Chapter Text
“Jean? Whatever are you thinking about?”
Jean glanced away from the coach’s window that sheltered him from the summer air and toward his mother, who was sitting across from him.
“You’ve been quiet ever since we departed,” his mother continued, brows furrowed in worry. “Are you feeling sick?”
“Mother!” Jean grunted in his annoyance. “How old do you think I am? I don’t have travel sickness anymore.”
“I know, I didn’t mean to imply that,” she mumbled penitently. “I’m just concerned about you, dear. Your cousin is about to celebrate her betrothal, and yet you look so dejected for such a jolly occasion.”
Right. He almost forgot about Sasha’s betrothal party.
The party wouldn’t actually commence until a fortnight, but Sasha had been pestering him to come and visit her. Therefore, in his attempt to please his cousin, as well as to prove to her that he had not turned into a dreary, stale gentleman, Jean decided to come earlier and stay for several weeks in her family's estate.
His mother, who happened to be Sasha’s maternal aunt, was delighted by his decision to spend some leisure time with the Brausses. His mother claimed that he had been working too hard lately with managing the Gesteinberg Estate, and so he deserved to take a break.
“I am fine, mother,” Jean mumbled. “I’m just exhausted.”
“I’m sure you are,” his mother replied good-naturedly. “You shall rest as soon as we arrive there.”
Jean nodded and shifted his attention back to the window. Even though it had been quite some years since the last time he visited, he still recognised the road and the trees. He knew that it would not take long until they arrived at Dauperton.
The Brauss family was a humble landowner gentry that owned a significant amount of land. Jean used to visit the estate plenty of times when he was little with Connie, another one of his cousins.
The coach came to a halt right in front of the entrance. The façade of the manor and the sight of the land had not changed at all—at least to his memory. It was still as welcoming as he remembered the last time he visited.
Yes, the last time…
When was it exactly?
Five years ago…? Right? It was when he invited—
“JEAN!” A familiar voice bellowed through the foyer, startling Jean, who was just about to take off his gloves.
Before he could even react, he was attacked by his cousin, who crashed into him for a tight embrace.
“Sasha!” Jean reprimanded the all-too-familiar brunette. “Be careful! I could’ve fallen.”
“Oh! Don’t be so dramatic,” she smiled cheekily. “Thank you for coming, Jean! I’m happy that you are here.”
Jean could not help but regard her with a smile, “Well, anything for my dearest cousin.”
After extending her warm welcome to his mother, Sasha immediately told them to join her in the parlour. However, Mrs Brauss, who suddenly appeared due to the commotion, instead told them to rest first before joining them for dinner later.
He took that offer and excused himself whilst his mother joined the ladies for a tea time.
At last, Jean was finally alone.
He ascended the stairs in silence as his mind began to wander again, to that day.
It was strange.
Jean recalled that on that day, he was also ambling along the same stairs with… with…
Suddenly, he felt a tight pressure building inside his chest. The air started to grow too thick for him to breathe, and it made him lightheaded.
He began to stumble and lost his footing. His instinct pushed him to reach for the railing, and he held tightly onto the sturdy wood. He closed his eyes and pressed his nails against the railing so hard that it started to hurt—which was what he needed.
Jean used the pain in his hand to distract himself from the disturbing sensations that were starting to eat him up from the inside. He tensed up his jaw and tried to calm his harsh breathing.
In and out.
In and out.
In and—
“Sir?”
The soft melodic sound touched him like a gentle breeze, softening the heavy air that had been pulling him down.
He sensed a faint smell of rose and raspberry. Deep, sweet, and alluring, like the smell of a garden in the night.
Jean opened his eyes and saw a pair of dark grey eyes staring back at him.
He pulled himself back a little and noticed that the voice and the eyes belonged to a young woman who stood on a stair above him.
Her face contorted in worry as she spoke once more, “Sir? Is something the matter?”
Beautiful...
“… Sir?”
“O-oh!” Jean cleared his throat and threw his gaze away from her for a moment. “Nothing! Nothing is the matter. Everything is all right.”
“Are you sure?” She asked sceptically. “Do you need anything, sir? Anything that I can help you with?”
The first thing that came over him when he heard her offer was the question of why. He could not understand why a young woman such as she would be so eager to help him, a stranger.
But that was when he finally realised that she was wearing a very distinctive white cap and apron that he recognised as a staple for the domestic servants who work for the Brausses. A clear sign that she was a maid on duty.
It was no wonder that she would approach him, and why she would be holding a vase with colourful arrangements of flowers. She was probably trying to move it somewhere else before she got distracted by him.
There was nothing remarkable about the way she dressed, yet Jean could not stop staring at her.
It didn’t help that the blossoms of the flowers accentuated her beauty even more. From her delicate eyelashes, her excellent dark eyes, her pale skin, and even to the black shiny hair underneath the cap, everything about her was breathtaking.
He had never seen a face with such unique features as hers before, and he could only assume that she must be a foreigner or at least one of her parents was.
“Hello…?” She called again, a bit hesitantly, and it made Jean realise that he had been standing there like a fool.
“No! No! It’s fine, I’m all right!” Jean exclaimed, a bit louder than he intended. He then put on a smile and said, “Thank you for the offer.”
“I see. I’m glad, then,” she nodded, looking relieved and pleased. “If you need anything, please just let me or any of the staff know.”
“Y-yes!”
“Well then, if you’ll excuse me, sir,” the maid bowed politely before stepping away from him and making her descent.
Jean remained unmoved from his position as he watched her figure slowly leave his line of view.
“I think the way you see the world is very unique, Jean.”
Jean glanced at the fourteen-year-old boy in front of him and gave him a strange look, “What are you talking about?”
“I saw the painting you did for the art class. The professor showed it to us as an example of a good composition in a painting.”
“You’re lying…”
“Of course not,” he smiled. “It was truly extraordinary, Jean.”
“It was not…” Jean mumbled.
“It was! Why don’t you tell me you’re talented with the brush?”
“I’m not talented!” Jean denied. “Please! You don’t have to flatter me!”
“I’m not flattering you. If the professor didn’t say it, I wouldn’t even know that it was made by someone younger than me.”
Jean frowned, not sure how to respond or react to that compliment. It never happened before. No one ever complimented his painting to his face.
In fact, his uncle would always tell him not to dabble too much in such a pointless activity. As a result, he would only do it sparingly and secretly.
“Jean, you did not just draw something you saw into the canvas half-heartedly. You actually put your perception into it, almost as if you captured a distinct experience,” the person said. “When I gazed into your painting, it felt as if I was looking at it through the artist's eyes.”
"... Did you hit your head or something?"
"Of course not!" The person smiled encouragingly at him and continued, “Listen. I believe you should become an artist, Jean.”
Jean was not sure what prompted him to have that dream.
No.
A memory.
Jean blamed it on his exhaustion from the long journey. As a matter of fact, he did not even realise he had fallen asleep. He remembered that he just wanted to lie down on the bed for a moment. Yet, the next thing he knew, it was almost time for dinner.
Jean did recall that the last thing he thought about was that young maid.
For some reason, he could not push her person away from his thoughts. There was something about her presence that captivated him, which was absurd; he did not even know her name.
Such a shame. If only he were sharp enough to ask for her name.
Well, at least he knew what he would be doing for the rest of the day.
Without wasting another second, he immediately changed into a different outfit and left his room in haste. When he reached the stairs, there was a part of him that wished to see her there, but alas, there was no one to greet him.
Jean began scouring almost every hall and room in the manor, which somehow brought him back to the olden days when he used to play tag or hide-and-seek with his cousins.
How fast the time had passed, he wondered, yet he still felt like he had not changed at all.
It was as if he was stuck.
“Jean?” A familiar voice called out for him from behind. “Are you searching for something?”
“No,” Jean responded right away as he turned to face Sasha. “I simply want to stretch my legs and look around.”
“Is that so? Strange… You’ve never done that before…” she remarked with slight concern in her tone.
Jean scoffed, “Not as strange as you getting engaged. Who would’ve ever thought?”
“Oi! That’s rude!” She hit his arm playfully.
“Calm down! I’m just jesting,” Jean smiled. “I’m happy for you.”
“All right, that is enough. You are giving me goosebumps.” Sasha linked her arm to his and said, “Come! Let’s have dinner together.”
Jean let Sasha lead him toward the dining room, and once again he felt a pressure growing steadily inside his chest. He tried to maintain his composure by shutting off the noises from the conversation around him.
He only replied by nodding, shaking, humming, smiling, and laughing. He would choose one randomly and prayed for that he was still making sense in front of them.
