𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓 [𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫] Chapter Fourteen- 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐥 [𝐗]
"What? He asked you out on a date? You said yes, right?"
Hitch bumps her shoulder into yours, her weight bouncing off of you in an overly excited 'tell me more' manner. There is a long smile stretching from ear to ear on her face as the two of you walk across the open space of the quad, and she speaks loudly enough just to be heard over all of the background noise.
"Don't tell me you made him beg- or did you say no?" she snickers, her energy bright and playful. "I mean, it's what the guy deserves after standing you up the other night."
It's amusing to you because this is only the second time this topic has come up, and the similarities between the two conversations are striking. Hitch's questioning brings you back to just a few nights ago, back to the first time this topic was discussed with Ymir and Historia. The same night you arrived back at your room after dinner and the interrogation you subjected yourself to.
Unwillingly subjected yourself to.
"Of course, I said yes." The huff of air that seeps through your lips forms a white cloud just before you.
Initially, you were wandering leisurely outside of the university cafe after having a meal for lunch whenever you coincidentally crossed paths with Hitch. Instantly, Hitch was consumed with excitement, wanting to catch up with you and ask how things had been since she saw you last. To which she personally admitted that she was too hungover to move or go anywhere for the short remainder of the weekend; she even gave props to you for getting some school work done- she said that you were much stronger than her and she couldn't have done all that you did.
Now both you and Hitch are currently walking across the vast quad space, deep in discussion, mainly just gossiping with one another about whatever comes to mind. Because, as soon as you spilled the tea about Jean asking you on a date as a follow-up to the dilemma she left you in, a million other questions rolled in.
"Are you excited? And where is he taking you, do you know?"
Excited, yes, and still a little uncertain? Also yes.
"I am looking forward to it, and I'm not too sure," you reply, thinking back to how Jean has yet to share exact details. "When I asked him, he said he wanted to keep it as a surprise, so."
"Hmm," Hitch furrows her brow ever so slightly, "do you at least know what day?"
"This Friday," you respond quickly, and your excitement almost seeps through a little too vibrantly.
"Fridays are best for dates, because then you still have the rest of the weekend to yourself... or maybe fit in another date or two," Hitch says with confidence oozing out of her. "Who knows?"
"Do you go on a lot of dates?" You ask, enthused about her prowess.
"A girl gets bored, y'know?" Hitch nonchalantly snaps a bubble of her chewing gum. "How did Mr. Mans ask you out anyway?"
Sunday night flashes through your mind, and you are taken aback to the moment when it was just you and Jean sitting alone in the cab of his truck. How the warm breeze from the heater whisked against your skin, the vibration of the idle engine buzzed against your body, and the sound of your heartbeat pounding violently in your ears. The heavy pants of air that escaped from your mouth feverishly, and how Jean's breath matched yours, all the same after he kissed you.
Pressing your eyelashes together in attempt to press the heated memory away, "He asked me while sitting in his truck after taking me out for some food."
"Took you out for some food? That sounds like a date, no?"
No, it was an apology. And Jean also hadn't eaten that day, not really.
"No," your chest deflates quietly with the push of an effortless breath, "we just went for some food, and some of his friends tagged along."
"An entourage? Way to kill the moment," she confesses with a visible 'you've got to be kidding me' expression evident on her face. "Unless his friends were cute- are they cute?"
You swat a hand at her for her bold confession while laughter easily spills out from your diaphragm. Jean's friends... cute? I mean, to each is their own, but you weren't actively scooping out his friends anyway. Jean's friends...
Connie, Marco, Reiner, Bert, Armin, Eren-
These few you've come to grow closer to, even by little by little, were definitely not scratching the surface of your mind in any matter.
The only one who had been crossing your mind lately, well, that would be-
Floch.
No, seriously, Floch. Just within the distance of the crowd ahead, from both you and Hitch, Floch is standing there. From what you can discern, he is standing off to the side with his head hanging low while probably observing his phone. He always looked like that when he was using his phone.
The weight of your feet feels like they grow heavier with each passing step. With every passing second, the feeling grows until the soles of your shoes drag against the concrete, and eventually leads to an abrupt stop. Hitch brushes past you while actively taking her stride forward, but when she notices the two of you fall out of line, she turns to face you with an expression of perplexity.
"What's wrong?" She asks, taking a few small steps back to where you are currently glued in place. "Why'd you stop walking? Are you okay?"
The pit in your throat sounds like noisy gravel as you muster up the ability to speak, averting your gaze away from Floch. Hitch silently turns her head and follows the direction of your gaze to see what had you in such a distressed state.
"What's going on? Did you see something?" She turns to face you momentarily before glancing back in Floch's direction. Her short, light-champagne colored hair whips back and forth from the motion.
"Just someone I used to know." Your grip tightens on the handle of your tote bag, shrugging the bag closer as it hangs on your shoulder. "That's all."
"Like an ex or something?" She looks back at you, her light green eyes scan your face deliberately, and she doesn't need an answer from you to know the gravity of the situation.
"Something like that," your tone is dry, your gaze involuntarily drifting past Hitch.
Thankfully, Hitch hooks an arm around yours almost protectively, guiding you with the weight of her presence alongside the pathway until the two of you reach a vacant bench nearby. Your eyelashes flutter upon a rapid series of blinks, the partial apprehensive daze vanishing slowly until you regain brain clarity once more.
"I'm not sure what the history is there," Hitch suggests towards Floch's general direction, "but I am sure that you shouldn't let some loser who fumbled you bother you. Simple as that."
A gentle exhale slips from the crease of your lips as your chest delicately deflates.
"You're right, I just..." A groan escapes you, and it's not like seeing Floch entirely got under your skin. "Gosh, just seeing his weasel face is so annoying and ruins my day. I don't know, it just puts a bad taste in my mouth."
This feeling wasn't because you missed Floch or any part of the relationship you once shared. If anything, Floch hadn't even crossed your mind since the other day you spent with Ymir and Historia at the mall. Lately, and thankfully, there have been other sources you've been subjected to that serve as a pleasant distraction.
A six-foot-three distraction.
"You don't have to overexplain yourself, I know the feeling all too well; we all have one of those exes for sure," Hitch says as reassurance.
The midday November air wisps past you and Hitch as the two of you stand hovering near the pathway, while random individuals pass by both of you as you remain planted to the ground beneath you.
In the midst of the mute moment, Hitch randomly pulls her phone from her purse and checks the screen. She sucks on the inside of her cheek briefly before shoving the electronic back into the depths of her bag.
"Will you be okay if I cut loose?" Her light green eyes overanalyze the details of your face with a sincere focus, "I need to go find Marlowe. It slipped my mind that I told him I would meet him at this time."
Hitch winces at the thought of revealing her personal dilemma.
Before Hitch has the opportunity to finish speaking, you are quick to begin waving your hand at her as a signal of your permission for her to leave.
"It's okay," you pull in a breath of the rigid air, "I can just text you later?"
"Sorry for leaving you like this. And yes, you have my number now, so text me later!" Hitch begins to teeter a few steps back on her heels away from you. "Let's hang out sometime this weekend? You can catch me up on your date. Oh! Be careful with these college boys, but make sure to have fun."
"I'll text you, tell Marlowe I said hi," you wave at Hitch as a part of your goodbye.
