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Jean doesn’t draw for a long time.
Marley has new devices called “cameras” and Jean is proud and a little embarrassed to admit he bought one immediately.
There are pictures that scatter their home. Of everyone - pictures of Armin and Annie on their wedding day, smiles wide and welcoming. Pictures of Connie and Jean’s trips fishing (none of which are very fruitful, but the banter more than makes up for it.)
Pictures of the all of them, posed together for a photo that Gabi had insisted on. The wind blows lightly through their hair and it’s a rare photo where the captain’s smile and fondness aren’t hidden.
There are countless images of the travels Mikasa and him have embarked on. Two restless people can hardly stay in one place for a long time, and they have always been moving. They’ve done their best to travel as far as possible - pictures of visiting Hizuru, it’s large temples, hiking paths down to rice paddies, and bustling cities are some of Jean’s favorites. Next to each photo is a postcard Mikasa has collected from each new place; she’s written her favorite memory from each trip in clear, neat handwriting. Purposefully documenting the joy they’ve experienced.
It’s almost comical how full their walls are - but they both like to be surrounded by memories.
He doesn’t even realize he’s been doodling. His pen is moving absentmindedly as Armin asks questions and probes for more detail. The small blonde is writing a detailed account of their journey, taking time to interview each one of them to get every detail just right. Jean knows Armin doesn’t want their story to be forgotten. Doesn’t want history to be erased again.
He’s a damn good writer from what Jean has read already.
Connie sits with them both. He’s the one recounting one of their missions from his perspective. Connie is dynamic and long-winded. Jean knows he has time to relax in between tangents Connie choses to detour on and jokes that Connie insists Armin write down to ensure “historical accuracy.”
It’s Connie though that leans over while Armin is still scribing and taps at the face Jean has roughly outlined.
“Forgot you use to do that,” Connie says thoughtfully pulling Jean from his stupor.
He looks up to see a slight smile being drawn up into the crinkle of Connie’s eyes.
“During lectures,” Connie says laughing lightly, “use to distract me. Fucking boring some of the shit training put us through, you were decently good though. Would watch you draw to keep awake.”
“That’s why you never knew where you were in the formation.” Jean quips back, shifting the picture under his hand, embarrassment prickling at the back of his neck.
Connie laughs and Armin chuckles as he continues to write.
“I’m not the only one who watched!” Connie protests, pointing to Armin for reassurance. He starts ticking names off his fingers, “Samuel, Daz, Mina… depending on what you were drawing, Reiner would even stop paying attention! I never knew what Bertholt was thinking, but sometimes if you drew landscapes he’d poke his head around curiously. Oh! Eren would get distracted and then feign like he wasn’t. Sasha would…”
He trails off, eyes in a far off place for a little bit. Both Jean and Armin look at the way his mouth slacks just slightly and Armin reaches a hand over, a comforting gesture just before Connie shakes his head rigorously, a chuckle escaping his lips once more.
“Sasha always wondered if she asked, if you would draw her favorite meals,” Connie finishes running a hand through grey hair, “She never did ask though.”
Armin looks at where Jean has hidden the drawing contemplatively. “No one ever really asked, I think we were all mildly surprised and impressed.” There’s a little mirth his blue eyes as he says “impressed” and Jean knows he’s starting to tease to bring the mood up.
Jean balks. “Impressed? Of course. I’m a man of many talents.”
“Sure buddy,” Connie laughs, “that’s one way to put it.”
They relapse into their normal banter with Armin trying to desperately placate the increasing insults that are being thrown and get them back to the topic at hand.
Jean still hides his drawing under his hand for the rest of the discussion.
Connie ends up being the first one to come to him. He’s not surprised. They’re sitting in a cafe they both like to frequent, Connie shifting relentlessly in his seat, tapping his leg.
It’s really starting to get on Jean’s nerves when Connie finally speaks up.
”Have you seen Niccolo lately?” He says, poking his fingers at the crossiant on his plate.
Jean thinks back to when he last saw Niccolo. Last winter, maybe? They had all gone to his new restaurant to reminisce. He remembers getting far too drunk and arguing with Reiner over how to best clean ODM gear, even though they haven’t worn it in 10 years.
“No,” he says sipping his drink, “I really should get back to his restaurant.” The ice clinks together in his glass as the words hang in the air.
