Work Text:
As you flip through the somewhat erotic sketches in the notebook you hold, you can't help but think about the hands that drew them.
The fact that being seen with him could completely ruin your reputation was the last thing on your mind as your fingers gently graze the edges of the pages, carefully admiring every detail in each drawing.
“You drew all these?” you ask, looking up at him.
Jean smiles, his eyes moving from your face to his notebook, and nods. “Yeah, all of ‘em.” His voice has an accent that yours doesn’t have, and you can’t decide if it’s because of the language he uses or something else. “Turns out lots o’ dancers in France are willin’ to drop their panties for me.”
Your jaw drops at his crude words, which makes Jean laugh. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees at he looks at his own drawings. The movement makes your kneecaps touch, and you find yourself subconsciously crossing your legs.
“Nah, m’just kidding. Well, mostly, anyway.” Another chuckle slips from his lips when he notices your slightly widened eyes. He gently grabs the notebook from your lap, flipping through the pages.
“Like this one,” he said, turning it to show you. It was a charcoal drawing of a woman and a man sitting at a table, the woman wearing an eyepatch and the man missing two fingers. “I approached ‘em in a pub one day and asked if I could draw them. The lady—well, they actually didn’t identify as a man or woman, they told me, but their name was Hange—seemed a lot more enthusiastic about it than Levi, the man. Anyway, they told me about their time in the military as I drew ‘em.”
You nod along to his words as you take the notebook back in your hands and admire the drawing. Even though your eyes are distracted you hold onto every word he says.
Upon further inspection, you notice the man’s right eye was white, barely a hint of an iris in the drawing.
“They both lost an eye while serving,” Jean continues, noticing how you seem to focus on that small detail. “Hange lost their’s completely, I’m pretty sure, and Levi went blind in his right.”
“I wonder what happened,” you softly muse.
Jean shrugged. “They didn’t really give details about their injuries, they really only told me about their dead comrades and training and such. Actually, their commander was someone I’ve drawn before—can I?”
You nod, handing him the notebook so he could flip through a couple more pages.
“They saw the drawing while I was looking for a clean page and asked about it. His name was Erwin Smith, and he was the thirteenth commander in their survey corps. Hange told me they were the fourteenth after him, and they passed it on to some blond boy named Armin before retiring. I think Armin is on this boat, actually.”
Jean turns the book back to you in the middle of his small rant, showing a blond man with thick eyebrows. You noticed that instead of a head shot like the other drawings, it was a full body portrait to show that he was missing his right arm.
“They spoke the world of him. It seemed like the three of them were incredibly close.”
Jean sounds sad talking about them, almost like he knew the ins and outs of their relationship personally. He might have, you suppose, because it seemed strangers spilled their hearts and souls to him during one single conversation.
“Are the first two a couple?” you ask.
Jean shrugs, handing you the notebook again so you can continue flipping through it. “Dunno. They seemed really close and like they trusted each other with everything they had, but never mentioned bein’ together.”
You nodded, flipping through more drawings. There were multiple of a young boy with dark hair and freckles throughout the journal, all dated very close to each other until you stopped seeing them. He must have been close to Jean, but you don’t ask about it since the last drawing of him was done years ago and seems unfinished.
“So, those French girls. Is there a reason they…” you paused, hesitating to repeat his earlier words. “You know.”
“Dropped their panties for me?” He smirks cheekily at you as you bite the inside of your cheek, nodding. “Nah, don’t think so. Though I do think they thought I would pay them back with something more erotic than what they got.”
“You drew a lot of dancers,” you comment as you flip through, noticing two or three drawings of naked women on each page.
“Jealous I’ve seen naked women before?” Jean teases, lightly nudging your knee with his.
Your lips tighten as you fight the urge to smile. “No, it was merely an observation.”
Jean laughs. “I was just teasin’. But they make for good anatomy practice. They can bend their body any way they want and stay for extended periods of time. They’re the perfect people to draw for practice.”
“And they have to be… bare?”
Jean shrugs. “Well it’s more difficult to draw bodies with all those bulky clothes they wear.”
You make an O shape with your mouth, unable to decide if he’s telling the truth or simply teasing you again.
It’s silent as you continue flipping through the pages, the soft ocean breeze being the only sound between you and Jean as he watches you.
You notice a black-haired woman appear multiple times throughout the notebook. She has short hair that frames her face perfectly, and there’s a mark just below one of her steel gray eyes.
“You liked this one,” you note, reading the small writing at the bottom of one of the pages. “Mikasa Ackerman. She’s very pretty.”
“What makes you say I liked her?” Jean asks.
“You drew her quite a lot.” Jean hums, but doesn’t say anything in response. “I believe there might have been something going on.”
