Chapter Text
Mikasa looked at the building with apprehension; her feet had been welded into the concrete, so it seemed. Even the summer sun could not urge her to walk forward, to find the comfort of the library’s air conditioner and the shade. Not that she needed the air conditioner, mind you. She wore a black dress with long, lace sleeves that would’ve made anyone sweat buckets in the heat.
People often asked her how was it that she took the heat. “Sheer willpower,” she would answer, without giving much explanation.
Today, however, was the one day she felt like her sweat pores had opened a little. It wasn’t her fault, though. It had not been her fault. The explosion in the science laboratory had not been her fault at all. But professor Zoe and professor Smith had found them all guilty regardless.
She wasn’t guilty, but she blamed herself still. The morning of the explosion, she had been running late to school, so she’d not drank her brew to thank the gods for another morning, she had not said her prayers, she’d not put the sacrificial berries at the fairy circle at the edge of the garden.
This was all a divine punishment. A well-deserved divine punishment.
Professor Zoe had convinced director Smith to be lenient with their punishment. So, they’d agreed on summer investigation assignments for them all, done in groups.
When Eren’s turn had come to pull out the paper with the name of the person who would do the summer assignment with him, Mikasa had hoped it would her name the one he pulled out from the glass jar. But of course, she had failed to pay respects the spirits that morning, so the spirits and fate had given her the retribution she deserved.
“Are you coming in?” a voice called from one of the windows. Mikasa looked at the boy, hair slicked back, sports jacket on, knuckles raw from whichever fights he got into after school, and dug her nails into the skin of her palm.
It’s not that she hated Kirstein. He was just…a lot. Too much, in fact.
Too much fanfare, too much swagger. Being the ‘bad boy’ of school, he thought himself as one of the handsomest too. Also, he thought himself the smartest, the best at everything, someone good enough to hang out with the higher school castes, but cool enough to detach himself from their circles to get himself in fights—his level of confidence was something Mikasa didn’t like. She didn’t like overtly cocky guys, and this cocky guy had tried to ask her out a couple of times already.
Mikasa could see the hidden intention of his invitations. She knew people talked about her at school; she knew what they said. Prudish, weird Mikasa, always stuck by Eren and Armin’s side, never had any friends, never had a boyfriend. Kirstein had seen that, and he’d probably set out to try and take her out on dates until the school knew he, Jean Kirstein, had been the one to conquer the weird little goth girl.
Cocky guys like him saw girls like her as trophies. And Mikasa disliked that.
“Aren’t you gonna go in? He looks annoyed. Although that’s not a surprise,” a familiar voice asked at her side. Mikasa turned to see Eren, who looked disinterested with everything as always, carrying his usual backpack on his back.
“A-Are you here for your assignment?” Mikasa asked. Having him in the library alongside her would make the hours of work ahead bearable, maybe they could sneak out before four and he would walk her all the way home. Maybe, they could have lunch together. Perhaps dinner too. “Do you want to sit with us? I think, if we all—”
“Historia’s picking me up here. We’re going to the science museum to talk to dad,” Eren informed her, giving her a sideways glance. “Aren’t you warm in that dress? It’s hot today.”
Mikasa rubbed a hand over the lace sleeves. She’d had the suspicion that Eren would be at the library that day, and she’d made a special effort to look pretty in her new black dress. She hadn’t known, however, that she would just get to see him for a little bit. Again, the spirits punished her. “Not really. I-what do you think of it?”
“It looks warm,” Eren said, paying attention to the street instead of giving her clothes another look. “You should try using less make up on a warm day. If you get sweaty, it’ll run down your face and then you’ll have problems.”
“Yeah,” Mikasa replied right away, clearing her throat. “I-I don’t get sweaty.”
“Lucky you.” Eren snorted. “Is Armin coming today? He’s in your team, isn’t he?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You want to hang out later?” Eren asked after a moment.
“Yeah,” she replied. “Professor Erwin lent me that book earlier, the one I talked to you guys about.”
“Hmmm…” Eren said, nodding. Anyone else would’ve been offended by his seemingly lack of care, but Mikasa knew him well and knew her words had caught his attention. He was looking at her now, waiting for her to continue speaking.
“If we meet at four, we’d have enough time to go through it before dinner,” she continued. “It’s not the original, but the pictures are in good shape if you use a magnifying glass—”
“I meant hang out at your house,” Eren interrupted, scratching the back of his head. He looked at the street again, pointedly avoiding her gaze while his cheeks became red. “At night? Can I come over? Like last Friday, you know. On your rooftop.”
Mikasa recognized the glint in his eyes, but his anticipation only threw a cold bucket of water over her excitement from a second earlier. “I-I don’t know if my mom—”
“Come on, you’re eighteen, I’m eighteen, what’s the big deal?” Eren said. Mikasa blushed; there wasn’t a big deal around what they did. It’s not like they did much other than making out in any case. The problem was that Eren had not asked her out on a date yet. Every time they went out, they went out with Armin, and then if he was in the mood, they would head back to her place and make out on the roof of her house.
“Maybe we could have a bite to eat before,” Mikasa proposed, staring at the street and recognizing Historia’s convertible approaching the school. “There’s a sushi place I’ve been meaning to go to.”
Eren turned to look at her, but before he could say anything, the sound of a speeding sports car echoed all across the street. Soon, the pink vehicle parked in front of them; Historia Reiss’ pride and joy since her eighteenth birthday. She’d paid for three parking spaces at the school just to ensure nobody would scratch it.
“Hey,” Historia said, looking as lovely as she always did. She took off her sunglasses and put them over her head, casting an examining look at both Eren and her. “Jaegar, are you going to move? I don’t want to be stuck in a lame museum all day.”
“Sure.” Eren said, sighing in exasperation. At least that was a relief, Mikasa thought; at least Eren didn’t think the queen bee of the school was attractive, or worthy of spending too much time with. For now, the only one he found cute enough to kiss was her and only her. “Hey, Mikasa. Sushi, right? Tonight at six?”
She smiled. “Do we meet at the museum? Or do you want to come pick me up here?”
“Nah,” Eren said. “I’ll text Armin. We’ll catch a cab together and meet you there.”
