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She’s used to the stares by now. It’s only reasonable with a face like hers—so unique and unlike everyone else—that she not be fazed by looks anymore.
But his gaze always stood out.
She first noticed how he would look at her years ago, when they were younger, smaller, freer. How his eyes would flicker to hers after any jab with Eren, or a conflict with the captain. How he would watch like a hawk, almost like he was gaging her feelings, even from across the room.
Almost like he was concerned. Always watching. Always cognizant of what either of them said, where they were, how they moved.
It made her feel exposed. Almost naked.
She could never figure out why she felt that way. What it was about Jean that made her feel off balance from her usual self. With everyone else, it was simple. They were friends after all.
But he was different.
How? She couldn’t say.
When she practices archery, she’s almost exactly precise. Of course, she’s nothing like Sasha, the best out of all of them. But she manages a bow pretty well, hitting the target just a bit past the center, at the border.
Then she feels it. The eyes on her back.
She turns and sees Jean, standing at the doorway, papers in hand.
“Hey.” He says, a little shaky.
She wipes her head, sweat barely beading at her forehead. “Hi.”
“Uh.” He points at the papers. Her eyes instinctively focus on his hands instead. “You have some documents to review. From the captain.”
She nods. “Okay.”
He nods back. “Okay. Just wanted to let you know.”
She turns slightly to get a view of the target, breaking their gaze. “Thank you.” She whispers under her breath.
He nods again, but doesn’t move.
Suddenly she’s hyper aware of him standing there, and how he’s probably going to watch her shoot this next arrow. She prepares to aim, not bothered in the slightest. She’s never been one to stagger in the presence of others. And it’s not like he hasn’t seen her do this before.
She aligns the arrow, closes one eye. Breathes. Aims. Shoots.
The arrow hits the target in the 2nd ring.
She blinks, confused.
Did she… miss?
She looks at her fingers, eerily still and slender. Always precise in their movements. It couldn’t have been her technique, it was the same she had used just a second ago.
Was she… nervous?
“You’re too tense.” She hears his voice again, moving closer to her.
She turns and sees him slowly strolling, papers set down on the table behind them. “You’re as stiff as a board. Your shoulders need to loosen.”
Definitely not that. She shrugs a few times in an attempt to loosen up, and begins to take aim again.
And then she feels his hands, with slight tremors, press on her shoulders softly. “Take a deep breath. Sink your shoulders.”
Her heart begins to race. But she abides, inhaling softly, and letting her shoulders go down as she exhales.
“Do it again.”
She does it once more, feeling herself relax under his touch. She aims, closes one eyes. Fires.
It hits dead center.
“There you go.” He chuckles, patting her shoulders again.
She’s suddenly hyper-aware again of his presence behind her, back against front, and his hands placed right at the nape of her neck. She turns slightly to look at him, hazel eyes looking in awe at the board.
There’s a bit of hair growing at his chin. She feels the urge to touch it. And there’s the way his skin blooms with a slight blush, running down his neck.
His eyes meet hers now, studying her just as she is him. A moment of silence fills the air, as they both contemplate what to do next.
And then his hands go slack, falling from her shoulders. She swears his finger runs through a lock of her hair before letting go.
“Do you still need me?” He asks, slowly.
She thinks for a moment on what to say. She knows she can hit the target the second he walks out that door. What puzzles her is why she can’t do it while he’s here with her.
“I think I still do.” She answers, hesitant.
He blinks, surprised. “Oh.”
“But—only if you don’t mind.” She sputters out quickly. She feels her cheeks start to burn.
The surprised look quickly goes away. “No, I—“ He shakes his head. “I can help.” He immediately straightens up, moving closer to her again. “I can help,” He repeats, cheeks red, as if he’s telling himself.
She turns around, not waiting for him to speak. She takes aim, and holds her position. Waiting.
“Deep breath.” He orders, and his hands find her shoulders again, tingling slightly.
She welcomes the touch, and breathes.
There was a sort of energy with him that nobody else had with her. Something that showed in both his demeanor and his actions.