Hitch bobs her head brightly as a silent way of responding before pivoting on her heel and zipping off in a beeline in the opposite direction through the sea of people.
Glancing in the direction Floch was originally standing, you exhale a grateful sigh of relief upon noticing his absence. To be on the safe side, you will now be taking a different route to your statistics class.
It might seem like overkill, but daring to walk in the same direction that Floch was in and potentially crossing paths with him is something you would rather not do today- or ever. SO, a longer trip to your lecture is just the price you would have to pay.
So, that is exactly what you do.
Clutching your right arm around the strap of your bag once again, you brace for the journey to your next lecture in the opposite direction you initially intended to take.
The scenery begins to blur altogether, from the grass that hugs the crease of the walkway to the greyed treeline, and lastly, even to include the old university architecture. Right now, nothing was significant enough to stand out, not even the faces of those who pass you by as you float along, weaving through other university students along the pathway.
After a few minutes, the originally condensed crowd begins to thin out, and there is finally a breakthrough of personal space that can be maintained. The quickened pace you were maintaining finally begins its decrease, and your feet slow to match a more andante tempo.
The clarity allows your heartbeat an opportunity to readjust and begin to mellow in rhythm. In your mind, you're close to approaching the halfway point of your journey to the lecture hall when a familiar voice calls out your name.
Suddenly, and for the second time so far today, the heaviness of your feet has your soles cemented in place, glued to the surface of the earth. Even so, you attempt to keep trudging forward, pushing yourself along your initial trajectory. In the back of your mind, you try your best to dismiss the interaction and brush it off as if it were just some sort of confusion, or maybe you were hearing things. Or, maybe even the thought that it wasn't you necessarily, that the caller was targeting.
It couldn't be you who he is really calling for, could it? No...
These are the things you tell yourself, but considering the number of people surrounding you lessens in density with each passing step, this theory grows to feel unlikely.
So, your slow footsteps do continue, that is, until he calls your name a second time in a row, the sound of his slimy voice much louder and deafening to you now.
If you don't turn around, then you won't have to talk to him- you wouldn't have to see his face up close. If you keep walking, you could go on throughout your day.
You are quick to suck in a sharp breath of air through flared nostrils until your lungs feel as if they are about to burst. The steel lampost to your right garners your attention, and you are still convincing yourself that if you do not turn around, surely he will just fuck off and go away.
Your name. A third time.
Followed by the muted sounds of footsteps scurrying across the cement pathway and drawing closer with each passing moment. Internally bracing yourself for impact as your pacing heartbeat thrashes to maintain a healthy rhythm.
"What do you want," Eventually, your eyes tear away from the lampost as you commit to turning to face the source of the voice behind you, "Floch?"
Sure enough, the weasel himself was standing only a few feet away from you now, almost looking somewhat out of breath as if he had jogged to meet up with you. His hand, which he had hanging in the air, falls back to his side. It was as if you had caught him in the moment right before he was to reach out for you.
Gross. The thought of Floch touching you anywhere from the past to the future makes your skin crawl.
Floch offers you a sheepish smile that seems practiced even in the slightest. Weeks ago, this could have worked on you, but now it only made your stomach churn at the sight.
"I was right," he says, taking a small step towards you, attempting to close the gap. "I knew I thought I saw you earlier."
Naturally, your foot opposite to his takes an even larger step away to maintain the distance.
Floch says your name breathlessly for a fourth time, "I was wanting to try reaching out to you. I have been reflecting a lot recently," he pauses for a moment, his brown eyes absorbing you. "It wasn't my intention to leave things so heavy between us and-"
The strap of your shoulder bag bears the weight of your grip as you hold the knitted material. Your knuckles turn pale in color from the power within your grip, and the tension is so intense that it could practically snap the handle in two.
Was this supposed to be some piss poor excuse of an apology?
"What does it matter now? I don't care." This time, you couldn't help but take a step closer, but this time it was out of anger. "I'm on my way to my next lecture, so I am leaving now."
What was to be expected from you? Was Floch seriously convinced that you would say you forgave him for the way he acted? For the way he treated you by cheating on you with Mina?
"Statistics, right?" Floch sheepishly takes another step closer to you, and his closeness has you wanting to retreat somewhere- anywhere but here. "Yeah, I remember."
Once the realization hits you that Floch is now advancing toward you, the pure audacity of his false sense of 'worry' feels like a sharp slap to the face. It was evident he wasn't actually checking on you for your well-being, but rather for his own selfish reasons. For him, it was to gather some form of confirmation if any influence he had on you remained.
The features of his face, the details- all of which are enhanced due to his unwanted proximity, and with your examination, you couldn't shake the thought of his resemblance to a weasel. In comparison to some time before long ago, when you were moved by his brown eyes or the structure of his nose. But those times are long gone- with him standing so close, all you could sense was your stomach churning sour.
"I think I can help her get to her lecture just fine."
The sound of Jean's voice basically booms over both you and Floch and your body grows rigid, but not because you were alarmed at his unexpected appearance, but because this is what you needed without knowing it. That six-foot-three distraction, and suddenly he is here before you, stepping in between you and Floch.
Jean leaves no room for hesitation to fester as he glides in; his stance is closer to you, leaving barely any room between you and him. The heat from his body is radiating on your skin, and you cave into his presence willingly, trying to bleed into him without actually touching him.
You aren't able to see his reaction now, but you are able to pick up on the annoyance that riddles Floch's voice now.
"Do you mind? We were talking."
"I do, actually," Jean lifts a hand, his left shoulder tipping backward as he reaches for you. "And that's funny, it didn't seem like you were talking about much."
A large breath of air fills your lungs that you swallow down upon feeling the sudden impact of Jean's hand grabbing onto yours. Instinctively, his fingers lace between your fingers as his hand engulfs your own.
Your eyes cast just past Jean and towards Floch, and you watch as his eyes narrow and the details of his face tighten. Floch's eyes flick down to observe Jean's hand in yours and then back at Jean directly. You feel how his hand tightens around yours in a sense of reassurance, and you give into that feeling, returning a light squeeze that you press onto his hand.
Jean's shoulders stretch broadly as he stands in such a sturdy stance. From this angle, you notice his jawline, which is strong and pronounced. His ash colored hair falls across and sweeps his face, though portions of hair are meticulously tucked behind his ears to reveal those familiar black studs embedded in his earlobes.
Floch mutters something sharp under his breath, some form of clipped remark that neither you nor Jean can discern. Though his expression is tight with frustration and a gaze so callous, his eyes attempt to find you, but Jean swiftly shifts his stance to block Floch from even having that mere chance to look at you.
Floch's departure goes unnoticed by you; it's only when Jean eventually turns to face you that you realize the other man has finally disappeared.
"Are you okay?" The words that slip from Jean's mouth are low while his eyes observe you, "he didn't do anything to upset you, did he?"
"It doesn't matter-"
"But it does matter." Jean, even though he was already lingering close to you, takes another step and is hovering even closer to you somehow- his body towering over you now. "I don't like that he thinks he can just walk up to you and talk to you and disregard what he's done."
"Jean, it's okay."
"It isn't okay. What did he say?"
