Stepping out of the carriage was like stepping into the most opulent alternate dimension. The transcendence tinted your vision so strongly of roses that you nearly missed Mr. Ness and forgot to give him a final goodbye before he departed.
Street lamps chased away the fleeting sunset, leaving cobbled streets bright enough to memorize the stone's every ridge. Carriages and trollies rolled over those same roads while what felt like thousands of people mosied through their lives without sparing you a second thought. You were invisible to nearly everyone–dwarfed by tall buildings and cloaked by busy streets.
Going unnoticed was an experience you were seldom fortunate enough to enjoy in your hometown. You walked through the early evening air without feeling stares on your skin quickly; it became the most exhilarating feeling ever relished. To say you were overwhelmed to the brink of tears with all the wonderfulness before you was an understatement.
While you were invisible to nearly everyone, Jean's calloused fingers that intertwined with yours ensured that you still felt seen as he led you into the most magnificent, massive marble building. It stretched six stories into the sky and loomed over the world with a welcoming authority. You had never seen such a tall building. The largest you had the opportunity to gaze upon was the Freudenburgs family home when you visited for Hitch's party.
If the exterior was awe-inspiring, the interior was even more so: corinthian columns; sparkling lights; lavish red curtains; frescoed ceilings. Men and women dressed in their finest attire chatted, escaped into lavender light, or loaded trunks onto carts while your jaw hung in disbelief. You should feel underdressed, but seeing as no one cared for your existence, you thought little of it.
"You may want to close your mouth. People might believe you are slow," Jean joked as he led you toward the walnut-wood desk where Armin and Eren waited with all the luggage.
"Let them," you responded without ever fully closing your lips for more than a second. "If being astonished by such grandeur makes me slow, then I will happily be the most dimwitted dunce in the entire world."
Your beloved chuckled and gripped your hand tighter before finally relinquishing your fingers. You were entirely invisible once you were disconnected—nothing more than a ghost in a room full of angels—yet you would have it no other way.
Across the room, Armin conversed with the hotel clerk while Eren stared at the sights that caught your attention with the same degree of wonder. His green eyes traced the paintings on the ceiling, the luggage trolleys moving through the majestic lobby, and the lights flickering from chandeliers and wall sconces. He was so engrossed in all the resplendence that the three pretty women that batted their lashes from a distant corner went unnoticed. The instant one of them beckoned for him to walk over, followed by her two companions giggling beside her, you found yourself laughing with the women across the lobby at your friend's aloofness.
Then, the three women noticed Jean.
You watched as they pulled the same finger wag they used on Eren at your beloved, and just like your friend, Jean was aloof to their advances. Wanting to have a little fun, you nudged his shoulder and pointed to the ladies.
"I think you and Eren have gained a few admirers," you informed him.
Jean followed your finger and scoffed, "And?"
"You should give them a wave. They seem very taken with you."
"Do they now?" he asked. You replied with a smirk, a nod, and a few raised brows, but Jean did not match the playfulness warming your flesh. Instead, he reached for your hand and entwined fingers once more. "This should fix that. I would hate for them to have the wrong impression of us."
Although you fully trusted his devotion toward you, to receive such a bold confirmation that you were his chosen lady made your pool of adoration spill over your heart's edges in the hottest inferno that New York had ever seen. Even as the giggling girls walked off without taking issue with Jean's very public show of affection, the heat searing your skin was far hotter than any hellfire.
Unable to handle falling deeper down affection's circle of nine holes, you wriggled out of his grasp and tuned into the last of Armin's stress-inducing conversation.
"And you are absolutely sure there are no other rooms available?" the Londoner asked the clerk.
"I'm afraid so, sir. Other than the one I offered, we are fully booked for the duration of your intended stay. I can recommend another hotel in the area, but I cannot guarantee that it will share our establishment's devotion toward quality."
"Very well. May I have a moment to discuss with my companions, please?" The author spun around and motioned for the rest of you to step aside so others could approach the desk. "We have a bit of a conundrum."
"What is it now?" Jean whined.
"Well... You see, when I reserved a double suite for the two of us, it was prior to knowing that our duo was due to become a quartet. Now, another double suite is the only other reservation in the entire building until we leave, and it is unavailable until tomorrow."
Eren finally snapped out of his amazement to jump in, "So... We only have two beds for tonight?"
