"Oh, it's so beautiful! Splendid work, as always! Wouldn't you agree, Marlowe?" Hitch asked her husband.
"Beautiful, my love." Mr. Freudenberg leaned toward your friend and kissed her temple as you awkwardly stood with thread and needle in hand to make any further alterations. It was rude, but you had to fight the urge to gag at their little act of intimacy.
Hitch Dreyse, another childhood friend, became engaged to Marlowe Freudenberg following a passionate romance sparked at a party over a year ago. The match was a welcomed surprise for the Dreyse family, as the Freudenbergs were unbelievably wealthy and had acquired several properties throughout the surrounding states. It was also a welcomed surprise for you and Niccolo, as Hitch's pay for your work increased exponentially, and her very generous mother-in-law loved Niccolo's cooking for the wedding so much that she started having him cater all her smaller events.
Having only married in May despite the superstitions that came with May weddings, you had done everything to avoid Hitch following her change in last name. Obviously, you were happy for her, but you had also lost one of your few friends to the institution of marriage. Despite your efforts to mature and move on, you had yet to come to terms with your feelings. Although she lived nearby, you lacked the courage to face her. Her marriage marked the end of childhood, and all you have left holding that world together is Eren. If it had not been for the three months' worth of groceries she had paid for this dress, you would probably not be standing in that uncomfortable room with her.
"Marlowe, go check on Y/n's companions on the porch and invite them into the house. Get them something to drink, too. We'll join you all after we catch up." Hitch waited for her husband's back to disappear out the door before she spoke. "Where have you been hiding those handsome men you brought with you? I know I'm married now, but I'm jealous. You've got your own harem now."
"They're friends of Niccolo. They are staying in the summer while they work on their crafts."
"Crafts? What do they do? Anything noteworthy?"
"Mr. Arlert—"
"Mr. Arlert!?" she exclaimed, but you slapped a hand to her mouth to keep her from loudly embarrassing you. You slowly peeled your palm from her lips, and she whispered, "Mr. Arlert? As in the writer whose books you lent me? I would never have thought he'd be so tall and muscular."
You rolled your eyes. "The tall one is a painter. Mr. Arlert is the blonde."
"Oh." Hitch clicked her tongue. "Well, then you'll have to settle for the painter. He's probably poor but still far too handsome to let him slip through your fingers. And you know what they say about tall men, don't you? Tall men typically have bigger—"
"I would rather marry a goat than that man. He's a complete ass, Hitch. You should hear the rude things he's said to me since he arrived. I've been called ugly, lazy, and manly more times than I can count on two hands, and it's only been four days."
"Manly?! God plays cruel games with us, doesn't he? He makes all the handsome men malignant and the ugly ones nettlesome. Excluding my dear Marlowe, of course." Love glittered behind Hitch's pretty green eyes, and another gag stirred without you. "At least you still have Zeke. He's handsome enough if you like older, boring men that barely tolerate women in the first place. Didn't he ask you to marry him in March? What happened to that?"
"I rejected him."
Your friend shook her head, her short blonde hair waving with each movement. "You're such a fool. Having a doctor as a father-in-law would be such a blessing. You could get me a discount for..." Hitch's eyes widened. Her lips puckered but quickly turned upwards in secret excitement.
"What is the face for?" you asked.
"I have news, but you have to sit before I tell you, and you need to be sworn to secrecy. Not even Eren can know."
"Have I ever spilled any of your secrets? I never even told Lady that you slept with Marlowe before the wedding."
"And that's why you're my favorite friend. Now come here." Hitch took your wrists and pulled you down to her ottoman. Sitting beside you, she bounced a few times as she smoothed out her dress. Her hands rested on her lap when she settled, and her long lashes fluttered eagerly. "It's still very early, and it may just be the stress of getting married, but... I may have missed my last period."
Your face dropped to the floor. "You're pregnant?" The blonde nodded emphatically, with her smile brightening her entire face and straining her neck. You threw your arms around the girl as she squealed against your shoulder. "Hitch, that's... that's amazing!"
"I know! Oh, I hope it's a little girl, and she's as pretty as me! Promise me you'll sew her a beautiful gown for her first day! I want to dress her like a princess."
"Of course. She'll be the prettiest baby in town."
"You think? I'm just shocked it happened so early! Both my mother and grandmother had so much trouble conceiving when they were my age, but maybe Marlowe's potency canceled out the family curse!"