Fortunately, no one seemed to notice his inattentiveness. Although he could not tell if it was because he had a talent to become an actor or because they simply did not understand his true feelings.
After dinner, as always, the family would gather in the parlour.
Whilst the rest were conversing with each other, Jean opted to stand by himself near the window. Jean stared emptily at the sun that was beginning to descend over the horizon where the mountains stretched, and as the sky slowly became dark, he could see the little gathering happening behind him being reflected on the glass.
He could see his mother talking to his aunt and Sasha. He could also see Sasha munching on an apple that she smuggled from the dinner table. He also noticed that his uncle was reading a book, seemingly undisturbed by the commotion.
At the same time, a maid began to move swiftly around the room to light up the candles. Coincidentally, that was when he spotted another maid entering the parlour before crouching down in front of the fireplace to replenish the firewood.
Hold on…
Jean watched carefully at her graceful and familiar movements. After a while, she eventually stood up, grabbed the bucket of firewood, and turned around before leaving the room altogether.
He held his breath as he realised that it was the same young woman from earlier.
Jean did not think twice; he immediately followed after the girl, ignoring the curious look from his family.
The girl was walking through the empty hallway when Jean called for her.
“E-Excuse me! Miss!”
The young woman came to a halt and glanced back. Her expression was a mixture of surprise and confusion when she noticed his presence.
She turned to face him and bowed politely, “Yes, sir? May I help you?”
“Uhm… Uhm…” Jean mumbled, shifting awkwardly in his position as his heart was beating erratically against his chest. He cursed himself for not planning the interaction because he was at a loss for words.
“Sir? Do you need something?” She asked once again, patiently.
“Uhm…” Jean took a deep breath. “Y-Yes! I need your name.”
Silence.
Jean wanted to jump from the balcony. It seemed all he could do was to make a fool out of him—
“Pardon me… My name?” She inquired gently as if making sure she heard him right.
“Yes!” Jean nodded hastily, “T-that’s if you are so willing to give it to me, of course!”
She blinked and looked at him with the same impassive expression as before.
‘This is it,’ he thought, ‘I made her think I’m an odd bod. Now she woul—’
“Mikasa.”
Jean widened his eyes and stared at her in disbelief.
“My name is Mikasa, sir,” she repeated politely.
“… Mi-Mikasa? Just Mikasa?”
“It’s Mikasa Ackerman, sir. However, I don’t think it’s something important to know,” she explained calmly. “Please, just call me Mikasa.”
“R-right, but I still think it’s worth knowing. It’s your surname after all.” Jean said good-naturedly. "It has your history."
She raised her eyebrows and stared at him queerly, and for a moment, Jean thought he offended her.
But then, she smiled at him.
It was not just any smile. It was tender and sweet, and it was directed toward him.
His stomach started to flutter whilst heat crept to his face. Jean opened his mouth in his attempt to say something, anything, but what came out was a jumbled mess.
“O-oh! W-where’s my manner!” Jean let out a laugh that somehow came out too exaggerated. “It is truly a pleasure to meet… to meet you, Mikasa. My name is Jean Kirstein.”
She immediately let out a small gasp, “I see! So, you are the Mr Kirstein!”
Jean furrowed his brows, “You’ve heard of me?”
“Yes, from Miss Brauss. She talked about you aplenty,” she explained. “She was also very fond of the painting that portrayed her, you, and Mr Springer. She loved talking about it whenever I came to clean up the parlour.”
Jean understood the painting that she meant; it was a painting commissioned by Sasha’s father when they were still very little.
“Well, no wonder you didn’t recognise me,” Jean remarked humorously. “I’ve changed a lot since then.”
“Yes,” she said, “I will keep this meeting in my mind then, so I can recognise you right away the next time you visit again, Mr Kirstein.”
Jean knew that she probably said it out of respect for him, but he would be lying if he didn’t admit how her words made him happy.
Which was very odd.
It wasn’t even a day since he had arrived, and yet he already thought about his next visit.
“That’s reassuring, thank you,” Jean replied.
“You’re welcome.”
Jean wanted to speak even longer with her, to hear more of her melodious voice. Unfortunately, he knew better than to trouble her with his selfish desires.
“So... Mikasa,” Jean started. “It has been a lovely meeting, but I don’t want to hold you. I’m sure you still have a job to attend to.”
“Thank you, that is very considerate of you, sir. Then, if you’ll excuse me.” Mikasa bowed.
Jean watched in silence as she walked away from his vicinity, but before she could go any further, he suddenly exclaimed.
“W-wait, Mikasa!”
She turned around and gave him a confused look, “Yes?”
“I… I just want to say: good night!”
She was visibly surprised by his words, but she quickly comported herself and responded gently, “Good night to you as well, Mr Kirstein.”
Jean remained in the hallway until he could no longer see her.
“That looks great!”
Jean almost jumped out of the chair when he heard that voice. He turned around and saw a pair of hazel eyes looking at the object in his hands with great admiration.
“Oh, it’s you,” Jean said as he returned to his task.
The person sat on the chair next to him and asked, “What are you drawing?”
“My cousin’s house,” Jean answered nonchalantly as he glided the charcoal across his sketchbook paper. “I visited her during the summer, and since the weather was nice, I went out and sketched the landscape.”
“Whoa! Can you really see the mountains from the house?”
“Yes. Very clearly. You should see it for yourself.”
“I suppose this is the sign for you to bring me along one day and finally introduce me to your cousin. After all, you and Connie kept talking about her.”
Jean smiled, “I’ll think about it.”
“Will you turn it into a painting?”
“I’m planning to,” Jean replied. “My mother thought it would be a great gift for my aunt’s birthday.”
“I see…” the person paused slightly before saying, “Now that you mention it. If I ask you to paint my grandfather’s estate, will you accept my request?”
“Huh?”
“I’m thinking of commissioning you to paint my grandfather’s estate, for a gift.”
Jean scoffed, “You must not be right in the head to be willing to pay a seventeen-year-old nobody to paint your grandfather a picture.
Servants had always been trained not to be seen or noticed by their employers, which unfortunately also included a lower-rank upstairs maid like her.
As a result, Jean had to put a lot of effort into searching for Mikasa. She would always be on the move, and she barely made any noise. It was no wonder that the rest of his company would not notice her at all.
Not only that, but such observation made Jean realise that—much to his shame—he never truly paid much attention to any of the household staff in any of the great mansions he had ever visited.
If it weren’t for his mother’s teachings, Jean would probably be blind and rude toward the servants, just like his uncle, who believed that servants do not exist.
His uncle claimed that the people of the upper class should never bother to recognise the servants’ existence. They should be ignored. Therefore, even if they were in the same room as you, they should not be counted. You may as well see yourself as being alone.
Yet, whenever she was around, he felt anything but alone.
Jean sought her. He wanted to talk to her more. However, he also did not want to take her away from her duty and get her into trouble. Therefore, he could only watch her in silence.
He did try to find a way to interact with her, either by creating a chance encounter in the hallway or making it as if he accidentally noticed her.
Whenever they passed by each other, Jean would greet her, and she would reply with a polite answer. Meanwhile, whenever their eyes locked, he would smile at her, and she would regard him with a nod.
She probably did not think much about the interaction, but for Jean, those tiny, insignificant moments had become the highlight of his stay at Dauperton.
The constant ache in his chest still troubled him, but it did not bother him as much as before.
In its place, Mikasa had been plaguing his mind, day and night.
At first, he was still able to maintain his nonchalantness around her, but alas, Jean was only a human.
By the fourth night of his stay there, he realised that he really could not get her out of his thoughts, and the worst thing of it all, he did not want it to stop.
He would replay the memories of her person, over and over again, but it was still not enough. He needed more than just an abstract image. He needed to turn it into something more tangible, more concrete, and more real.
Suddenly, a strong force overcame him from within, and it pulled him off the bed.
He crouched down to reach the lowest drawer of a sideboard in his room. If no one had moved them, then those things should still be there.
Jean smiled when he was able to find a sketchbook and a roll-up leather pouch. He laid them on the surface of his table and sat down. He moved the candlestick closer, flipped to an empty page, and grabbed a stick of charcoal from the case.
In front of him was an empty paper.
He lost count of how many days he had spent avoiding it. Even the thought of it made him nauseous.
Yet, there he was, putting himself back to a place where he had vowed to never return.
He carefully made the first stroke on the paper. He thought he had forgotten how to, but it seemed his hand still remembered. His pace quickened, and before he knew it, the charcoal started to glide across the page like it was made of glass.
However, no matter how hard he tried, he was still dissatisfied with the results. He could not capture her charm and beauty; something would always be missing from his interpretation, though he could not pinpoint what it was exactly.