The weight of his knuckle presses against your cheek, brushing against your skin gingerly. Naturally, you lean and give weight into his touch, pressing your face against the movement of his hand. It's comforting to you, and you're slowly realizing that Floch pulling up on you out of nowhere, after everything said and done, actually wasn't okay.
This moment takes you back to just the other week when you were caught outside talking to Eren after the realization Floch hadn't been faithful to you whenever Jean arrived on the scene. Unlike then versus now, his arms were wrapped across his chest in comparison to now the complete opposite from before where he is currently brushing your cheek, getting a feel of your skin because he couldn't get enough, all to make sure you are okay.
This moment takes you back to just the other week when Jean arrived on the scene while you were talking to Eren after realizing Floch's infidelity. Unlike then, when his arms were wrapped defensively across his chest, now they're doing the complete opposite as he brushes your cheek by hand. He is getting a feel of your skin because he cannot seem to get enough- doing so to ensure that you are okay.
"Jean," you croak while feeling him transition from his knuckle to the pad of his thumb, raking across your supple skin. "I'm fine, promise- he was just saying that he was thinking a lot recently and he wanted to reach out to me."
Jean says your name in a similar tone, maybe just the slightest bit lighter but still just as serious. Meanwhile, the smooth motion of his thumbs momentarily pauses, "If he tries reaching out to you again, let me know, okay?"
His pale eyes seep into yours, and you know instantly that Jean means every word. Without a doubt.
You want to ask why, to push for an answer, and to find out why it matters to him. But you comply without questioning instead.
The words leave you in a hush of a whisper, "I will let you know next time."
You weren't sure why you couldn't explain the sudden urge to comply, or why he would be requesting such a thing at all. In all fairness, he had mentioned it the other day as a joke in passing, whenever you were tangled in his arms. The offer of him being your side muscle, some form of protection whenever you needed it. But seeing it in practice with him actually following through and committing to his word, by standing his ground for you, felt much more than a playful comment.
It wasn't serious- at least, you didn't think he was being serious at the time. Then again, his being here, his being here for you, offering his protection and making Floch uneasy, went against everything you actually expected from him.
Thinking back, it had all started at the Halloween party during the game of truth or dare, in the hopes that it would work and make Floch jealous.
"Let me walk you to your lecture?" Jean asks, but it hardly sounds like a question at all.
The height of your chest shifts as you breathe, "You don't have to-"
"I want to."
Jean's fingers feel thick, and his grip is firm, though not uncomfortably so. It's then that you realize in the silence he still has a hold on you, and you are holding onto him just as equally. Jean seems to notice at the same time as his eyes drop to trace the path from your gaze down to your cupped hands before flicking back up to meet yours.
"Lead the way," he says, and there is a gentle squeeze of his hand to follow.
So, that is exactly what you do. With your hand still in his, you take the first step and resume your journey to your statistics lecture. You and Jean walk side-by-side the entire way, passing the time by with conversation that flows in a natural cadence. And, before you know it, you are finally outside of the old lecture hall, and feeling somewhat reluctant to take the first step to part ways with Jean. Leaving and going to class would mean having to let go of Jean, and there was something about how comforting it felt to be held by him that you almost contemplated skipping the lecture completely if it meant being able to stay with Jean.
"This is me," you say while looking at Jean for a brief second before your eyes lead back to the steps that lead to the doors of the entrance. "Thank you for walking with me to my class."
You don't look at him again, but you can sense Jean turning to face you ever so slightly by the shift of his feet and the slight tension on his arm, "I'll see you later."
It's when you take that first step up the stairs that you feel the gentle release of Jean's grasp. With his warmth fading from your hand, your heart sinks with a slight churn. Your hand slowly retreats to the front of your body, where you clutch and mask your hand in attempts to trap the lingering heat- or at least prolong the sensation of his touch for just a moment longer.
One... two...
After only two steps, your feet falter completely. You look back over your shoulder to find Jean still rooted to the spot, his arm only just beginning to fall after stretching toward you for as long as he could reach. He watches you with a steady, light brown gaze that refuses- dares to break, even as the distance between you grows from you walking away.
"See you." You say, and the words linger in the air as neither you nor Jean attempts to move. Completely undistracted and oblivious to the students who pass and go from the same lecture hall.
You eventually break the gaze and head inside. Minutes later, you're settled into a seat in the auditorium. You've barely opened your notebook to prepare for the lecture when the familiar buzz of a notification vibrates in your pocket.
1 new message from Jean.
Today 12:57pm
Jean: How long is your lecture?
You watch Jean's text bubble appear and disappear, a smile tugging at your lips as you wait for his response.
You: an hour and a half-ish why?
Jean: I want to see you
Your heart leaps in your chest, and you pick up your phone to pore over his message once more, even though you've already memorized it by now.
You: but you just saw me?
Jean: I know.
-----------------------------------
The brightness of the afternoon sky from the transition to the outside of the lecture hall partially blinds you once you break free from the realm of torturous conceptual understanding and data interpretation. Other students walk past you and begin to float down the trail of steps while you pause to quickly check your phone.
A blank notification screen.
Granted, you never did message Jean back. Well, not until you were finishing your lecture. It was hard enough as is, distracting yourself from thinking about the interaction you had so recently with Jean taking hold of your hand- messaging him during class would make concentration nearly impossible.
You scan the crowd, trying to be discreet as you search for the familiar ash-blonde hair. He probably wasn't there; it had been well over an hour, and you didn't want to look like you were blatantly searching for him. With a small, somber sigh, you tuck your phone away, and before you venture down the stairs, you glance around once more just to be sure.
Just as your feet clear the steps and reach the bottom, you freeze in your tracks when your eyes land on a familiar man sitting on a metal bench, his broad chest and shoulders facing you.
Jean.
He was there, waiting for you, or at least so it seemed.
A look of pleasant surprise washes over your face, and the initial haze of the conceptualization of statistics vanishes in an instant and is replaced with enlightenment. Almost as if he can sense you, Jean's pale brown eyes drift and lock onto you almost at the same time you find him, and almost immediately, he straightens up and seems to be completely engaged by you now.
Now your heartbeat is matching the pace of your foot steps as you glide across the pathway to meet him. Like clockwork, Jean rises from his seat and braces himself to greet you entirely.
"Jean," you breathe his name so easily, and his eyes seem to widen upon hearing you say his name. "Did you seriously wait for me?" You ask with surprise.
He takes the faintest step closer to you, and with a sheepish smile pulling at the corners of his lips, "You did say ninety minutes."
Your eyes widen at the realization hitting you all at once, "Wait... you waited out here the whole time?"
He offers a casual shrug almost nonchalantly, gesturing towards an opposite direction to either of you. "I was at the library for the most part, killing time waiting on you."
A breeze of wind catches his hair, partially blowing across his face and browline, but even then, his gaze never leaves you. The only sound to fill the air around you is from old, crinkled leaves that have long fallen from their branches, skittering across the concrete.
"Why?" You already knew the answer, or so you thought, but asking him this was more for confirmation.
"I told you I wanted to see you, didn't I? Are you done for the day?"
Another faint step, and Jean is just mere inches away from you again just like he was earlier. Instinctively, your gaze falls deliberately onto his hand, and it lingers there for only a moment, and you don't know why you were somehow convinced he would be reaching for your hand once more. And when he doesn't reach for your hand, and his fingers remain still at his side, there is the slightest hint of disappointment that sinks into your chest.
