had been over a week into their visit and they still had yet to do so. She had even overheard Pieck and Reiner discussing their frequent visits to the library, as they both opt to spend their time between meetings perusing the books in Historia’s collection. 

And of course, Connie and Jean are scheduled to meet with their mothers today, an opportunity granted to them by the Queen herself. 

When Mikasa is halfway through her tea, she hears a noise coming from outside. Wanting to both stretch her legs and give the mother and daughter a moment alone, she stands from the couch and heads to the window facing the palace’s north end. She lays eyes on the property’s main entrance, where sturdy stone gates are slowly being opened. 

As fast as technology is advancing on the Island, it seems that automobiles are taking their sweet time incorporating themselves into Paradisian culture. As a result, Mikasa observes a horse-drawn carriage being driven through the gates and brought towards the palace. 

Before Mikasa gets lost in thoughts of automobiles versus horses, she hears a door open behind her. She turns around just in time to see the Royal Nanny entering the room as quietly as they can. They approach the Queen on the armchair, where Mikasa overhears them whispering about how Princess Maria Valeria Constantina Freida is better off napping in her room. 

Nodding in agreement, Historia kisses her daughter’s temple before gently peeling the little one from her shoulder. She hands Val off to the Nanny, who promptly carries the child towards the door and out of the room. 

The contented look on Historia’s face doesn’t falter, even when her daughter is gone. Mikasa watches her old friend stretch for a second before finally pouring herself some much-needed tea. 

“You really tuckered her out, didn’t you?” Historia asks to fill the silence in the air. 

Mikasa nods as she brings her own cup to her lips. “She had a lot of energy.” 

“I’m not surprised.” Historia lets out the kind of dry, polite chuckle best used in rooms full of foreign dignitaries and politicians. “She barely slept last night.” 

Mikasa hums. “She’s not the only one.” 

Historia eyes her in concern. “Is that so? Is your room alright? I could get you a better one if you want.” 

Mikasa shakes her head, not even bothering to turn and look at her old friend. She glances down, unable to even focus on the window in front of her. 

“It’s not the room, it’s… nevermind.” 

Suddenly tension surges back to her. This time it gathers in her chest, causing her to tighten her grip on her cup yet again. Sucking in a breath, she takes a second to try to ground herself, but before she knows it she hears the sound of Historia standing from the armchair. 

When Mikasa opens her eyes she looks out the window again, where she spots the now-parked carriage in front of the palace’s main door. A pair of people exit the building and step onto the path, walking rather slowly as if to make the journey as long as possible. Upon closer inspection, she sees that one of them is Connie, whereas the other is a woman who shares the shade of his hair. 

Nora Springer seems calm as she holds her son’s hand, savouring every moment of the visit like it’s the last they’ll ever have. When the footman of the carriage opens the door, Mikasa sees the lady turn and hug her son, taking her sweet time to enjoy every bit of his embrace. 

“What’s actually keeping you up?” Historia asks, suddenly bringing her old friend back to their little part of the palace.

Mikasa glances aside, taking note of how the height difference between her and Historia is starting to feel ridiculous  nowadays. She tries to ignore the prodding, mischievous smile on her old friend’s face, something the blond often holds when she feels like prying into things better left untouched. 

Ultimately, Mikasa avoids her friend’s gaze and decides to not dignify the look with a response.

To distract herself, she peers out the window just in time to see the Kirschteins exiting the palace.

From where she is Mikasa can see Jean walking with his hands in his pockets. Even with the usual slump of his shoulders, he still stands a head above his mother, the looseness of his suit making him look lankier than usual. There’s a casualness to him as he moves next to Arielle — but similarly to the Springers, it seems like the Kirschteins are also taking their time walking to the carriage. 

Mikasa lets her eyes settle on Jean again. Although she’s three storeys above him, she can already envision things like the confident smirk on his handsome face, the way he tilts his head downwards to look people in the eye, or the warmth in his touch when she had awoken that morning. 

Once Mikasa catches herself in a certain sea of thoughts, she sighs and continues her sentiments from the garden — how could one person be so pathetic? 

“Hey, don’t take this the wrong way,” Historia begins, breaking Mikasa out of her trance. 

She glances aside to meet her old friend’s eyes, noticing that the initial playfulness had softened into something sweeter, something kinder. 

“It’s fine to hold onto old memories…” Historia explains. “...but it’s also fine to give yourself permission to make new ones.”

A handful of years ago words like that would’ve done nothing to quell the ache in Mikasa’s heart. In fact, barely two weeks ago she had sat atop a familiar hill, looking upon a world without walls and wishing she could see him again. 

But now as she stands in the palace, currently unable to get the memories of waking with her head upon the chest and heartbeat that had lulled her into a peaceful sleep, things feel different. The part of her that doesn't think she'll ever move on feels smaller than usual.

There’s still an ache in her heart, but perhaps it’s a different kind of ache — not the kind born of loss, but of longing. Not longing for what could have been, but longing for what is right in front of her yet she’s too terrified to even think of grasping it. What does it say about her now that she's beginning to feel this way? What does it say about Jean now that she's viewing him in a different light? Had he ever seen her in a similar one?

Her grip on her teacup handle loosens, but just slightly. She gives Historia a nod, who grins back with enough amiability to remind Mikasa that she means well. 

As Historia turns around to return to the couch, Mikasa swears that she sees her friend’s once sweet smile morph into a smirk. She hopes the sigh she lets out isn’t too loud as she looks out the window again. 

As her eyes linger on Jean, she ponders the strangeness of holding the thoughts of another man in the place where she’d usually think of Eren. It doesn’t feel the same — not bad, not wrong, but different, like a new mass in her heart that she doesn’t know what to do with. 

Mikasa looks down just in time to see Jean hugging his mother, Arielle’s face resting comfortably on her son’s shoulder. When they end their embrace, the two exchange a few more words before Jean helps his mother into the carriage. Connie steps out of the way, idly jamming his hands into his pocket as he gives the Kirschteins some space. 

Soon Jean steps back and lets the footman close the door, who then sends a signal to the driver. In quick succession the vehicle is moving across the gravel road, where it eventually disappears through the gates and leaves the palace entirely.

Mikasa finishes her tea as she looks back to Jean and Connie. She had always known them to be close — acting a lot more like brothers than best friends nowadays. Roughly a week ago she was witnessing Connie drunkenly retell a story that made Jean blush like a schoolboy, something that agitated him so much that even through the cloud of wine in her head, Mikasa felt the need to speak up and chastise Connie for all the teasing. 

But now Connie looks even more slumped than Jean. From where she is she can’t see his face, but her instincts tell her that he misses his mother already. 

She sees Jean put an arm around Connie’s shoulder and imagines him smiling as they chat, a clear attempt to reassure his old friend despite the constraining circumstances. Perhaps that’s just another role Jean had adopted in his new life, finding purpose not just as an Ambassador, but as a comforter as well. It certainly explains a lot about the last few nights. 

Putting her teacup on the window sill, Mikasa sees Connie sharply push Jean’s arm off of him and begin towards the palace. Jean laughs it off as he follows his friend to the door.