And she knows there’s feelings. Somewhere in between, there’s something there. He harbors affection towards her, but she still can’t wrap her head around what he sees in her. Nevertheless, it’s all the same when he’s watching her from afar, whether she’s killing a titan or fighting a duel. The feeling she gets under his gaze is uncanny.
It’s getting to be too much, she thinks. And not in a bad way. Not at all.
Another arrow, another time.
The next time he comes to ‘help,’ it’s not the same. He looks determined to teach her, hands already steadying her. The funny thing is, they both know she doesn’t need his help. They’ve trained together since they were kids—they knew.
And yet.
He’s unrelenting, body warm against hers, hands on her shoulders once more. “You know you’ll never make the shot if you look directly in the center.”
Yes, she knew. “Right.”
“And you know you’ll never make it if you’re slouched over like that.” His hands move down to her waist. “First, you’re stiff, now you’re slacking off.”
She immediately starts to feel dizzy, but straightens her back instinctively. His touch feels like fire. She wants to burn.
“And you know you don’t need my help.”
She faces forward, frozen in her spot.
His breath runs down the side of her neck. “Why is it that you miss every time I come in here?”
“Sasha has always been better.” She says offhandedly.
“Yeah, but you’re near perfect.” He points at the target to the left. “You were hitting the bullseye every time. Now I’m here, and you’re not even coming close.”
She draws the arrow up, ignoring him. Her elbow jabs into his stomach.
He grabs her elbow, “You know you’re perfect.” He says it so soft under his breath and holds her once more.
The next arrow completely misses the bullseye.
When she turns in his grasp, she doesn’t hesitate to close the little gap between them. They’ve both lost their composure. It’s over.
He’s dumbfounded in those split seconds, helpless to the way she moves. And just as he tries to draw away, she puts her hands over his, sitting atop her sides.
His eyes meet hers, questioning, asking.
Is this okay?
Her answer lies in the way she lets go of his hands, now creeping up his arms, slowly but surely.
And Jean, he’s frozen in time, watching her.
She doesn’t know what she’s doing either, but so far right now she’s faring off better between the two of them.
When her hand meets his jaw, caressing the hairs there, she just about feels ready to lose it.
And her other hand rests at his chest, above his pounding heart. It feels unreal, to see this man go stupid over her again and again, and yet she feels herself doing the exact same now.
Before she knows it, she’s leaning forward, feet tiptoeing upwards.
And then—
She wakes up.
That’s where it crosses the line, and she feels herself completely at the will of whatever higher being is out there.
Somehow, this man had made a space in her dreams (and her heart).
And so the words come out of her mouth when she least expects it. When she’s feeling truthful and honest. When he’s had a whole bottle of wine and she thinks he won’t remember this moment.
“You’re always looking at me.” She says it as they sit in the mess hall alone, the dim candles and the night sky illuminating the dark.
“Hm,” he slurs, turning towards her. “And?”
The kind of confidence he holds now is nothing like the younger version of him before. The younger him would’ve blushed, sputtered nonsense, probably wouldn’t even last a few minutes alone with her without becoming too embarrassed and running away.
Now, he doesn’t even bat a lash as he fully meets her eyes. There’s no nervous fidgeting, no avoidance of her presence, no distance between them as he sets the bottle down so unbelievably close to her fingers. It’s daunting.
(is it just them being tipsy or them getting old?)
“Well,” she says softly, “I don’t know. I just noticed.” Lies, of course.
“Just noticed, huh?” There’s a hint of a smirk on his face. A handsome smirk, she’s also noticed that. Not recently, though.
(When the younger squad members whisper about the tallest commanding officer, she can’t help but notice.)
The fact that he doesn’t deny it leaves her awestruck. She doesn’t know what to say, really, so she just keeps her eyes on him.
Their stares linger, both calmly taking each other in. She can’t see it, but she can feel the warmth of the wine bottle near her hand.
The silence between them has never been so loud. The air feels different, too. And she knows he can feel it too, even with the wine.
He straightens up, just a little. “Is it a bad thing?” He asks, a slight look of concern crossing his face. “Does it bother you?”
“No,” her response is fast. Like reflex. “It’s nothing bad.”