In his irritation, Jean would rip out the page and crumple them into a ball before throwing it into a dustbin in the corner of his room.
He did it again, and again, and again until the morning came.
“Have you told your uncle about it?”
Jean threw his fencing sword aside and answered, “Told him about what?”
“About your acceptance to the Royal Academy of Art.”
“Oh… That…” Jean wiped the sweat off his face with a small cotton cloth, “Yes.”
“And…? What did he say?”
“He thought it would be unnecessary, distracting even. So, I have decided not to pursue it.”
“What?!” The person raised his voice in disbelief. “But you worked hard for it! The fact that they accepted you should indicate how talented you are, Jean.”
“I can still learn about it in my spare time,” Jean shrugged.
“You know it will not be the same.”
Jean sighed, “Let’s… Let’s not talk about this…”
“… I’m serious, Jean. You should reconsider!” The person insisted. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Jean grunted. “You know it! I’m my uncle’s heir. If he said no, then what can I do?”
There were many things that Jean feared would happen during his stay at Dauperton, and one of them included having his dumb sketches found out by none other than her.
He just returned from a promenade with Sasha when he saw Mikasa standing vigil on one corner of his room, where the dustbin was located. In her hands was a crumpled paper that he recognised very well.
“WAIT!” Jean exclaimed as he reached for the paper. In one swift move, he had taken away the paper from her.
She jumped slightly and gasped, “M-Mr Kirstein!”
Jean hid the paper behind and prayed that his face wasn’t as flushed as he felt his skin was burning.
“Forgive me, Mr Kirstein,” she exclaimed, avoiding his gaze. “I didn’t mean to pry… I was cleaning your room when I saw… that… in your dustbin. I let my curiosity get the better of me… My apologies.”
“N-no! It’s not your fault!” Jean interjected firmly. “I… I should be the one who said sorry for making you see such a horrendous picture! I… I’m ashamed, truly! I didn’t even ask your permission to—”
“Horrendous?!” Mikasa suddenly remarked, raising her voice a little. “Heavens no! It’s everything, but horrendous is not one of them.”
Jean was stunned by her remark.
“Did you… Did you draw it yourself, Mr Kirstein?” Mikasa asked carefully. “Was it me that you drew?”
When he thought he couldn’t get more embarrassed, she had to say it! Out loud!
Jean cringed. He wanted nothing but to be eaten up by the earth down below. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do except nod his head weakly at her.
“Oh…” She murmured.
Jean searched for any sign of discomfort or disgust from her, but there wasn’t any. Rather, she looked strangely curious and impressed.
“Then… Why did you throw away such a great drawing?” She inquired as she glanced at the rest of the crumpled papers inside the dustbin. “I suppose these are your drawings as well?”
“… Yes, they are,” Jean murmured. “And you’re mistaken. They are not great, hence why I threw them away…”
“What do you exactly mean by that? How are they not great?”
“Because they are not right!” Jean answered desperately. “I wasn’t able to capture you very well in my drawing!”
“… Is that so?” Mikasa said thoughtfully. “Perhaps because there is nothing interesting about me to be captured in a drawing.”
“That’s not true!” Jean interjected, shaking his head. “I failed because I couldn’t capture your beauty!”
When he saw her eyes grow wide and mouth agape, Jean knew he had made a fool out of himself, again.
“I… I said that out loud, didn’t I.”
Mikasa blinked several times before she replied in a very calm manner, “Well… Thank you, sir. I’m flattered.”
He did not know whether to be glad or sad that she reacted so nonchalantly to his outburst of a compliment.
However, she did follow up his explanation with a question.
“If that was the case, I assume that you threw these away because you thought they were not as beautiful as you wanted them to be?”
"Yes..."
She seemed to think for a moment before she spoke again.
“If you don’t need them anymore, then is it all right for me to have them?”
“Have them?” Jean furrowed his brows. “Whatever for? They are not good, I’m afraid. They are just garbage.”
“To you, they might be garbage, but to me, they are not,” she replied pleasantly. “I think they look wonderful.”
“B-but… But they are not proper!” Jean tried to explain. “They are just sketches… Even the papers are torn and crumpled! Why would you have them? They are not worth it.”
“Forgive me, but I disagree.” She answered. “I want to have them because someone took the time to actually draw me. I don’t think I would ever have that privilege otherwise. Therefore, to me, they are worth it. Besides, I do not want to waste your hard work.”
Jean lamented his decision to throw those sketches away in the first place. Yes, he did not want her to know about those sketches, but if she had to find out about it, he wished it would not be through the dustbin.
He took a deep breath and finally pulled forward the paper that he had been hiding behind his back. Jean stared at the smudged sketch of her graceful figure who were pouring tea into a teacup.
She thought it looked wonderful.
Jean smiled at the drawing. He then went to his table and laid the paper on the surface before he tried to smooth the paper out with his hands.
After that, Jean went to the dustbin and took several of the crumpled papers that he threw away last night. He smoothed the papers and laid them gently on the table. Jean looked at every failed sketch he had made, and a feeling came over him. A feeling that had become a stranger to him.
Proud.
“Rest assured,” Jean turned to look at her. “I will not throw these away.”
She appeared to be pleased by his answer.
“However, I do feel I owe you a sketch,” he said. “I promise you; I will make a proper one for you, a better one in fact.”
“Oh! I’m grateful, but it’s not necessary, sir.”
“It’s all right. Most people get paid when they become a model for a painting,” Jean explained good-naturedly. “Since you’re the model of my drawing, it’s the least I can do.”
“I see, then it would be such an honour,” she smiled. “Thank you, Mr Kirstein.”
“You’re welcome.”
She glanced at the rest of the sketches and suddenly asked, “Do you like to draw, Mr Kirstein?”
“… Oh,” Jean was startled, quite taken aback by her question. “No… Not really. I don’t really do it often. Only leisurely.”
“Is that so?” She walked to his side and traced her finger across the sketches. “But I find that hard to believe.”
“You do…? Why?”
“I’m not sure… Just an intuition, I suppose,” she regarded. “These are very good just to be done by someone who only did it on a spare time.”
Jean glanced at her figure, and he found her calm disposition somehow comforted him.
“I see…” Jean murmured. “Well, I haven’t done this in a long time… So, I’m flattered you think of these so highly.”
“Oh? You did? A lack of inspiration I presume?”
Jean nodded, “You can say that.”
“… If that’s the case, then maybe you need something more intriguing to draw about,” Mikasa suggested. “Do you enjoy drawing scenery, Mr Kirstein?”
“I do, yes… Why?”
“I know a place that you might like, sir,” she explained kindly. “I can show that place to you if you want to.”
Jean wondered if he would wake up suddenly and realise that everything was only a dream.
“A-are you serious?” Jean stammered.
“Of course,” she replied firmly. “As a matter of fact, since I have a day off tomorrow, I can lead you there whenever you are free.”
“You can?!”
“Yes.”
“G-great!” Jean smiled—he didn’t care if it made him look ridiculous. “I would lo—appreciate it so much. I'm free after lunchtime.”
“Wonderful! Then please meet me near the bridge, just south of the manor.”
“All right! Thank you, Mikasa.”
“It’s my pleasure, Mr Kirstein,” she then took all her cleaning supplies and smiled politely. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yes. See you tomorrow, Mikasa.”
“Please, I know you mean well, but can we not talk about this anymore?” Jean grunted as he put away his teacup on the table.
“No! I will not stop until you reconsider, Jean,” the person exclaimed. “You still have time to change your mind.”
“I already told you; I will attend St Mary University this autumn!” Jean let out a sigh. “For your information, I’ve let go of my position at the Royal Academy, so there’s nothing I can do anymore.”
“No! Tell me it’s not true!” The person shook his head in disbelief.
“It’s true. I’m sorry.”
The person leaned against his chair and frowned, “Jean…”
“I’m sorry for disappointing you, my friend, but it is what it is,” Jean shrugged as he took a madeleine from the plate.
“Don’t say sorry to me, Jean. Say sorry to yourself.”
“Why should I? I don’t feel sorry for myself. I’m not disappointed at all,” Jean took a bite of the madeleine and smiled at his friend. Unfortunately, it did not convince that person at all.
Not wanting to disappoint his friend even further, Jean eventually gave him an offer.
“Listen. Why don’t you come with me to visit my cousin’s estate this summer?” Jean asked merrily. “I made a promise to my cousin that I would paint her. So, perhaps you should come and see me do it.”
His friend raised his eyebrows in confusion which prompted Jean to elaborate.