Her eyes remain on him as he walks, the slight bend in his posture having disappeared for now. In its place is a strange kind of confidence and swagger, which she wouldn’t have expected considering everything. 

As Mikasa watches Jean go, he pauses in his step and takes a good look at the palace, the place he’s called “home” for a little over a week. Knowing that it’s his first time here in years, she doesn’t blame him for wanting to take it all in. 

Then quite abruptly, Jean glances upon the window that just so happens to be of the third floor sitting room. When he focuses on the person behind the glass, panic rushes through Mikasa like a storm. 

For a second she goes still, paralyzed with no goddamn idea on what to do, then turns away just before a blush creeps onto her face. 

…

…

…

Now.

A City Without Walls.

Once the train arrives, Jean waits until the car has gone completely still before hopping off. As he steps onto the platform he notices how the scent of the sea has vanished from the air, something he had grown so accustomed to over the last few years now completely gone. In the place of salt is the smell of ash and smoke coming off the locomotives pulling in and out of the station.

“Come on, Hugo!” Jean calls above the noise. With a leash in hand, he looks back to the train and whistles for his faithful companion to come out. 

Hugo’s tail is wagging as he steps off the car. He has a curious look in his eyes as he takes in his surroundings, staring at every part of the station like it’s the most incredible thing he’s seen in his curiously short life. His little head darts left and right, like everyone walking by could be a new best friend. 

Jean keeps a firm hold on the leash in an attempt to keep the majestic beast at bay. He sees things like wealthy men in finely-tailored suits walking with their heads held high, a family of five shuffling by and trying to keep their children in check, and a conductor on the other side of the platform whistling and gesturing for everyone to keep moving. 

As he adjusts the way his rucksack hangs from his back, Jean turns just in time to see Mikasa stepping off the train, her suitcase still in hand. She seems a little more energized from her nap, having been lulled to sleep by both his embrace and the gentle hum of the engine. When their eyes meet she smiles contentedly, looking rather pleased for someone who had once told him that travelling stresses her out. 

Returning her look, Jean extends his hand to her and she happily accepts it. With their fingers interlaced once more, the couple and the dog make their way across the busy platform and exit the station.

Shiganshina is a place he rarely visits, yet one filled with memories he can never forget. As he steps onto the unfamiliar streets, seeing a city without walls already strikes an uncanny chord in his heart. 

The place is a lot noisier than he last remembers, with both vehicles and civilians rushing by in their own semse of haste. With technology on the Island changing at a rapid pace, Jean is unsurprised to see automobiles of all kinds moving up and down the roads. So what takes him aback is just how many there are and how loud each vehicle can be, a combination that both disorients him and makes him realize that his quiet life on the coast had left him unaccustomed to things like honking horns and revving engines. 

The telephone poles are a new sight as well, structures of wood that stand along the buildings he used to soar above with his ODM gear. The metal wires travel above the city and far into the horizon, seemingly going on forever. Looking at everything now makes Jean wonder just how on earth Mikasa managed to send a call to Mitras at all. 

Mikasa squeezes his hand as they walk, acting as his guide in an unfamiliar world. 

As they go down the sidewalk, Jean realizes just how long it had been since he walked through a city, not just in Shiganshina. It makes him think of just how deeply he had rooted himself on the coast, embracing a quiet existence defined by long days in his backyard studio, bits of paint clinging to his clothes and  skin, and the sound of the sea seeping through the walls. The port town he frequented was certainly never this hectic. 

Soon the pair arrive at a line of people waiting for taxis, another novelty to Paradis. As they queue up for the next available ride, Hugo sits by his master’s legs, his goofy smile having yet to fade.

Jean scratches Hugo between the ears as they wait, then notices Mikasa spotting something down the street. Before he can even glance in the same direction, he feels her release his hand and hears her set her suitcase down on the pavement.

“Could you wait a minute?” Mikasa asks.

Jean nods and she walks off, briefly breaking from the line and making her way down the street. 

Jean and Hugo hold their place as Mikasa moves forward, soon witnessing her approaching a man selling flowers from a cart on the corner. Being too far to hear them speak, the sound of various vehicles fills his ears as Mikasa points to the bouquet she wants and hands pays the seller in coins.

With a bundle of lilies now in her grasp, Mikasa weaves through civilians and rejoins Jean in line. By the time she's by his side again, the travellers in front of them have already hopped into their taxi and driven off.  

“Find what you need?” Jean asks as he takes her suitcase and steps forward. 

Mikasa nods as she links her arm around his, remaining close to him as they wait. 

In a few moments another taxi arrives and when it does the two move efficiently. Mikasa quickly loads both her and Jean's luggage into the back and Jean helps Hugo into the vehicle. With some gesturing, the canine takes the hint and soon hops into the cab, swiftly arriving onto the middle seat.

Mikasa climbs in through the other side and sits behind the driver. Hugo wastes no time, as once she's settled he curls into a ball and rests his head on her lap, his preferred place to be. Jean climbs into the taxi and gets settled in the space that remains. After he pulls on one of those seatbelt things that are apparently so important, Mikasa acknowledges the driver.

“The tree on the hill, please. South of the city.” 

…

…

…

The Line Between the Numbers.

Jean remembers being here five years ago — a day where the air was warm, the sun shone down on the city, and the threads of his Ambassador suit felt heavy on his shoulders. 

Today the sun still burns bright yet the atmosphere feels cold, something he’s sure isn’t entirely because September is coming to a close. As Jean exits the taxi, he tightens his coat around his torso as he keeps a firm grasp on Hugo’s leash as the beast hops out of the vehicle. He hears Mikasa tell the driver that they’ll only be a few minutes, to which they respond by shrugging and lighting a cigarette. 

The walk from the car to the tree is short, each step feeling weightier than the last. Jean glances towards the city, noting the distance beyond Shiganshina and imagining Trost in the line where the greens of the hills meet the blues of the sky. The sight feels different from when he had been commissioned to paint it years ago, when all he had been sent was a photograph of the view from Eren’s hill with the instructions that he recreate it through watercolours and gouache.

With that in mind, perhaps it’s fitting that they visit the tree together, a place of many endings and beginnings. 

Jean is broken out of his thoughts when Mikasa walks past him, the daisies still in her hand. He knows she comes here often — once every few months if she can help it — and wonders if she always does so alone. 

He follows her with extra haste in his steps, Hugo in tow. By the time he and the dog arrive at the tree, Mikasa is already kneeling down to the gravestone by the roots. She places the bouquet next to the marker, moving with the kind of methodicalness that helps Jean envision the dozens of times she had brought flowers here before.

He doesn’t hesitate to kneel beside her and place his hand on her shoulder.

She hums at his touch and reaches up to place her hand on his, a response that eases the worry in his heart. Taking in a breath, he lays eyes upon a stone he had not seen for half a decade. 

Nothing about the place has changed — except now Jean stands a little bit taller, Mikasa’s hair is a little bit shorter, and perhaps the tree has become a little bit bigger. Jean looks at the marker and reads the words engraved in stone, his eyes being drawn to a few things in particular — the date of Eren’s birth, his death, and the line that connects them both. 