"Exactly."
"How big are the beds?"
"Well-sized, and there is a sofa in the parlor. Tomorrow, we will have the second suite so that each of us has a place to change and a bed to call our own, but for tonight... My concern stems from how we plan to split the space seeing as we brought a lady along with us."
Three sets of eyes–one sapphire, one emerald, one citrine–all shined at you.
"Why are you all looking to me for a solution? I only just woke up!" you cried, and when the three of them failed to speak, you sighed. "Fine. Since I slept all day, two of you can share a bed, someone can sleep alone, and I can take the sofa."
"You are not sleeping on a sofa," Jean flatly stated. "You need a real bed. You and I can share, and Armin and Eren–"
"Not happening, pal. Y/n and I will share a room," Eren cut in. "If you two want to share tomorrow's suite, be my guest, but if my mother finds out that we were all sleeping in the same room and I let Y/n fall pregnant the same night only for you to run off to London, she will have my throat slit in my sleep!"
"Eren!" you bit out his name.
"What?! You know I can't lie to my mother for shit! At least, if I don't know what you two get up to, I can make it to school without getting torn apart or worse: married to you to save your image! You can both do what you want tomorrow when I'm somewhere far away, but not tonight! Not when I can hear the sins being committed! I can't lie about that!"
Armin clapped his hands together and said, "Alright! I've had enough of this vulgar chat! I will sleep on the sofa, Y/n and Eren can share a bed, and Jean can have his own room. Tomorrow, we will pair off. Is everyone happy?"
Eren appeared satisfied with the terms while Jean glared at your friend's pleasant smile. You, too, frowned deeply but with so much less contempt, so you said, "That is hardly fair to you, Armin. If you intend to pay, you should have a proper bed. I can take the sofa if–"
"It is more than fine, my dear. I will enjoy a real bed tomorrow."
"Then, please, allow me to cover some of the expenses! We would hate for us to be bigger burdens than we already are. Eren can chip in some, as well."
"I can?" Eren asked.
You smacked the idiot's chest with the back of your fingers to punish his insolence. "Yes, you can. I cannot stop you from being a pig, but I will stop you from becoming a freeloader. Pay your share, or I'll rat on you to Carla. She will slit your throat for that instead."
"Alright, mom."
"Don't you dare talk back–"
Armin stopped your bickering before it could go much further, "Neither of you needs to worry yourselves with costs, and neither of you should consider yourselves burdens. I would not have invited you here if I did not expect to pay for additional lodgings, and it is rude to deny a friend's gift more than once. Besides, what is the point of having wealth if we do not share it with friends? Now, are these arrangements acceptable, or should we look elsewhere?"
Quiet acceptance for the sleeping arrangements crept in, and Armin returned to the table to trade funds for keys.
"Go hunt for those beckoning women and steal one of their beds instead of ruining the night for the rest of us, Yeager," Jean complained.
"... Women? What women? There were women?"
Unfortunately for Eren, there wasn't time to explain as an attendant quickly whisked the four of you and all the luggage through the corridor and into the tiniest, gated room. Despite the space's smallness, it was as beautifully designed as the hotel's entrance. Each wall bore a streakless mirror for you to study yourself in, and the wall opposite the opening had finely upholstered seats that appeared to be built seamlessly into the woodwork. It was a strange little room but a beautiful one nonetheless.
"Have either of you ever been inside an ascending room before?" Armin asked as another attendant sealed our party inside. Both you and Eren shook your heads. "Best you sit down then. You are in for a proper treat."
As you and Eren took seats along the wall, you noticed how stiffly Jean stood beside you. The tension lining his strong jaw sent butterflies through your chest, but not the pleasurable kind that so often fluttered down at the very sight of your beloved painter. It was the nervous kind that warned you of an imminent danger so deadly that your knees locked into place.
It wasn't until the floor shook, your stomach dropped, Eren clutched tightly onto your arm for stability, and your beloved placed a firm hand on your shoulder that you understood what had Jean so tense. The room was moving.
"What the hell is happening?!" Eren cried.
"Have no fear, my friends! It will all be over soon," Armin laughed at Eren's panic.
"What will be over?!"
"Our journey! We're going up to our floor!"
"Up?!"
"Yes, up! Our suite is on the fifth story. I doubt any of us have the strength to heave all our things up four flights, so why not let innovation do the hard work!"