“I want to show you that even though I will not be going to the Royal Academy, I will never stop creating art. Ever,” Jean said reassuringly. “Besides, you’ve been wanting to meet my cousin, right? Well, I think this is the right time. Connie will be there too.”
His friend seemed to be deep in thought before they finally smiled and nodded, “Very well. I will go with you.”
Jean nervously gripped his sketchbook, his roll-up leather pouch, and a simple blanket with his hand as he made his way to the bridge. He adjusted his collar, feeling great discomfort in the way its fabric touched his skin.
It almost felt like it was choking him.
The walk toward the bridge felt longer than what he remembered, and he was grateful for that since it gave him more time to recollect himself. He would not make a fool out of himself once again.
He eventually found her standing underneath the shade of a big willow tree, away from the blinding summer sun. Her back was all he could see as she seemed to be staring at something up on the tree.
Jean walked closer and followed her gaze. That was when he noticed a squirrel moving nimbly from one branch to the other. He shifted his attention and saw that she was smiling at the sight.
However, that was not what caught his attention the most, but it was the way her face reflected attractively the fragments of sunlight that were scattered by the leaves above. It was as if he was looking at a sparkling crystal.
Suddenly, she turned her head toward him. Realising that it was him, she regarded him with a nod and a polite smile.
Unlike how he usually saw her in the manor, Mikasa’s appearance was much more casual. She was not wearing her apron anymore and the white cap was replaced by a simple straw bonnet.
Jean took a deep breath, a futile attempt to calm his heart down before he greeted her as nonchalantly as he could.
After exchanging a few pleasantries, they eventually started walking. She led him to the woods until they finally reached an opening.
The stream of the river was gentle and the sound of the water against the rocks was melodious. Sweet summer breeze rattled the trees like a soft flute whilst the birds were chirping rhymes.
From across the river, he could see a clear view of the mountains in the distance and rows of tall trees that lined up the horizon.
The vivid green-blue verdure was bright against the clear blue sky, it was an excellent combination of colours that stimulated his mind with many possibilities of paints and brush strokes. It was a shame that he did not have a canvas and his paints with him.
“This is the place…?” Jean murmured.
“Yes, this is it,” she replied. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“It is… How do you know this place? I’ve been to Dauperton since I was a little child, and I never knew this existed.”
“I just walked around one day and followed the sound of the water,” she explained. “Before I knew it, I found myself here.”
“I see,” Jean smiled. “Do you come here often?”
“Well, not as often as I like to. It is mostly when I’m feeling down or need some time alone.”
“I assume this is your secret base, then,” Jean remarked with a slight jest. “What an honour to be invited here.”
“I suppose it is not a terrible thing to be generous,” she replied dryly with a slight smile.
Her response was not how he expected, and he was happy to witness a different side of her that he would not see otherwise.
Jean chuckled. “I’m grateful then for your generosity.”
“Do not mention it, sir.”
They remained there in silence for a moment before she spoke again.
“Well, now that we are here, I will leave you to it, Mr Kirstein.”
“Leave?! Hold on!” Jean quickly interjected. “You won’t stay? Do you have any other engagements?”
“Oh…? No, I won't...” She asked hesitantly. “I thought you wanted to be left alone, sir.”
Jean shook his head immediately, “No! Said who?”
“I… I just assume you do not want to be bothered by me,” she tried to explain.
“Your presence is not a bother, Mikasa,” Jean replied genuinely. “Rather, if you don’t have any other engagements, I do wish for you to stay…”
She stared at him in silence.
He could not really discern the meaning of her expression, and so he was afraid that he had put her in a hard position.
“Just to be clear, I’m not forcing you!” Jean said reassuringly, “It’s all right if you do not want to st—”
“I do,” she said firmly, “I do want to stay.”
Jean could feel himself smiling so widely at her answer.
“Oh…! T-thank you, Mikasa!” Jean exclaimed enthusiastically but he quickly regained his composure as he continued. “Since you will be staying here, then I believe I may be able to fulfil my promise to you!”
“Your promise?”
“Yes! Don’t you remember what I said yesterday? I promised you that I would make a more proper portrait of you, right?” Jean showed her his sketchbook. “If you want to, I can draw you right now, with this perfect scenery as the background.”
Her eyes widened at the mention, “Ah! You were serious about that, sir?”
“Of course! Why would I lie?” Jean smirked. “I am a man of my word.”
She gave him a chortle, “I’m sure.”
“So… Do you want to?”
“I do, yes,” Mikasa affirmed before her expression shifted to a troubled one. “However, since I’ve never done this before, I’m not really sure what I must do…”
“You just have to be yourself. Do whatever you usually do in this place.” Jean said. “Don’t think too hard about being drawn. Simply be engaged in the moment. If you can, pretend I’m not doing anything.”
“I see… I’ll try,” she nodded in understanding.
Jean scanned around the area to find the perfect spot for the picture. Once he found it, he laid down the blanket on the grass. He then turned toward her and made a gesture with his hands, inviting her to sit down.
After she had settled herself, Jean sat down in front of her, so they were facing each other.
The space on the blanket was limited, but Jean tried his best to give ample distance between them, so he would not make her uncomfortable.
Regardless, she was still too close for Jean’s comfort. He could only wish that she did not notice the trembling of his hands and the loud beating of his heart.
From her position, Mikasa had the whole view on her back, a perfect composition for a drawing. Her deep blue dress contrasted perfectly with the bright colour of the mother’s nature, and he could feel great anticipation building up inside of him.
Jean flipped open his sketchbook and grabbed a charcoal from the pouch before giving her an encouraging smile.
She mirrored him, her smile sweet and tender.
Without wasting any more time, Jean quickly started the process.
As he noticed that she was a bit tense, Jean tried to break the stillness with a simple question.
“So, how long have you been working for the Brausses?” Jean asked.
“Three years.”
“Ah… No wonder I have never seen you before,” Jean nodded. “Have you met Connie—I mean, Connie Springer? The other cousin.”
“I have, yes. I saw him visiting plenty of times before.”
“I’m sure he did,” Jean smiled nostalgically before asking her another question. “You said you would come here whenever you were feeling down. I can’t help but wonder what is so special about this place—other than the great view.”
She smiled and answered simply with, “The water.”
Jean looked up from the sketchbook and repeated, “The water?”
“Yes, I found the sound of the water comforting,” she explained good-naturedly. “Similar to a lullaby, if I may say so.”
“Ah… I see. That’s interesting,” Jean replied as he paid more attention to the sound of the gentle stream. “You know, there’s a river near my home in Chriofield. I used to play there when I was a child.”
“That must be nice. I do wish to settle down and live near a river one day or maybe live on the seaside,” she said in a hopeful manner. “Perhaps I’ll also have myself a dog and a horse as a companion.”
“A horse...?”
“Yes,” she nodded, “Why, sir? Is there anything wrong with owning a horse?”
“Well, no…” Jean frowned. “It’s just… No, never mind that. It’s silly.”
“I’m sure it’s not silly,” she said.
Jean sighed. He did not want to say it at first, but since she looked so genuine with her words, Jean found himself unable to lie.
“When I was a child, people used to mock my face. They said I look like a horse…” Jean grimaced. “It sounds very insignificant, I know, but it really made me angry and sad. I find them repulsive, ugly, and stupid. Therefore, whenever people said I looked like a horse, I became irritated. I felt offended.”
“Oh… I’m sorry to hear that, Mr Kirstein.”
Jean shrugged, “It’s all right. It does not really bother me anymore.”
Not wanting to dwell on the topic even further, Jean shifted the conversation by asking her some simple questions to get to know her better. Fortunately, she was very open to answering all of his inquiries.
Jean learned that they were of the same age, three and twenty. He also learned that she started working as a domestic servant at the very young age of fourteen, and all of that because the foundling home she was raised at was overloaded, which prompted her to start her job sooner.
“How about you, Mr Kirstein?” she suddenly asked, much to Jean’s surprise. “What do you do for a living?”
Jean did not expect her to be curious about his life, so he didn’t say much about himself, but since she asked about it, Jean was very willing to answer.
“I help my uncle with managing his great estate in Gesteinberg as well as my late father's land in Chriofield,” Jean explained as he started to put on some details on the drawing. “Nothing but boring paperwork all day… Although I’m sure it’s not as hard and exhausting as yours.”
She smiled appreciatively, “A maid’s works are challenging for sure, but it’s bearable once you get used to it.”
“You’re a strong one, Mikasa,” he said.
“Well, I have to be,” she remarked indifferently. “It’s the only way to survive.”
Jean halted his hand from moving the charcoal and raised his head to look at her. He knew she didn’t need pity, so he didn’t give it.