Mikasa knew how to hide her emotions well; years at school without a friend had made her an expert at it. So, she nodded and gave Eren another smile as he got on the sports car. A hand twisted her heart as she watched him and Historia drive away; they’d made out about a dozen times already—thirteen times if she counted tonight, and they’d hadn’t had one dinner or late lunch that didn’t include Armin.
“Oi!” Kirstein called from the window. “We’re losing daylight!”
“Coming,” Mikasa replied in a low voice, giving the window a double take. Had he been watching them talk all this time?
Jean leaned back on his chair, arms folded over his chest, but decided to change position a minute later. It would look too forced, wouldn’t it? Maybe if rested his chin on his hand, tapping his fingers on the table…no, it would look as if he were bored with her already. He didn’t want her to think he thought she was boring. Both hands on the table, back straight? No, not that, either. He’d look like that idiot Eren, and that’s the last thing he wanted.
What’s the point? A little voice reminded him. And the voice was right.
He’d seen them a couple of nights ago. He and Marlowe had gone up on his rooftop to get drunk and make bets on future fights, and he’d seen them. Mikasa and the sad idiot, making out on another rooftop. Eren had had his hand up Mikasa’s shirt, and the sight of that had made Jean so angry that he’d almost fallen off the rooftop.
He’d given up on asking her out a while ago, and after seeing her kissing that idiot, he’d given up on her altogether. Let them have their weird little outcast romance. There were other hot girls in school and out of school, he was sure. If asked another out, he would eventually grow out of his crush on the goth girl with the funny cross necklaces and the adorable pigtails.
That’s what he would do. He would move on. He would find another girl to go on a date with, and he would move on from Mikasa and perhaps congratulate Eren for their relationship. But the fact that he was going to move on from her didn’t mean that he would not keep up his efforts to look cool in front of her. Let her realize the man she’d refused, he thought as he switched positions.
“Good morning,” Mikasa said, entering the library. She wore a brand-new black dress, with laced sleeves and tight around her waist and chest. She had a full face of make-up; pale face, dark eyeshadow, dark lipstick and pink cheeks and all. Heavens, she looked fantastic with all that make-up on.
Who was he fucking kidding? Who in their right mind would want to get over her?
You, idiot.
Jean sighed, feeling that the laboratory explosion and the following retribution for it were nothing more than divine punishments. Whatever god ruled the universe, it enjoyed taunting him, pairing him up with the one girl who’d never looked twice his way.
“Are you alright?” she asked. And then Jean realized she’d entered just as he was changing positions on the chair. He straightened immediately, putting both hands on the table, and forcing himself to breathe easier. He gave her a smile he knew was idiotic and gestured at the chairs around him.
“Perfect! Come sit. Lot’s to do today.”
“I know.” Mikasa said, crossing the library with quick steps. She sat across the table from him, something Jean had predicted. She’d never seemed overtly fond of spending much time near him, and he respected that. “Armin’s not coming?”
“That new girl got into some sort of trouble after school,” Jean said. “A fight with the janitor’s friends, I think.”
“Leonhart?” Mikasa asked.
“Yeah, her,” Jean said, scribbling the date on his notebook without looking at her. “Professor Zoe punished her the way she did with us, and told Armin to pair up with her.”
Mikasa sighed. That tiny sigh, so charged with disappointment, was like a punch to his pride. He’d spent weeks pushing, pushing for her to accept his dates, and all she’d given him had been a charm in between classes. After he’d looked it up online, however, Jean had realized it was a repellent charm.
She’s not into you, that little voice told him. She doesn’t like you, dumbass. Why would she want to be near you?
“I’m sorry,” she said, squirming on the chair, looking away from him. “It’s just…it’s been a weird couple of days.”
“Tell me about it.” Jean said, focusing on his notebook. Act cool, he told himself. He needed to act as if his body wasn’t keenly aware of her perfume, as if his eyes weren’t inevitably drawn to the deep purple of her lipstick or the choker around her neck. Everything about her was so cute and awesome at the same time, he couldn’t help but to try a little harder to appear cocky, cool enough so that someone like her would look twice his way.
All that had gotten him was a repellent charm, however.
“I have much better things to do than a science project,” Mikasa muttered angrily.
“Same,” Jean said, not looking up; there was something else bothering her. Yes, she didn’t want to do the assignment with him, but something else had caused that hurt glow in her eyes. Maybe she’d gotten into a fight with Jaegar, or something. And maybe it was because Jean was so focused on trying to figure out what was happening to her that he spoke without thinking. “I’ve got five weeks before the show and I still only have one work completed.”
“What show?” Mikasa asked.
“It’s the art show in Stohess, for young artists,” Jean said, again, without thinking. “I’m supposed to hand in five works, and I’m stuck in my first one. Don’t know what else to do.”
Mikasa rested her chin on her hand and tilted her head sideways, looking as cool as he’d wanted to look only a few minutes ago. “I didn’t know you were a young artist.”
“Well, you barely talk to me,” Jean scoffed inevitably. “It’s not like you’d know much about me. Last time you talked to me was to get me out of the way because the bus was going to leave.”
“I wasn’t very polite then,” Mikasa whispered. She leaned her back against the chair and bit her lower lip, sending terrible waves of guilt across his body. He was used to being called a jerk by other men, but his mother had taught him to treat girls well, and blaming Mikasa for not wanting to give him the time of day was not the right way to behave. If she didn’t like him, that was her decision, and all he could do was accept it.
“I didn’t mean that,” Jean said quickly. “I’m just annoyed.”
Mikasa frowned. “You are?”
“I’d much rather be doing my own thing than be stuck here,” Jean lied. Of course, he hated assignments, but he’d been rather excited when he’d pulled out that piece of paper with Mikasa’s name on it. “I’m just taking it out on you. I’m sorry, it’s not like you have to talk to me.”
“It was impolite, that time with the bus,” Mikasa repeated with a shake of her head. “Didn’t you fall to the ground?”
Jean gave her an awkward little smile. “Yeah, I kind of did.”
Mikasa closed her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Did I hurt you?”
Not physically, Jean thought. But then again, her not liking him that way was not something he’d use to make her feel guilty. She just didn’t like him; it was as simple as that. The world was cruel like that, and the world had decided Jean would never go on a date with Mikasa Ackerman. He just had to suck it up and accept it.