"Mhm," your lips buzz together, eyes finding his once again. "That was my last lecture of the day."
"Let's hang out then," as soon as the words leave him, his confidence dwindles only in the slightest. "I mean, if you'd like to, that is."
"Umm, of course I'd like to hang out with you, what kind of question even is that?" You say, your smile illuminating now, and the disappointment you were originally feeling is long gone.
Jean's expression brightens, a smile forming to match your own. "I had to make sure," he pauses for only a second before speaking again. "Can I get you back to your room?"
"Escorting me all around campus today, are we now, Jean?"
"I don't think I like the idea of you walking around campus alone."
When Jean says this, there is a hitch in your throat, but you do your best attempt to swallow the feeling away rapidly. Instead, you say nothing and let his statement hang in the air while you follow beside Jean as he takes the lead, walking down the pathway.
"Here," Jean says, reaching a hand out toward you carefully. "Let me carry your bag for you?"
Jean insists, and you take him up on his offer by handing him your bag. As soon as Jean grabs your bag, he hooks it over his shoulder like second nature, even though he was already holding onto his belongings as well.
"We'll only walk to my truck, and I can drive us to your dorm," he says so casually, and he turns his head to look at you. "I'm parked not too far from here."
When Jean says this, you are greeted with a wave of relief, but also a lingering hint of curiosity.
"Y'know," the sounds of both yours and Jeans feet lapping lays in the air as you walk side by side each other. "That was pretty perfect timing back there."
Jean casts a glance at you, his eyes lingering on your side profile a little longer than he should. "What was?"
You instantly push your elbow out, nudging his arm playfully. "You showing up when you did earlier... with Floch and everything."
When your eyes glance over at him, they unknowingly and immediately latch onto Jean's. The whites of his eyes widen momentarily before he turns his head straight to look out at the direction in front of him. You try to look away, but your eyes keep drifting back to him, stealing glances when you think he isn't looking. Though when you look at him again, you catch how his jaw has tightened ever so slightly.
"I was nearby," he finally reveals, attempting to come off as casual.
"You just so happened to be walking nearby?"
The corner of his mouth perks upward into a faint smirk, "You sound disappointed. I was leaving for the day when I saw you and what's his face."
The rhythmic sound of your footsteps against the concrete loops in the air, and your eyes fasten to the ground before you. You can feel Jean's arm hovering close to yours; there are brief instances where his hand brushes against yours, or yours against his. Each time your bodies make contact, your internal reaction remains just as intense. You try to move in as close as possible just for the excuse to feel him, and if Jean notices, he doesn't seem to mind considering he doesn't move or adjust the spacing between you at all.
So, you allow for those anything-but-casual 'incidental' bumps to resume.
"You didn't want to deal with him on your own, did you?"
When you lift your head and look at Jean for another time, his eyes meet yours but neither of you immediately look away.
You could've handled Floch, that is for certain, but with Jean being there, it made things... easier.
"No, well, I could've- I just didn't expect any backup." Expecting you, Jean.
"It's a good thing I was there for you then." his words are simple, and he says this as if this is what makes the most sense.
And there for you, Jean was indeed.
"I'm... glad," you reveal, all at the same time, the old Scottsdale centers in your field of vision from across the parking lot.
"Yeah? Me too," Jean cocks his head ever so slightly while taking a glance at you, the same smirk registered on his face, maybe even growing more because he heard you say that you were glad he was there for you.
Jean's strides begin to lengthen, and your legs struggle to keep up. It's completely unfair; his freakishly long legs and stupidly attractive height put you at a disadvantage the second he picks up the tempo.
"C'mon," he initiates, and you cut a stern look at him.
The expression of annoyance quickly dwindles as soon as you watch and feel Jean's hand reach out and grab yours once more. As soon as your hand falls into place with his, there is no time to think or allow any indecent thoughts to occur as the two of you prance across the open parking lot together.
The heavy old Scottsdale door peals open with a creak of a moan as Jean steps to the side, holding the metal door open for you. And just like every other time you attended as a passenger in his truck, he lends you a helpful hand, only now his hand placement lingers while drifting and pulling away from you.
While clasping the buckle and latching it to its locked position, you analyze Jean's movement as he partially leans over you to place both yours and his belongings in the middle of the floorboard. Whenever he readjusts his posture and drags his body upright, you let out a breath you weren't aware you were holding, let alone that you'd even breathed in so deeply in the first place.
The drive to your dormitory from SAS Hall is brief, passing by in what feels like an instant. During the short trip, you talk about how your day went. Jean makes a point to tell you that despite your long, torturous lecture, you still managed to come out of it looking good. In the end, you both agree that you're just eager to be finished for the day.
Whenever you make it to your hall, Jean gravitates close beside you. Only when someone passes by does he pivot to trail behind you. But, as the passerby moves on by, Jean rightfully reclaims his spot next to you. Even with the few passing glances you received from girls passing by in the hall, you weren't catching their attention. Not when Jean is close enough that you can feel his body heat radiating- seeping into your skin.
As you approach your room, Jean steps to the right and props his arm against the door frame, practically caging you in. Usually, you can find your keys effortlessly, but now they seem impossible to find. You can hear them jingling somewhere in the depths of your tote bag, but they remain out of sight. Even after you finally catch hold of them, the simple task of unlocking the door becomes a clumsy challenge under his heavy gaze.
Singling out the old brass key from the rest, it is attached to a keychain that is marked with old, worn paint to identify your room number. The material feels heavier in your hand than it normally does, and the rest of your keys and trinkets clink and jingle against the wooden door while you fumble to line up and insert the key into the keyhole.
Something done hundreds of times over and over, but now...
You keep your eyes low as your gaze wanders towards him, tracing the line of his arm where it cages you against the door. The urge to look up is overwhelming, but you stay frozen, refraining from looking up because you know he's watching you. And if you dared to look up, then his eyes would surely meet yours. You can feel the heat of his gaze on the top of your head, steady and unwavering in the quiet hallway.
The audible click and pop of the deadboltsliding breaks the narrowed silence, and it feels like you can finally breathe.
"About time," you mutter under the sound of the heavy wooden door creaking open.
Jean holds the door steady, waiting for you to cross the threshold before slipping in behind you. Upon entering the dorm together, he remains right behind you when the door latches shut- now the outside world feels miles away. The room is filled with a comforting silence, broken only by the sound of shuffling feet, the soft thud of both yours and Jean's belongings hitting the desk, and the quiet rustle as you both kick off your shoes.
The dorm is shrouded in the same shadows you left behind this morning when you and Ymir went to grab breakfast. The afternoon sun attempts to peer through the tightly taut blinds, the light humming with a quiet intensity that makes the room feel even more secluded than it actually is.
Gliding across the dimly lit room, you click the switch to your bedside lamp. The soft light immediately brightens and fills the space, casting long shadows across the floor and over the furniture while also at the same time, warming your skin.
"Ymir gone?"
You turn on your heel, facing away from your nightstand and toward Jean instead. His eyes glide across the room and fall into place with yours after finishing observing the emptiness of Ymir's side of the room.
