Forget-Me-Not

Your art is a goldmine

"You've never smelt a cigarette before?"

You scoff as some kind of apology never falls from his lips, "Mother doesn't allow smoking on the estate."

You swear you hear him snicker at your words.

"Your mother doesn't? Well, do you mind if I bend the rules a bit? I haven't had one all day and my skin's starting to crawl."

He drags it to his pale lips, and turns to blow the smoke in another direction, the most courteous thing he's done all day.

"So madame, are you kicking me out? Or do you wish for me to stay?"

He drags from his cigarette again, and you massage your knuckles as you stare at him, you didn't expect him to be like this. You expected him to be cocky and abrasive like most soldiers that you had encountered, instead, he was blunt and cold.

"I want you to stay."

But no matter how angry you were at him, you still had a mission that you needed to stay true to.

You sit in your seat and watch him as he continues to fill his lungs with tobacco.

"Those paintings, why are they there?"

Your brow rises, "What paintings?"

He tilts his head and you look at what he's talking about. Your eyes widen at the series of paintings that align the outside walls.

"Those paintings shouldn't be out here, they'll be damaged easily."

You bite your cheek, "They were placed out here to add to the scenery."

"Who made them? I've never seen anything like those before."

You bite into your food as he continues to smoke.

"You wouldn't have, they're mine."

For once he breaks character and raises a brow, "You paint?"

You nod, "Yes, in my free time."

He nods, and just as he's broken character, he falls back into it.

"Why would your own paintings be outside? They won't last long out here. I'm sure there's plenty of room in your estate. There isn't a maid with too much room for her little belongings?"

Your lips purse at his obvious shot at your character once again.

But as you actually think over his question, you look off.

"Mother doesn't want them inside unless they're professionally made."

"Professionally made?"

He looks as if the words taste sour on his tongue.

"Professionally made. Like Dubuffet, Breton, and Derain."

"Not even Eugène Delacroix or Camille Pissarro?"

You raise a brow at the century-old names.

"You know your French artists?"

He nods as he pulls from his cigarette again before blowing air out.

"Before the war, I studied it a bit."

Your eyes widen.

Before the war

You had almost forgotten that he was more than just a soldier.

But he's a German soldier nonetheless

Your fists clench at your thoughts.

"No, no Pissarro or Delacroix, she prefers to be with the times. Now, I meant to ask you about your commander-"

"You would think she'd understand that she landed on a gold mine. Art is all about doing something no one's done before."

You huff, "Please stop interrupting me Monsieur- wait."

You pause, "You said my art is a goldmine?"

He nods, "It's different from what I've seen before. It shouldn't be outside to rot."

Your cheeks heat at the compliment, no one in your life had ever noticed your art before. The most recognition that you've ever gotten was side-eyed looks from your mother before she would ask one of the maids to place it outside with the rest.

"T-Thank you."

You gasp as you don't expect yourself to become so easily flustered by his comment. You should feel pathetic, and you feel no better than a school girl who was complimented by her crush. This was supposed to be a professional meeting, yet it was everything but that.

"No problem."

He stands and your eyes widen, "You're leaving?"

"I am, I have important business to attend to. Have a good day Madame."

He doesn't give you much room for words as he leaves the table. "Au revoir."

You bite your cheek as you watch him walk away. But as he uses the garden door, you notice he pauses for all but a second in front of your art. His eyes meet yours once more before turning around and disappearing behind the door.

And for the first time in what felt like hours, you breathed.

What just happened?

On that day, Y/n had learned a bit more about the soldier Levi Ackerman. And little did she know, Ackerman had also learned a lot about her as well.