Hitch continued rambling on for another hour about motherhood and her sex life, which made you extremely uncomfortable. While you loved the blonde dearly, you now knew far too much about the size, shape, and shade of Marlowe's very personal organs.
Fearing you might throw up from picturing Hitch and Marlowe's fornications and being concerned that you had left your guests for too long, you tried to excuse yourself from the house. "I should get going, Hitch. I told the men I'd take them to the tavern."
"But I've barely seen you! You've been a ghost since my wedding!"
"I know, but we'll talk another time. I'm technically still working."
"At my mother-in-law's party, then! Oh, you have to come!" Hitch grasped your hands, narrowly avoiding the needle still trapped in your fingertips. "You can bring your guests, too! It's only a few days from now. It'll be a lovely night full of music and dancing and socializing!"
Under different circumstances, you would've outright rejected her as grand events, especially those hosted by the extraordinarily rich, were not your first choice of evening activities. There were whispers to feed your hunger for melodrama, but you regularly had terrible experiences. However, the good news of her baby and the thought of dancing with Mr. Arlert swayed your natural inclination.
"If I can convince Eren to go, I'll consider attending."
Hitch threw her arms around you for what felt like the hundredth time today, and you returned her embrace. "I know you'll come, and you won't regret it. I promise. It'll be much better than anywhere we've ever gone because I'm assisting in the hosting." Hitch stood up and skipped into her extravagant parlor to inform your cohorts of their invitation.
When you finally excused yourself and your guests from the Freudenberg's home, the afternoon sun beat down on your hair, burning your scalp and nose.
"Your friend is far too shrill. Like a banshee," Mr. Kirstein critiqued.
Before you could bite the man's head off, Mr. Arlert jumped to Hitch's defense. "The girl seemed quite happy and very much in love. Leave her to talk however she pleases."
He may not be a tall, muscular man, but what Mr. Arlert lacked in physical presence, he made up for in kindness and chivalry. You cursed how your adoration for the writer only grew stronger with each passing moment you spent together. If you weren't cautious, you really could fall for him, and all your dreams would be for nothing.
When you approached the tavern outside, you attempted to flee to the Yeagers' to inform Eren of the party, not wanting to waste a moment laying down the necessary preparations. "Will you two be alright on your own for the afternoon?"
"You don't want to drink with us?" Mr. Arlert asked, his eyes wide like a lost child.
"Well, I should see if–"
"You will come," Mr. Kirstein cut off your voice sternly. "The weather is too hot to wander around this shit hole without a guide." He ducked into the cover of the building before you could protest.
"Would it kill him to be more pleasant?" You scowled at his retreating back.
"It just might." Mr. Arlert flashed a sympathetic smile as he stepped in front and held the door for you.
After walking inside, you scoured the room, looking for an empty table in a proper location for your guests. However, before you could even find a place to sit, Mr. Kirstein appeared out of nowhere with three pints of ale. He thrust the first glass into Mr. Arlert's hands and then the second into yours, which caused you to spill the amber liquid onto your skirt.
"Unless you plan to wash my laundry, you should be more careful!"
"There is no such thing as careful when drinking, child." Mr. Kirstein was clearly a drunkard in his free time, as he nearly swallowed his entire drink before Mr. Arlert could even take a sip. When the painter drank his fill and liquid dripped from his strong jaw, he looked between you and his friend in confusion. "We are here to drink, no? So, drink."
Mr. Kirstein grabbed Mr. Arlert's glass and forced it to the blonde man's lips. The alcohol poured down the author's gullet as Mr. Kirstein's impish face burned with pleasure. Then, the brunette stole your drink, his long, calloused fingers brushing against your smaller, smoother ones. He drained half himself before holding it up to Mr. Arlert.
"Armin, finish it." He pressed the last cup to Mr. Arlert's lips again.
This continued for an hour until the blonde was red-faced, the brunette appeared mildly intoxicated at best, and you were thoroughly agitated and mostly sober. Mr. Kirstein never offered to fetch you a drink each time he left to refill their cups. You had only secured one glass of wine from Hannes during the barkeep's rounds when he noticed how peeved you appeared.
Mr. Kirstein attempted to stumble to the tap a final time, but you secured his wrist to the round, wooden table. Your grip tightened on his arm when he attempted to pull away. "I think you've had enough."