“Bus left me, and I had to ride in the back of Reiner’s motorcycle,” Jean said with a soft chuckle. “But no serious injuries.”
Mikasa looked at him again. “It left you too?”
“Y-yeah,” Jean replied. “Wait, you didn’t get on it?”
“Eren was supposed to give me time and distract the driver while I got there,” she explained, playing with a loose thread on her sleeve. “I think he might’ve forgotten. Armin did have a new set of pokemon cards that day.”
Jean snorted. Only Eren Jaegar would be more interested in a set of Pokemon cards than helping the most beautiful girl in school catch a ride back. “Did you make it home okay?”
Mikasa turned to look at him as if Jean had just asked her a deep, dark secret of hers, and he had to wonder if he’d just screwed up further with her. People knew how hard it was to get her to speak, and the fact that their conversation had lasted three minutes already was an achievement in and of itself.
“I made it home safe,” she said, and whatever shock that had threatened to overcome her body dissipated as quick as it came over her. She put the backpack on the table, the large thud of the books she carried echoing around the room. Mikasa opened the zipper and focused on bringing out all the books she carried, not looking at him when she spoke again. “Thank you for asking, by the way.”
Jean’s breath caught at the sight by the book bound in dark brown in front of him. It had the seal of the old monarchy of Paradis, and he could see yellowed, wrinkled pages inside. “Think nothing of it,” he said, taking the book nonchalantly. “Remind me why we need a diplomacy log from three hundred years ago? Where did you get this thing anyways?”
“It-it has logs of wildlife after the extinction event,” she informed him, rummaging through her backpack still. “I thought to use this as a source to see how plants have evolved since then, considering most plants and wildlife died during it.”
“All I see is a bunch of old pictures,” Jean said, running quickly through the pages.
“Careful!” Mikasa said, reaching out across the table to grab the book. Jean lifted it beyond her reach, causing her to narrow her eyes and climb further onto the table to take it. “It is a delicate copy! Leave it, Kirstein!”
“It’s just a book, Ackerman!” he teased.
“I swear by ancient Ymir, you will regret it if you don’t put it down!” Mikasa snapped. Noticing her anger, Jean lowered the book and handed it to her. Mikasa held it between her sleeved arms and cradled it against her chest as if it were a newborn. “This is why I didn’t want to do the project with you. You have no idea how to handle things!”
Jean sat back down, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m sorry I don’t worship an old book.”
“It’s a very expensive book. I got this copy from Professor Smith’s library,” she told him, regaining her patience the more she spoke. “If we tear it, I can’t imagine what he’s going to do.”
“I didn’t know.” He lied. Of course, he knew the book. Professor Smith protected it as if it were his firstborn child; it was one of the most valuable historical books in all the island. If anything, Mikasa managing to convince the professor to lend it to her only made Jean’s admiration for her grow.
“Of course, you didn’t know. You didn’t ask,” Mikasa snapped, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “We’d have to pay at least ten thousand if we ruin this thing.”
“Oh,” Jean said, cursing himself. Of course, the most valuable historical book would be the most expensive book on the island, too. He rubbed his forehead in frustration and leaned his head against the table. “Why do I have to be such a dumbass?”
“Don’t hit your head,” she told him from her side of the table, her voice soft. Jean looked up at her just in time to see Mikasa cleaning a stray tear from her eye. She sat down, letting her black hair cover her cheeks, and Jean looked down again, trying to give her privacy. “I should’ve told you it was delicate.”
“I knew it was delicate,” Jean confessed, pressing his forehead against the cold wood, rubbing the back of his head with two hands. “It’s the Peace Compendium, is it not? It goes from the extinction event, the peace negotiations, the refugee acts, everything. It should have some of the signatures of the peace ambassadors, right?”
Mikasa’s voice was nothing but a whisper when she spoke again. “You know what this is?”
“I do. I passed Erwin’s class with high honors,” Jean said, hitting his head against the table one more time. “I just wanted to look like the cool guy that doesn’t know shit about antiques. You know, because they’re for old people?”
“Why would you want to do that?”
I want you to think I’m cool.
“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “I’m a dumbass, that’s why. I’m sorry I made you cry. I swear if I ruined it, I’ll pay the ten thousand.”
Mikasa stayed silent for a long while. She stayed silent for so long, that Jean thought she’d left him alone in the library. When he looked up again, however, he realized she was sitting across the table from him, holding the book against her chest with both hands. “You didn’t make me cry,” she said once her eyes met his. “It has been…a long day.”
Maybe she had gotten into a fight with Jaegar. The bastard hadn’t even kissed her when greeting her, after all. What type of dumbass did you have to be to have such a beauty in front of you and not cover her face in kisses each time you saw her? Of course, he wasn’t going to ask Mikasa that. He had no plans to get in between their relationship. But still, seeing her so sad broke his heart.
“How did you manage to get Erwin to lend it to you?” Jean asked to distract her.
“Cleaning duty through the school archives. The janitor, he needs extra hands with destroying some documents,” she said, sighing. “Smith said information has a price, and that price was two hundred hours of community service.”
“I could help, if you like,” Jean offered, putting both of his hands on the table to play with the loose pieces of skin on the sides of his nails. “Don’t lose your whole summer because you wanted to read through that book.”
“You would?”
“Do you think that book will give us a good grade?” Jean asked, arching his eyebrows in the book’s direction, hoping with all his heart she didn’t think he was giving her breasts a look. He really wasn’t. Or at least, he hadn’t meant to do it.
Luckily for him, Mikasa didn’t notice. She put the book on the table and nodded. “I think it will.”
“Good, then I’ll help you out,” Jean said with a triumphant smile. “If we divide the hundred hours, we’ll just do a hundred each. I think that’s a fair deal, don’t you think?”
Mikasa nodded to herself, considering his proposition.
“You don’t need to clean with me,” Jean added, and the expectant look he got from her gave another punch to his pride. “We can do separate days, if you feel more comfortable.”
Now she was nodding in approval. Yes, she was not into him, Jean was aware. But she could be a little more discreet about it, could she not? “Do you want to take a look?” Mikasa said, pushing the book until it laid between the two on the table. “It’s just a copy. Basically—”
“Pictures of the original, but it’s in good conditions. The original one was lost with the sacking of the royal palace,” Jean finished saying. Mikasa exchanged a look with him, so confused that it made him chuckle. “I remember Erwin talking about it in class.”