"It's Wednesday," you begin, and you find yourself staring at Jean's lips more often than you should allow. "Ymir usually meets with Historia after her Research Methods in Psychology lecture finishes on Wednesdays," you explain.
The realization hits you the moment the words leave your lips, and the look on Jean's face tells you he's reached the same conclusion. The truth of the situation not only weighs heavily in the air, but you feel the weight pummeling at the inside of your chest as well. You swallow slowly, certain he can hear your nerves, and find yourself suddenly unable to look him in the eye
"Cool," he murmurs, giving a slow nod. His eyes do a final sweep of the space before his focus locks onto you, and he takes a step closer to you. "Do you know what time she normally gets back... give or take?"
Your teeth sink into the inside of your lip only partially while taking the moment to think, "As early as four thirty-ish, but it really just depends."
A beat of silence hangs between you before you tilt your head, shooting him a quizzical look.
"Why do you ask?" You match his energy, your hips swaying playfully as you take a small step forward.
"I was just wanting to have some alone time with you," his pale eyes dust over the details of your face as he stares down at you, "I feel like it's been a while since I've had the opportunity to share each other's company. Ymir's great and all, but..."
Another step, and even if it didn't seem like many in total, the room is small, and his legs are long. So now, Jean is standing right before you once more, dangerously close in proximity.
Your chest constricts briefly, followed by a slow, measured exhale through your nose. Suddenly, it doesn't seem so hard to maintain direct eye contact with Jean. He notices the shift instantly, his eyes dropping to the soft divide of your parted lips. It's a look you've seen before- that quiet, intense admiration where he seems to be memorizing every part of you.
"I see," your lips press together in attempts to de-cloud your brain, "what were you wanting to do? We could watch another movie or..." Your voice drags on.
"I have a confession to make,' Jean says, his voice dropping as he holds your gaze.
"When you mentioned my perfect timing earlier... it wasn't exactly an accident." He pauses, looking away for a second as if choosing what words to say. "I saw you from across the way and headed over because I just wanted to talk to you- it felt like it'd been forever since I saw you last. That's when I saw him trailing behind you, and well, you know the rest."
"Oh," is the only thing you say, but mainly because you are still processing what Jean has told you. "It's still thanks to you, Jean, regardless of the circumstances."
"I don't know why, but I felt very satisfied scaring him off." Jean takes one final step closer, bridging the smallest portion between you. "I wanted to get there before him, but he beat me to you."
"It's okay," your voice trails, and you watch how his eyes move, taking you in. "You showed up, that's all that matters."
Jean nods, and there is a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tries to mask it by looking away, but it remains. You take this as your opportunity to look your fill, tracing the sharp line of his side profile and the sheer breadth of his shoulders. Up close like this, the width of his chest is even more imposing than you'd initially realized.
"What're you staring at?"
You can feel yourself freeze on the spot, and you flick your eyes up. They land on Jean's instantly as if he had never turned his head away at all.
"Huh?"
"Don't even, I saw you staring."
Suddenly, Jean lifts his arm and reaches out to clasp his palm against your cheek, effortlessly pulling your face closer to his. He draws in a sharp breath of the hot air lingering between you, the sound of it catching in his teeth with a sense of urgency- or hunger. You couldn't tell.
Meanwhile, his left hand traces a direct line starting near the bottom of your shoulder blades across the center of your back all the way until his hand meets with your rear. Jean grabs onto your ass, pulling you close and against him so that both of your bodies are now touching.
A delicate moan wisps from your parted lips as you feel his hardened body pressing against yours. Whether he pulled you in or simply crowded you with such heated passion, you couldn't tell; your eyes are locked onto his, which are burning with pure desire.
He dips his head down even lower and closer until his supple lips are hovering just at the exposed portion of the nape of your neck. Naturally, you tilt your head to the opposite direction to allow Jean better access for his mouth to explore your body. The feel of his breath pacing against your skin causes a shiver to race up your spine in a feverish excitement, and another shaky, faint moan escapes you.
You feel the curve of his lips form into a smirk against your delicate skin; it was a silent triumph for him. Jean adored all your audible responses, especially knowing that he could draw them out of you so easily with the slightest touch.
Your fingers catch in the fabric of his clothes, holding onto him as he leads you through a slow, rhythmic pace towards the bed. Your legs mirror his, stepping in perfect sync as he guides you until you feel the edge of your bed press into the back of your legs. Jean doesn't stop there, though. With a single, swift surge of his body weight pressing you down, he follows you onto the mattress until you're caged beneath him as he straddles you.
Ash colored locks fall sporadically across his brow as he looks down at you beneath him. His eyes are narrowing in ever so slightly as they trace the details of your face- especially your eyes, and your lips.
Mainly your eyes, though.
There is something darker that coats and masks his eyes now, a subtle shift that you happen to catch. From previous encounters, you now know well enough that this undisclosed feeling was hunger.
It lingers in the way Jean looks at you intently, something deep and unmistakable. Insatiable, even.
And suddenly, the realization dawns on you and settles heavily in your chest. Your chin bobs gingerly as you manage to gulp down a swallow, all while maintaining eye contact with the man above you.
Not only did Jean want you, but he yearned for you. To touch you, to feel you, even to taste you. It was at the point where he was nearly aching on the inside to indulge in you by any means necessary. Regardless of the method, whether it was by the caressing of his hands against the curvatures and patterns of your body or even his lips against your skin, it didn't matter to him.
You weren't sure if you were moving on your own accord or if he was shifting you- you do know that your body seemed to respond instinctively to the weight and guidance of his hands as he helps you readjust on the bed. Throughout it all, Jean remains hovering above you throughout the motions.
That same insatiable, deep-rooted hunger remains pitted within him as he watches you underneath him. Those eyes of yours, drenched in excitement or expectancy, peering up at him under the masking of the warm light emitting from the bedside lamp.
"Is this okay?" For the first time in what feels like forever, he speaks, and his voice sounds above a whisper.
You blink, and now you've suddenly forgotten how words are formed.
Jean's face lowers methodically to the crook of your neck, and you can decipher exactly how close his lips linger from the subtle graze of his facial hair against your skin alongside the way his warm exhales fan against your collarbone.
"Are you okay with this?" His words are followed by a close as his lips finally press and kiss the nape of your neck.
"Mm...mhm," you manage a reply even though it's hardly a mumble.
"Good."
He plants his lips on the crook of your neck, sucking on your soft skin and pulling it between his teeth, gently. Another moan escapes you from the contact; his name follows shortly after in an even more breathless fashion.
Jean swallows down a pleasurable groan in response admist him planting subtle kisses across the canvas of your neck. For him to hear how you turn into putty underneath him from his doing, because of what he was doing to you, and how evident it was, this was a major turn on for Jean. It was almost like it was a personal objective for him to make you feel good, and having that audible reinforcement was all the clarification he needed.
He could listen to your passionate mewls forever. Jean would listen to those breathless sounds from you for as long as you'd make them. He was hooked, almost addicted even, he couldn't get enough of the sounds from you. His need for you was impossible to hide now, considering the growing tension straining against the fabric of his sweatpants.