During the short ride, the porter listed many of the hotel's amenities: the reading rooms, the library, the barber shop, the restaurant, the private parlors, the billiards room, and so much more. As incredible as all those places might sound when standing on stable floors, you only cared for when the floating feeling in your stomach would cease. You held your breath until the walls locked into place, fearing that at any moment, Fate would deal a cruel hand and drop you back down to the ground floor.
But the doors did open, and when an entirely new hallway appeared like the Gates of Heaven, Eren was the first to bolt into safety's salvation. Again, Armin laughed at your best friend's ridiculousness while Jean helped you escape.
"I hate those death traps," Jean grumbled your private thoughts aloud. "We will use the staircase from now on."
"I would greatly appreciate that," you replied.
From there, you trailed the attendant that wheeled your bags down the hall. As he walked, the man gave a history lesson on the building: how what was once a tiny cottage had become the city's finest hotel–so fine that the Prince of Wales had stayed in the same establishment some thirty-odd years ago. You attempted to feign interest, but the wall art and gas lights stole your attention.
Eren, however, was so engrossed with the past that he bombarded the poor porter with a half-dozen little questions along the way. Although your best friend was a vulgar blabbermouth, that did not make his inquisitive nature any less brilliant. He even found the time to question the inner workings of that dreaded ascending room before your party finally reached the last door at the end of the hall.
When the suite finally opened, you realized that if Hell had nine circles, then Heaven had at least three, and all of them existed in this marble castle of elegance.
The furniture was crafted from the finest rosewood, and every seat was decorated with elegant silk damask. As you paced about, taking in every little nuisance of the room, a second worker appeared in the doorway with a cart full of ice, glasses, and bottles. He offered you a flute of white wine, which you accepted with polite gratitude, and the drink became your closest companion on this expensively exquisite expedition. The beverage was the only downside to the venue, as it was much less sweet than you were accustomed to sipping. You took bigger gulps between steps and grimaces to make the richness more bearable.
Next, you wandered into what would become your and Eren's bedroom for the evening. Every piece your hand glossed over–from the nightstands, to the vanity, to the comforter–made your fingertips tingle with titillation. The redness of the chamber drenched your vision with the sensual shades of luxury—so much so that you wished to undress and roll around in silk sheets until your bones grew brittle from disuse.
The view from the window was otherworldly, as well. Although a few buildings reached or exceeded your height, you could see so much of the city and a distant river sparkling in dusk's delicate afterglow. Your reflection barely appeared in the glass as you downed your drink, but the most obnoxious grin pulled your lips taut. That smile grew wider as you left the window to explore the secret second room attached to the first.
Once inside, you admired a washroom that had running water. The most enchanting pieces in the room were the massive tub waiting eagerly in the center of the beautifully tiled floors and the spray bath against the opposite wall. The pristine porcelain sang to you in pleasing whispers.
Hitch had told before her wedding how Marlowe's massive mansion possessed such luxuries, but you would finally have the chance to wash in a spray bath of your own. You could hardly wait to share and compare experiences with your blonde friend, but longing for her presence lingered underneath all the excitement. You might have crawled inside the tub to sulk over Hitch's lack of company if not for Eren bursting into the room seconds before you could lay within it.
"This is a dream!" he yelled in your face, only to pull you into the world's tightest hug that nearly sent the last mouthful of your wine flying. "God, I wish Mr. Ackerman was here to see all this! He would lose his mind if he knew we had a place this spotless and fancy!"
You fell into his embrace, shutting your eyes to sink further into the realness of Eren's touch. You may miss one friend, but at least you had the other.
"You'll have to bring him and Mr. Smith here someday to thank them for all the lessons once you're a fancy city doctor," you said.
"That is the best idea you've had your whole life."
"I can think of at least three better ideas I've had."
"Well, I can't."
Eren abandoned you to unpack his things, but you continued ghosting around the washroom. You fiddled with faucets and giggled as clean, cold water spewed from the spout, but your exploration was cut short when the mention of dinner leaked into your ears and rumbled in your stomach. Armin gave everyone a few minutes to straighten their appearances before descending to the restaurant for supper. Eren thought himself ready without changing from his traveling attire, so he headed to the parlor for wine, but there was no way you could be seen in such a fine establishment as you were.