“You never in paid attention in class, though.”
And why was she paying attention to what he did in class? Jean thought idly. “I’m good at pretending to not listen,” he said, instead of teasing her. “I’m even better at exams and history essays.”
“I didn’t know.” Mikasa whispered.
“It’s not like we’re friends.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, then gave the book another look. “Do you want to look at it?”
“Yes, please,”
The half-smile in her face was probably the prettiest sight Jean had encountered the whole week. History excited her, it excited her much more than it interested him, but it was still something they had in common. She leaned forward on the table, pressing the entirety of her torso on the wooden surface, and opened the first page of the book. Jean rested his chin on his hand, forcing himself to stare at the pages and not admire her pale, happy, little face. It was an almost impossible task, considering how pretty she looked when seeing something that excited her so much.
Anyone would’ve found seeing pictures of pictures boring, but not her. She adored peeking into the past, seeing the intricate workings of the world of years ago. And the extinction event was something that had interested her for years; not much was written about it. There was plenty on the world of the past, of Eldia and Marley and their eternal wars and their legends about titans.
But almost nothing was written about the extinction event itself, about the earthquakes that had killed eighty percent of the population and thrown the world into chaos. And, despite there being plenty of material about the world negotiations, almost nothing was known about the peace ambassadors of the time.
“Can you see the signatures?” Jean asked her. “Can you figure out any names?”
Mikasa squinted, but it was impossible to tell the letters apart in the blurry picture. They’d decided they would examine the contents of the book first and begin working on their project second. Despite the little display of arrogance earlier, Jean’s interest in the book had relieved her somewhat. The last thing she’d needed that day was a rude boy telling her she was a weirdo for liking old books.
Not that he wasn’t acting cocky. Every now and then, he turned to look at her, examining her face. He wanted to scout her reactions, she knew. He wanted to see if he knew more about history than she did, to use that to brag, maybe. Or maybe to just add that as a little bonus to his pride.
“I can’t see the names,” she said, noticing he’d been looking at her for a few seconds now. “You?”
Jean focused on the pages again, and Mikasa felt a little bit of pride from having caught him looking at her. “These people had really bad handwriting.”
“They did,” Mikasa agreed. “Can I turn the page? Are you finished?”
“Yeah, you do you,” Jean replied immediately. “You’re the boss here.”
“Am I?”
“Of course,” Jean said, beaming at her. Smiles came so easily for some guys, Mikasa thought. “You went all out by getting this thing, did you not? You’re the boss in this and all other assignments we have the misfortune of working together in.”
The corners of her mouth tugged upwards; at least he could recognize her value to their little team, now that Armin had been paired off with another student. Jean fixated his eyes on her, his look anticipant, as if waiting for the moment her smile would break out, and Mikasa looked down at the book quickly. “Picture section,”
“Anyone cute in there?” Jean asked, inevitably making her snort.
“It’s all too blurry here,” she said, noticing, once again, his eyes on her. “Did you lose something on my face, Kirstein?”
“What?”
“You’re staring,” she said, gathering her courage, looking up to face him. “Why are you so intent on finding a flaw?”
“A flaw?”
“I can’t find any other reason why you’d stare,” she told him, squirming uncomfortably on her place on the table. She was just noticing how she’d thrown her whole body on its surface, dangerously close to him. Jean leaned back against the chair, covering his mouth to chuckle.
“You can’t find another reason?” he asked, looking at her as if she’d gone mad. “Really?”
“No, I can’t,” she said, digging her nails in her palms. “You’ve been trying to make a fool out of me for a whole semester, have you not?”
Jean narrowed his eyes dangerously. “Asking you out is making a fool out of you?”
“Yes!” Mikasa snapped. “I know why you do it.”
“Oh, why do I do it?” Jean snapped back. “Please, enlighten me. Why did I ask you to join me for ice cream? What’s the big humiliation plan in ice cream? God forbid I make fun of you for liking chocolate mint or—”
“You want to go brag to your popular friends,” Mikasa hissed, focusing on the pictures in the book, all too worn due to the years for her to make out anything. “You want to tell them you got weird, scary Mikasa Ackerman to go out with you.”
“Come on, you’re not that important at school,” Jean laughed, and his snappy tone hurt her pride. She didn’t care about being important, but still, hearing those words from someone so high up in the school’s hierarchy stung. Angered, Mikasa turned the page.
“I know I’m not important. Which is why I mistrust it when your people try and talk to me. I know you’re doing it to make fun of …” Mikasa said, but words caught in her throat as she reached to the following set of pictures. Her hand hovered above the wrinkled, yellow sheet.
It was two images in one page; clear enough to make out the people in them. In the first picture, a man, tall, with a slight stubble on his face and a sharp jawline, stared back at her with half a smile. He was older, in his mid-twenties, perhaps, and he was, without a doubt, wickedly handsome –handsome enough to make her blush from looking at his picture alone.
In the second picture, Mikasa found her own face staring back at her. Or at least someone that shared much similar features to hers. She stood in the middle of a clearing, with a faded landscape that could only be the sea. The woman wasn’t alone, though. In her arms, she carried a chubby little baby, no older than a year. And next to her stood the same man from the other picture, his jawline unmistakable, with a little girl that looked to be about three years old.
The woman on the picture was smiling widely while the baby nibbled on a strand of her hair. The man, he was looking at his wife with the most loving expression Mikasa had ever seen, a loving expression that sent butterflies across her stomach. On the foot note, the only word left that was readable was peace. These people had no names anymore; their memories were nothing but an echo in the old pages of a book that was mere a copy of the original. But even after centuries, she could feel the love between that little family.
She wanted to be seen that way. She wanted to be loved in that exact way. But all she was getting was secret meetings to make out on her rooftop, clumsy hands squeezing her breasts, and a boy who refused to go to any restaurants alone with her.
“…you’re out of your mind if you think everyone is out there to get you!” Jean was saying when she focused on him again. His face was red; she’d gotten on his nerves. “Why do you hate everything that isn’t your two friends? Why do you have to demonize everyone that tries to approach you? The world extends beyond…hey, no, no don’t cry.”