He stares at the symbol between the two numbers — a mere mark etched in stone — and wonders if it’s enough to encapsulate a person’s entire life. He thinks of all the people who also visited this spot knowing who Eren was and those who come to the tree on the hill not knowing a single thing about the guy. 

In a way, he envies anyone who pertains to the latter, as their mild confusion to the grave underneath the tree pales in comparison to the lump forming in Jean’s throat or the sinking sensation in his stomach.

Jean wonders what’s worse — grieving for Eren or grappling with the reality of who he really was in his relatively short life. Every fond memory he has of the guy is tainted by sights of survivors gathering at camps and struggling to keep everyone fed, or the stench of flattened land still recovering from the Rumbling, or the first-hand accounts of the fear in people’s hearts when they first felt the ground shake. Every bit of anger he wants to feel for the guy is compounded by the genuine joy he had felt teasing Eren during their training days.

Eren was the worst, yet parts of him were adored. Eren was Mikasa's first love, yet he treated her in ways that were unacceptable. Eren was humanity's only hope, yet he had brought forth unimaginable pain that the world is still recovering from. Eren was everything, now he's nothing.

A thousand words want to escape Jean at once, yet the lump in his throat only gets bigger.

Jean takes in a breath and squeezes Mikasa’s shoulder. When she turns to him he expects to see her eyes welled with tears, despair taking over once again. But instead, she surprises him by holding herself in a collected, almost steely manner — like the last few years of visits had attuned her to the feeling of standing on Eren’s hill, warts and all, wounds that were once fresh had finally begun to heal. 

“Are you alright?” Mikasa asks, standing up and encouraging Jean to do the same. 

“I'm fine,” Jean insists. He's not and tries to distract himself by putting his hands in his pockets and looking down to his boots. He eyes the grave and sees the line between the numbers again. It’s like the mark is taunting him. 

Before he can think of something smart to say, he feels Mikasa touch his chin. 

Gently, she tilts his head up until their eyes meet again. This time, the way she looks at him is a lot softer. 

“I get that,” she tells him, and in a way that’s all she really needs to say. For once she's the one reading him like a book.

They don’t stay at the grave for long. She’s explained to him how she’s learned to feel less guilty for keeping her visits brief, as once she steps down from the hill she has a whole life left to live, people who will need her to do more than spend all her time underneath a tree. 

Mikasa pets the dog between the ears, then holds Jean’s hand as they walk back to the cab, squeezing his fingers between hers the entire time. 

…

…

…

A Little Fall of Rain.

The lingering smell of cigarette smoke accompanies their drive to the Reiss Orphanage. Jean stares out the window the whole time, watching the scenery move behind the glass like an ebbing tide. Hugo continues to sit comfortably between his master and Mikasa, his head resting comfortably on her lap. 

As the car moves forward Jean notices a handful of clouds now present in the sky, blobs of white slowly migrating towards the sun. His life by the sea had attuned him to the weather in ways that the landlocked folk weren’t — and if there’s anything he had learned at his coastal home, it’s the ability to sense a precursor to rain when he sees it. 

The thought doesn’t completely leave his head as the Reiss Orphanage comes into view, a place that differs from the branch in the interior, as the Shiganshina location had only been built once Wall Maria was reclaimed. The building looks comparatively pristine, standing atop of the hill like the crown on the head of the queen. 

A handful of children play on the grass, kicking footballs over the ground or rolling wooden hoops down the slope. Their joy is short-lived, however, as once the clouds in the sky begin to obscure the sun, an orphanage employee steps out of the building and urges the children to come inside.

Mikasa sits up once the taxi arrives at the main gate.  

“Over here is fine, thank you,” she tells the cabbie before reaching into her pocket. 

She pays the driver and exits the vehicle just as quickly, Jean and the dog following her suit. He stands and stretches, easing the tightness in his shoulders as Hugo scratches his ear with his paw. With the sun now completely covered by the clouds, the wind begins to pick up and now more than ever is Jean certain on how the weather will play out. 

Mikasa gathers their luggage from the trunk and thanks the driver one more time. As the cabbie turns the vehicle and leaves the orphanage’s vicinity, Jean hears Mikasa grunts softly as she hands him his rucksack, which reminds him that he’s not the only Scout now past their prime. 

Instead of taking him to the main building, Mikasa leads Jean off the road and towards the woods. He lets Hugo off his leash, who happily roams about after being tethered all day.

As Jean follows Mikasa beneath the trees, he notices how the ground below his boots looks rather trodden on, then thinks of how often she must make the walk between her home and the orphanage. 

The wind rustles the branches above them, soon followed by the sound of thunder resonating far in the distance, and in mere minutes the sky is now covered by a layer of grey clouds. As he walks Jean grumbles and wish that for once he wasn’t right.

Mikasa stares up at the atmosphere, her eyes wrought with worry, then continues forward in a rush, her suitcase awkwardly rattling in her grasp. 

With no other choice Jean follows, trying his best to keep up with her as the thunder repeats and reverberates through the air. Soon the first droplets descend from the cloudy sky, landing on his face and gathering in his hair. 

And as Jean dashes through the woods amongst a little fall of rain, a smile creeps onto his face and he doesn’t really know why.

“Well, would you look at that?” he laughs, pulling the hood of his field coat above his head. He looks down to Hugo, who is practically frolicking across the damp grass. 

Mikasa pays no attention to his amusement and keeps on running. Soon the amount of trees above the path begins to dissipate and in the distance Jean sees a clearing in the woods. In the middle of it all he finally spots what they’re looking for. 

Mikasa’s cabin is where she said it would be, a wooden structure just off the property of the Reiss Orphanage, her own little corner of the world much like his own.

As much as Jean would love to stop, stare, and admire the place she’s called home for almost a decade, the raindrops against his skin grow thick and heavy.

Mikasa, Jean, and Hugo are practically sprinting by the time they get to the front door. He looks upward at the darkening clouds, smiling like an idiot as his field coat falters in the conditions and easily lets him get soaked to the bone. Mikasa fares similarly, as the fibers of her scarf and borrowed clothes are now saturated with water. 

“All good?” Jean asks as she rummages around her pockets in search of a key.

Mikasa nods hurriedly before unlocking the door and pushing it open.

The two rush into the cabin, then abruptly Jean turns back to take Hugo by the collar and urge him to go inside as well, as now is not the time to sit outside and play in the mud. 

The main space of the cottage is unlit, only illuminated by the light of the overcast sky spilling through the windows. It’s barely been a few minutes yet the droplets might as well be pebbles pelting the roof.

All three of them have brought their fair share of water into the cabin. As Hugo shakes the droplets out of his floor, Jean wipes his forehead and already bemoans the feeling of soaked socks inside of his boots.

Mikasa wastes no time. She places her suitcase down and kicks off her shoes, not even bothering to shrug out of her overcoat as she walks barefoot across her cottage’s main space. She only spends a moment rummaging through the kitchenette drawers before procuring a box of matches. She strikes a stick and lights the lantern sitting on the dinner table, a warming glow now filling the room. 

“You’re prepared,” Jean chuckles, removing his coat and hanging it on a hook near the door. 