No, it’s nothing bad, in fact, it’s quite the opposite.
She finds herself starting to expect his eyes on her.
(She won’t say it, but it makes her feel alive.)
Another moment passes where they stay still, staring at each other. She feels almost uneasy, like she’s holding her breath. She can feel her face start to color slightly, but she has never been one to back down from discomfort.
She sees his eyes flicker from her eyes, to her cheeks, her lips, then back. They scan her, lingering in places she won’t even look at.
It doesn’t feel awkward. If anything, it feels... Like a challenge. A challenge to see who will break first.
And eventually, he does. “Well then if it’s nothing, then where are you going with that information?” He turns to down another sip of the wine, wiping his mouth. And—
There it is, a slight red tint in his cheeks now. “Yeah I look at you. I look at everyone.”
She exhales. Then presses forward. “But the way you look at me is different.”
She’s crossing territory she doesn’t even know exists. But it’s too late to back down.
“How’s it different?”
He knows the answer to that, and yet he wants her to spell it out.
She can take down a million men with her own two hands. And yet.
He looks back at her now, and she sees it. The difference.
She still can’t even describe what it is. But she knows without a doubt that his eyes are piercing right through her. Reading her. Digging into her.
Wanting her.
“You’re doing it right now.”
He scoffs. “I’m looking at you because I’m talking to you.”
“No,” she narrows her eyes. “You know that’s not what I mean.”
His eyes move to the wine bottle in his hand. After a moment, he sets it down on the table, mindlessly rubbing his thumb over the label, taking a deep breath.
And then he’s looking her again. This time, he lets go of the bottle, and scoots even closer to her.
It’s a dangerous move. She can smell the alcohol every time he breathes.
“I don’t see the point you’re trying to get at.”
An Ackerman rarely shows weakness. She has never felt ‘weak.’
But right now, she feels dizzy trying to come up with words. She almost feels drunk herself.
She can’t stop herself anymore.
“You look at me like you want to eat me up.”
He says nothing. But his blush deepens dramatically.
(like he did when he was 15, in love with her)
She takes a deep breath. “You look at me like you want me.”
To that, he breaks. He cocks his head and scoffs again. “Because I do want you.” He says it so matter-of-factly that it’s not even fair. “And what about it? I thought you’d know that by now.”
Ah.
His gaze softens, so subtly. “But it’s more than me wanting you. It’s me wanting to make sure you’re okay. Wanting to protect you.”
There it is.
She sees the man he’s become more clearer than ever now. So much more with the frame of his face teetering so close to hers. The long lashes, the scuffed chin hair, the determined gaze. Somehow, it had all changed before she knew it.
“You’re my dream girl after all.” He says, a little drunken in his response, but his words still all the more powerful.
His dream girl.
It takes a second before it sinks in and he realizes what he said, and as he sees her blush darken, his does the same. “Shit, I’m a fool.” He pulls his hair back, grabs the wine and downs another sip again. “I’m talking out of my ass.”
“You’re not even drunk.” She says it so it’s out in the open.
“Neither are you.” He points out. “Did you think you would get this out of me if I wasn’t sober?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Do you want me to stop?”
She pauses, breathes.
“No.”
He leans closer. “Then what do you want?”
“I want…“ she closes her eyes, thinks hard. She doesn’t even know what she wants.
Or maybe she does, and she doesn’t want to say it.
“I...”
“You don’t have to give me ultimatums. The world is so shit. We don’t have time for stuff like that.” He says all this under his breath, almost muttering. “Hell, if we did, I’d have already said my deal...”
She feels his hair brushing against hers, their noses barely touching. Her senses begin to go into over drive, everything touching her skin feeling like a lightning strike.
“Just... Say something simple. Anything to shut me up.”
He breathes against her mouth, and she inhales the wine.
“Okay,” her hand raises gently to grip his shirt. “I want you to shut up.”
“Okay.”
“And...” Her mouth parts over his, ever so slightly. “I want you, too.”
He gulps. “Okay.”
“And lastly... I want... to taste the wine...”
“Okay,” he says, closing the gap. Pressing forward. “..so taste it.”