Jean attentively lifts and moves his right leg over yours, and without hesitation, you adjust your body to allow his repositioning. Now his body is wedged in between your legs, and instinctively your legs adjust to partially hook around Jean- more so, the inside of your thighs press against his hips in attempts to lazily draw him in closer.
Your hips arch upward instinctively, desperate to close the gap and feel his body against yours- to feel something, anything at all. Jean is quick to notice the movement, reading how your body aches, and finally, he gives in to your pleas. He lowers his hips and presses his solid, heavy length against you until the weight of the friction clouds all other thoughts in your head.
Upon the initial spark of contact, your hips buck upward uncontrollably to match the grind and seek the friction of him against you. You can feel the frantic rhythm of your heartbeat thrumming between your thighs. At the same time, Jean's mouth trails a line of kisses up your neck until his lips finally meet yours with an intense kiss that steals what little breath you have left.
Naturally, your lips move with his as you succumb and give into the kiss, give into him completely. It was at this moment alone that you felt as if you were to unravel from the influence of his mouth moving with yours. How your mouth parts open to allow his tongue entrance and brush against yours as soon as he nibbles on your bottom lip so gingerly.
His mouth moves with yours like it was second nature, and with such great vigor that you allow him to heed the dominance of the current situation. A supple moan forms and vibrates through muffled lips, only to cause Jean to deepen the kiss in response.
The palms of your hands press against Jean's chest before curling your knuckles onto his clothing, pulling him in closer as the kiss spirals into further depths of intoxication. His hands find either side of your face as your mouths move together in inebriating synchronization.
The moment the inside of your thighs presses against Jean once more is when his mouth reluctantly pulls away from yours.
"Is this what you want?" When he says your name, it is in a raspy, breathless tone, but Jean wants you to say yes- he needs to hear you admit that you wanted him. And maybe that you wanted him as much as he wanted you.
His intense eyes flick down toward his lap, his chest heaving in a heavy, jagged rhythm. Without even realizing it, your own breathing hitches to match his, your chests rising and falling in perfect, frantic sync. Your heart is racing, and you struggle to catch your breath as you watch every slight, deliberate move he makes.
You watch breathlessly as Jean quietly peels his hand away from your face. His arm brushes your side when reaching down, and his palm grips around the prominent length of him through the fabric of his sweatpants. The sight alone makes you pull the inside of your lip between your teeth, your heart hammering in your chest as you chew on the sensitive flesh in pure, raw anticipation.
Jean guides himself with a steady hand, deliberately dragging his length against your hypersensitive area. He presses into you once more, his voice is low, a syrupy growl, "say you want it," he commands softly. "Say you want me."
You bob your head breathlessly before your head falls back to the pillow in full anticipation. You almost begin to feel tears form and prick at the corners of your eyes from the sheer, overwhelming bliss from the feel of his heavy, rhythmic pressure grinding against you through the fabric of your clothes.
"M-mm..." You struggle to form a coherent response at first, but finally, you manage to speak, "I want you, Jean, please."
The whine of your voice from your reveal of desire almost causes Jean to unravel and give in to you completely right then and there. He stops and manages to refrain and hold himself back- even if it were just for the meantime. It's not that he didn't want you, because he did, he just had other plans for you first.
Jean releases his hardened member and reaches for the waistband of your pants urgently. The heat of his palm pressing and radiating against your lower abdomen sends a chill racing up your spine, and the feeling remains as his thumb brushes past your waistband and inches toward the hem of your underwear.
With your eyes now closed, you surrender completely under his touch, allowing him to explore your body to whatever degree he wishes to pursue. A surge of anticipation lurches in your chest; it is a sharp, breathless leap as his thumb finally brushes past the hem of your underwear.
Another hot, breathless moan escapes from you in response as the pad of his thumb gently pushes past the beginning of your wetted lips, slicking his thumb as it brushes against your clit delicately. You breathe his name for another time as his thumb pools in smooth, tantalizing circles around and across the swollen bud. Every time his name leaves your lips, it's a physical blow to his composure. Jean feels his self-control being tested as his dick is throbbing immensely; he wants you- he's starving for you. But, he forces himself to wait somehow, even though it was quite difficult considering just how ready you looked for him, because he would have you just as soon as he was positive you were absolutely ready for all of him.
"You're so nice and wet for me already," he reveals as his thumb continues to draw patterns around and across your sensitive bud.
A babble of desperation from you, to which Jean dips his head and plants another kiss on your neck. As much as he wanted to kiss you directly, he also couldn't help but want to hear the desperation oozing out from your voice for him.
He continues to toy with the overly sensitive clit, his fingers remain circling at a slow enough pace to allow your desperation and want for him to deepen. To take it one step even further, his middle finger slides across your soaking lips and slips his long, girthy finger deep into your cunt.
Another cry of utter pleasure dispels from you, and you couldn't help but hinge at your hips in attempts to receive more of him. You whine another moan as Jean begins to rock his middle finger, stroking at your heated, wet center.
Your slick begins to puddle and build, soaking his hand as he finger fucks you on your bed. Naturally, your hips attempt to follow the pattern of his strokes, but Jean grabs onto your hip with his other hand and holds you in place as a second finger, his ring finger pushes against your soaked lips and into you.
A harsh gasp heaves from the depths of your chest as his two girthy fingers slide deep, curling against your most sensitive spot repetitively in a rhythmic, insistent pressure. At the same time, Jean's thumb continues to meticulously rake and trace familiar ecstasy-driven patterns against your swollen bud. It's at this moment that you begin to feel that familiar sensation build and coil in the pit of your stomach.
"Jean," you mewl his name, feeling the build of your climax as it intensifies with each stroke, every pump of his fingers gliding in and out of you. "I'm gonna-"
But, Jean was feeling rather greedy, he couldn't allow you to cum yet, he wanted to make sure that he felt you meet your peak and unravel to your wits in, clenching and seething around his cock, thrusting in and out of you.
Just as his fingers slide out and away from your underwear, there is a familiar sound that echoes from your door. It rattles in your ears, and suddenly it feels as though the earth stops spinning. Instantly, your heart sinks into your throat, and your eyes snap open wildly. The cloudful haze of lust vanishes with haste as there is a burst of panic that envelopes you. The world and how you formally know it is abruptly rushing back to life in the present moment.
Fuck.
Like pure reflex, you look to Jean, who is looking down at you with a mirrored expression much similar to yours. Before your brain can even process a better judgment, your hands fly out, your palms meeting and pressing against him as you shove the large man away from you. With the force so sudden, you were convinced you knocked the wind right out of him as well.
Sorry, Jean.
Jean rolls off of you towards your left and closer to the wall, his face buried and pressing into a pillow when the door creaks open.
All that you can do now in this very moment is stare at the ceiling in a stunned daze while also embracing acceptance of the situation you were in. Then, the crushing weight of embarrassment hits you. There is a stinging flush of shame that riddles you as you cover your face with the safety of your hands.
"Well," there is a moment of pause, "I'm glad I didn't walk in any later, or else I think I'd be completely scarred for life."
Facing the music, you pull your hands away from your face and turn your head to the outside of the room, and instantly, your eyes meet with Ymir's. There is a subtle smirk on her face that she doesn't even attempt to hide, as well as a mixture of disbelief as to what she's just interrupted.
"Hey, Kirstein."