You smile. You don’t turn to see, but you can feel Jean’s expression change as he continuously denies your claim.
“No, no, we were just friends. She was always at the dance studio when I went, so I was just always drawing her.” His cheeks are pink though, and when you turn to look at him he puts his hand over the bottom half of his face.
You hum condescendingly, turning back to the pages. “She was very pretty. I wouldn’t be surprised if at some point you developed feelings for her.”
“Yeah, she was.” Jean’s voice is soft, a whisper, almost. You keep your head down but glance at him, noting the way he fondly looks at the drawings.
“You did like her, didn’t you?” It’s not an accusation, and you don’t mean it to be. You make sure your voice is gentle when you say it, coaxing him to tell you more.
He’s still for a moment before he gives a single nod. “Yeah, I did.”
You can’t tell why his accent changes, but the way he said I sounded more like ah. You assume it might be due to him having been all over the world, and make a note to ask him about it another time.
“I eventually realized we would never happen. She was too high class for me.” Jean doesn’t sound sad about it, in fact he talks about it as if it’s a nostalgic memory for him.
“Just like I’m too high class for you?” The words slip from your mouth without thinking, and you immediately shut your mouth. But now that you’d said it, you realize that you’re right. You shouldn’t be seen with him. The blow that could do to your family, the rumors it could start. If the wrong person saw this it would be a one way ticket to poverty for your family.
Jean purses his lips. “Yeah. Jus’ like you.”
You softly nod, closing the notebook and handing it back to him. “Thank you for allowing me to see your artwork, Mister Kirstein.”
“It’s just Jean,” he said, grabbing his notebook and standing up with you. He tucks the leather bound book under his arm, bowing his head slightly. “Someone as posh and fancy as you shouldn’t be givin’ me titles like Mister.”
“Of course.” You gently bite the inside of your cheek, smoothing out your dress. “Well, I thank you anyway. And I suppose we shall see if we run into each other again on this boat.”
Jean gives one nod. “Maybe we will.”
You noticed that his responses were curt, and you took that as your cue to bow your head and walk away from him.
As you walked past a few people on your way back to your room, you noticed some giving you a glance, and you prayed to God that they wouldn’t let anything slip.
—
You giggled with Jean as you entered your room, closing and locking the door behind you after you made sure no one had seen you.
Apparently the wrong crowd had seen you two together when you were looking at his drawings. That had led to a lovely dinner with your family and fiancé which led to another series of events that had reconciled the two of you.
You remember being slightly buzzed when you asked if he could draw you, but he agreed nonetheless. He waited until there was no alcohol in your system and no one you knew was around before he asked if you still wanted him to draw you. You had nodded, following him to his cramped room before grabbing him by the hand and dragging him back to yours.
You weren’t exactly trying to be sneaky anymore, but you were still cautious of who was watching.
Jean stood in the center of your room in awe, mouth agape as he looked at the intricate wallpaper and fancy light fixtures and beautiful paintings leaning against couches.
“Is the lighting alright?” you asked, taking a step closer him him.
He hummed in question, closing his mouth and turning his head to you. “Oh, yes, yes. It’s fine. Perfect, actually, uhm…” He nodded once. “Yeah.”
You could tell he was nervous, but you weren’t sure why. It’s not like this was your first time alone together, and you certainly knew he had no problem sneaking around with you.
“Are you alright?”
He nodded again, averting his gaze to one of your paintings. “Is that Pixis?”
Your eyes followed as he stepped in the direction he was looking, noticing the mostly gray and red painting.
“Yes. You know him?” You stepped behind him, leaning over as he crouched down and softly touched the edge.
“I love his work. He was a Chief Official in the French army before he passed. He painted in his free time and most o’ his work depicts his time on the battlefield. There’s one he painted of giant beasts that he saw in his dreams.”
Jean’s eyes swept over the painting once more before he stood up, turning to you. “So, anything you want to be drawn by? Or with?”
It took you a moment to register what exactly he was asking about. You had been admiring his amazed expression, lost in the way his lips slightly curved while looking at your paintings.
You nodded. “Yes, give me just a moment and I’ll grab it.”
Jean nodded, softly scratching the back of his neck and looking around as you retreated to your sleeping quarters and opened the closet door.
You turned the dial on the safe to open it, retrieving the black box Eren had put in it at the beginning of the trip. You hesitated a moment, looking at the rock on your finger before taking it off and leaving it in the safe.
You returned to Jean, watching for just a moment as he admired another painting you had. Your approaching footsteps brought his attention to you, and when he turned he saw you opening the box.
You handed it to him, watching as he gingerly lifted the expensive necklace and looked at it in the light.