Connie’s still fidgeting and Jean wonders when was the last time he’d seen Connie this nervous. He decides to tackle whatever it is that’s making Connie restless tactfully.
“What’s going on? Spit it out, you’re driving me up a wall.”
Connie chuckles and takes a big gulp of the whiskey they’re both enjoying. “I have a request.” He says quietly.
“The last time you asked me for something, we both ended up losing money,” Jean muses swirling the ice in his glass. “Not quite sure I should be taking requests from you anymore.”
“Can you draw Sasha?” Connie blurts out. Jean stills his hand, the burn in the back of his throat suddenly mildly irritating instead of pleasant.
Connie plows forward, “it’s just… I mean… look, we don’t have pictures, and we have a lot of pictures, but not of her. I wasn’t lying when I said we all thought you were decently good, so I mean…”
Golden eyes look determined as Jean makes eye-contact. Connie’s leg has stopped shaking.
Jean really should counter back with a joke, or a snide comment. Really, everyone is into making things all serious as of late. But he watches as Connie clenches and unclenches a fist and he’s reminded of the idiot he knew years ago - the one that was impulsive, a little too loud, had a knack for timing all his jokes inappropriately and a heart too caring for his own good.
“Yeah,” he says quietly instead. “I can do that.”
Jean spends many nights practicing proportions and shading and if he would just get his muscle memory to remember how to draw ears, damnit, his life would be so much easier.
He hides in his office to draw. Feels guilty, like he’s keeping some sort of secret. But he’s not ready to share just yet. He wants it to be perfect.
He and Connie travel to Niccolo’s new restaurant, art supplies clinking in Jean’s new bag. Mikasa had looked at him curiously when he had left, eyeing the bag with amusement from her spot at the kitchen table. She hadn’t asked what it was - just kissed his cheek and told him if she wasn’t there when he got back, she was still watching Armin and Annie’s little gremlin. (Not her words, Jean’s).
You learn to give people time to share what’s most important to them.
The sun is shining steadily through the clouds when they arrive and Niccolo greets them at the front of the restaurant. Everyone’s energy is jittery and it makes Jean want to laugh. For people that spent the majority of their lives fighting for their lives, they sure are a nervous bunch when it comes to an art project.
Not to say that Jean isn’t nervous. He worries he won’t be able to mix the correct shade of brown, wont be able recreate the way her hair fell into to her eyes - or the look in her eyes, especially when looking at the two in front of him, Niccolo and Connie. Her lover and her twin.
She should be here right now, laughing with them while bussing tables and stealing food off costumers’ plates. There’s a lot of “shoulds” Jean can list.
He’s not the shining beacon of calming people down, but he’s been told once or twice he seems like he gets people. As he gathers his supplies, both Connie and Niccolo don’t speak, and that makes Jean want to walk right out. His heart is racing.
This time he really is tactful, “just start describing her.” He says quietly, taking out a pencil, “you know I already know what she looks like. But I want to know what she looks like to you.”
Niccolo starts talking first. He sketches carefully, leaving lines light for changes. He adds the shape of her eyes. Connie pipes up to get him to shift a line saying her left eye in particular would lift when she smiled, and it’s then that the tension breaks.
Connie and Niccolo spend the day describing her in as much detail as they can both muster. There are no tangents or detours this time for Connie. But there is an increasing amount of laughter as fond memories are recounted. Niccolo enjoys hearing stories from their training in the 104th the most.
Together they piece the picture together. He spends a heinous amount of time getting them to choose colors that they all agree upon, discovering Connie cannot tell the difference between red and green.
When he comes home that evening, Mikasa is lounging on the balcony, watching bustling people down below go about their night. He approaches her gently, and kisses the top of her head. She leans in and smiles.
“I’ll be in my office.” He says, and she takes a hand off her tea mug to run fingers through his hair before letting him go.
He spends the rest of the night making things perfect. When he decides he’s okay with each line, every color, the blend of the composition, he takes the next few weeks to make copies.
Of course, they need a photo of Sasha in their house too. That’s a given.
He’s rather surprised when there’s a knock at their door a few weeks later. Standing on the other side are Gabi and Falco, who procure a peace offering of Jean’s favorite apple pie from a bakery in their section of town.
