crush culture | jean kirstein

chapter eleven

But he claims to love Mikasa, so you are, by no means, going to see his actions the other way. Jean is only your friend, and is absolutely off limits and not a contender for your hopeless romance story.

Besides, you're already too worn out to be playing another round in the game of love. Interacting with and seeing your past crushes the last month had already made you overwhelmed.

"That's sweet, Jean. Is there anything you want to talk about?"

"Well . . ."

He thinks to himself. Nothing enters his mind until he looks at his textbook and sees the makeshift bookmark nudged in between the pages he's currently on. He grabs it, cringing at the page he loses when he has fully taken it out, and gives it to you.

Another letter from Mikasa.

At the recognition of the stationery, your mood drops and you are consumed with stress. Mikasa and Jean (AKA you) have been writing to each other back and forth ever since the Beer Pong game at Eren's party. Albeit slow because of the monstrous weather, Jean (you) got to know her better, which paved the way for intellectual communication and more frequent letter exchanges with the girl.

You learned that Mikasa is a sucker for philosophy. She tends to get philosophical and creative with her words because of her strengths in the field of arts and her knack for writing. After talking to and getting to know her, you suppose she's urbane, with the way she builds her letters to Jean and writes them in her fancy handwriting and packages them in spotlessly clean envelopes. Like Annie Leonhardt, Mikasa Ackerman is not the super scary girl she is stereotyped to be.

"You sure are lovestruck," you tell your friend, grabbing the envelope from him and proceeding to carefully tear it open.

"Nah," he denies. He's a little hesitant, but he denies. "That's exaggerating."

You crease your forehead.

"What's exaggerating?"

"The lovestruck part."

"How?" you ask. "You say you love her."

You reminisce your conversation back at the bleachers where Jean had first told you of his strong feelings for Mikasa. "I love her," you remember him say firmly, which you doubted but shook off soon after. Whatever Jean claims his feelings to be is absolute; it is what it is. Despite your initial doubts, you have no right to put a label on what he himself thinks he feels.

A glint of gold comes from your neck. Jean didn't notice it earlier because it's been hidden in your sweater, but as soon as he catches the gleam, he instantly knows what it is—the necklace he gave you last Christmas. Shocked at the discovery, he suddenly doesn't know what to say.

"I . . . I don't know. It just feels weird."

No reply comes from your end. You read Mikasa's letter and fold it back to its original creasing. Sliding the parchment across the table, you decide to tease him.

"You're weird. Mikasa thinks you're a classical music fanatic and a die-hard fan of 20th century literature and power dynamics. She even talked about Niccolò Machiavelli because she thinks you've read The Prince."

"What's weird about that?"

"Nothing is weird about liking that kind of stuff because we are in no position to judge people for what they like, but I think everyone knows that old fashion isn't in your zone of interest." You purse your lips. "The way you— well, I portrayed you in your letters is different from who you actually are. We got Mikasa's attention, but the Jean she knows just isn't you, which calls for a plan."