“This is a real nice necklace. Probably worth more than I am.” He softly laughed, glancing at you as he placed the box down on a side table. He lifted the necklace again, looking at it closely. “What is it, sapphire?”
“Diamond,” you replied, stepping closer to him. Your side pressed against his, and you felt him tense up slightly. “I want you to draw me wearing it.”
He briefly glanced at you again before looking back at the necklace. “Alright. Where?”
“Wearing only that.”
Jean paused, turning his head to look at you after the words left your mouth. He raised a brow, as if to ask if you were sure about your decision.
“I want you to draw me like one of your French girls. The dancers.”
You watched as the corner of his lips twitched, fighting the urge to smile. He placed the necklace back on top of the box, running a hand over his face. “You sure?”
You nodded. “Yes.”
He allowed his lips to curl into a charming smile as he gave you a once over before nodding. “Alright. What room?”
You gently grabbed his hand, leading him into the room next to yours and turning on the lights.
“Whatever pose you’d like,” you said. “Any lighting you’d like, as well. I only want you to draw me.”
He smiled down at you, handing you the necklace. “That I can do. Wanna undress here or should I wait?”
He softly laughed at your expression, gently patting your shoulder. “I’m only kiddin’. Go get ready while I set up.”
His hand traveled from your shoulder to your wrist, and he gently lifted your hand to his lips. He left a soft kiss on your knuckles, not breaking eye contact before he winked and walked further into the room.
While you undressed you heard something scraping around in the other room, stopping after a couple moments. You assumed Jean was moving around furniture and liked where he had placed it.
When you finished you slipped on a robe, tying it around the waist so it didn’t fall open before you wanted it to. You clasped the necklace around your neck, adjusting it so the large diamond sat in the middle.
When you walked back to the room Jean was sharpening a piece of charcoal. The fireplace had been lit, allowing an ethereal glow to outline him as he worked. You took a moment to admire him before he noticed you.
He softly smiled, his eyes sweeping over you as he stood straighter and put his blade down. You walked over to him, taking graceful steps.
“The last thing I need is another portrait where I look like a delicate flower. I want you to draw me as you see me, Jean.” You smiled at him, showing him the quarter held between your fingers. “And as a paying customer, I expect to receive what I ask for.”
Jean softly laughs as you place the quarter on the table. “And what if I see you as a delicate flower?”
“I know you don’t. Why do you think I asked you to draw me?” You watched him laugh in shock as you winked, taking a step back and seating yourself of the edge of the couch. "How should I pose myself?"
Jean looked you up and down, biting the inside of his cheek in thought. "Laying down," he said after a few moments.
You nodded, untying your robe and slipping it off your shoulders. You draped it on the arm of the sofa, turning your gaze toward Jean.
You watched as his eyes swept over you, trailing the edge of your shoulder as you laid back. He took you in for a moment, mouth slightly agape and eyes sparkling in awe.
He softly shook his head, bringing himself out of his trance as he gave you a once over again. "Life your arms above your head," he said, returning to that same thinking look you loved.
You did as he said, and when he stood from the chair and stepped forward to adjust your pose your breath softly hitched. You felt his warm hands along your arms, gently moving them to his will. You took a moment to admire his own face, the straight slope of his nose and the sharp line of his jaw. His lips looked soft, and you wondered for a moment what they might feel like against your skin.
He stepped back, crossing his arms as he assessed the pose he'd put you in before nodding to himself and sitting back down.
"Alright, don't move," he softly said. You nodded, which made him softly chuckle. "I said don't move."
"Well that was hardly moving," you replied, but a smile spread across your lips anyway.
You watched as he picked up a piece of charcoal and began drawing soft lines across the sheet of parchment. You watched the way his eyes followed the pencil, flicking between you and the drawing. The light coming from the fireplace made his irises glow, making them a beautiful honey color.
You watch as his long and elegant fingers move across the page, eventually staining themselves with the dark charcoal. You remember the many times he had lightly touched you, lingering for longer than he needed to. You remember how warm his hands were, and when you tried hard enough you could imagine they were on you again.
You're not sure who starts the conversation, but most of the time he draws is spent talking. The two of you exchange life stories. You tell him about your upbringing and the people you knew as a child and teenager and he tells you about his.
The entire conversation put into perspective how different the worlds you came from are, but you can't help but think that you were meant to find each other.
He stands when he finished, grabbing your robe from where it was draped and handing it to you. He only shows you the portrait once the robe is tied around you once again.
He's signing and dating it when you come up behind him, slowly wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your head on his shoulder. You softly smile at it when he puts his drawing materials down, turning your head to leave a soft kiss on his lips.
"Thank you," you say.
He turns, your faces barely touching as he gazes into your eyes. "You're welcome."
He leans forward, leaving a quick, chaste peck on your lips.