“I’m cold,” Mikasa states, blowing out the match. “I’m gonna light a fire.” 

As she shuffles across the space, the beacon of light in hand, Jean takes a moment to get a better look at Mikasa’s home. The living space has all the markings of a quiet, comfortable life. On one end there’s a modest kitchenette, on the other is an unlit fireplace made of slabs of stone, and in the middle of it all is a couch placed against the wall and a coffee table so ornate that Jean swears he’s seen something similar in Historia’s palace. 

The simplicity of it all feels fitting, something that reminds Jean of his own home sans the sound of the sea and the ocean breeze. Even the muffled noise of the storm feels like a familiar song and dance.

Mikasa takes off her wet overcoat and scarf, deposits both on the hook near the door, then continues towards her fireplace. She places dry logs and kindling in the hearth, then promptly strikes another match to light the flames. 

The way she shivers as she works prompts Jean to remove his boots and socks, putting them both aside before he takes off his sweater, one that is thinner and not as cozy as the one he had lent to Mikasa. He ends up in his trousers and undershirt, the driest clothing on him, and even then the hems of his battered work pants are soaked. 

He walks across the space, his smirk still bewitching his face as the chill does little to bother him. He approaches Mikasa, who is kneeling by the hearth and warming her hands in front of the newly-formed fire, and plants his hands on her shoulders, giving her an affectionate squeeze.

“Doing alright there?”

Mikasa makes a noise that sounds awfully close to a laugh. “I can’t feel my fingers.” 

Jean chuckles before kneeling down beside her. “Here…” he says before reaching to her hands, his fingers wrapping around hers. She’s cold and clammy underneath his touch, but he doesn’t care. “Better?

Mikasa holds his hands tighter, savouring every bit of his heat.

“How do you do it?” she asks, dumbfounded.

“Do what?” 

“Stay so warm.” 

His smirk gets a little bit wider. “It’s my superpower.” He turns to her, admiring the way the glow of the fire highlights the darkness of her eyes, the look of mild bewilderment on her pretty face, and her sharp, yet delicate features. 

Mikasa scoffs, yet holds him even harder. 

As much as Jean loves moments like these — moments where Mikasa will cling to him like he’s her lifeforce and a part of him will wish that she would never let go — he’s not sure how long they can stay in their wet clothes. 

“Maybe we should get changed,” he suggests as he gets up.

Mikasa agrees and does the same. Once she’s standing, she pulls Jean’s old fisherman’s sweater off of her torso, even more droplets landing on the floor. Unsurprisingly, her blouse underneath is soaked as well. 

The two proceed to deal with their wet clothes, Mikasa tugging off her dripping socks and Jean heading back to where he hung his coat. In the corner of his eye, Jean spots Hugo already rubbing his damp fur against the carpet, an attempt to dry himself off and get comfortable in the new environment. 

As embarrassed as Jean is to have his dog do such a thing at the home they are guests in, Mikasa doesn’t seem to mind. She even hums in amusement when the dog hops to the couch and settles there like it’s where he belongs. 

The two end up laying their wet clothes on chairs near the flames. Mikasa takes extra care with both her scarf and Jean’s borrowed overcoat, all while Jean swears he can see her praying for the storm to just end already.

When all is said and done Mikasa takes her suitcase to the coffee table by the couch and opens it. She’s displeased to find that quite a few of her clothes have been soaked by the storm as well, scowling and scoffing in a manner reminiscent of Captain Levi. 

Jean’s belongings fare a bit better, as the wettest things in his rucksack are a few items at the top. His sketchbooks and paintbox are miraculously dry, something that makes him sigh in relief. Once he puts his damp clothes aside and wonders just when he'll be able to wear dry socks again, he looks to Mikasa. 

The frown on her face is still present, her eyebrows knitted in vexation as she sorts through her wet belongings. Even that old white nightgown of hers is soaked, causing her to sigh. 

So Jean doesn’t hesitate. He takes a button-front shirt from the bottom of his rucksack, the one he used to wear with his Ambassador suit and kept with him after all these years. With the material being considerably softer and less paint-stained than his other threads, he is unsurprised that Mikasa had taken such a liking to it back at his seaside home. 

“Hey,” he says to get Mikasa’s attention. When she looks up he tosses the garment her way. 

It lands in her grasp with ease, causing a hint of a smile to appear on her face.

“Thanks.” 

Despite becoming used to her company over the last few weeks, having grown accustomed to sharing her space for nearly hours on end, Jean's instincts tell him to look away just as she reaches for the buttons on her damp blouse, ultimately avoiding her gaze as she changes.

Tightening his hand into a fist, Jean heads back to his rucksack and tries to ignore the tension now building in his stomach. It’s such a silly feeling, to be giddy like a nervous schoolboy with Mikasa, of all people. To distract himself, he begins rummaging through the bag in search of any socks that had survived the storm.

He only turns around once he hears her footfalls on the wooden floors. When he looks her way she’s near the fire again, clad in only his shirt as she carefully lays her blouse and skirt near the flames. He doesn’t think the sight of her in his clothing will ever fail to make something inside of him stir. His eyes linger on the sight of her bare legs, to where the hem of the garment goes to the mid-point of her thighs, but only for a moment. 

When the search for dry socks comes up short, he instead grabs a different garment from the depths of his rucksack. The cardigan in his hands is chunky, olive-green, and is fastened with a trio of toggles at the front. He takes the miraculously dry sweater to Mikasa by the fire, unhesitatingly draping it on her shoulders like a blanket. 

She turns to face him, the once dreary expression on her pretty face is now replaced by a smile, the glow of the fire causing her eyes to shimmer. 

And even now — as her damp hair sticks to her face in awkward clumps, as she still reels from the chill of the storm — Jean thinks she might be the most beautiful woman in the world. 

His heart begins to race as he takes her hand again, eagerly squeezing her frigid fingers. He stands in her atmosphere, loving every part of the way she tilts her head upwards to meet his eyes. 

“Feeling better?” he asks — his voice is husky, warm. 

“A little bit,” she answers. Despite how the day ended, she looks elated, satisfied, like today has been everything she wanted and more. “We should warm up.” 

Jean nods. “I’m all for it. What do you suggest?”

She takes a second to think. “I could run a bath.” 

Her forwardness makes Jean smirk and press a kiss to the back of her hand. 

“You really want me outta these clothes, don’t you?” 

Mikasa hums sharply, unamused, yet doesn’t let go of his hand. “Oh, shut up.” 

Perhaps in an attempt to silence his smart mouth, she closes the gap between them — her lips against his, a gesture of affection he never resists. 

Outside of the cottage the rain continues to drum against the rooftop, the wind rustling the trees and causing cold air to seep in the corners of the room, and Jean wouldn’t want things any other way.

…

…

…

Then.

Restless In A Different Way.

Mikasa has dinner in one of the smaller dining halls, where enjoying Historia’s company becomes a good excuse to not see him. The wine and hunter’s stew fills her with the kind of warmth that’s meant to be comforting, but it only goes so far in halting her persistent thoughts. Ultimately, she spends most of the meal wondering what he may be up to right now. In her mind she sees him eating with the other Ambassadors or sneaking out for a smoke, perhaps joking around with Connie or pouring some wine for Armin, images that play with every bite and sip.  