"Kill me," Jean nuzzles his face even further into the pillow, "this cannot be happening," he groans deeply in defeat, and his words are absorbed by the cotton material.
"I tried texting you, but I see now that you were too preoccupied to see my texts." Ymir arches her brows. "Geez, I'm getting flashbacks of you and that boy, next time you have company over, just let me know in advance, okay?"
"Yes, I know," your words are deadpan.
With a promise of a few minutes of solitude to yourselves, Ymir retreats from the room and allows you and Jean a moment of privacy. When the door finally shuts upon her departure, the room is suddenly ringing in silence.
"I am so sorry, you have no idea," you wince as you finally turn towards Jean.
Jean finally lifts his head slowly from the pillow, his face scorched a shade of pink as he sips in fresh breaths of air. He heaves himself up as both palms of his press into the mattress as he shifts himself up and away. Whenever he settles at the edge of the bed, the silence stretches between you two until he finally speaks again.
"You really had to push me off of you, huh?"
"I panicked, okay?" You reveal, adjusting your body weight as you sit upright on the mattress, tucking your legs close to your body.
"I can tell," he breathes easily, and a small smile partially forms at his lips.
"Sorry," you offer an apology once more.
Jean's chest drops with the push of a deep exhale, his eyes lingering on you as you sit across from him.
"It's okay," A genuine smile spreads across his lips, "don't worry about it. I thought it was funny after the fact, with all things considered." He reveals with a push of his fingers skimming through his hair.
A weight seems to lift off of your shoulders upon hearing his confession.
"I guess Ymir was right," you say while you remain holding eye contact with Jean and he shoots you a somewhat questionable expression.
"Oh, yeah," the color of his face lightens immensively upon realization, "most definitely. Talk about perfect-imperfect timing, it's a good thing she walked in when she did because there was no telling how I was going to have you."
The beating of your heart loops restlessly in your chest, and naturally, your knees press together ever so slightly at the thought of what could've been. Your skin still feels ablaze, and there is a frustrated fizzle still resonating within you from the ache of the shortcomings of the edged climax from earlier.
Another smooth push of his fingers through his hair with a deep groan to follow, "I guess I should get going, I need to get going to the gym with Eren soon before he blows my phone up."
When he reveals this, you feel this dampening sensation of reluctance pool at the center of your chest. Obstinately, your gaze falls and drifts away from Jean to be stolen away across the room and to the clutter of items that made up Ymir's desk.
"Hey," his voice cuts through the thickness of the air, "I'll see you more tomorrow, okay?"
The wisftul gaze of yours drifts back to him once more as his body leans forward, his palm pressing down on your knee as your head lifts away and you adjust your posture.
"For our date, remember?" His warm amber eyes peer at you with intent.
How could you possibly forget something such as that, considering you had been looking forward to it since he asked you?
"Yeah, I know," your words are more of a murmur, and curiosity begins to race through your mind as your fingers toy with the fabric of your blanket. "You still haven't told me what we're doing tomorrow, by the way..."
Not that knowing what it is you would be doing together mattered, you'd go either way.
When the pinch of your fingers releases the fabric, your gaze lifts back to him.
Jean's lips twitch ever so faintly, the hint of a smirk pulling at both corners of his mouth- almost as if he was expecting or anticipating some form of questioning from you. Which, it was to be expected, considering he had been secretive all this time.
"I told you it was a surprise," still, his thumb rakes over your knee gently as he speaks, his tone light but unwavering. "Unless you really want to know, then I'd tell you, but I'd prefer it to be under wraps."
The center of your eyebrows pulls and cinches together slightly in a moment of dwelling in partial contemplation.
"I guess not," you finally come to terms with the circumstances at hand.
You stare out at him for a passing moment, and he maintains eye contact with you throughout the entire duration.
"Two o'clock," Jean reveals, and suddenly, you're well indulged with what more he could say next. "Be ready by then, I'm picking you up, and we're heading out from here."
Just as your lips part slightly and your tongue moves to conjure a response, Jean speaks once more.
"And wear something warm, it's supposed to be chilly tomorrow," he says this almost as an afterthought, almost like he's said too much.
But the look in his light hues reveals otherwise, "Make sure it's something comfy, too."
There is a brief pause, and your eyelashes flutter together with a series of quick blinks.
Your head tilts only just a fraction, "so, warm and comfy clothes..." your voice yields a hint of uncertainty that Jean immediately clocks. "What about something cute?"
His gaze softens whenever he says your name, and he offers a positive grin to follow, "Anything you wear would be cute."
The sheer certainty makes your heart skip a beat, but there is no time for you to find a response as he's already shifting. When Jean's hand lifts and pulls away from your knee, the absence of his touch you immediately notice and yearn for. It is also something more noticeable than you would have initially expected. You hadn't even realized just how accustomed you had become to the feeling of his hand resting on you for the entirety of the conversation.
Instead of saying anything or daring to interrupt, you bite lightly at the inside of your lip, refraining entirely as you watch him rise from the bed and begin the process of gathering his belongings.
Those soft shuffles of his movements that fill the room as he manages to reclaim his shoes that were sitting right next to yours. And still, you remain rooted in the same spot on your bed, unwilling to move even in the slightest. Instead, your eyes stay fastened as you watch him quietly.
Your silent gaze traces the familiar motions of his body as they commit to their actions. How he leans down slightly, how his fingers tug at the back of his shoe before moving to lace it. But, as he is in mid-process, you notice a pause. Barely, but there.
His fingers still for only a fraction of a second against the tight laces before continuing, though it is notable that it's not quite as fluid as before. There is a subtle shift in his jaw, and the shadows of his face deepen as a quiet exhale pushes through his nose. It seems almost as if he is grounding himself before he finishes lacing the shoe.
What you also cannot seem to ignore is that when he looks up, he doesn't look at you.
Instead, he glances back to his feet and finishes tying the other shoe before pushing himself upright and reaching for his belongings, but even then, and the same as the other second ago, there is the slightest delay in his movements. It seems like his mind is lingering somewhere else, elsewhere but in the moment he was currently in.
The reality of the moment all seems so... normal.
Almost too normal, or so you thought to yourself.
To the point where it almost felt eerie just how quickly the air had settled, hadn't it? It was as if neither of you had nearly unraveled from the causation of the other in a heated moment only a few minutes prior. All so recent, to the point that you could still count the passing minutes on a single hand. Though as these single minutes pass by, the moment shared between you and Jean begins to drift even further away. Based on how you were feeling with your current observation, the moment already feels fleeting; everything was beginning to feel different- off.
Theroomdidn't just feel quiet, it felt hollow. Every small sound he made, from the scuffing of his feet brushing against the floor to the soft rustling of his clothes, all sounded like a countdown leading to his departure.
It was also the warmth he left pressed into the mattress that was already depleting, which you noticed as well. It all boiled down to the realization that normality was already taking over once again, and soon you'd be back to just yourself. You were greedy; all you wanted was to continue to feel his warmth, observe his lingering gaze, and you knew deep down that Jean would stay around even for just a little while longer if you asked. But for some reason, you don't- you felt as if you couldn't.
Now it was all just a distant memory still lingering in the forefront of your brain.
The pinch of your teeth releases as your lips press together in slight distress, though you try to mask your perturbed state.