“Oh… Forgive me,” she suddenly said. “I didn’t mean to be so rude.”
“No, it wasn’t rude at all,” Jean smiled. “You made me realise how narrow my point of view was.”
When Jean realised that he would be spending some alone time with Mikasa, he was afraid that he would make her uncomfortable. However, much to his delight, Mikasa appeared to also enjoy their moment together.
Even their conversation went so smoothly, like the steadfast pace of the river. They had only met each other for around a week or so, and yet their conversation felt like they were two old friends catching up with each other.
There was a temptation in Jean to purposefully slow down his drawing so he could stretch their time a little bit longer, even only for a few seconds. However, he didn’t have it in his heart to lie to her.
Hence, he begrudgingly finished his drawing. After scanning his eyes intensely at the result, making sure there was no imperfection in it, he finally showed it to her.
“I’m sorry if it isn’t good, I tried—”
“Oh!” She gasped, unknowingly interrupting him, as her grey eyes were fixated on the charcoal drawing. “This… This is fantastic.”
Jean was startled by her very positive reaction.
“You like it...?” Jean asked carefully.
“Of course! I like it a lot.” She looked at him with tenderness.
“W-well… I’m glad.” Jean cleared his throat. He was flattered and embarrassed, but most importantly, pleased.
“You can have that one, as promised!” Jean continued.
“Thank you, Mr Kirstein!” She replied eagerly. “I will treasure this.”
Jean gently tore the page with the sketch and gave it to her. Then, as he realised that his stomach was starting to beg for something to eat, he imagined she would be as well. Therefore, as much as he hated to do it, he told her that they should return, to which Mikasa agreed.
Jean stood up first, and without thinking twice, he extended his hand to her. He only realised what he had done when he felt her tender fingers wrapped around his. Jean held her hand tightly as he supported her, and when she finally let go of his hand after a soft thank you, somehow her warmth still lingered.
After they gathered all of their things, Mikasa led him out of the woods. She even pointed out some landmarks to him, in the hope that he would remember them, so he could come back on his own.
Jean silently wished he would forget it later.
Once they reached the entrance of the woods, Mikasa suddenly came to an abrupt halt before she suggested that he should return first.
“… Why?” Jean asked. “Do you have somewhere else you need to be?”
“Oh, no... It's just... You see, it will be improper, Mr Kirstein,” Mikasa explained patiently. “After all, you shouldn’t be around a maid, let alone walk with me in the first place. I’m afraid it would raise several questions, sir.”
Jean wanted to deny it, but unfortunately for him, she was right. If words got out, she would be the one who would be affected the most, and Jean didn’t want that for her.
So, he begrudgingly agreed, though with the condition that she went first so he could be the one who followed her.
Mikasa was reluctant in the beginning; she thought it was rude for a servant like her to precede him, but after many reassurances from Jean, she finally agreed and went separately.
The sky was clear that day, and the birds were chirping melodiously. It was such an ideal situation to walk side-by-side with someone--the one they adored the most, especially.
But alas, such a thing was impossible for Jean. All he could do was watch her back from afar, as she crossed the bridge, and tried to reach out to her through his mind.
What he felt for her was not right. Their world shouldn't and couldn't coexist, but oh, how tempting it was to cross that bridge with her.
“You know, Jean. We’ve known each other for years, and yet I just realised that you’ve never drawn or painted me,” his friend said as he inspected the finished painting that he had done for Sasha.
“Don’t bother,” Connie interjected, “I’ve asked him the same thing for years, and he kept ignoring me.”
“It’s because you two don’t invoke any inspiration within me,” Jean jested. “If you want to be painted, then pay me.”
“I’m your cousin! It should be free,” Connie protested.
“No. Nothing is free.”
“You’re the worst, Jean!”
Jean smirked, “I know.”
“Well, if that's the case, then I’ll pay you,” his friend said calmly.
“Wait, are you serious…?” Jean looked at his friend strangely.
“Of course. Your skill is on par with professional artists, so I don’t mind paying.”
“… I was just fooling around, you know. You don’t have to pay,” Jean explained, feeling a bit guilty for his friend, especially since he complimented him so genuinely. “I’ll gladly do yours for free.”
“Not fair!” Connie whined. “What about me?”
“Yes, yes, I’ll do your portrait also,” Jean rolled his eyes.
“Great!” His friend cheered. “When can we start? Right now?”
“Right now? Are you sure? Don’t you want to return home tomorrow? It’ll probably take me several days to paint a proper piece,” Jean inquired. “If you want me to paint you, I’m afraid you’ll have to extend your stay here.”
“I mean, I don’t mind extending my stay as long as Mr and Mrs Brauss are fine with it.”
“Don’t worry, my uncle and aunt adore you—even Sasha as well, I’m sure they’ll allow you to extend your stay.”
“I see,” his friend smiled. “It’s settled then.”
As the day of the engagement party approached, the Brauss family was quite overwhelmed by the preparations.
After breakfast, Sasha, his aunt, and his mother hastily made their way to the modiste to make the final adjustment for the engagement dress. They initially invited him, but he declined. He claimed that he would rather be surprised on the day.
Jean waved his hand at them as the coach started to leave the vicinity of the Brauss Manor. Once he could not see the coach anymore, Jean swiftly returned inside.
He began to wonder about how he should spend the rest of his day. Jean was tempted to pick up his sketchbook again and draw something. He felt quite happy about all the sketches he had done lately, especially the one he made several days ago for Mikasa—
“Mr Kirstein!”
Jean yelped at the sight of her greeting him in the foyer. The timing could not be more perfect. It almost felt like she was jumping out of his mind—or worse, she was listening to him!
“Oh! Forgive me, Mr Kirstein,” she smiled. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“N-no! It’s all right,” Jean replied amicably as he regained his composure. “What can I help you with, Mikasa?”
“That’s supposed to be my line, Mr Kirstein,” she said nonchalantly, but Jean knew that she was humouring him.
“Well, it’s my line now. You have to think of something else,” he replied in a faux mocking tone.
“I suppose I have to,” she said as she reached for a pocket on the side of her skirt. She took something from the inside of the pocket and showed it to him.
On her palm, he could see a small object. It was knitted in a strange shape, but it did strongly resemble the head of a horse.
“Sorry... But what exactly is this, Mikasa?” Jean asked carefully, not wanting to offend her.
Mikasa grabbed the object and put it on her thumb. It fit almost perfectly, though it was still bigger than her thumb. She gently moved her thumb, and it made the horse's head move up and down.
“It’s a finger puppet,” she explained as she made the horse nod their head repeatedly in front of him. “We used to make these tiny puppets in the foundling home.”
“Oh! So, you made this?” Jean smiled. “It looks charming.”
“Exactly,” she replied. “I think horses are very charming.”
At first, Jean was confused by the way she acted, but when she looked at him with such a profound understanding, Jean finally realised what she meant by it.
“I don’t think horses are ugly or stupid,” she continued, still moving the puppet with her thumb. “Sure, they tend to look intense and scary. They are badly tempered and hard to control as well. However, once you get to know them, you will realise that they are very gentle and fun to be around. They are also very intelligent and understanding.”
Jean listened to her intently.
“I always like horses,” Mikasa said as she finally took the puppet from her thumb. “I think they are one of the most majestic creatures to ever grace this earth.”
Jean watched as Mikasa handed the finger puppet to him. Her grey eyes silently nudged him to take it.
He stared at the small piece of that horse, and he slowly felt his heart being enveloped with warmth. However, unlike the intense heat of the summer, what he felt was something much more comforting.
“I really hope you’ll remember that, Mr Kirstein,” Mikasa smiled gently at him.
“… Thank you, Mikasa,” Jean stared at the puppet in his hand and replied with an even wider smile. “This means a lot to me.”
“I’m glad.”
Jean wanted to talk to her some more, but unfortunately, since the servants had been very busy with the preparation for the party, Mikasa quickly excused herself.
Jean then put the puppet on his forefinger, and it fit perfectly.
Satisfied, Jean then put the puppet inside the inner pocket of his suit.
“Are you sure you want to return home now?” Jean asked as he watched his friend put on his hat. “Why don’t you extend your stay?”
“Please! Extend your stay! We love having you around!” Sasha added.
“Yes, you made Jean more bearable,” Connie remarked.
“Well, I’m thankful for the offer,” the man chuckled, “though I’m afraid I have overstayed my welcome.”
“Nonsense,” Sasha shook her head. “You have not!”
“Thank you, Miss Brauss,” he said good-naturedly. “I would love to stay, but I do need to return to my home. I’ve been away from my parents for quite a while now.”