When the meal is over and the old friends part ways for the night, Mikasa walks through a hallway accompanied by silence. 

When she finds and enters her room, she shuts the door and immediately kicks off her boots. After undoing her ponytail, she sheds her day clothes and promptly slips into her usual white nightgown. She runs a hand through her hair as she heads to the connected bathroom. As she washes her face with cold water, she avoids the gaze of the woman in the reflection. 

After drying off, she takes the boar-bristle brush Historia had gifted her several birthdays ago and runs it through her hair. Each stroke is slow, steady, deliberate — just another part of her routine that brings her peace. 

And yet the anxious knot in her stomach still refuses to disappear. 

Holding the brush with a firm grasp, she takes a breath and wills herself to look at her reflection. The first thing she sees are her dark, sleepless eyes, and the first thing that comes to mind are Historia’s words. 

“It’s fine to hold onto old memories, but it’s also fine to give yourself permission to make new ones.”

Now if only Historia had mentioned where to start…

Looking at herself now — at the underslept freak in the mirror — Mikasa can’t help but wonder what Jean even sees in her. 

Amongst her muddled memories only a few moments stand out — a sorrowful look in his eyes at a late-night meeting, an insistence that there were many reasons why she shouldn’t inherit Eren’s Titan, and a young, blushing, twelve-year-old horse-faced boy stammering something about her hair looking pretty. 

Even in hindsight, Mikasa can’t remember why she had only thanked him before walking away. In fact, she can’t remember a lot of things about that time in her life.

After reminding herself to breathe for what feels like the thousandth time that night, she leaves the bathroom and tries to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. 

Like a moth to a flame, she falls into her and Jean’s routine, to the comfort and peace she had found in his atmosphere. Crossing the bedroom in haste, she finds the knob and pulls the door open. 

To her mild surprise she sees Jean in the hall, as for whatever reason he is standing in the doorway leading to his room.

And very swiftly does Mikasa discover that he's not alone.

Her grasp on the doorknob tightens as she lays eyes on Pieck Finger, who seems as calm and collected as she always is. The shorter girl's gentle eyes and messy black hair gives her a kind of approachable charm that Mikasa feels bad for envying. 

With her once fluttering stomach now restless in a different way, Mikasa is left with nothing to do but stand in place like a frightened deer and pray that it doesn't show.

Jean looks just about ready for bed, sporting an unbuttoned shirt as well as the bottoms of the sleepwear. Pieck is dressed similarly with a silken robe draped over her frame and a pair of thin, well-worn slippers on her feet. 

“Hey,” Jean greets, his eyes wide in surprise. 

“Hey,” Mikasa repeats back at him, then eyes Pieck. “...am I interrupting something?”

Mikasa sees Pieck glance at Jean, then back at her. In less than a second, the once befuddled look on her sweet face changes into a knowing look, like she can read both Mikasa and Jean like they’re open books. The occurrence does absolutely nothing to quell the restlessness inside of Mikasa’s heart and only serves to make her even more nervous. 

Pieck gives Jean a playful smile, an expression he returns with just the slightest hint of unease. He seems as apprehensive as Mikasa feels, but appears to do a better job at hiding it. 

Fortunately for the both of them, the second-shortest Ambassador manages to find her voice first. 

“Not at all!” Pieck insists as she looks back to Mikasa. “I was just leaving.” 

She slips her hands into the pockets of her robe and takes a few steps down the hallway, then stands at the perfect angle to face the two. Her casual, almost chipper demeanour feels like both a blessing and a curse. If anything, Pieck can clearly tell that something is going on, even if she doesn’t know what. 

“I’m gonna go…” Pieck begins, then takes a second to think. “...bother Armin and Annie. Maybe they won’t kick me out of their room this time. Nightie-night!” 

She turns and begins walking down the hallway, moving behind a corner and swiftly disappearing from sight. 

And suddenly they’re alone again. 

The next few seconds are silent as Mikasa stares at the floor, giving herself a moment before meeting Jean’s gaze again. At this angle he looks different than when she last saw him — his damp hair is tousled messily, the once playful smirk on his face now gone, and even the stubble on his face looks thicker in this light. She very briefly wonders what he’d look like with a full beard — a more rugged, manly look than his Ambassador role would ask of him — then concludes that she would not complain if Jean ever decided to grow out his facial hair. 

“I didn’t know you were close,” Mikasa manages to say, reminding herself to look at his eyes and not his exposed chest.

“We’re just friends,” Jean answers abruptly, almost like he’s correcting her. He puts his hands in the pockets of his bottoms. 

“Close friends?” Mikasa presses, then immediately regrets how quickly she had said it. 

Against all odds, an amused smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Just friends,” he promises.

For a moment, neither of them speak as the grin on Jean’s face slowly disappears. 

“...do you still want to come in?” he asks. He steps back and holds the door open for her with all the grace of a gentleman.

The more he talks, the more she’s able to remember that she has nothing to be nervous about. It’s still Jean and his long, angular face and his warm, caring eyes, and his ashy, dishevelled hair. Even she can’t deny that the familiarity of his mere presence does something to comfort her. 

Although the knot in her stomach doesn’t completely fade, Mikasa finds it in herself to finally let go of the doorknob. She nods as she crosses the hallway, her shoulder brushing his as she enters his bedroom. 

Although she is distracted by the way her heart hammers in her chest, Mikasa swears that she hears the sound of Jean sighing of relief just before he shuts the door. 

…

…

…

Now.

Better Than He Dreamed.

In the midst of the night she’s on all fours — braced against the mattress, her fingers grasping the sheets harder with every thrust. She is illuminated by candlelight, her hair shrouding her face like a curtain. He stands at the edge of the bed, one hand at her waist while the other grabs a handful of her hair, practically tethering her to him as he bucks his hips, each collision of their skin causing a gasp to escape her mouth. 

Outside the storm keeps the world cold, yet the air between them is hot. Their clothes remain discarded and forgotten on the floor, the sound of their meeting flesh resonating throughout the room with a satisfying slap. A bead of sweat falls down his forehead as his fingers dig into her skin, his face contorting in utter delectation with every jut.

And as Jean fucks her on the edge of the bed there is nothing else on his mind except for the pleasure building between them. 

In the faint lighting Mikasa whimpers and heaves, indulging in the feeling of him. She’s wet and aching after every thrust, not even bothering to stifle the noises she makes every time he enters her. Every few juts he strikes his open palm on her backside, a harsh, aggressive motion that never ceases to make her moan and beg for him to do it harder. 

Jean shudders and shakes, waves of delight pulsating through him. He leans forward until his nose brushes against her back, pausing his movements very briefly to press a kiss between her shoulder blades, savouring the taste of her salty skin. One arm snakes around her waist while his free hand palms her breast, running a finger across a pert, firm nipple. Her cries of pleasure return once he starts fucking her again.

He slams his eyes shut, cursing and groaning with every thrust. Mikasa bends until her face meets the sheets, shamelessly biting the fabric in a feeble attempt to silence the noise she makes at the apex of her desire. 

