It was a bright summer afternoon, and the Yeager estate was alive with activity. The gardens were once again covered in a vast array of exorbitant decorations— bunting, fairy lights, patterned gazebos, and elaborate bouquets.
It seemed a party was in order.
Eren was lounging in the shade, watching the servants dart about, hanging streamers and placing table mats.
"Hey." Zeke was behind him, nursing a whiskey and dressed as if he was going to attend a funeral instead of his stepmother's birthday party.
"Hey. What are you doing here?"
"Drove out with Carla— if I have to be here for her birthday party, might as well stay over."
"Yeah? What'd you get her?"
"Portable fax machine."
Eren grinned. Classic Zeke. "You sentimental fool."
"Hey, it's easy for you. She's so glad you finally set a date; you'll never have to buy another present."
"That's not what she says," Eren replied, standing up with a stretch. "I got her a little Picasso. I'm having it wrapped in town."
Zeke turned to him accusingly. "What did that cost me?"
"I don't know," he shrugged. "...So, who's the new bidder on Ackerman? Unisat?"
"...And a couple of other companies."
"Cash or stock options?"
A genuine smile graced Zeke's lips as he slung a teasing arm over Eren's shoulder. "I love it when you talk dirty." They settled into easy laughter.
At that moment, a flash of white scuttled over the lawn with a maid right behind. "Come back!" she exclaimed as the dog disappeared around the corner.
"What's that?"
"A dog," said Eren, finding a little amusement in his brother's affronted expression.
"Why?"
"Ah, it's Mikasa's gift to mother. She feels guilty about missing the party— she's stuck at some UCLA seminar." He moved to head into the mansion, "I gotta go pick up Carla's present," then turned back again. "I want you to know something, Zeke— I'm glad about Mikasa."
Zeke smiled. "You should be. She's terrific. Smart, independent— pretty as hell."
Eren scoffed. "Why don't you marry her?"
"Go on."
"I'm kidding. Kidding." With a wave, he was gone into their grand house.
<>
The photographer stood waiting at the bus stop, bags at her feet, and completely unrecognisable as the chauffeur's daughter. What once had been awkward and grease-smeared had blossomed into a beautiful young woman.
Clad in an elegant Parisian pant-suit, lips painted rouge, hat and sunglasses shielding her face from the noon-day glare, the photographer smiled broadly as she gazed around the home town she had missed so much. It was all as it had been.
But his car was there. The red lacquer she had polished a hundred times over. Eren. Eren was-
Eren was crossing the road. A packaged painting under his arm, he was hurrying towards that bright red sports car. He stopped mid-street, momentarily mesmerised by the beautiful Parisian woman standing at the bus stop. Only a car nearly knocking him clean off his feet broke him from his trance.
And then she was speaking to him. "Hi," said the figure of his dreams. "How are you?"
Placing the painting in his car, Eren checked once behind him. No. No, she was speaking to him. Oh my God. "I'm... I'm great." All his years of practised charm seemed to have evaporated. "Uh... How are you?"
"Good," she giggled prettily, and he couldn't help but laugh as well— though he knew not at what. "I'm just surprised to see you here."
"Well, you know me... right...?"
She giggled again. Eren didn't recognise her— of course he didn't.
"Uh... Can I give you a lift?" he offered, if only to spend even one more second speaking to her.
"Are you on your way home?"
Holy crap. "...Yes."
"Well, that's convenient," and she smiled the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. "Are you sure you wouldn't mind?"
He didn't. Not at all. And soon, the beautiful Parisian was in that shiny red sports car, the one she'd dreamt of riding so many times, speeding down country lanes, the roof down, the wind in her hair. Eren at her side.
"You know, I, uh... I can't remember the name of your street," he was saying, revving the engine forward.
"Dosoris Lane."
"What? That's where I live!"
"Small world," she grinned, unable to disguise her amusement.
"Big lane..."
She removed her sunglasses to smile at him. "You don't recognise me, do you?"
Somehow she was even more beautiful now. "Yeah- of course I do," he lied. "You're my... neighbour. On Dosoris Lane."