He hustles them both inside with comments about how much they’ve both grown, how Falco could use gaining a few pounds of muscle, and how Gabi has grown to be as beautiful as she is feisty.
He does the right thing, cutting the apple pie into slices, while Gabi and Falco settle at the kitchen table.
“So,” he starts bringing back slices, “why are you both here? If you’re looking for Mikasa, Armin and her are visiting a sea-side festival both of them have wanted to go to for years.”
“What, we can’t just want to visit you Jean?” Gabi says smiling.
“You think so little of us.” Falco says teasing.
“Come-on, I know you brats are up to something. You just don’t buy me pie for any old reason these days.”
Gabi and Falco shift to look at each other. The fondness grows in Jean’s chest watching the two share looks willing the other to start speaking. Gabi of course, starts first.
“It’s Levi’s birthday soon,” she begins.
“Ah, the captain is becoming more of an old man each year.” Jean muses with a mouth full of pie.
“We were just thinking,” she continues, “you know, he never accepts gifts.”
This Jean knows. On the rare occasions they’ve tried to actually celebrate the captain’s birthday, it has gone about as well as expected.
Falco picks up where Gabi left off, “Connie showed us the drawing you made for him.”
Jean grunts, “Did he now?”
“Yes,” Gabi says excitedly, “and we were wondering, I mean…”
Jean sighs. There seems to be a pattern of people hesitant to ask him shit.
“You want me to draw a picture for his birthday?” He finishes.
Falco’s eyes light up, “Yes! There are two people that Levi always mentions. When he does he gets this… bittersweet sweet look on his face?”
“We thought, maybe you could draw them? For him? He’d say he doesn’t want it, but we all know he’s lying.” Gabi says.
Jean doesn’t even ask who they want him to draw. He’s already working in his head to remember the shade of Commander Erwin’s blonde hair, and how to capture Hange’s manic, gleeful smile.
When he steps onto the patio of Levi’s home, the old man doesn’t even have to look behind him to know Jean’s there, the fucker.
Falco is pulling up seats for himself, Jean, and Gabi as Jean starts to set up his station.
“You know Gabi,” Levi drawls, though Jean sees the curiosity in his eyes, “when you said you had a birthday gift for me, I was thinking more along the lines of that new appliance the store has been marketing, not this twerp.”
“Nice to see you too, Captain” Jean says at the same time Falco whispers, “I told you the vacuum was a good idea!” to Gabi.
Jean turns around to get a good look at the captain. His hair is graying. Limbs are draped gracefully over his wheelchair, as if at a moments notice, he would get up and surprise them all. He probably could. Deep scars mark themselves across Levi’s face, cutting up in his eye, a milky grey. His other blue eye cuts piercingly into the the paper and plethora of pencils Jean has spread out in front of him.
Blue eyes look at everything with slight suspicion. Which he knows, with Gabi and Falco involved, is definitely earned.
“Heard you’re turning a year older, old man.” Jean says taking his seat.
“Really brat? Wasn’t keeping track.” Levi says.
He says that every year.
“You’re lucky Gabi and Falco tolerate living with you.” Jean quips picking up a pencil and smoothing out a piece of paper. The captain’s eyes follow every movement.
“So…” Levi says, “what’s all this?”
“You’re getting a year older,” he remarks again, “Gabi and Falco thought it necessary to make sure this year you wouldn’t refuse a gift.”
“The gift being?” The captain says, amusement shining in his eyes, “I know you have a hard time understanding kid, but you’re not as great a gift to us all as you seem to think.”
Jean sighs. But the smile threatening to make its way up to his lips is bubbling underneath. He has to hand it to Gabi and Falco, it’s a great idea.
“You rarely let us take pictures of you - “
“I swear if you think a picture of me is a gift, I’ll set you to work in this house right now. Gabi and Falco aren’t tall enough to reach some of the ceilings but you - ”
“ - but we don’t have any pictures of them. Gabi and Falco thought you might want them. Fortunately for you, I do possess the gift of drawing.” He finishes cutting off the captain.
Levi looks at him with slight panic, and Jean’s never seen him wear that emotion before. Falco and Gabi quietly excuse themselves. They had all felt the captain would want this to be private.
“So Captain,” Jean says gently, “Who do you want to start with, Commander Erwin, or Hange?”