And when she finally meets her end, her screams are barely stifled by the material of her bed. 

Jean kisses her back again, suckling her skin as he eases her through her climax. He continues his motions, persisting in search of his own culmination. 

“Come in my mouth,” Mikasa suddenly tells him, like a suggestion. “Come in my mouth,” she repeats, like a demand. 

And Jean goes along with it — he’ll let her do what she wants to him, no questions asked. 

He doesn’t protest when she shifts forward and pulls away from him. She turns around, spending a second sitting on the edge of her bed as she places a hand on his chest. 

Jean catches his breath as he takes a step back, wiping more sweat off his forehead. He stands tall and stark naked, his cock still erect in anticipation. He watches as she stands, pressing a kiss to his bare torso and trailing her lips downwards until she's on her knees. The sight and feeling of her pecking his hip bone makes his stomach flutter in ways he never expected. 

When she gets to his member she spends a moment running her tongue up and down his length, teasing and testing him in a way that makes him quiver.

A sigh escapes Jean when she finally brings him into her mouth. He closes his eyes and looks upwards, running a hand through his sweaty hair as he revels in the feeling — that of her warm lips around his cock and how she makes sure to moan around him, of the noises that she makes as she takes him and the way she flicks her tongue over his tip. 

When he glances down again he sees his sensitive flesh moving back and forth underneath her pretty lips, a sight so obscene and lascivious yet he can’t look away. 

He breathes in and out, wiping more sweat off his forehead as he feels her fingers pressing into his waist, her nails digging into his skin like he’s made of clay. Soon her hands migrate until they’re at his backside, squeezing as she bobs her head and brings him deeper into her mouth.

And it’s only now when Jean can truly feel himself reaching his end. 

Shamelessly, he reaches down and sweeps her hair from her face, soon placing his hands on the back of her head and bucking his hips. He fucks her face like they’re back on the bed again, like he’s taking her from behind until she’s reduced to a pleased, sweaty heap on the mattress, like he has nothing else to do but thrust his hips flush against hers until the sound of their slapping skin resonates into every corner of the room.

And Mikasa lets him do it, her dark eyes staring up at him with the kind of allure that says she’s enjoying every part of it. With every jut of his hips and every thrust of his cock into her mouth, she grasps his ass harder, practically begging him to keep going. 

He finishes with a grunt, an open-mouthed sound he does even try to stifle. She remains where she is, barely even flinching as he spills every ounce of himself into her mouth. 

Moments pass before Mikasa releases him. By the time she stands he’s absolutely spent. She steps away and he moves forward, letting himself collapse on the bed — immodest and bare, a sheen of sweat covering his skin. He doesn’t even bother covering his dick as he catches his breath, staring up at the ceiling as he runs his hands through his hair. For a moment, it's almost like the world is standing still. Suddenly he’s craving a cigarette, yet he hasn’t smoked in years. Instead of falling back on old habits, he rubs his tired eyes as the sound of rain against the rooftop fills his senses again, the heat that had once formed between him and Mikasa quickly dissipating.

Moments pass before he finds the strength to look across the room, adjusting to the glow of the candlelight and the darkness outside the window. He spots Mikasa walking to the connected bathroom, where through the slightly open door he sees her running the sink and washing off. 

Barely a month ago he had been living a quiet life by the sea, only ever expecting the company of his dog, the paintings in his studio, or the constant sound of ocean waves. 

Now he’s hiding in a little cottage on the outskirts of Shiganshina and spending the night with the love of life. 

And it’s moments like this where Jean realizes that some things in this world are even better than he dreamed. 

Eventually Mikasa turns off the sink and steps through the doorway. It’s only now when Jean realizes that she’s wearing his old button-up shirt, a sight that never fails to charm him.

She strides into her bedroom, a contented look on her face as she blows out the candle on the dresser. In the darkness she crosses over and arrives at the bed, seamlessly climbing in and adjusting the blankets until they’re draped over him and her. With ease she navigates herself into Jean’s embrace again. He lets out a sigh as she begins to pepper his warm skin with kisses — her lips pecking at his chest and taking great care when she finds his beating heart. 

Jean then shifts on the bed, manoeuvring him and her until he’s on all fours and hovering above her. The movement is abrupt, the room around them is dark, and the chill of the air nips at his skin, but he doesn’t care. In the dark he just barely makes out the coquettish smile on her face. 

Unhesitatingly, Jean leans down and kisses her, shamelessly tasting whatever remains of himself on her lips. When they break apart their foreheads are still touching. They both go still, savouring the moment and the newfound warmth between them. 

Eventually Jean rolls off her and adjusts himself until he’s on his back, Mikasa soon settling into the crook of his neck. He closes his eyes, playing with her hair as the sound of the storm outside continues to bleed through the cottage walls. 

They remain still until she falls asleep in his arms yet again. 

…

…

…

All That Really Matters.

In a daze Jean wakes in a dark room, enveloped in the warmth of the bed as the rain above continues to hit the roof with a gentle, soothing pitter-patter. The winds of the storm push at the cottage walls, causing them to creak in a way that’s similar, but not completely identical to how it happens in his seaside home.

In the dimness he makes out the faintest sight of her — how she's fast asleep, breathing gently, and resting across from him with mere inches between their faces. 

Unable to resist, Jean reaches across the gap and touches his palm to her cheek — for once she’s warm. He leans over and presses yet another kiss to her forehead. 

He expects her to say nothing, to continue her peaceful sleep and only remember the gesture as a memory or a dream, but instead she hums and stirs.

“Mmmmm…?”

He watches her every move, enjoying the serenity and quietude between them. He barely makes out the sight of her taking in a breath and opening her eyes. 

“Hey,” Jean whispers. 

“Hey.” 

“What are you thinking about?” 

She hums and Jean swears that he can see her smile. 

“About how I have to be at work...” she answers, then takes a brief pause to yawn. "...in a few hours." 

“Tell ‘em you're busy,” he jokes, smirking. “It's not like they could fire you.” 

“They can't but…” Mikasa begins, then takes a second to think. “...I think the children miss me.” She adjusts her position underneath the blankets, closing the space between them until one of her legs is hooked around his. “Are you sure you don't wanna see them?”

“Not yet,” Jean answers, firm on his decision. “Maybe in a day or two.”

“They'd love you,” Mikasa insists, though she seems content with his choice. 

Jean can't deny that stopping by the orphanage would be nice. His last visit feels like a lifetime ago, back when his beard was thinner and his ill-fitting suit was his daily armour. The fact that the Ambassadors were even able to stop by the place was rather fortunate, as if he recalls they had some time to spare before boarding a Mitras-bound train for the Peace Talks. He can still remember the way the children had clamoured around him, most of them begging to be lifted while others tried to climb him like a fancy tree. The memory still feels warm, despite the era of his life that it hails from.

“I’d hope so,” Jean soon responds. Below the blankets he finds her hands and brings them up to his face, where he kisses her fingers and palm. “I still think I need time… to adjust to things, I mean.” 