“It can’t be helped then,” Jean sighed before smiling at him. “Have a safe journey. Please write to me once you’ve arrived.”
“Will do.”
The three of them accompanied him until the coach arrived to take him back to his hometown.
“I suppose this is it,” his friend said. “Thank you for the hospitality these past few weeks—especially you, Miss Brauss. Please send my gratitude to your parents.”
Sasha nodded, “It’s a pleasure to have you here. Do not ever hesitate to visit us again in the future!”
After the three of them had bid their farewell, the man finally entered the coach. However, just before the coach began to move, he stuck his head out of the coach and called for Jean.
“Jean,” his friend said. “Thank you for inviting me here.”
“Don’t men—”
“I really mean it, Jean,” his friend interjected. “Being here made me realise why the Royal Academy accepted you.”
Jean sighed, “Oh, please—”
“Just listen,” his friend interjected once more. “This will be my last time mentioning this to you… Please, Jean. Reconsider your decision about the Royal Academy. Try to talk to your uncle again. Maybe he’ll finally understand.”
“I… I don’t know… I mean…” Jean took a deep breath, too tired to even engage in yet another argument with him.
“You look so happy doing it, Jean,” his friend continued. “Don't you feel that?”
Jean averted his gaze. As much as he wanted to deny it, his friend was telling the truth.
“I’ll… I’ll think about it,” Jean finally said.
“Jean! Have you seen—”
Jean almost jumped out of his chair when he heard the loud blast of his door being opened. He looked up from his sketchbook and turned his head towards the entrance of his chamber, where he found Sasha standing there.
“For goodness’ sake, Sasha!” Jean exclaimed in his annoyance. “Is it so hard for you to knock?”
Unfortunately, judging by her expression, it was clear that she did not hear his complaint. Rather, she was staring at something else. He followed her gaze and noticed that she was looking straight at his sketchbook.
His heart dropped.
Jean immediately put the sketchbook and art supplies into his drawer and positioned his body so he could conceal them from view. Unfortunately, much to his dismay, he was too late.
“Oh, Jean!” She gasped. “Y-you are drawing…! Again!”
“No! I am not!”
“You are!” She continued, still in her astonishment, as she approached him. “I saw it! I’m sure it was your drawing!”
“I said no! You did not see anything!"
“I have good eyes, you know that!” She said before taking his hand. She smiled triumphantly when she noticed the remnants of charcoal on his fingers. “See? Now, what’s your alibi?”
Jean grunted as he forcefully pulled his hand from her grip, “Oh hell, you are the worst.”
“But I was right!”
“What if you were?!” Jean objected as he tried to clean the charcoal dust from his hand with his handkerchief.
“Nothing! I was just taken aback. I just never thought I’d ever see you drawing again,” she marvelled. “This is great news!”
“It’s nothing remarkable,” Jean rolled his eyes. “I was simply bored.”
“It is remarkable! You said you didn’t want to draw anymore.”
“Well, I changed my mind. Is that bothering you?” Jean protested.
“Bothering me? No!” Sasha said as she leaned against the table. “On the contrary, I am happy for you, Jean. ”
‘There it is,’ Jean thought, ‘That look of pity.’
Jean did not need her pity and sympathy.
Not back then and certainly not ever.
“Ah! There you two are! I was looking for both of you!”
A familiar voice suddenly echoed inside his chamber, and Jean recognised immediately who the owner was.
“CONNIE!” Sasha exclaimed happily as she stood up to hug the tall, lanky young man with short light brown hair. “You’re finally here.”
“Of course, I don’t want to miss your engagement,” Connie replied before turning towards him. “Oh! Look who’s finally here.”
On better days, Jean would greet him back with a wide smile and a tight embrace, but alas, that day wasn't one of them. All he could manage to say was, “Hi, Connie.”
“Hey! Hold on,” Connie muttered in his usual exaggerated way. “Are you not happy to see me?”
Connie probably thought that he was just trying to tease, but it could not be far from the truth.
Jean let out a sigh as he started to massage his head, which had begun to throb painfully.
“I’m happy,” Jean said miserably.
The smile fell off Connie’s face.
“… Something’s the matter, Jean?” Connie asked carefully.
“Nothing.”
Connie then turned to Sasha and asked, “Sasha? What happened?”
“I don't know… I mean," she stammered in her hesitation. "He was fine earlier—”
“I was, and I still am,” Jean quickly interrupted. “Nothing has happened, all right?”
“Jean…” Sasha murmured as she walked toward him and touched his shoulder gently. “Forgive me… Did I offend you? I'm sorry for barging in without knocking...”
Jean shrugged her hand off and shook his head, “No, you didn’t.”
“… I’m still confused,” Connie said.
“It’s… I mean,” Sasha’s voice suddenly became low, almost like a whisper. “I saw him draw...”
Silence.
“Draw…? You were drawing?!” Connie repeated before turning to look at him with that same look, again.
“It’s nothing, all right!” Jean grumbled as he avoided their gazes.
“So, it’s true?” Connie asked in disbelief. “I… I thought—”
“You thought what?!” Jean raised his voice. “You thought that, finally, I am no longer mad and pathetic?”
“N-no! What are you blabbing about?” Connie continued, his tone calm but firm. “We never thought of you as such. We understand you, Jean. Especially considering what happened that day—”
“I need to rest,” Jean said, standing up, still avoiding their gazes. “If you two don’t mind, please leave.”
“Jean…” Sasha called for him, but Jean ignored her.
“Please. Leave me alone.”
He knew that they felt guilty for him, and he knew that he would regret what he did to them later, but at that moment, he did not care.
He just wanted to be alone.
“Jean, there’s a letter for you,” Sasha said as she went through the stack of letters that were placed on the silver tray.
“Oh!” Jean put his sketchbook and charcoal away before standing up from lying on the sofa. “It must be from him.”
Sasha read the return address of the letter and said, “Oh yes, it is from his estate.”
“It arrived later than I expected,” Connie chimed in before putting another macaron into his mouth.
“Perhaps he was busy.” Jean took the letter from Sasha. “He stayed here for almost two weeks after all.”
At first, there was nothing significant about the letter. However, just when he was about to break the wax seal, he noticed something strange.
He did not recognise the handwriting.
Jean once again read the return address, and it was indeed sent from the right address. But something was not right.
He could feel his hands become sweaty ever so suddenly, but he tried to shake those feelings away by ruling them as his paranoia.
Jean swiftly broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter.
Inside, there was only a paragraph with a few sentences in it, and once again, he did not recognise the penmanship. He held his breath and carefully read each of the words.
The moment his eyes caught that sentence, it was the moment he felt the sky shatter and rain down on him.
Jean let out a loud sigh as he put himself down on the step of the dark and quiet gazebo. There was no moon or stars in the sky. The only source of light came from the lantern that he put beside him.
Ever since the Springer family arrived three days ago, the manor had become livelier. He adored his extended family, but with everything that had been happening, he just needed to have a moment for himself.
When he thought that everything had been going well, it quickly went downhill. He had not touched his sketchbook since what happened in his room that day.
He pretended it never happened and acted the same way toward both of his cousins—who clearly were bothered by his sudden change of mood. However, he chose to ignore their prying eyes.
Because if he didn't, he feared that he would have to open a can of worms, and he wanted nothing of that.
It was already enough that he had been plagued by those memories.
He didn’t want to think about it, yet it was everything that he kept pondering about, and it frustrated him.
Perhaps he really should not come to Dauperton at all…
“Mr Kirstein?”
Jean almost yelped when he heard the voice. He turned his head to the source and found the gentle glow of a lantern that illuminated a familiar figure that he knew very well to be—
“Mikasa?!” Jean exclaimed in his confusion. “H-how?! Whatever are you doing here?”
“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to bother you, sir,” she explained gently. “I just so happened to see you going to the garden all alone, and I couldn’t help but be worried. So, I thought I should go and check on you.”
“Oh… I see…”
“I also noticed that you went out without any cover, sir,” she continued. “So, I hope you don’t mind that I brought your coat—just to be safe. The night can become a bit chilly after all.”
Mikasa handed him a coat, and the gesture caught him off guard. He didn’t expect her to be so attentive.
“… T-thank you, Mikasa,” Jean stammered as he took the coat. “You really do not have to do this, but I appreciate it.”
“It’s my pleasure, sir,” Mikasa replied politely. “Well then, if you don’t have anything, I will take my lea—”
“Wait, Mikasa!”
“Yes?”
Jean bit his lips. It didn’t register what he had done until it was too late. It did not help that Mikasa was looking at him curiously.
“Uhm…” he cleared his throat. “D-do you think you can stay?”
“Me?”