She didn’t think he was going to notice her crying. She was good at hiding emotions, was she not? Well, tears weren’t easy to hide, not when they flowed as freely as hers were now. She closed the book Erwin had lent her and threw it aside, willing to pay the ten thousand if that meant keeping that picture away from her.
Seeing that family had torn a hole in her heart. What was wrong with her? She’d seen other couples before; she’d seen married people being all lovey out on the street. Heavens, her own parents weren’t shy about hugging and kissing. Why had that picture given her such longing? Why did it feel that all of what those two people had was everything she wanted in that moment?
“Hey, it’s alright,” Jean said, soon at her side. He barely touched her as he helped her slide off the table and sit on her chair. For all his attempts at getting her to go get ice cream with him, he was surprisingly good at keeping a distance she was comfortable with. “I didn’t mean to shout. It’s just that…don’t cry, Mikasa, come on.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know it’s shit, being shouted at,” Jean began rambling, tripping over his words as he did so. “When I was a kid, my mom shouted at me for a full five minutes because I went off on my own into the sea. She was so scared. It’s a valid reason to shout, though. I’m sorry I got angry, I was kind of shouting there,”
“It’s not you.” Mikasa buried her face in her hands, hiccupping. That nostalgic feeling would not leave her chest, as much as she willed it to. Jean’s hands hovered over her for a second, then they drew away, then they hovered near again. Was he…trying to decide whether he should console her or not? His sheer indecision brought out a chuckle out of her throat, freezing him in his spot when she looked up at him. “It’s not you, Kirstein.”
Jean sighed, but it was not a relieved sigh. “You’re crying still,” he said. “Are you alright?”
Was she alright? Would it be hard to ask for a date? Clarification from him on what was going on? “I’m not sure,” she admitted. It wasn’t her situation what had made her sad, but it had been the picture, the sight of such love between those two strangers who had lived so long ago.
Mikasa looked up at Jean, encountering his hazel eyes focused on hers, and it was as if an electric current went through her system. She froze in her seat, her breath becoming quicker. That look, the lines on his jaw, even the hint of a stubble on his chin…even the look, the look coming from those hazel eyes, it was the exact same look as the one in the picture.
Granted, his gaze now was charged with immaturity and lacked the life experience as the wickedly handsome man in the book. But it was the same gaze. If she focused hard enough, she could almost feel that hole in her chest beginning to close merely by staring at Jean.
Her hands clutched the table in front of her, and her breath caught. It could not mean anything, she told herself. It was just a coincidence, genes, perhaps, shared down the generations. But if her séance sessions had taught her anything, it was that nothing was ever a coincidence, not really. Whatever force had made her pick up the book had been trying to tell her something.
But what?
Jean didn’t even like her; she was a prize, a thing to be won over so he could brag about it to his friends. Why would fate show her a picture like this?
“Mikasa? You’re staring,” Jean pointed out, the crease between his eyebrows becoming deeper and deeper with concern.
“I’m okay.” Mikasa croaked in return, unable to draw her attention away from him.
“You look like you’re going to have a panic attack,” Jean said, reaching out to wrap a hesitant hand around her upper arm. He tugged her until she was standing, but Mikasa was too much in shock still to notice that he was touching her. Jean clicked his fingers in front of her, trying to make her regain focus. “Are you…in there, Ackerman? Do I need to call a doctor?”
“Dry throat.” Mikasa replied.
It was just a picture. Sure, the sight of a happy family with a wife that looked so much like her had made her long for what she didn’t have. But Jean’s resemblance with the man from the pictures was only a trick of genetics. Besides, the boy with the slicked back hair that enjoyed teasing Armin and Eren could never have such a serious, handsome, and cool gaze as the man in the picture.
Then again, the man in the picture had been a war veteran, and at least six, seven years older than their meager eighteen years of age.
“Alright, you need a doctor,” Jean pointed out as he went about the room, picking up the books and putting them back into her backpack while she remained frozen in space. “It’s either a doctor or something to cool your head.”
“Sushi.” Mikasa whispered.
“Say no more,” Jean said, looking seriously concerned about her mental state. “There’s a new place I’ve been wanting to try. I can drive us there.”
Mikasa turned to look at him sharply, wondering if he’d been listening on her conversations with Armin and Eren about the sushi place, but it seemed that her shock made Jean think she was about to hex him. “I won’t kill you, Jean.”
“Did you just use my first name?”
“Maybe,” she said.
Jean stared at the pages of the book carefully while they waited for their food and drinks to come, comprehending why she’d freaked out so much back in the library. He couldn’t say his pride hadn’t been hurt by her being so terrified of a couple from generations ago that sort of resembled them.
The guy had a ridiculous haircut and a silly little beard, a silly little beard Jean would not be caught dead with. Apart from that, Jean guessed they were kind of build similarly, although he looked a lot more muscular than he was. I need to hit the gym, he thought. If that guy with the stupid haircut could have those arms a hundred or so years ago, surely, he could as well.
The woman, on the other hand, was beautiful, as stunning as a sunrise with that sincerely happy smile of hers…but she was not as stunning as the girl sitting from across the table, looking at him with apprehension, waiting to hear what he had to say.
“I don’t see a resemblance,” he said, closing the book and sliding it her way across the table. “I just don’t see it.”
Mikasa took the book and put it in her bag, breathing more easily. Jean contained the urge to roll his eyes; what a way to absolutely punch his ego one time after the other. “Are you sure?” Mikasa asked him, zipping her backpack shut. “No resemblance at all? Didn’t-didn’t you see the man? He had—”
“A stupid haircut.”
“...your eyes.” Mikasa finished saying, leaning back against her seat, folding her arms. “I guess the haircut was stupid.”
“Oi, reincarnation isn’t real,” Jean said, shifting uncomfortably on his seat. If reincarnation had been real; it didn’t seem fair that a version of him with such a lame haircut had gotten to be with Mikasa and not him, the Jean with a proper hairstylist. Mikasa arched an eyebrow in disbelief, and Jean groaned annoyedly. “Alternate universes aren’t real, either.”
Mikasa tensed at that. “Reality bends in ways we mortals don’t understand.”
