𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 | 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧

𝐗𝐗𝐗𝐈 : 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐬 *

Niccolo visited with lunch early into the lesson but was quick to make himself scarce. What should have been no more than an hour of work stretched into three. Over lunch and lemonade, Mina listened as you over-explained every stitch. She replicated the example on her isolated hooped cotton as soon as you finished demonstrating. You spilled every familial secret onto frayed fabric. Even your particular pattern for adding embroidered vines and flowers over healing seams became common knowledge. Never before would you have opened up so easily to someone else–especially a stranger—regarding something as sacred as Father's talents, but lips and fingers moved of their own accord without consulting your once-guarded heart.

On Miss Klarrisa's last nightgown, you tasked Mina with inserting the mending stitches independently. Mistakes were corrected with a gentle academic finger you had stolen from Mr. Ackerman's years of tutelage. Mina took to guidance well, and although her first line was far from perfect, she was infinitely better than Hitch already.

She was a proper student: eager to learn; eager to fail; eager to try again.

"Very good. You have quite an aptitude for learning," you praised as Mina finished her final backstitch.

"It helps to have a good teacher. You're much more patient than my mother ever was."

She passed back the gown, and you prepared the covering embellishments by mentally marking where to form symmetrical patterns on the other side. It wouldn't be perfect, but it was close enough.

"Mothers can be overly demanding," you told her, "But only because they want the best for us. It's their nature to correct us from making similar mistakes, even if their ways are harsh."

"Maybe your mother does, but not mine. If she cared even the slightest about my well-being, I never would have come here..." Mina caught her drooping head and panicked. "Not that I don't like spending time with you, of course! I enjoyed this afternoon, I swear! I mean that... Well, that I would... That my father never would have sent me away, and—"

"I understand what you meant. I shouldn't have assumed the nature of you and your mother's relationship. For that, I apologize," you answered softly.

Mina puffed out a relieved sigh, although so much nervousness was behind it. "Thank you for being so understanding. It's nice having a real friend in this town."

A friend. It was nice to have a new friend. To think: after years of only having your small circle, you added three newcomers in less than a year. First Marlowe, then Armin, and Mina. There was another addition, but to call him a friend insulted your closeness and affections.

Comfortable silence filled the room as you shared space with a new friend. While you tidied up the final lines, Niccolo quietly slipped into the sewing room to clear plates and glasses.

"You girls having fun?" he asked.

Mina answered readily, "Oh, yes, Sir! You have such a lovely home, and the sandwiches were delicious!"

"I can see that." Niccolo let out a chuckle as he picked up her plate. "You've hardly left so much as a crumb. Would you like seconds?"

"Oh, no, I shouldn't."

"But you can have another if you are still hungry. There's plenty more in the kitchen."

"Thank you, but I'm full enough as is, and I have to walk back home after this. Can't risk getting a stitch!"

"Y/n? Seconds?" Niccolo asked, and you shook your head. "Very well. I'll leave you both to your embroidering. Holler if you need anything else."

Glancing across the small space, you noticed how closely Mina watched Niccolo come and go. A sadness lurked underneath muddy mirrors, but it was not your place to inquire.