“Nevermind!” Jean quickly averted his gaze and cursed himself silently. “Please forget I said anything.”
She did not answer, and for a moment, Jean believed that she was leaving him.
But then, he heard the soft thud of a lantern hitting the stony ground of the gazebo, followed by the rustling of fabrics.
Jean shifted his gaze slightly to his side and saw that Mikasa was sitting several distances away from him. She did not look at him or say anything, but somehow it made Jean feel strangely calm.
It was as if her presence alone was the perfect remedy that he needed at the moment.
The night was not cold, at least not cold enough to bother him, but he still wore the coat that she had bothered to bring out of concern for his well-being.
“I'm sorry, Mikasa,” he murmured. “For making you worry…”
“Please, don’t apologise, Mr Kirstein,” Mikasa replied. “No one should apologise for what they are feeling.”
Jean smiled appreciatively. “Thank you, Mikasa…”
No one said anything after that. The only thing they could hear was the whispering sound of trees and the singing of the night creatures.
Jean looked up at the void sky and muttered, “May I ask you something?”
“You may.”
“Do you…” Jean paused. “Do you really think that my drawings were great, or did you just say it to please me?”
“I do, of course. I would never lie about something like that,” she replied almost immediately. “I’ve seen many great paintings in several mansions I've worked in, and I can tell you that what you made was no ordinary.”
Jean let out a weak laugh, “It doesn’t feel like that most of the time… And sometimes, I wish that I had never tried to draw or paint in the first place.”
“… Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but why would you believe that?”
“I don’t know,” Jean mumbled restlessly. “Perhaps because I think it will be better for everyone if I never picked up a paintbrush…”
“Even better for you?”
Jean opened his mouth to answer, but he could not think of anything to say. It should be obvious that the answer was yes, but he could not find it in himself to say it.
“Do you consider yourself an artist, Mr Kirstein?”
“An artist?” Jean scoffed. “No. Certainly not. I’m far from it.”
“Is that what you believe?" Her voice was light and whispery. "That's too bad, because I do see you as one, sir.”
Jean furrowed his brows as he turned to look at her, and he found her staring at him with her usual stoic expression. However, the soft orange light of the candle reflected the tender gaze that she gave him.
“… How so?”
“Because your eyes are always glowing when you draw,” Mikasa explained. “It was as if you were drawing with your soul.”
“I’m… I’m afraid you are mistaken—”
“Do you love creating art, sir?”
Jean was stunned by her sudden question.
Do I love it?
No.
Am I allowed to love it?
“I do…” Jean answered, in spite of his doubt.
“Then create,” Mikasa said firmly. “If you love it and you want to do it, then do it. Create art to your heart’s content.”
Mikasa turned to look at him with great determination.
“You are gifted, Mr Kirstein. You make us see what we fail to notice, and you turn what is ordinary into something exquisite.”
Jean blinked his eyes as he stared at her in silence. He wanted to believe her, he really did, but his heart was too heavy for him to lift up.
“But… But what is the use of talent if it brings nothing but calamity,” Jean argued.
“How are you so sure it will bring only calamity?”
“Because... Because it happened!” Jean remarked, raising his voice.
Mikasa was startled by his sudden outburst, which added another layer to his guilt.
"I'm sorry..." He quickly put his hands over his ears and closed his eyes. “I'm sorry... I ruined everything. It was my fault, my mistake!”
Jean pressed his hands against his ears tightly, finding comfort in the pain and the irregular, low pulse that played against his ears.
Suddenly, he felt soft and warm touches tickling his hands. Jean opened his eyes and found his gaze was partly obscured. He looked up and, much to his surprise, he found her standing in front of him.
As it turned out, the gentle touches were coming from her. She wrapped his hands with hers and swiftly pulled them away from his ears.
“I believe that something that was created out of love will never be a mistake,” she explained as she held his hands in hers, sharing her warmth with his cold hands.
His mother said that his father loved to draw and paint. One of the reasons why she fell in love with him in the first place was because of his art, even though he was nothing but a last-born son of a wealthy landowner who decided to live in a secluded area with only meagre income.
“I saw your father’s painting one day, and I know that I want to be loved by him,” his mother said to him one day.
Jean did not comprehend what his mother meant back then. He even believed that his mother made a wrong decision by marrying his father. But that night, he might finally understand what she meant by it.
“Mr Kirstein, with all due respect, I think you underestimated your talent,” Mikasa continued, squeezing his hands gently. “You captured a moment, an idea, a person, and you immortalised them. All by creating something out of nothingness, with only your hands. Do try to convince me if it is a calamity and not a miracle.”
A miracle?
Really?
Was he really creating a miracle all this time?
They laid him in his grandfather’s estate, on his family’s plot.
By the time Jean learned about it, he was already down below. Asleep and at peace, as his epitaph said.
The letter said that his coach got into an accident on the way back home from Dauperton. He was pronounced dead at the scene.
Jean expected his parents, his grandparents, or even anyone, to blame him. In fact, he was waiting for them to be angry at him. He wanted them to curse him.
In fact, if it were not for him, their brilliant son, the pride of their family, would not have died.
Yet, much to Jean’s disappointment, all he received was an apology.
They said they were sorry that Jean had to lose his best friend—a brother—at such a young age.
Jean could not believe it. How could they be sorry for him? They should’ve been furious!
He killed their son.
If only Jean had not invited their son to Dauperton; if only Jean had not asked their son to extend for more days; if only Jean had not allowed their son to not return home that day.
If it was not for his stupid painting, if it was not for his acceptance to the Royal Academy, if it was not for him bringing his sketches to the school, if it was not for him drawing in the first place.
Marco would surely still be alive.
Jean had met Niccolò Pellegrino several times before at several gatherings. Pellegrino was the heir apparent of a well-known Baron in the country. He was tall—though not as tall as Jean—and had curly blond hair.
They were around the same age, though Pellegrino was slightly older, but that did not mean Jean found him to be agreeable in the beginning. As a matter of fact, he found him to be snobby and arrogant, as the latter only wanted to be associated with other nobles.
It was not until he took an interest in courting Sasha that Jean’s opinion regarding him started to change in the same way Pellegrino also did. Pellegrino became more respectful and pleasant to be around.
Sasha did not have any title to her name, and her dowry was not very significant, but Pellegrino did not care. He simply adored her and wanted her to be his wife.
Therefore, Jean could not be happier for his cousin, who had secured a marriage with a gentleman who clearly loved her.
Unfortunately, as much as he tried to, Jean could not find any joy despite the happy occasion. Especially with how tense and awkward things were between him and his cousins.
However, Jean did try his best not to ruin the important day of his cousin by not making her worry, even though he knew she would still be concerned about him.
The ballroom was filled with many people who enjoyed themselves with drinks and dancing. He had long been separated from any member of his family, leaving him all alone whilst several bachelorettes and their mothers tried to speak to him.
Although he doubted it was him whom they wanted to get to know. He was sure that it was the heir title that he had over his uncle’s estate that made him so desirable.
Usually, Jean would not face it all alone. He and Connie were always inseparable at parties. Unfortunately, due to the recent situation between them, he chose not be with Connie. But it did not mean he loved the solitary.
With each passing minute, Jean grew even more frustrated by the party. Nothing about it was entertaining.
Jean stood in the corner of the room, with a champagne glass in his hand, surveying the area. He looked over to the dance floor and saw the myriad of joyful expressions of the guests who were enjoying themselves.
Contrary to what people would say when they first met him, he actually had a great affinity for dancing, but that night, he had no interest in dancing with anyone.
Rather, he found himself thinking about her.
He wondered if she would like to attend a party or even go to a dance. She did not seem to be very social, but he had a feeling that she would love to attend a gathering or a ball if she could, only for the merriness of it.
Jean thought about what she might do at the moment, whilst the guests started to get rowdy in the ballroom as the night grew late.
He did know that she was involved in the preparations. He had a feeling that she was tasked with the duty of attending to the lady guests. Therefore, whilst he was rotting away in the party, she was standing by in a room with some other maids, always ready for any requests that the ladies might ask them.
Such a shame. If only she could also participate in the party and also have fun with him...
Oh!
Suddenly, an idea came to him.
He immediately went to wrap several berries and a small cake with his clean handkerchief and put them in his pocket before replacing his half-empty champagne glass with a new one. He nimbly avoided any collision with several Mamas and finally made his way out of the ballroom.
In the hallway, he spotted a young maid passing by. He immediately approached the maid and told her to call for Mikasa.
“Miss Brauss asked for her specifically,” Jean said. “So please, tell her to come near the library.”