His face crept into that devilish smirk you quickly grew to despise. "Do you think of yourself as some kind of mother? Attempting to baby a man fully grown?" Mr. Kirstein leaned in with smoky eyes. "You could not handle me, girl."
"I do not wish to be your mother, although I send the woman my condolences for having a son like you. I wish to walk home without dragging the two of you along," you said with a clenched jaw. You released Mr. Kirstein from your grasp, his skin feeling like acid on your fingertips. Your eyes shot to Mr. Arlert, whose face rested sloppily on the table. His cheeks were crimson as poppies, and his eyes were glassy as the ocean. "One of us will have to carry him."
"He is no child; he can carry himself. Now, if you will excuse me..." Mr. Kirstein rose from his chair, bumbling slightly as he stepped away. "We need another round."
You gently shook the blonde's shoulder to rouse him, but he remained pressed to the table. "Mr. Arlert, I'll fetch Eren to help you get home," you whispered, "Promise me you won't move." He mumbled incoherently, so you bent closer to his face. "Mr. Arlert?"
"Don't... don't leave me," his words cleared ever so slightly, "He's trying to kill me because I lied about the trip."
Before you could decide what to do next, Mr. Kirstein crashed back down with two more pints, rocking the entire table with the force of his impact. Two empty glasses nearly fell over, and you barely caught them before they rolled off and shattered.
"Armin, do not be so weak. If the sun shines, there is time to drink. Now, lift your head and open your mouth."
Not having any other idea of how to end this situation, you reached across the table, snagged the full glasses, and brought the first to your lips. You foolishly reasoned that if there is no alcohol at the table, then Mr. Arlert would be able to sober himself enough to walk home. If the worst occurred, and Mr. Kirstein got up to order another round, you could stumble to the Yeagers' home, ask Zeke to carry you, and abandon your visitors to fend for themselves.
You guzzled the first glass and then the second with all your strength. The alcohol curdled in your stomach, but you finished both without even the slightest burp. When you knuckled some leaking ale from your jaw, Mr. Kirstein gawked at you with his honey eyes wide and dumb.
"We're done here," you spat at him. "Now, help me carry Mr. Arlert to the house so he can drink something other than your poison."
Mr. Kirstein had no witty remark for you as he stared. He simply rose to his feet, hooked his arm around the smaller man, and waited for you to do the same. You took hold of the other side and propped Mr. Arlert onto your shoulder. Mr. Kirstein's arm brushed against your own, but you tried to ignore the disgust rippling through your nerves.
Mr. Arlert giggled like a maiden in love as you carried him through the town. Gaggles of girls stopped to fawn over his cuteness and Mr. Kirstein's rough appearance. A few made moves to approach until they made eye contact with you, and their blushing faces turned into mocking scowls. You forced both men to walk faster, not wanting to hear their whispers anymore.
Once you were halfway home, Mr. Arlert attempted to shake himself from your arms. "Look at that field!" He wriggled out of your grasp and leapt from the road into the tall grass and wildflowers.
"Mr. Arlert! Wait!"
You attempted to run after him but immediately tripped on your own feet as the alcohol impacted your coordination far worse than you expected. You braced for the crash as your elbows prepared to take the brunt of the fall. A strong hand caught the top of your arm before you could plummet to the ground and pulled you back upright.
"Let him have his fun," Mr. Kirstein said, his hand still gripping your skin until you were fully anchored to the earth again. "He is not hurting anyone with his flower picking."
"Both of you! Come join me!" Mr. Arlert called over the tall grass. "There are so many beautiful plants! We should start a garden out here!"
Mr. Kirstein finally let go of your flesh and walked past you to reach his friend with hands deeply buried in his pockets. Picking up the hem of your skirt, you followed the giant through the field as he parted the grass sea. He led you to a small open patch where Mr. Arlert staked his claim with his hands hidden behind his back.
"Turn and sit, Y/n. I have a surprise for you," Mr. Arlert instructed.
"A surprise? What is it?"
"I can't tell you. I can only show you."
You spun around and kneeled on your skirt. Dampness leaked through the fabric, and you cringed, knowing the spot would surely stain brown. You felt a soft pull of your braids and subsequent little tugs at your hair. "May I ask what exactly you're doing back there, Mr. Arlert?"