She giggled. "And you're Eren."
"I sure am," he grinned. "One of the lesser Yeagers."
"Oh, in what way lesser?"
"Pretty much every way. But please, no pity."
She laughed, and he felt a warm swell of pride at being able to elicit such a beautiful sound. Eren suddenly had the wild desire to do something utterly foolish to make her laugh again. Instead, he pressed down the accelerator.
"I could have sworn I knew every pretty girl on the North Shore," he asserted.
"Oh, I could have sworn you took in more territory than that," the Parisian quipped.
"Ouch."
"Although that was a while ago. I head somewhere that you're engaged to be married."
"Oh! Yeah, I am," he admitted sheepishly. "But, we're both very busy, busy people, and it's been very difficult to set a date. So, come on, give me a clue. Just one!"
She laughed. "Oh, no. This is too much fun." He loved her laugh.
"Please-"
"Oh, there's your driveway," she pointed to the perfectly manicured hedges she knew so well.
"I-I was just going to say that. Uh, would you like to come in for a drink?" Please say yes. Please say yes.
"What a good idea."
"Wow." Did he say that aloud?
In they sped, past the ornate wrought iron gates, past the weeping wisteria, and the eagle gargoyles upon their stone perches. The driveway was full of workmen bringing in tables and servants dashing about with flowers and decorations.
"Looks like you're having a party," said the Parisian, stepping gracefully from the sports car.
"Tomorrow night," he confirmed, speeding around to open the door for her.
"They used to have lovely parties here."
"Oh. Then you've been to them?"
Her smile fell, as did his heart. "No. But I saw the lights from... a distance." Their eye contact held. "But what's the occasion? It's too late for an engagement party."
"Oh. No, no. As a matter of fact, my fiancée's in California this week. It's actually a birthday party for my mother. Listen," he stepped a pace closer as she looked down demurely. "The party's at nine o'clock."
Was Eren inviting her? Her gaze shot back up to meet his.
"...Will you come?" he said, near a beg.
"Do you really want me to?"
"Very much," he professed. "If you'll tell me who you are."
At that moment, Zeke had strolled into the driveway to get something from the trunk of his Bentley. "Hello, Miss Fairchild."
"...Hello, Zeke."
"F... Fairchild?" stuttered Eren.
"Have a good time in Paris?" inquired Zeke.
"Yes, thank you."
"Fairchild?"
"You look all grown up."
"Fairchild?"
Zeke sighed exasperatedly. "Why does he keep saying that?"
"Um, I... I need to go find my father," the Parisian excused herself politely. "I'll get my bags later."
"Uh, wait a minute!" Eren exclaimed, moving to follow her.
"Thanks for the ride!" and she had disappeared off towards the garage.
"Eren," began Zeke. "No."
"What are you talking about? I was just-"
"No."
<>
The Parisian was being fawned over in the servants' kitchens as she handed out gifts amidst hugs and happy tears. "I brought you a scarf, Joanna, a real Paris scarf! I'll show you how to tie it."
"Has he seen you?"
"Yes!" she exclaimed. "No. Who-?"
"Your father!"
She'd bought the most gifts for her dear father: a tie for going out, a bottle of fine Parisian wine for staying in, and a beret for the laughs. "Better than Christmas," he had declared, turning to flip through her photographs. "Who took these?"
"I did," she said, hanging up a deep blue evening gown. "I hope these creases disappear before tomorrow night."
"Tomorrow is Mrs Yeager's birthday party."
"Yes. I've been invited." She tried to sound cool and composed, but childish excitement snuck its way into her tone anyway.
"...By whom?" said father, taking off that silly beret.
"By Eren. Of course, he didn't know it was me when he invited me."
"And now that he knows?"
Her smile persisted, "I'm still invited, I guess," but it faltered under her father's worried gaze. " Dad, please. I promised myself all those years ago, hundreds of times, thousands of times, and now... I'm invited."