The young maid nodded and swiftly did what she was asked to. Meanwhile, Jean went straight to the library that was located on the other wing of the building.
He waited there, patiently, as he watched the bubbles pop in the champagne.
“Mr Kirstein?!”
Jean smiled when he noticed that she had arrived with a candlestick in her hand; however, it quickly disappeared when he found her in a state of great urgency and confusion.
“W-where is Miss Brauss?” She asked in a slightly ragged breath. “What can I help her with?”
Jean felt bad for lying and making her feel anxious, so he quickly clarified.
“Oh! No! Don’t worry about her,” he said. “Forgive me, but I lied. My cousin didn’t search for you.”
“… I'm sorry?”
“I lied so you can leave your duty.”
“B-but—”
“It’s fine, I’ll make sure you won’t be reprimanded for this,” he tried to smile. “I just thought you might need to take some time off from the chaos of the party.”
“I… I'm not sure I follow.”
“I simply think that you deserve to enjoy the party, as well.”
“Me…? How?”
“It's a surprise!" He said cheekily. "Please, follow me!”
She furrowed her brows, “Follow you?”
“Yes…" His voice was gentle. "Do you trust me?”
Mikasa looked unsure at first, so Jean said again.
“I don’t want to force you. If you don’t want to, then it’s all right,” Jean explained good-naturedly. “But please know that I will never put you in any harm or trouble.”
She pressed her lips together, as if weighing her choice, and then eventually nodded.
Jean then led her to ascend the stairs. They went through the gallery and a maze of hallways until he finally reached an almost hidden area with a door.
He opened the door quietly, and inside the room, several empty shelves stood. The moonlight that came through the window illuminated the room in a quaint glow.
The air was dusty and musty, exactly as he remembered from years ago. As a matter of fact, the room had not changed at all. It was still the same as when he, Connie, and Sasha used to frequent the storage room where they pretended it was their hidden lair.
Other than to play, they would also sneak to the storage room to listen to the music that was playing from the ballroom, which was located just a floor below.
Jean smiled when he realised that he could still hear the music, albeit muffled and a little faint.
He immediately went to prepare for the stage. He set the champagne glass aside before opening the window to allow fresh air to circulate into the room. After that, he moved a small table closer to the window and grabbed a piece of white cloth from one of the shelves. He shook the dust away from the cloth through the window before laying it down on the table.
He grabbed his smuggled treats from his pocket and gently spread them on the table, making sure they were arranged nicely before grabbing the champagne glass and setting it beside the spread.
Once he was satisfied with the arrangement, he swiftly approached Mikasa—who had been watching him in silence—and asked for her candlestick. Once he received it, he set it on the table.
“Since you can’t attend the party as a guest,” Jean explained. “I thought I should bring the party to you.”
Mikasa raised her brows whilst her eyes were wide with disbelief.
“Come! Don’t just stand there, Mikasa,” Jean said encouragingly before gently taking her by the hand and pulling her closer to the table. “Forgive me for this poor show of a spread. I could only bring so few…”
“T-these… These are for me?” She questioned as she stared at each of the items he brought along.
“Of course!” Jean smiled. “Who else?”
Mikasa turned her attention back to him, and much to his surprise, he saw his eyes were glistening. He thought he made a mistake, but then she gave him a sweet and gentle smile.
“Thank you, Mr Kirstein…”
“Y-you’re welcome,” Jean stammered. “Please, enjoy it.”
Her slender fingers were hesitant at first, but she eventually settled on a piece of strawberry.
Jean had to nudge her again so she would finally have a taste of that strawberry.
When he saw that joyful expression blooming on her face after she tasted the fruit, Jean berated himself for not bringing more strawberries for her. Even better, he should’ve brought the entire plate along or maybe grown an orchard for her.
Then she turned to inspect the clear, bubbly liquid of the champagne. Jean, once again, pushed her to try it. She carefully brought the glass to her mouth and slowly took a sip.
Jean tittered at her initial reaction, which made her feel slightly embarrassed, but he reassured her that he also had the same reaction as her back then.
“It did taste strange at first, but trust me, you’ll like it,” Jean explained.
By the second sip, the taste seemed to finally settled on her because she smiled approvingly. She pointed out the interesting bubbles and how they made her mouth feel funny. She also praised the sweet taste of the liquid.
After that, he let her try all of the berries and the small cake, which she consumed very deliberately, and Jean did not mind it. If it meant he could see her face be painted with immense joy, he had all the patience in the world.
Once she was finished with the food and the champagne, Jean noticed that a harmonious melody of string instruments started to play from the ballroom.
Another idea came to him.
“Well, now that you’re full, it’s obvious what we should do next.” Jean swiftly extended his hand toward her and cleared his throat before asking, “Pardon me, Miss. May I have this dance?”
She looked at him as if he were a ghost, not exactly a reaction he wanted out of her.
“Me…? Dance?”
“Yes.”
“B-but… Forgive me, sir, but I can’t dance.”
“It’s all right. I can teach you.”
She didn’t reply; instead, Mikasa only stood there in silence whilst her fingers played with her apron.
“It will be fine, Mikasa,” Jean said gently. “You can trust me, and besides, I like to think I'm a pretty good teacher.”
A small smile ghosted her face for a moment.
“W-well…” she shifted her gaze to his hand for a few seconds, seemingly in deep thought, before she looked at him once again. “Yes, you may.”
Jean took her hand and led her to the centre of the room, where they would have more space to move around.
“At a party, you usually will dance in a group,” Jean explained. “So even if you start with someone, you will still share several parts of the dance with the other gentlemen and ladies in your group. So, the dance that I will teach you usually involves more steps, but since there will be only two of us, you don’t have to worry about that.”
She nodded stiffly, “I understand.”
Jean chuckled at her reaction. “Be calm. You don’t have to be so tense. It is quite an easy dance; you’ll remember it in no time.”
He instructed her to stand across from him and said, “First, we will bow to each other.”
After that, Jean began to teach her through each movement in the dance. As he expected, she learned about it quickly. Yes, she did step on his foot several times, but Jean reassured her that it was fine.
“… And that’s all to it. You’ll just repeat them after that,” Jean explained. “So, how about it? Are you ready for a real dance?”
“… Yes,” she smiled awkwardly. “I believe so.”
“Great,” Jean said, “Just in time for the music to play again.”
They returned to their position and bowed. As soon as the music started, he reached for her hand and walked one step forward, meeting her—who did the same—in the middle.
When they were rehearsing earlier, Mikasa was solely focused on the ground to watch over her feet. Therefore, when she finally looked up toward him during the actual dance, with those pair of beautiful dark grey eyes, it was his turn to become shy.
They stepped back one time, then they raised their connected hands and twirled her, all whilst they switched their positions. He caught a soft giggle coming from her when she was able to do it.
Afterwards, they shifted their hold to the other hand and did the same thing as earlier. He stepped forward to meet her again, and that was when he saw that she not only had her eyes twinkling so attractively, but she also had a big smile plastered on her face.
Jean stepped back once more before he twirled her and switched their positions again. This time, he could hear her laughter a bit more audibly.
Right on the beat of the music, they intertwined their hands together in a way that would make them stand beside each other, but also back-to-back, before they started to move clockwise together.
Whilst doing so, Jean turned his head to the side so he could see her. Much to his delight, he also found her looking at him. Once their eyes met, she immediately laughed, which prompted him to do the same.
Once they made one turn, they switched their position and did another motion together, but this time they moved counterclockwise.
Just as before, he found her staring at him again, with her laugh never leaving her once. Which was a good thing, in fact, he wished she would never stop for it sounded even more tuneful than the music itself.
After they made another turn, they returned to their original position and clapped twice. Then, the dance started all over again.
The rest of the dance passed in just a blink of an eye, and for the first time, Jean felt disappointed that the song had to come to an end.
He gazed upon her, and when he saw her with her cheeks rosy with excitement, her dark grey eyes twinkling like precious jewels, and her smile blooming like spring flowers, Jean was glad he asked her to join him.
To see her freely enjoying herself, without the chain of duties and the side glances of people, Jean realised that he wanted nothing but to ensure that freedom for her.
It was a dingy room, decrepit and inhospitable; however, he knew that as long as she was there, he would gladly live the rest of his life inside that room.
No.
He did not want her to live there with him. She did not deserve to live in that dingy room. He would never allow her to live in such a sad room all her life.
It was unfair that she had to hide, and he was angry that he had to hide her. He hated that he had to keep their meetings a secret as if she were a shameful thing.
It was not right!
All he wanted was to be with her, out and proud, in front of everyone. Where she could just be herself.
Yet, he was not sure if such a world existed for them.
-Chapter 1 End-