Finally sorting through the wardrobe Armin had chosen for you, you silently applauded his mother for instilling a good sense of feminine fashion within her son. You stripped down, tossed your dirty clothes on top of your luggage, and slipped a simple but decently-appropriate navy dress over your fresh undergarments. Unfortunately, before you had time to tame your hair, Armin informed you through the closed bedroom door that he and Eren were heading downstairs to find a table.
With time being less constricting, you allocated more attention to refining your appearance. After slapping your face with water and straightening every flyaway, you dabbed a little oil on your pulse points. Deeming your reflection respectable enough to be seen in high-class society, you stepped out of your new bedroom with your empty flute in hand to find Jean's back stretched over the sofa. He heard the door creak and peered over his shoulder with a sleepy smile. He nursed his own glass in his hand, but it was clear instead of gold.
"Look at you," Jean mumbled as he stood to greet you.
"Do you think this dress is enough? I know it isn't much, but–"
"You look perfect." He eyed the cart that waited near the entrance to the suite, then your empty glass. "Can I refill your water?"
"Actually, I would prefer another glass of wine."
"Were you not the one that wished to abstain from drinking when we are together?"
"I was, but a glass of wine will not kill me. It will loosen me up to make space for dinner."
Jean rolled his eyes but still stole your glass to fill. You sipped this second drink far faster than the first, as you were already reasonably late for dinner. If anything, the sips were more akin to chugs than anything else.
"Pace yourself," your dearest reminded. "Your last meal was hours ago."
"And what is the harm in a soft celebration? Not to mention, you poured my glass, so you are the only one to blame if I stumble."
"Then I will be the one to catch you," Jean said as he extended his arm for you to take. "Shall we go?"
Once your arms were well-locked, Jean led you back through the hallway before a grand stairwell. Even something as simple as a few dozen steps was the most splendid sight, with beautiful carpets and fine molding. All the artistry nearly distracted you from the breathlessness four flights stole from your lungs with each wonderfully decorated landing.
"It feels like a dream just to walk down the stairs," you noted once you were more than halfway down.
"A nightmare," Jean corrected in a huff. "No sane man would dream of walking down so many steps. The third floor would have been better."
"But you have to admit that the view is superb. I have never felt so small yet big all at once the way I did while looking from my window."
Jean added a half-hearted hum. "I do not enjoy heights. I fear the falling."
Your face contorted in disbelief. How quickly you slipped from Jean's hold to handle his ridiculous words from a distance. "Are you saying you don't like it here?"
"It is fine."
"Fine? Only fine? Not incredible? Not unbelievably perfect? I'm not sure I can even l imagine how spectacular dinner will be if this is how everything appears on the surface!"
"The food was decent the last time we were here, but I have cooked better for myself. There are too many frills. Too many sparkles. Too many costs. Too much."
"I would say it is well worth the price. Honestly, how can you find space to complain in a place like this?"
"Armin says that to be French is to complain. I prefer to say I am honest, but you can take his words to chew on until dinner."
"So, what? If the lake house were furnished half as nice as our room upstairs, I would never step outside again. Would you pick sleeping in one of the cabins over this, all because it is less expensive?"
Jean hit the final step, and with his feet firmly planted on the ground, he looked up to regard you just above. He softly smiled, offered you his hand to join him on the floor, and said, "Your cabins are cheaper, have a better view, and I would gladly share a stall with the horses as long as you were the one waking me each morning with an apple."
You gave an exaggerated scoff at his sweetness but took Jean's hand, matching his smile all the same. "Maybe to be French is to be obnoxious."
"Maybe it is, but I know you love it."
I know you love it, the words repeated internally, but no response flowed out from you. If Jean was testing the waters of your affection, the waves felt cold and still from your lack of warm reciprocation against his ankles, so he proceeded no deeper.
Did you love it? You indeed found humor in Jean's cantankerous nature, but you could also foresee how such a trait may turn bothersome as the years ticked on with anyone else. But with Jean? You could tolerate his complaints. With time, you may even grow to love them.
During the short, quiet hunt for the restaurant, you could not help but wonder if Jean was right about your feelings and if you should have answered your mother's question from last night differently. Maybe you did love his obnoxiously perfect romanticism, but it was too early for such a weighty word to be thrown around so lightly.