“You see, if I can’t see it bending, then I don’t believe it,” Jean replied with a shrug. It was easier to think that way, to think that it was just a freak coincidence instead of luck favoring a strange, stupid-haired version of him from a distant past.
“There are things you need to believe, not see,”
“What?” Jean asked, growing exasperated. “You’re gonna tell me you’re disappointed that I don’t think that the people in the book are not us? Ackerman, you hate me. This is the longest you’ve spoken to me, and it’s because you almost had a mental breakdown because of that stupid picture. It would be easier for you to think the way I do and stop being so rude.”
“I’m not rude.” Mikasa stammered. “I don’t hate you.”
“You are, and you do,” Jean snapped, narrowing his eyes at her. There were only so many punches to his ego that he could take. “You’re acting like it was some sort of demon curse, that there was a couple that sort of looked like us in the past. Just how repulsive do you think I am?”
“I am a bad person,” she muttered, closing her eyes. A long silence followed her words, and Mikasa hunched her shoulders, losing her defiant stance in a second. Jean grimaced; he hadn’t wanted to make her feel bad, not at all. And now seeing her with that defeated look on her beautiful face, it simply broke his heart.
“Come on, you’re—”
“I don’t think you’re repulsive,” Mikasa said, pressing her forehead against the table. “I am. I have frowned upon a stranger’s happiness, and I’ve offended you. I deserve all the punishment the lords of hell have in store for me now.”
Jean snorted. “You’re being weird.”
Mikasa looked up at him. “I’m wallowing in my evilness.”
“You’re not evil, come on,” Jean said, giving her a smile. True, she was being weird, but she also looked adorable while acting weird. “It’s okay if you don’t think I’m handsome, or that I’m not husband material. Plenty of other girls do.”
Mikasa straightened, narrowing her eyes. “Do they?”
“I thought you were done offending me, Ackerman?”
“I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just…” she bit her lower lip, looking away from him before speaking again. “You’ve punched people before. You’ve punched Armin just last month.”
Jean felt heat rushing to his cheeks. He had punched Armin, had he not? He couldn’t even remember why, and he couldn’t say he was proud of that. “I don’t like recalling it, either. I shouldn’t have punched him,” he confessed in a low voice. Mikasa turned to look at him, eyes widened, as if she were looking at a different person. Her eyes were piercing, they could see through every single layer of him, and they burned him. “I mean! Where’s the pride in punching a weakling, huh? I’ve gotten into bigger fights since then, with much stronger folk.”
“I-Good for you?” Mikasa replied. Jean held her gaze for only a second longer. Whatever mystical power she claimed to have, it was working on him. He could feel his inner self detaching himself from the ‘bad boy’ persona he’d created, and for what? Because he wanted to talk about crystals and summoning spirits with this girl? She was cute, yes, but not half as cute as…
The smile on her face as their plates of sushi were brought to the table made his heart skip a beat. He was so pathetic, he told himself, so willing to talk crystals and witchcraft with this girl simply because she’d gotten so excited about the sushi coming their way.
But what was the point in liking her? He was just hurting himself.
“I should get this to go,” he said then, standing from their table. He’d been wanting to come to this sushi place forever, but most of his buddies had made fun of him whenever he’d suggested breaking off from their routine of pizza and beer on Fridays. “I don’t want to make you more uncomfortable.”
“You’re not,” Mikasa said, freezing him in his place. “Stay. Dine with me. I pay.”
“Why?” Jean asked. There had to be a trick somehow.
“I want to apologize,” Mikasa said solemnly, as if she were talking to a priest or something. “I want you to know I don’t find you repulsive.”
“But, I—”
“Sit with me, Kirstein.” Mikasa ordered.
Jean sat back down in front of her and stared at their food, almost hesitating if he should say something, or if she had some sort of ritual before the meal. Mikasa simply broke apart her chopsticks and grabbed the first roll in front of her; the spicy one with shrimps and tuna. She covered her mouth with a napkin as she chewed, sighing in delight, looking lovelier still. “Will you not eat?”
“Yes,” Jean said, grabbing the set of chopsticks to his side and stuffing his mouth. Mikasa looked at him as she went for another roll, her eyes examining his soul once again. Jean blessed and cursed that book at the same. He loved the idea of having an early dinner together, but nobody had warned him Mikasa’s gaze could undress a man from the inside out. No wonder Eren had become her boyfriend that soon —with those eyes of hers, he doubted anyone would be indifferent towards her.
“I didn’t know you liked hizuran food.” She pointed out.
“It’s not like we talk a lot,” Jean said. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk to me, I—”
“I know,” she said, drinking from her cup before continuing. “I know we’re not…friends.”
“We are not.”
“I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”
Jean looked up. “You didn’t. It’s okay. It was a weird resemblance, that’s all. You were freaked out. Anyone would be allowed to be freaked out.”
“I don’t find you repulsive, by the way,” she said, reaching out to another roll and stuffing it whole in her mouth, covering her face with the napkin to chew and swallow. “I just…I’d never seen anyone look so much like me. I’ve never seen such a nice, sweet smile.”
“She did kind of have a pretty smile.” Jean said, taking a sip from his soda.
“Yes, I-I was talking about her,” Mikasa cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I just, I was just shocked. I’m sorry I acted like the world was ending because that couple looked like us. To be fair, they did seem pretty happy.”
“They did, didn’t they?” Jean agreed, giving her a tight smile.
“I’m making you uncomfortable,” Mikasa added, taking another roll. “You can get your things to go and leave, if you want. I’ll pay for it still.”
Jean frowned. “Why would I leave?”
“People tend to be uncomfortable around me,” Mikasa said, shrugging. “I don’t mind. I know most humans are intimidated by those of us who are near the occult.”
“I’m not,” Jean said. Mikasa arched a pierced eyebrow in his direction, inviting him to elaborate further. “What? Do you think your friend and that boyfriend of yours are the only ones who aren’t scared of a little Ouija board? Come on, Ackerman.”
“B-boyfriend?” Mikasa asked, her shoulders suddenly tense.
“Yeah, Eren. Isn’t he your boyfriend now?” Jean took a nonchalant drink of his soda, looking at her from the corner of his eye. He’d struck a cord there, but he didn’t like knowing that his question had made her look so upset. He cleared his throat, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m sorry. If that’s a sensitive topic, I—”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Mikasa said, stuffing two huge rolls into her mouth, chewing intently while looking away from him.