<>
And the suitcase creases did indeed disappear from her evening gown. Come the night of Mrs Carla Yeager's birthday party, the Parisian had done herself up in the Paris fashion so well taught to her by Martine and each one of the hundred beautiful girls at Vogue. Pearls. Velvet. Eyeshadow. Tonight, all of it materialised into a figure straight out of the pages of a magazine.
She'd always been a drab creature— the ugly duckling, plain, unassuming, but tonight, the chauffeur's daughter was the swan.
She strolled into the garden party, down the flowered walkways, her heels striking the paving stones in rhythmic taps. She didn't shrink into herself or lower her head. Tonight, she belonged here— here, no longer on the precipice but in the centre of all this opulence.
Holy crap, was she really doing this?
The reality of it only seemed to hit her the moment that familiar song met her ears. In the moonlight... when the shadows play... She took a moment to glance up at her tree— empty. Tonight, she was no yearning observer.
The band played, the guests waltzed, the champagne was drained: it was all just as it had been.
Eren, at the time of her arrival, was busy greeting guests and socialising, though, for once, the merrymaking seemed dull and uninteresting. He kept glancing over shoulders towards the darker edges of the party. Where was she? Would she come?
And then their eyes met across the garden.
By God, she looked beautiful.
At the expense of appearing obviously enamoured, Eren bid the guests around him, "Excuse me," and with a boyish smile on his lips, moved to find her. The belle of the ball. He couldn't tear his eyes away if he wanted to.
"Hello," said the Parisian nervously.
"You're here," he breathed. He was looking at her now, she realised. Really looking.
"Yes... I am. That's true."
"You look beautiful." It came out blunt and without ceremony— such a far cry from his usual well-chosen flattery. It might have been the most honest thing Eren Yeager had ever said.
"So do you." She caught herself. "Look good."
And then he was offering her his gentleman's hand, smooth and uncalloused— it hadn't seen a day of work in its life. The Parisian accepted, and Eren led her into a summer's dream.
"Swingin' party, Carla," Kenny Ackerman was saying, joining her and Zeke along with his disgruntled nephew. "So sorry Mikasa can't be here."
"So am I... she gave me a dog."
Across the gardens, the Parisian was just now realising she might have bitten off more than she could chew. All the glamorous eyes of the party were on her and Eren; her only comfort was the steady warmth of his soft fingertips.
They weaved in and out of waltzing guests. "I can't believe I'm here," she said, her stomach in knots. "I went to a party once in a villa in Provence. I didn't know a single person. Everyone was speaking in French— I could hardly understand a word. But, uh, I felt more comfortable than I do now."
"Here," Eren grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. "Drink this as quickly as possible, and it won't seem so strange to you."
She drank as deeply as she could.
"Better?"
"Not yet."
Across the gardens, trying to spot her sons in the crowd, Carla was still speaking to the Ackermans. "Did Mikasa pick out her dress?"
"Hell nah— still doing the guest list. Six hundred so far, and that's just on our side."
"That's not a wedding; it's a town," said Levi morosely.
"And what do you know about weddin's, runt? It'll be swell. Elegant but simple. Lavish but tasteful."
"Cheap but expensive."
Meanwhile, inside in the library, Zeke had finished conducting his bullet test on the Ackerman television and had moved on to a blow-torch test to impress some potential investors from Saudi Arabia. Business never took a night off.
Outside, the Parisian was busy gorging on expensive snacks as a last attempt to dull her nerves. It was also an excuse to speak to her friends, the waitstaff. She'd lost Eren somewhere in the gardens and was about to give up when the familiar tune of 'La Vie en Rose' met her ears.
She saw him then, and he mouthed "For you," to her across the dancefloor. The Parisian downed the last of her champagne. And then another.
"Who the hell's that girl?" Kenny asked Carla from afar. "The one with Eren."
"Oh, well," Carla struggled to reply, watching as her son abandoned his previous conversation to centre all his attention on the Parisian. "Oh, that's... Oh my God. That's our chauffeur's daughter. Oh, but Eren's known her since she was two years old!"