He may know your heart better than you ever could, but did you understand the truth hiding within his? Would you ever know without doing the impossible by breaking into his mind to read his thoughts? You had supposedly entered a few dreams where he appeared to love you, but sometimes dreams were just dreams. Nothing more.
When you finally stepped into the expansive hall, your noisy pondering went quiet, and it was unclear whether you passed another Circle of Heaven or a Circle of Hell.
You followed every angel carrying steaming chickens smothered with gravy or shiny shells that glittered under the many shimmering chandeliers that loomed like gods overhead. This distorted utopia of a dining room was loud with the chatter of its inhabitants, and their songs would have been so pleasant if they were not so overwhelming. The seemingly endless expanse condensed into nothing but an icy can of sardines. With so many people in the room, a similar panic from the night of the Springers' party filled your lungs again.
Jean must have sensed your growing anxiety–whether from the sweat pooling in your palm or the grayness forming over your face–and offered you a reassuring squeeze. His hand alone restored some lightness to your throat, but fear still crept up your skirts and made you desperate for something to numb the feeling.
Armin and Eren appeared seconds later at a table in the center of the room. The author flapped his hand above the crowd to call your attention, and Jean led you to the table before pulling out your chair as any gentleman would. He sat in the empty seat beside you, scooching it close enough that his knee knocked against yours. His pressure was greatly needed to keep you grounded amidst the chaos.
"Took you two long enough," Eren joked. "We were placing bets on how disheveled you'd both come here looking, and it looks like Armin owes me a dollar."
"Ah, yes, so very hilarious, Yeager. Have you ordered yet?" Jean asked.
Armin passed Eren a bill, then answered, "We have. I pray you don't mind, Y/n, but I took the liberty of choosing plates for everyone so something might be ready by the time you arrived, along with some hor d'oeuvres to start. I thought we could all share bites here and there, but if you would like something other than–"
"I'm sure whatever you ordered is wonderful." You searched the table, hoping to find a beverage to dull your senses, but you saw only water. "I can order some wine for the table, and I will repay you upstairs."
"Your money is no good here, my dear."
"Armin, please."
"What did I say earlier? It is rude to deny a friend's gift more than once! Besides, there is already champagne on the way."
"It is better not to fight with him over money," Jean whispered in your ear. "I will settle your debts when we return to London, but I cannot promise he will listen."
When we return to London, there was no question about it now: the reminder of an inevitable end turned gold to brass, and Hell had overtaken Heaven in this worldly hall.
The first part of the meal arrived at your table: a ring of a dozen dainty oysters with a center of freshly sliced lemon and a bottle of champagne paired on the side. While the rest of your group reveled in Eren's inability to suck down the slimy delicacy, you watched the dozen dwindle with each imaginary tick of the clock. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight... Until a dozen became just four.
You made no moves for the last few shells, although they were rightfully yours. Instead, you swallowed several glasses of champagne until the waiter brought out a second bottle. The sparkles of the chandeliers no longer glittered in your pupils, the pops of bubbles in your blood muffled the banging of your eardrums.
"There is more on the table than your glass. You need to eat," Jean attempted to pull you from your haze.
"I am loosening up, first," you somewhat slurred. "Stretching my stomach."
"If you drown your stomach in champagne, you will be loose enough to trip up the steps. Try your namesake, mon huître, or do you not enjoy oysters?"
"I don't know. Never had them before."
Armin gasped at your confession—his cheeks stained pink with inebriation because he had foolishly matched your drinking glass-for-glass. "Are you pulling my leg, my dear?! Have you truly never tried oysters before today?! Eren, was this your first time, as well?"
"I tried them once at my Aunt Faye's wedding. The texture sure as hell hasn't gotten any better, though... We live too far from the sea to trust seafood back home. You get the runs that way. That, or you die. Not sure which is worse."
"Oh, Y/n, my dear, you must try one then!" Armin shocked the shelled clock in front of your plate. "Our friend, Marco, had this saying about oysters. It was such a funny–"
"Stop," Jean cut his friend off.
Despite your fears, you leaned forward to ensure Jean's curtness did not stem from anger. You expected to find him seething at the mention of his departed friend, fullying preparing yourself to comfort him but instead found embarrassed cheeks glowing red through the ethereal light. Jean had not sipped so much as a single glass of champagne, so there was only one explanation for his hue: embarrassment.