He tries really hard not to notice the tears that are in Levi’s eyes, focusing more on the captain’s soft smile. He catches Gabi and Falco peeking at them in the window, and gives them a subtle grin.
Levi is as detail-oriented as ever. Both portraits come out stunning, if Jean does say so himself.
By the time Armin speaks up from where they’re both situated in the library, Jean’s been anticipating it. Jean’s in the middle of thumbing through an anatomy book, thinking of how he can improve, when he catches Armin staring.
“You’re creepy when you stare, you know.” Jean says not taking his eyes off the page.
“Thanks Jean,” Armin says sarcastically. He puts his head in his hands, not moving his gaze. Jean can’t ignore it for long - Armin’s too powerful, he always has been. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Jean knows what he’s going to ask for before Armin opens his mouth.
“Yes.” He says, looking up to meet those blue eyes, “but under one condition.”
Armin can’t hide his amusement.
“She can’t know.”
Armin’s brows furrow, and the look of disappointment on his face is one that’s ever gentle yet biting, “Jean, I thought we were past this - “ he starts carefully.
“We are.” Jean cuts him off. “We are.” He says more quietly. “But for her… it needs to be perfect. I want it to be perfect.”
Armin’s eyes soften.
It’s easy to surprise Mikasa. Well, that’s actually a very inaccurate assessment, she’s very difficult to surprise normally. But, her trust in Armin and him is endless, so when their meetings at the library go a little longer, she easily accepts that Jean is taking a more active role in helping Armin in his book, which he is, kind of.
(He does still stop at the bakery and pick up her favorite raspberry pastries at the end of the long evenings. Despite her love of sweet things, she doesn’t buy them enough for herself.)
This portait takes the longest yet and spawns the most arguments. Armin and him come to a stalemate on some features, so Connie is invited for input. Then Annie. Then Levi. Reiner is finally rounded up so that they have as many people checking and re-checking the accuracy as possible.
Jean has always been an insufferable perfectionist, but Armin contends this takes it to the next level. Every line is careful, every color cross-matched.
“For someone you had a lot of fights with,” Reiner muses, “you sure are drawing a good portait of him.”
Connie and Armin laugh. Jean continues to work on the details. They may have fought a lot, but they were like brothers. They all are his family, woven so tightly into his life, he can’t leave any of them out. And for her, he would catch the stars if he could. So it has to be perfect.
There’s no special occasion he gives it to her on. But he does make sure the build up makes the surprise even more special.
They’re on the balcony people watching, the streets lovely underneath them at dusk. They spend time making up stories about each person that passes.
While he goes back in to replenish both their wine glasses, he grabs the portraits.
He starts with the copies he’s made. Begins with Hange, gingerly placing the portrait in front of her.
It takes her a moment, but then that soft smile is on her lips and she says, “I forgot you used to do this.” Ever watchful. She runs her fingers across the lines of Hange’s glasses, setting her wine glass down.
“It’s beautiful.” She says, looking at him. Her eyes shine beautifully at dusk and the sun’s last rays are outlining her hair like a halo.
“You’re beautiful.” He replies, smiling, tucking a piece behind her ears.
“Hmm… it’s getting long isn’t it? Maybe I should cut it.” She says, taking a black lock in hand. When their eyes meet, hers sparkle with amusement as she teases.
He pulls out Sasha’s next. She gasps like she wasn’t expecting it. She spends extra time tracing different parts of Sasha’s face tears clinging to her eyelashes.
“I thought we could put them up,” He says as she continues to trace, “we have so many new memories on our wall, but old ones, they’re worth remembering too.”
Her smile is contagious this time.
His heart beats faster.
“I have one more.” He says quietly. When she looks up into his eyes, he knows, she knows what’s coming next.
He takes a moment to kiss her softly, pressing their foreheads together, quietly breathing in each other’s space. His hands run up her neck, gently cradles her head.
One of her hands reaches out to hold his. It grips tightly like she’s afraid to let go.
He pulls out Eren’s portrait and carefully moves to hold her while she sobs.
They place the portraits Jean’s drawn in their bedroom. They hang among a collection of drawings Jean begins to build. He’s added landscapes showing all different parts of Paradis Island. He’s listened patiently to his friends as they detail their favorite spots, their old houses, and their rooms. A portrait of his mother joins the collection and soon after Jean works meticulously to create a portait of Mikasa’s parents. They sit out on the balcony and she tells stories from her childhood. He listens while carefully placing down each line.