Jean stared at her in confusion, trying to make sense of the miserable expression on her face. What did she mean, Eren wasn’t her boyfriend? He’d seen them. He’d seen them making out on a rooftop; he’d seen that fool’s hand up her shirt, squeezing clumsily and…Jean shook his head. He didn’t want to relieve that memory in particular; how his chest had felt as if it had sunk to the very bottom of the ocean.
“What a fucking idiot,” Jean whispered.
“What was that?” Mikasa asked, grabbing a kitten-shaped onigiri, and stuffing it full into her mouth.
“Nothing. I-I’m sorry,” Jean said. He looked out the window; the clear summer sky was suddenly plagued with thick, gray clouds. There were lightning in the distance, and people ran along the streets to find shelter before the stormed reached the city. Jean turned to look at Mikasa, still working on chewing those two rolls and the onigiri she had in her mouth and looking as if she were about to cry, and pointed outside. “D-did you do that?”
“Do what?”
Jean pointed outside at the downpour that had come over the city in the lapse of two seconds. Mikasa turned her head and stared at the rain for a moment before turning back to look at him. Her chest went up and down once, then twice, then thrice…ah, she was laughing –uncontrollably, it seemed— it was just that he could not hear her because she still had all that rice build up in her mouth.
She took a gulp of tea to attempt to swallow her food, but with her laughing fit, that didn’t do much help. Her laughter made the tea shoot forward from her nostrils, making her yelp out in surprise. And while she scrambled for a napkin, Jean’s own laughing fit began. He covered his mouth with both hands and wheezed, his laughter only making her laugh harder in return.
They laughed for a little bit longer; neither looking at each other’s face, both too caught up in their amusement to notice the annoyed looks from the other tables, or the glares from their waitress.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Mikasa said after she’d managed to swallow her food, taking a deep breath to steady herself. Her eyeliner had run a little bit from all the laughter, and lovely redness covered her pale cheeks. “I can’t control the weather, Jean. I’m sorry I laughed at your question…but thank you, for thinking my abilities extend that far.”
“I’m sorry I laughed at your, your—” Jean covered his mouth with one hand while pointing at her nose with the other, unable to stop his laughter. For a moment, he feared Mikasa would storm out of the restaurant or, even worse, hex him. But she simply covered her mouth, laughing alongside him for a few more minutes.
“Thank you.” She said in the end, taking a sip from her tea.
“Thank me for what?” Jean asked. “For making you choke on your food?”
“I haven’t laughed so hard in a while.” Mikasa replied, shrugging.
“Oh,” Jean said, nodding.
“Perhaps it won’t be a divine punishment,” Mikasa said, rubbing the side of her face. Had he said that oud loud earlier? “Perhaps you’re not so bad, Kirstein.”
“Perhaps you’re not so bad yourself, Ackerman.” Jean lifted his soda. Mikasa smiled and lifted her glass up to his. They exchanged another smile as they glasses clinked against each other, and Jean felt that maybe having been paired up with her wasn’t all that much of a divine punishment ineed. At least, he’d gotten to talk to her. If he befriended her, perhaps he would be able to get over his crush quicker.
“You two,” the blonde waitress shouted from another table. “This isn’t a castle. If you break those glasses, you have to pay for them.”
“So, you do all of this with a pencil?” Mikasa asked Jean as she went through the pages of his sketchbook. He made an affirmative sound, more focused on his sundae than his own art. He was, simply put, fantastic at putting things on paper. Buildings, landscapes, and people; it was strange to her to think he could draw and sketch them so beautifully with merely a pencil.
Mikasa leaned forward to scoop a bit of her own ice cream, careful not to stain any of his pages. The ice cream parlor had been his idea; he’d felt bad about not paying for sushi (it turned out, hizuran cuisine was rather expensive on the island), so he’d offered to buy dessert. Mikasa had agreed without much thinking, particularly because he’d let her choose the place.
“I’ve got a watercolor book, too,” he said offhandedly, half of his mouth stuffed with ice cream.
“Can I see it?”
“I keep that at home,” Jean said, giving her an apologetic look. “It’d be hard to carry the watercolors around.”
It’s easier to hide this one, Mikasa thought idly. Of course, a book full of his works with watercolor would just make him the butt of a joke with his jock and popular buddies. “You’re really good, Kirstein.”
“I know,” he said proudly. “That’s why I was selected to be part of Stohess’ exhibition.”
“Why don’t you send one of these in?” she asked.
“More ice cream?” a girl asked. She was older than them, a university student perhaps. She was beautiful, with big breasts, red hair and high cheek bones…and utterly focused on Jean. The smiles she gave him, the flirty looks, it was all for Jean. So, he hadn’t lied when he said plenty other girls saw him as handsome.
“Thank you, yes,” he said to the girl, handing her his plate. How he noticed that other girls thought him handsome, Mikasa didn’t know, since he seemed completely blind to the looks the girl had been giving him all evening. “Do you want more, Mikasa?”
“I—”
“Don’t worry, it’s on me,” he said. “Go on, anything you want.”
Mikasa slid the plate across the counter towards the girl. “Thank you.”
The girl took the plate from her hands, giving Mikasa a tight smile that didn’t feel genuine. “Flavors?”
“I’ll have what she was having,” Jean said, gesturing in Mikasa’s direction. “The matcha chocolate thing. “
“Are you sure?” Mikasa asked him.
“Yeah, I like to try new things,”
“Adventurer,” the girl said, giving him another flirtatious smile while biting her lower lip. “I love it.”
“What about you?” Jean asked her, ignorant to the blatant expression on the waitress’ face.
“I’ll have what he was having,” Mikasa said, gesturing at Jean. She guessed if he could try her chocolate matcha ice cream, she could be polite in return and try his. “The mint thing and also the vanilla with the chocolate chips.”
“Sure,” the girl said, going over to the ice creams displayed on the other side of the store.
“Oh, such an adventurer you are, Ackerman” Jean teased, resting his chin on his hand. Mikasa rolled her eyes and focused back on the sketchbook.