Mikasa doesn't protest, as getting Jean to leave his little seaside abode is already a miracle within itself. For now, he is only a guest in her little life and not a permanent fixture — a fact that they are both content with for the time being. With many things to figure out regarding his lifestyle and hers, they don't worry themselves over the details.

For now, both are satisfied with where they are. For now, all that really matters is being together. 

Once more Mikasa shifts her position in the bed, completely closing the gap between him and her. She kisses his chest before pressing her bare cheek against his sternum, basking in his warmth as the storm above them slowly descends into a tranquil thrum. 

“My day off is at the end of the week,” she whispers, her voice tickling his skin. “We could take a train to Trost." Another chest kiss. "See your mother.” 

Jean hums as he runs his hand through her hair. He only spends a moment thinking of the stone in the graveyard where his mother rests, where yet another line between numbers is meant to summarize an entire life, a start and an end encapsulated by a mere etch. He thinks of how little he had visited over the last few months. He thinks of how busy his commissions have kept him, nearly succumbing to a fate of paintbrushes and watercolour tubes that had been excessively compressed to get out every last drop. He thinks of how he’s failed his promise to visit his mother at least twice a year.

And he thinks of how horrible of a son he’s been. 

When the ensuing guilt enters his mind, he holds Mikasa closer to him and kisses her temple. 

“What do you plan to do while I'm at work?” she asks, perhaps noticing his lack of answer to her first remark. She looks up just enough for him to see her eyes in the dark. “There's a river nearby, a little into the woods. I think you'd like it. You could swim. Get your mind off things.” 

Jean smiles, already pleased by the idea. “Only if you’ll join me,” he teases. 

“Only if I knew how to swim.” 

“I’ll teach you later."

"If we have time."

"We'll have plenty." 

Mikasa nods before nuzzling up to his chest, safe and sound. “I know, but... I can't keep you from your home for too long."

Her words prompt Jean think of the cottage he left on the coast, a place that will remain empty for the next few weeks as ocean waves continue to lap the shore.

"Mikasa..." Jean begins, kissing her eyelashes. "...you're my home now."

He nuzzles her face, pressing more sweet kisses to her temple as it becomes harder and harder to stay awake. He hears her sigh against him, a sign that he too should close his eyes and at least try to get some sleep. He continues to play with her hair, slowly breathing and listening to the sound of the storm until slumber greets him like an old friend. 

…

…

…

And In The Morning.

Despite the lack of ocean waves just outside his door, Jean spends the next few hours in peace. By the time he is roused awake he hasn’t the faintest idea what time it is. He remains still as the mattress around him wobbles, only attempting to open his eyes when he hears the sound of bare feet touching the floor.  

He sees Mikasa making her way across the bedroom, the floorboards creaking underneath her steps before she slips into the bathroom and shuts the door. Soon the sound of a running sink is heard from behind the wall.

Jean takes it as a sign to close his eyes once more, savouring sleep while he still can. The warmth in the spot where she had just been has yet to fade away, her scent still in the sheets. He tunes into his surroundings just enough to realize that the storm has not subsided, but simply reduced itself to a little fall of rain, a much gentler noise merely caresses the roof instead of battering it.

But the peace doesn’t last forever, as before he knows it he hears the sound of little claws and paws against the door, causing him to instinctively sigh. 

Fortunately, Mikasa exits the bathroom and heads to the door, where upon opening it she whispers a quick “Good morning, Hugo” and leaves the bedroom entirely.

Jean expects her to return in no time, whether to rejoin him in bed or let in the dog to wake him up for real, yet the moment never comes. Instead he drifts back to sleep, listening to things like the whistling tea kettle, Hugo skittering across the floor, and Mikasa acknowledging the dog like he an old friend.

He doesn’t know how much time passes before he hears the bedroom door open again. By then he’s mostly asleep, but not completely. 

The sound of her footsteps greet him once more, as well as that of Hugo slipping into the room. Too tired to truly wake, Jean barely reacts when his dog leaps onto the mattress, only sniffing his face for a moment before curling up into a ball at his master’s feet, his preferred place to be. 

“Jean… I have to go,” Mikasa says in a sotto voice — a gentle, affectionate whisper. “I’ll be back around one for lunch.” 

He feels her lips press against his cheek, a gesture that is as loving as it is brief, then presses another to his eyelashes. 

A lull of silence follows her words. He’s not sure what else to expect before he hears—

“I love you.” 

And after that she’s gone. 

Hours later Jean wakes for real. He is greeted by an empty room, a distinct floral scent still imbued within the bedding, and the morning light finally breaking through the clouds. Hugo is still asleep by his side, silently curled into a ball against his leg, the fur of the dog tickling his skin.

With Hugo by his side and memories of Mikasa’s voice still present in his head, Jean is unable to wipe the smile from his face. 

So instead of leaving the bed, he remains where he is for just a bit longer, lying in a beam of light shining through the window and basking in the sunrise after the storm. 

…

…

…

In Plain Sight.

Stefania Kijek — secretary to Queen Historia herself — specializes in things such as scheduling meetings, making sure the Queen has time to spend with her children, and occasionally ensuring that her majesty is able to disappear for stretches of time.

Historia doesn’t know exactly how Stefania does it, just that her loyal secretary seems to be consistently capable of convincing everyone in the palace — from the housestaff to the guards — that the Queen is dreadfully busy and cannot be distracted under any circumstances. 

Today Stefania has given Historia an entire day to do as she pleases, something that leaves her majesty both tremendously grateful and deeply curious as to what power Miss Kijek truly holds. 

But as her train pulls up to the platform, Historia finds herself a lot less concerned with the matters she left back at Mitras and more curious as to what lies ahead of her.

With the brim of her hat pulled over her head, she stands from her seat just as the train comes to a stop. As she hops off the car and onto the platform, the decidedly unroyal clothes on her back grant her the privilege of near-anonymity, a mask that makes her another face in the crowd. She barely earns attention from the people around her, not even the middle-aged woman she bumps into by accident or the conductor who smiles, tips his hat, and tells her to have a splendid day. 

And truth be told, Historia prefers things this way. 

She wastes no time as she walks down the platform and leaves the station. Shiganshina is bustling as it greets her, a city that seems to get busier and busier every time she visits, yet it barely grabs her attention. She finds the queue of people waiting for taxis and takes her place in line, avoiding eye contact as much as she can. It’s a habit she relies on when she’s incognito — as unlikely as she is to be recognized, it’s certainly the last thing she needs when she’s this far into her journey. 

When Historia’s ride pulls up, she enters the taxi and avoids the gaze of the driver as she speaks.

“The Reiss Orphanage, please and thank you.”

…

…

…

The drive is as swift as it is familiar, though Historia notices how different it is to see the journey through the window of a taxi and not a carriage.

When the cabbie pulls up to the orphanage gate, Historia tells him that this is close enough and pays him immediately, not even bothering to ask for the change before exiting the vehicle. As the car turns and drives off, she spares the building on the hill a brief glance and notes the handful of children happily playing underneath the cloudless, sunny sky. She then starts down the path that leads off the property, immediately entering the woods. 