If you weren't paying close enough attention to Jean this entire duration, it would be an easy miss. It was subtle, something nearly invisible, but his current movements were just wrong. There was a nagging feeling that boiled in your insides, you couldn't shake. An off feeling that only continued to intensify with every step, every movement he took. Until finally, you couldn't refrain any longer.
Because whatever it is you were feeling you didn't like it at all.
"Hey," your mouth betrays you as the words slip off your tongue before you can stop it.
Jean's movement pauses right at that very moment, and maybe not completely, but it is enough for him to pause. This time, he turns completely and faces you across from him. And this time, his eyes do not hesitate to find yours, but they aren't as instant to snap to you either as they usually do.
The confidence you recently claimed vanishes now, and suddenly it's a challenge to find the correct words to say.
"Uh," you begin to speak, and your fingers begin to curl into your blanket once more as you adjust positioning slightly. Your gaze dips for a moment, and you almost slip from maintaining eye contact with Jean.
Whenever your eyes find him once more, you continue, "You're okay, right? Like... well, I don't know, you seem a little off, and I don't know if it's because of me or..."
The words leave your lips much quieter than you expected. And even though there is a strain of tension forming in your chest, you feel some form of relief by asking the question anyway.
Jean's eyebrows knit together just slightly, not in a state of confusion, but in recognition, rather. His eyes peer longingly at you now, and you become completely absorbed by them.
"Oh," Jean exhales underneath his breath, and when he says this, it sounds more like a personal realization than anything else.
For only just a fleeting second, his gaze drops and breaks the connection before his eyes creep back to yours. This time, the intensity of before is replaced with subtle softness as he quietly studies the features of your face.
"No," his voice has a gentleness to it, especially when he says your name. "You're good."
A beat passes.
"You didn't do anything wrong whatsoever."
The words come to Jean so easily, and they leave his mouth just as steadily as they are reassuring. It seemed as if he did not want there to be any room for you to overthink or question anything at all.
His eyes linger on you for another second longer for a hint of confirmation, something or anything that you believe what he's told you. And whenever you don't respond right away, that's when another quiet exhale escapes him, and he begins his approach towards you.
Though steps are unhurried, they still ooze with a sense of meaning, like every step he was taking toward you was purely intentional.
The stride Jean makes is only a handful of steps, which you watch as his legs glide across the room. He closes the space between the two of you entirely. Now, he stands before you with the front of his legs pressing against the side of your bed. His gaze drops to meet yours, his pale hues peering into yours with a gentle heat. Suddenly, you don't feel that same extent of loneliness from before.
You watch as Jean leans in, one hand sinking into the mattress just inches from your hip to steady himself. With his other hand, he lifts it to hang in the air between you, his pinky finger extending out before you as a silent invitation.
"I promise everything is okay," his voice is even quieter than before. "We're good."
Your pinky finger hooks and curls onto his seamlessly as soon as your hand meets his. When you avert your gaze just past your fists interlocked by pinky's only, you notice Jean's gaze flickers and catches yours.
Jean says your name with a push of confidence, and he doesn't sound nearly as quiet as he did seconds ago. He sounds sure of himself when he speaks to you.
"We." His eyes are hyper-focused on yours, so he has a way of solidifying that you truly hear him as he speaks to you now. "We are going to have a great time tomorrow."
The weight of his words finally settles in, and just as you open your mouth to respond, Jean leaves no room for hesitation when he pulls your interlocked hand close to his mouth. He tilts his head, and you bury down the slight fit of laughter bubbling inside you when you feel his facial hair ghost your skin as his lips press and kiss onto your hand.
The kiss itself doesn't last long, but it's so soft and tender that it makes your heart melt into a puddle inside your chest.
When your hand lowers and drifts away, there is a haze that clouds his eyes while he stares at you. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and he allows the smile to linger as he begins to speak.
"I'm going to head out now, text me as soon as I leave here, okay?"
For the first time in a long time, or so it feels like, your chest rattles gently with fresh laughter, "Are you sure? Won't you be like, working out?"
"Yeah, but I will find the time to respond." Jean takes a step backwards towards the door.
"What's in it for me?"
He continues his backward pace towards the door, his eyes never leave you, but they do narrow in response to your bold question. "Don't text me and miss out on some awesome gym selfies."
"I'm starting to believe you just want an excuse for me to text you, Jean."
Well, the excuse worked all right.
"Text me," this time, the words come out more as a plea than anything.
"I will." You say, watching him reach the door to commit to his departure.
Jean slows just as he reaches the door, his hand hovering near the handle before he stops entirely. Jean pauses just before reaching for the door, as something catches him mid-step. He turns back toward you, lifting his hand once more, his pinky extending out in the air between you.
Jean slows just as he reaches for the door, and his hand hovers near the handle for a quick second before he stops mid-reach. Suddenly, you watch as he turns back towards you, his chest and the front of his face are towards you. Jean lifts his hand once more, his pinky extending out, hovering at the center of his chest.
"Hey." He teeters his hand, minimally swaying his finger.
Your gaze drifts away from his hand and back to his face, and your lips curve into a vivid smile without thinking. There is no hesitation from you this time as your hand lifts from the spot it was resting and hovers in front of you, hooking your pinky with his from far across the room where you sit.
Another delicate kiss upon your hand, you imagine as well to top off the moment.
A comfortable silence envelopes you two, and neither of you says anything. Instead, his intense gaze lingers on you for just a while longer before he reluctantly- and finally- lets his hand fall and drop back to his side. At the same time, your hand is already drifting away as well.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
"See you."
It happened so fast, the twist of the door handle and the opening and closing of the door- Jean exiting included.
Like that, he was gone, and the emptiness of the room was suddenly deafening.
A long, steady breath of air plunges out of your lungs with an extensive exhale, and you hunch over slightly, staring at the emptiness of your room. You weren't welcomed with even a moment's worth of silence before the door creaks and swings open once more.
You couldn't help the slight dip in your heart when you realized it was only Ymir on the other side of the door.
"Lover boy didn't want to stick around?"
"Oh, hush," there is a twist at your heart as you jab at Ymir. "He had to get going, which is fine because I'll see him for our date tomorrow."
"Oh yeah, I almost forgot," Ymir clears the space in the room and sits on her bed directly across from you. "Are you feeling excited for it?"
You roll onto your side and look at Ymir with a softened expression. "Yeah," you start, and your voice is barely above a whisper as a familiar flutter of excitement swirls in your chest. "I am, actually."
"Just so you know, the room is all yours tomorrow. I'll go stay with Historia to make sure I don't interrupt anything again."
Your eyes are like daggers when they slash in Ymir's direction.
"Hey, sorry for cock blocking you," Ymir offers, which receives another nasty glare from you.
A deep groan that doesn't even sound human manages to escape you before you flop over on your bed and partially cover your face with one of your pillows, "Not funny, Ymir."
"Can't you accept my apology?"Ymir's voice is riddled with faux annoyance. "How about this, let's go grab some dinner later together, we haven't done that in a while, my treat."
The pillow you were using as a shield drops as temptation creeps in. "The amount of embarrassment can never be undone," you say, rolling aimlessly over to face Ymir, "but I'll accept your offer."
"Sweet."