There’s always an empty spot. They both know what it’s for.
Jean hasn’t worked up the courage to start it. Doesn’t think he can, if he’s being honest. How can he draw with the details he knows. He remembers the freckles that were endless, can clearly picture the placement of them on his cheeks, his shoulders, and his hips.
He remembers the pitch of his voice. Occasionally when they walk through town, he’ll hear the familiar timbre float across the general buzz of town. He’ll close his eyes and hold onto the note he recognizes as familiar, yet still can’t capture perfectly.
He remembers the roughness of his hands, not surprisingly filled with callouses, deep from training. He remembers it’s different than hands he feels now. Shaking Armin’s hand, holding Mikasa’s… they’ve all had enough time for their own rough hands to turn soft and gentle. He’s still unused to soft handshakes from strangers when he expects callouses and cuts.
Only one of these details helps him in any way with his portrait. The rest are details Jean has to cling to. Ones he makes sure he remembers so that he can still picture parts of him.
They all come to him one day. The days of campfire talks are over, so as soon as he finds them all huddled in his home, nursing cups and talking quietly, he thinks this must be for an intervention. For what, he’s not quite sure. He wracks his brain to think of something that might have warranted this, but comes up with nothing.
He must look confused because Connie starts laughing before he claps him on the back and leads him to sit down at the kitchen table.
There he finds a paper and pencil ready for him.
“Ha ha, very funny,” he says his voice shaking. “You can make me write my will another time.”
He looks up from where he’d fixed his eyes on the blank paper and finds Mikasa’s soft smile. Armin’s eyes are gentle. Annie is rocking their little gremlin next to him. Her eyes hold tears. Reiner fidgets near the balcony, leaning against the balcony door.
He wishes Reiner could believe Jean when he says he’s forgiven. Jean has worked hard to live up to that statement every year. Some years are harder than others.
Levi sits calmly in the corner. He has a green scout cape folded in his lap. It’s so worn that the color is not the same forest green Jean remembers anymore. His eyes linger on the Wings of Freedom, taking in the blue and grey. The white has unmistakable stains of pink, hard to totally bleach blood out. Jean thinks it’s fitting.
Connie holds a pencil to Jean’s hands. “Thought we’d put you through the same shit you did to us,” his scratchy voice says. Luckily for you, we’ll start talking first instead.” The smile in Connie’s voice is warm.
They work to slowly piece together a portrait recalling different memories they have of him.
Jean holds back tears while carefully drawing each detail as his friends work to create a picture he thought he had lost permanently.
He sketches the shape of his face, mixes the correct charcoal to match his eyes, and fixes the part in his hair, adding the slight curl that everyone seems to remember got worse when Marco was busy telling Jean off for whatever fight he had started, in the middle of a training assignment no less.
In the end, he looks at the portrait and clenches his right fist.
His friends move around the room, cleaning up various items. Mikasa comes back to the table with a bottle of wine and a glass of whiskey. She puts it next to him quietly, hand coming to rest on his shoulder.
“We all miss him, too,” She says quietly. “He’s not forgotten.”
Jean stares into Marco’s eyes for the first time since he stared at his half-eaten corpse all those years ago. For the first time, the image in front of him outweighs the blood and torn skin.
He thinks it was pretty fucking shitty he made them all go through this. Wonders how they all held it together enough to give him descriptions.
He stares at Marco’s portrait and can’t help the tears that slide silently down his cheeks.
They continue to add to their collection. Each time Armin requests a new illustration for his book, Jean makes sure to make copies to put on their wall. Old memories mix with new, and even mundane details are pulled up from the dregs of everyone’s memories.
(Who thought it’d be Connie to settle the debate of how the buckles looked on the front cross-straps of the ODM gear. Jean tells Armin Connie’s crude attempt at a diagram should be included in the book. For “historical accuracy” of course.)
At night, Mikasa comes to sit in his office, now covered in paint supplies, pencils, and charcoal. There’s a tarp over half of the room where canvases have started to pile up.
She watches carefully as he creates a new illustration, once and awhile adding input. He wonders how he ever stopped drawing in the first place.
He keeps drawing.