"You'll see. I'm almost done." Your braid slapped back onto your shoulder, and your eyes trailed down to see buttercups laced into the gaps.
"Oh, Mr. Arlert, it's wonderful!" you gasped.
"Isn't it? What do you think, Jean? She looks very pretty, doesn't she?" The author sounded so delightfully playful as he nudged his elbow in the direction of his friend.
"I do not care for yellow," Mr. Kirstein responded readily.
"Of course, you don't," Mr. Arlert sighed. "Maybe you can help me find some flowers you care for."
Mr. Kirstein loomed above you, casting a massive shadow over the grass. His aura was as dark as his silhouette, and he engulfed you in a deep chill. "I am fine where I stand."
Wanting out of the cold, you turned to the blonde. "I'll help, Mr. Arlert. I'll even find some for you if you'd like."
You joined in on the Londoner's revelry the more the ale loosened your muscles. Finding as many tiny flowers as possible, you handed each blossom to the author. He carefully weaved each one into your locks. Once your hair was a perfect rainbow of petals, you tucked some daylilies behind the author's ears. He smiled brilliantly as you giggled and nearly banged your foreheads in the brush.
"Jean! You need some flowers of your own!" Mr. Arlert said as he straightened his plants.
"I do not need flowers."
"Oh, just one, Mr. Kirstein!" you begged, the alcohol briefly muting your enmity. Mr. Kirstein rolled his eyes and finally kneeled beside you. He twisted his head so you could get a better grip to tuck something in his hair. You looked down at the pile of flowers left in the grass. There were more coneflowers, lilies, and a few roses, but none were up to your standard of perfection with all the wilted petals and bent stems. "Mr. Arlert, go find me a prettier rose. I saw some nice ones to your left."
"Oh! Of course! I'll be right back." Mr. Arlert hopped to his feet and scurried into the field.
Although he attempted to look away from you, a visible smile started at the corners of Mr. Kirstein's full lips. There was no malice or wickedness behind it—only soft contentment.
"You have a very nice smile, Mr. Kirstein. You should consider grinning more."
The smile slipped off his face instantly. "Do not flatter yourself," the brunette whispered, "I do not smile for you."
Your brow knitted tightly in frustration with how easily he rejected your offer of polite conversation. "I don't believe I ever implied it was for me."
Mr. Arlert came running back to the clearing. "How about this one?" He showed off a perfect rose, still full of sharp thorns throughout the stem.
"It's lovely. Go ahead and stick it above the ribbon holding back his hair, but be careful. Maybe remove the thor—"
"You do it," Mr. Kirstein commanded, his eyes flickering over your body. "You are already on the ground. Do not make Armin lower himself because you are lazy."
"Jean! Don't be so–"
"Don't worry. I'm not offended, Mr. Arlert." Your voice was as light and sweet as you could force it to be in such a short amount of time. "He's right. It is a woman's place to serve, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Kirstein?" You plucked the rose harshly from Mr. Arlert's fingers, carefully evading the spikes.
Mr. Kirstein grumbled incoherently as your fingers separated a small hole in his hair and slipped the rose stem through. You took your tips and shoved the thorns straight into the ass' spine, forcing the painter to jump up with a yelp. His massive hand shot to his neck, and you could see the red holes marking his shadow-covered skin.
"Putain! What is wrong with you?" Mr. Kirstein barked.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Kirstein. Did I hurt you? I must have forgotten to take the thorns out! What a foolish, dim-witted little girl I am! If only you had left the task up to Mr. Arlert! Then, you wouldn't be in such a position due to my laziness!" You stunk of sarcasm.
By the time you reached the house, your hair was its own bouquet of buttercups, geraniums, and daisies, Mr. Arlert appeared to be sprouting a bush from his eardrums, and Mr. Kirstein had a single white rose with bloodied petals tucked in the red ribbon pulling back his hair.
French Translations:
Putain = whore/fuck
Authors Note:
Thank you so much for making it all the way through these first few chapters of Summer! Now that I got some major foundations out of the way, it should start to pick up.
The way I write, I'm already tenish chapters ahead, and it's SO ANXIETY INDUCING. It's so hard not to just say fuck it and release everything I have. Sadly, I still have to proofread it all and make sure I'm not progressing things too fast. I just want people to fall in love already >:(
Hopefully, I'll be finished by the end of the summer!
Au revoir !