Once she’s out of the orphanage’s sight she removes her flat cap, finally freeing her hair after hiding it for so long. Her current get-up makes her resemble a young boy more than Queen Historia the Magnificent, the tweed jacket and suspenders hanging loosely from her petite, short-limbed frame. It’s not exactly a flattering look, but the more layers the better, the safer she’ll feel as she gets further and further from the palace.  

As she walks underneath the trees and the afternoon sun, Historia finally realizes just how far she’s come, even if her memories of escaping through the servant’s entrance before sunrise are still fresh. With every step she feels a distinct kind of ache accumulating within her body, particularly in her legs, then concludes that the stress of her journey is finally catching up to her. 

Soon the cabin just off the orphanage property comes into view, a sturdy structure that looks unchanged from when she last saw it. Presumably it had remained unoccupied for the last three weeks, as its only inhabitant had spent her allotted vacation time doing god knows what in some seaside cottage on the west coast. 

The details are still not one-hundred percent clear to Historia, as there was only so much that Mikasa could tell her from a phone booth on the other side of the Island. So ultimately, it’s her resolve to see certain things for herself that motivates her to keep moving forward. 

As she arrives at the cottage she falls back onto old habits, opening the door without even knocking. 

The interior of the home is still the cozy, welcoming space that she remembers from her last visit. The masonry of the fireplace, ornate coffee table, and meticulously organized tea shelf feel familiar and almost comforting.  

She notices the signs of life within the cottage, like the kettle currently heating up on the stove, the crate of canned goods and vegetables on the table that the orphanage gives Miss Mikasa every few days, and what appears to be art supplies on the coffee table. 

Intrigued by the latter, Historia hangs her hat and coat and approaches the couch. On the table is a flat, shallow tin of watercolour pans, little compressed squares of dried paint that have been arranged by shade — light to dark, warm to cold. Beside the well-worn box is an open sketchbook. 

Now even more curious, Historia picks up the book and observes the current drawing, which seems to depict the cobblestone streets of a busy town and the shopfronts surrounding it on both sides. The image is lined in inks and coloured with strokes and blooms of paint, the precision of the underlying sketch contrasting messy splashes of pigment that truly bring it to life. 

Before she can admire the little painting for too long she hears the sound of a door opening. Suddenly reminded of why she came all this way, she sets the sketchbook down and speaks up — 

“Mikasa?!” she calls into the cottage, moving towards where the sound came from as the sound of footsteps is heard.

Historia approaches the doorway that leads to the bedroom, but once she gets there she sees that the person standing in place is not the person she expected to see — in more ways than one. 

Suddenly Jean Kirschtein is in front of her, a face and a friend she has not seen in five years. 

And true to Mikasa’s words, he’s changed. 

As to be expected he’s still impossibly tall — or maybe she’s still impossibly short. His ashy hair is now shorter, unruly, and just the slightest bit kissed from the past summer. Instead of his beige two-piece suit, he sports a pair of battered trousers, rugged work suspenders, and a paint-splattered collared shirt — a far cry from how she last saw him. The clothing looks a size too big for him, making him look scrawnier than usual. His beard feels like a novelty as well, a layer of heavy scruff now covering his angular face and making him seem like a whole new man. 

But at the end of the day, he’s still Jean Kirschtein. 

As Historia looks him up and down, he runs a nervous hand through his hair. 

“Hello, Jean,” she greets, finally breaking the silence. 

“Hello, Historia,” he replies, and she’s thankful that he doesn’t call her ‘Your Majesty.’

For a moment it seems like neither one of them knows what to say next, the newfound tension between the two as heavy as it is wordless. Fortunately, the silence only lasts for so long before it is interrupted. 

The backdoor opens, prompting both Historia and Jean to look aside.

Mikasa enters the cottage, a tranquil look on her pretty face and a freshly-picked bouquet of wildflowers in hand. Like the forest abode itself, Mikasa also seems unchanged — though her hair has been cut shorter than Historia remembers, the ends now barely grazing her shoulders. Additionally, Mikasa has swapped her usual pink cardigan in favour of a navy blue, slightly ill-fitting sweater that’s undoubtedly seen better days. 

Mikasa’s expression goes from serene to surprised once she realizes that Historia is now standing in the middle of her home. 

“Oh…” Mikasa begins. “You’re—” 

Before she can finish the sentence, a furry blob abruptly dashes into the cottage from behind Mikasa’s legs.

The dog is of medium size, pointed ears, and has a brown coat so dark it might as well be black. It reminds Historia of the canines she had seen utilized by the Island’s armed forces, except the creature currently standing at her feet and begging to be pet has such a sweet face that she couldn’t possibly imagine it being used for war. 

“Oh shit,” Jean grumbles. “Hugo! ” 

“It’s okay,” a beaming Historia assures as she kneels down to greet the dog. She runs her hands through Hugo's fur, unable to wipe the smile from her face as he wags his tail so hard that his entire rear end shakes. “Hello! Yes, it’s nice to meet you!” she says with all the importance she would use to greet a guest in the palace.

As Historia gives Hugo a royal greeting, Mikasa closes the door behind her and walks across the cottage’s main space, a distinct stiffness to her movements. She goes to the kitchenette and grabs an old jar from her cupboards, then goes to the sink to fill it with water. 

Historia continues to pet the dog, but in the corner of her eye observes Jean leaving the doorway and joining Mikasa. He remains close to her as she puts the flowers in her makeshift vase, practically joined to her hip as he puts an assuring hand on her waist. He moves his head close enough to Mikasa’s that Historia is sure that he’s either whispering something or kissing her cheek — maybe both.

Once Historia has finished giving Hugo all the love in the world, she stands just in time to hear the kettle on the stove whistling. Without a word Jean takes it off the heat and fills a teapot on the counter. Meanwhile, Mikasa brings the flowers to the table and places them in the center, her simplistic bouquet somehow made more charming by the vessel.

They work in the kind of unison that makes all the time they’ve spent together a little more clear, the methodicalness in the way they move showing how familiar they are with existing in each other’s space. 

With her hands clasped together, Historia looks to Mikasa, who has suddenly gone still as she stands near the table, taking a moment to look downwards. A few seconds pass and their eyes finally meet. Historia holds an expectant, yet amiable expression on her face while Mikasa looks like she’s still thinking of the right words to say.

As happy as Historia is to see several old friends again, there's still a multitude of questions in her head. How did Jean get here? When did Jean get here? And why on earth was he hiding in some cottage on the coast for so long?

So Historia waits patiently, watching as Jean approaches Mikasa once more and puts an arm around her shoulder, holding her close to him like he’s her rock, her anchor in a storm. The two lovers briefly share a glance — Jean giving her an encouraging nod before Mikasa looks to Historia again. 

“I suppose…” Mikasa begins, then regains herself with a quick breath. “...I suppose I have a lot to explain.” 

More amused than anything else, Historia lets out a polite chuckle best suited for both royal affairs and teasing her old friend. 

“You think?” she asks, unable to hide the playfulness in her voice. Historia eyes the taller man with the confidence of someone twice her size. “It’s nice to see you again, Jean.” 

“You too,” he replies, looking down at her warm, friendly smile. “How about we talk over lunch?” 

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