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"For the love of everything good under the sky, please, Jean!"
He refused to look at you, angrily staring out the window, and you honestly could understand why. It wasn't a daily occurrence of yours to beg your rival in all things to pretend to be your boyfriend for the week. He sighed.
"What's in it for me? From all I've heard, this only benefits you. I, on the other hand, lose study time, as well as time that could be put to much better use doing literally anything else."
Desperation welled up in your throat as you tried to think of something, anything, to get him to agree to your outrageous plan. "I'll make sure you get the time you need to study, I can do that. We can go into town and study at different coffee shops. I could help you study too, even though I know you probably don't want me to help. Please, Jean, I'm out of options. You're my only hope here."
He finally moved to gaze at your face. His countenance had grown hard, but you could see the gears in his head turning as he weighed all his options. "Fine," he growled, "but we're doing this my way, got it?"
You nodded shakily, simultaneously relieved and dreading what came next.
"You can't flinch when I touch you, that's not gonna sell the lie that we're dating," Jean groaned for the second time. You ducked your head in shame.
"I'm sorry," you whispered. The lights in the small library room, one of many within the building, burned brightly, a stark contrast to how you felt internally. You only had a couple of days to become familiar with Jean and his mannerisms. During the time you had already spent together, you both agreed on what to say when others asked about how you got together, your favorite parts about each other, and other basic information that you felt too frazzled to recall. Today he had started being physically affectionate with you, and to say you felt uncomfortable was an understatement.
He sighed as he lifted your chin up with his first two fingers. Your doe eyed expression almost gave him cause to chuckle. Almost. "Are you sure this is a good idea? I get the feeling that this is worse for you than it is for me."
Your heart sank at his question, but your eyes only showed determination. You set your jaw and rolled your shoulders. "I have no choice, I'm going to see this through."
Jean nodded, pleasantly relieved that your stubbornness was alive and kicking. A tiny smirk made its way onto his face. "That's my girl."
You smiled joyfully as you wrapped your arms around your mother. She held you just as tight, only letting you go after a good five seconds.
"I'm so happy you're home, baby," she whispered in your ear as she pulled away. You made to return the sentiment when you saw her eyes land on the person behind you. She smirked, and you internally groaned. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, you supposed.
"Is this who I think it is?" Your mother grinned. Your smile became strained, but no one could tell.
No one except Jean.
He took control of the situation, quickly moving to take your mother's hand and press a quick kiss to it. "If you're thinking of the name 'Jean Kirstein,' then yes, it is." He poured on all the charm he could give.
Your mother looked delightfully shocked, glancing from him to you. "Honey, you didn't tell me how much of a gentleman Jean is!"
You chuckled, still slightly anxious and out of your element. "Sorry, mama, I thought I did."
As she corralled you both deeper into the house, you felt a sinking feeling of doom settle in your chest. If you couldn't handle your own flesh and blood for a minute, how in the world were you going to survive the entire evening?
You felt a hand on your lower back and his voice at your ear. "Hey, darling, relax. This is nothing we can't handle." You turned your head to look at him, only to gasp at how close he was. You could feel his breath tickle your cheek.
"Yeah," you breathed. "Yeah, we can handle this." The two of you stopped and looked at each other. Had he always been this attentive?
He leaned down and kissed your cheek, unashamed of the people surrounding him. He pulled back and smirked, "That's my girl."
It took a good two minutes for your blush to subside.
Day five of your week long trip saw raised tempers and grade A performances from both you and Jean. You honestly were impressed that you managed to keep from strangling him as you conversed with your mother.
"Hey babe, I need some fresh air, you want to come on a walk with me?" You asked in a sickeningly sweet tone, eyes shooting daggers at him. He returned the sentiment.
"Of course, let's go," he replied in the same manner.
It took exactly twenty-four seconds for the argument to start. You would know, you had been trying to regulate your breathing so as to not cause a scene.
"What in the world is your problem? Are you trying to blow our cover?" Jean spat.
"No, I'm not!" You answered, angered at his question. You had simply not gotten the details of one of your made up stories right, why was it that big of a deal? "You know that blowing our cover is not my goal. I'm the one who asked you to do this in the first place!"
"For someone who begged me to help her out in the first place, you're certainly doing a poor job at holding up your end of the whole spiel."
"I am not!" You raged quietly, unwilling to let your relatives know about any trouble in paradise. "You just can't do this properly!"
Jean panted for a few seconds, eyes livid. He walked up to you, backed you into the wall on the side of the house you were staying at. "You're right," he growled, "I can't do this anymore."
You looked up at him, a mixture of triumph, shock, and fury portrayed on your face. Jean Kirstein, your unofficial sworn enemy, was telling you he couldn't hold up his end of the bargain?
He continued to speak, not allowing you the chance to gloat. "I can't stand listening to your voice this much. I thought it was bad seeing you daily in the classroom, but at least I got a break from you when I went home."
He moved closer, forcing your head to tilt backwards to maintain eye contact. Gosh, you thought faintly, have his eyelashes always been this pretty?
"I can't stand to look at your face, the freckles that dot your cheeks, the way your smile curves up on one side and down on the other. I can't stand the vanilla perfume, or whatever the hell it is, that I smell whenever you walk by. It's intoxicating. I can't stand touching you almost all the time."
At this point, his breath fanned across your face, lips only few inches away. Your heart beat had kicked up several notches.
"But most of all," he whispered lowly, "I can't stand myself, how all I've been wanting to do this week is this."
He dove for your mouth, planting a chaste kiss on your mouth. His lips were the softer than yours. Your arms came around his neck as his came to hold your waist, almost desperately pulling you closer to him. He packed all of his anger, frustration, and love he felt into the kiss, as did you. Your head spun at all the new revelations you were receiving, but most of all, it spun at the feeling of his lips on yours. You thanked the heavens above that he had his arms around your waist - your knees had given out, your legs felt like jelly.
Kissing him felt like coming home.
He broke apart from you, breathing heavily. He appeared to be as flustered as you.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, closing his eyes as though he were in pain. "I shouldn't have done that." He pulled away from you, making to walk back inside, away from you.
You were furious. No, you thought, this is not ending up like some stupid movie enemies-to-lovers trope where he avoids me for the next month.
"Jean!" You hurried to him, grasped his shirt to bring him closer. Right before your lips touched his, you stopped.
"Please," you whispered, kissing him in the same manner that he just had. His arms came back around you, holding you firmly.
You broke away from him, breathing heavily and meeting his gaze. "Please," voice hoarse from all the emotions running through you, "please."
His eyes flitted back and forth between your own, looking for any signs of hesitation. "Are you sure?"
You nodded fervently, not wanting anymore misunderstandings.
He kissed you once more, but not before smiling and whispering, "That's my girl."