"Hmm," grumbled Levi. "She didn't have that dress when she was two years old."
The Ackermans weren't the only ones to disapprove. In the servants' kitchens, hearing reports about the Parisian drinking champagne, eating seafood, her curled hair, red lips, white teeth, and Eren's special choice of song, her father couldn't help but worry.
He'd warned her once not to reach for the moon, for there was a reason a glass panel separated the front and backseat of the Yeagers' cars. Everyone had their place in this world. And yet, in an age of moon landings and rocketships, could he blame his naïve, Paris-bred daughter for wishing for more?
As Carla moved in to subtly impress upon Eren her disapproval, Zeke had moved on to the next test in the library. This time, he struck the television screen with a fire poker to wow some potential Japanese investors. Each of them gave it a go with an "Ah!" and a "Sugoi!"
Eren, on the other hand, was not concerned with the family business, his mother's disapproval, or even a chauffeur's daughter's place in all this splendour. His primary concern was getting her to dance with him.
"Dance with me."
"Now?"
"While the music's still playing," he insisted.
She gave in with little resistance, and soon, he was there, and he was holding her in his arms. At that moment, the chauffeur's daughter became his glamorous companion, the next in the long line of girlfriends he'd spend two nights with and no more. Or so she thought.
As Eren held the Parisian close and swayed her gently to 'La Vie en Rose', he had no thoughts of his next lover, his next escapade. If the commitment Zeke demanded of him existed, it was with her.
"Eren?"
"Yes?" He pulled back slightly to meet her eyes.
"You know, I've been to every party you've ever had. Right there," she gestured behind her. "Watching from that tree— like a bat. And now here we are, dancing, in front of God and everyone."
He shook his head in mournful disbelief. "I should have paid more attention to you. I don't know what I was thinking of."
"Yourself," she teased.
He chuckled before turning sincere. "...It feels so good to hold you."
"...Does it?"
"Do you know how beautiful you are?" Eren professed.
She was panicking now. Those eyes. They threatened to drown her. "...No."
"You're dazzling."
"Dazzling?" she repeated dumbly.
His smile stayed. "Suddenly back in my life and dazzling."
"...Am I back in your life?"
The world around them had disappeared. Eren only saw her. "I don't think you realise what you've done to me."
"Then you better tell me."
He pulled her closer again until the sides of their faces were pressed together as they swayed. "You're changing everything."
Across the gardens, Carla was trying to avoid just that change. "She's like a sister to him, Kenny!" she pleaded.
"I 'ave a sister; that's not how we dance, Mrs Yeager."
It was plain for all to see. Eren Yeager was not quite as committed to the Ackerman merger as they all would have hoped. While for now, it remained an innocent dance between childhood friends, knowing Eren, it would soon spiral into something like catastrophe.
Carla hurried into the library to fetch Zeke, who at that time was on a business call (as he always was). They looked out of the grand, floor-length window to see Eren and the Parisian giggling like smitten schoolchildren. Zeke's felt his worrylines deepen.
"I can't believe this is happening," Eren was cooing at her. "You're absolutely transformed."
"And you're exactly the same," she smiled in turn. "You were perfect; you still are."
He said her name then— with desire. "Let's go someplace we can talk."
"We are talking."
"Someplace else. Please ." He pulled back again so she could look into those earnest blue-green eyes. "I haven't seen you in years; I'm not sure I ever saw you. Come with me... for a little while. We could just go-"
"To the solarium?" she interrupted. The girl in the tree knew very well how this went.
"What?"
"It has to be the solarium," she breathed. "And you bring a bottle of champagne. And you put the glasses in your two back pockets."
"You were paying attention."
"And the orchestra will play... 'How Can I remember?' "
"Yes," he agreed softly. "Yes, I'll have them do that." With a kiss pressed to her rose-dusted cheek, Eren made off towards the band, towards the champagne, and then towards the solarium. Just as he had that night so long ago.
"And then afterwards," said the Parisian to herself, running a disbelieving hand through her hair, "I'll wake up."
For, how could the moon be reaching for her?