He’d said he had seen no resemblance with the couple of the book, and that had relieved her somewhat. But still…Mikasa could not look at him in the eyes for long without recalling the man from the other pictures, the man with the kind eyes and the sweetest smile she’d ever seen. And now that he was smiling at her, the resemblance was even more eerie.
“So, why don’t you send these drawings here?” she asked, clearing her throat.
“The technique they chose me for was acrylic,” he said, his smile disappearing, being replaced by the pressure of his deadline. “These are just doodles, besides. I want to show people something really good.”
“These are just doodles?” Mikasa repeated, eyebrows raised. “Jean, you’re fantastic. These aren’t just doodles. These are…”
“What are they?” he asked. Mikasa gave him a sideways glance; he was leaning forward a little bit, examining her expression. He had the pride of an artist, she guessed. And he didn’t want to hear her criticizing his work, which was why he was looking at her so.
“These are beautiful. It’s pure art.” She finished saying, gathering the courage to look at him in the eyes, defiantly. Go on, her gaze told him silently, dare to say something cocky, or to say she didn’t have enough perspective to understand his ‘doodles’. Jean, however, gave her another smile…that same sweet, loving smile from the pictures.
“Thank you, Ackerman.” Jean said, scratching the back of his head in an awkward gesture, almost if he was shy about the compliment she’d given him. “Just my mom and one other person have seen this. And now, you.”
“I know just the person who’d love all of these,” Mikasa said absent, mindedly, thinking about her mom. “I’d love to show this to her.”
“You can take it home with you, if you want.”
She turned to look at him, bringing the sketch book up to her chest. “I couldn’t.”
Jean shrugged. “I have about five of those. I doodle all the time,” he said, taking another spoonful of ice cream. “Go on. It’s my gift to you, for the mini heart attack I gave you when I took the book professor Smith lent to you.”
Mikasa opened her mouth, but no words came out right away. Her phone rang before she could reply, startling both. Jean straightened, just in time to grab the plates of ice cream from the pretty waitress. Mikasa took her phone and felt her heart and stomach turn into knots when she saw Eren’s name. What could he possibly want?
“Hello?” she said, jumping from the stool and walking a couple of feet away from Jean.
“Where are you?” Eren asked, and their conversation from earlier that afternoon came back into her mind. She turned to look out the store window, realizing the sun had gone down. It couldn’t have taken them more than ten minutes to run to the shop from the sushi place in the lapses without rain. How long had she been talking to Jean?
“Where are you?” Mikasa closed her eyes in frustration. “Are you at the sushi place? I can—”
“Oh, no. Armin and I already ate,” he said. He didn’t sound mad; he didn’t sound disappointed. “I’m at your place. I thought you’d be here.”
Mikasa gave Jean a sideways glance, but he was too focused on trying her ice cream flavor to pay any mind to her conversation. “Did mom let you in?”
“I haven’t knocked,” Eren replied. “I was just gonna climb up your window. Your light isn’t on.”
“You weren’t going to say hi to my mom?”
Eren waited a moment. “I…it’s late, isn’t it? She’ll just get mad.”
“I guess.” Mikasa agreed. “I could…you know what? It’s late. I’m tired.”
“I see,” Eren said. Again, he didn’t sound disappointed. “Leave it for another day?”
“Hmm,” was all that Mikasa could say. “How was the meal with Armin?”
“It was good. We got noodles,” Eren said. “Historia paid, so it wasn’t like I didn’t have cash.”
“Y-you had dinner with Historia?”
“No, no, not dinner,” Eren replied quickly. “I had lunch with her. So, I had the money to go get noodles with Armin.”
“Lunch,” Mikasa repeated, frowning. “Just you and her?”
“Yeah, at the museum. Why, what’s up?”
“Nothing,” Mikasa said, shrugging although he couldn’t see her. “I’ll see you later.”
“Later.”
“Who was that?” Jean asked once she’d hung up and approached their place at the counter. He looked at the watch on his wrist. “It’s eight thirty. Are you in trouble? Should you be getting home soon?”
Eight thirty. Had she…had she really spent 4 hours talking to Jean?
“It’s late,” Mikasa replied, putting the spoon in her mouth. “I’ll need to go home soon.”
“Sure,” Jean said, wiping his fingers on his napkin. “Want me to drive you?”
“I’ll finish this first,” she said, pointing at the ice cream plate in front of her. Jean smiled and nodded, looking somewhat cheerful that they would stay in the ice cream place for a bit longer. Maybe it was because he would keep getting those looks from the waitress girl, or maybe because he would keep hearing her praises about his art. “Since when do you have a car?”
“I saved up last year,” he replied. “I got commissioned for some things and I worked at boxing ring for a little bit, too…this matcha-chocolate thing is really good, you know? It tastes fancy.”
“Vanilla and chocolate chips, mint chocolate…” Mikasa said, putting a spoonful into her mouth. “It’s very simple and very weird combination.”
“Jeez, thank you, Ackerman.” Jean said, frowning.
“It’s good, though,” Mikasa added, smiling inevitably by how easy it was to get on his nerves. Jean smiled reluctantly, and she noticed the redness on the tip of his nose and his ears. “I think we’ll be a good team…I mean, considering you don’t put the universe in unbalance.”
Jean frowned and folded his arms over his chest. “Who says it’s not gonna be you the one to unbalance the universe?”
“That’s impossible,” she said with a soft chuckle. “You don’t know about these things, Kirstein.”
“I do know some things,” Jean muttered.
“Like what?” Mikasa asked.
“Like you hated the vanilla and chocolate chips,” he said, raising his eyebrows and giving her an even wider smile. Mikasa raised her eyebrows and bit the inside of her cheek to avoid smiling back at him; how had he even noticed that tiny twitch of her nose when she’d tasted the ice cream. “Wanna switch?”
“Yes, thank you.” Mikasa said in a low voice. “The mint I did like, though.”
“I know.”
“How did you know?”
“I guess I must be good at reading you,” Jean joked, offering her his plate and taking her plate from her. “Don’t you think?”
“I guess so.” Mikasa narrowed her eyes at him, not comprehending why he was good at reading her indeed. Maybe it was the artist eye, she thought. He had to have a good grasp on people’s expressions to put them on paper, didn’t he? Maybe he was just a keen observer, albeit he didn’t look like one at all.
Jean smiled again, strangely undoing all the knots in her heart and stomach.