"Let's hear the saying, Armin," Eren pushed further. "Don't let this spoil-sport ruin all the good fun."
"He does not need to–"
The blond giggled out an answer, "Marco used to say that the key to a good night was half-a-dozen oysters, a fine lady to share them with, and a big enough bed to enjoy the effects in! And then he would say something along the lines of... 'Oysters are a delicacy and an aphrodisiac, after all!'"
Armin's laughter turned to cackles, which made Eren mimic the breathless squawks. You silently watched Jean, waiting for his face to turn wounded and bitter, but the change never came. He only pinched the bridge of his nose as he winced in distress. Sensing no pain pooling in his sweet, soulful eyes, your drunken, foolish self leaned into the humor of it all.
"And these are my namesakes? An aphrodisiac? Could you be any less obvious?" you asked, and Jean shot a mortified glance through his corner.
Before he could speak, you stole an hour off the clammy clock. If Jean no longer mourned how time had wounded him and could live in the present without fearing the past, you would do the same for his sake.
Bracing yourself for the worst yet hoping for the best, you brought the shell to your lips and sucked down the inside to reveal a beautiful husk. Rich saltiness coated your tongue within a few chews in a homey familiarity. There was no fishiness to sour your palate–only a love for the sea. You swallowed, gave an approving nod, and stole another hour.
"That's disgusting," Eren groaned.
"Well, she must appreciate the texture if she is taking another," Armin noted to Eren. "How are they, my dear? All you could ever hope for?"
After you finished your second oyster, you answered, "Salty–like the sea–but there is a sweetness that I like. Tastes familiar."
"Familiar? Have you had mussels before? I suppose they have a similar flavor."
As you took another, you shifted back to Jean and studied him closely with wavering vision and thoughtful chews. You swallowed and said, "They taste like you. A bit sweet, but certainly salty." Mortification turned to confusion at your assessment while a bawdy smile pulled at your drunken lips. "Salty–like the sea. That must be why they named it semen." You let out a giggle before you finished the last shelled hour.
Mortification returned to Jean's crimson cheeks while Eren groaned across the table. Armin exploded with the most boisterous laughter you had the pleasure of hearing from the blond, and the room grew less dense with each eruption until only your small group existed. The closeness might have suffocated your beloved, but you desperately needed the world to turn small if you intended to have a good night.
"Oh, you might turn crass, but I do love it when you border on tipsy, Y/n!" Armin sighed as he wiped away some tears.
The reminder that you still had a half-full glass of champagne made you reach for your drink, but a hand covered the rim of the flute before you could lift the beverage.
"No more," Jean groaned, and he pushed his glass of water in front of you. "Only this. Drink."
"Yeah, you're done," Eren agreed.
"Why?" you whined. "I've only just begun to loosen up!"
"You should've thought about that before you started making me want to vomit all over the goddamn table. Kirstein, pass me the glass."
"Gladly." Jean confiscated the flute to hand off to his accomplice. Eren swallowed your drink, and you pouted as the golden liquid disappeared down his throat, and clear, tasteless water slid down yours.
From there, the actual courses found their way to your table: fatty duck, tender filets, seasoned potatoes, roasted squash, lemony asparagus, and so much more that you lacked the knowledge to put a name to. The sea of plates overwhelmed your senses again, and your faulty fingers only had the strength to reach for the warm bread and butter waiting inches from your plate.
Armin droned on about tomorrow's itinerary as he planned to take your group to the department stores for light shopping. You added an anecdote about how lovely his plans sounded as you stared longingly at the champagne flute gripped in the author's flushed hand. Every so often, Jean would nudge you with his knee to force something heartier off his fork and into your mouth.
"You need more than bread. Eat this, too," he ordered after a mouthful of squash. "Please, tell me you are more sober."
You rolled your buzzing lips together and shook your head. He continued to push mouthful after mouthful until dinner was little more than smears and crumbs over fancy porcelain. Even once the final custard pie was devoured, the currents of inebriation ebbed and flowed under your skin.
When your group finally left the dining room, Jean held you by the arm to better control your floundering steps. Your group split into pairs at the staircase because Eren apparently needed to explore the hotel's many other rooms before bed and dragged Armin along with him. Given your leg's fated looseness, you failed to hobble after them and instead crept up the stairs with giggles fluttering like butterflies in the breeze.
"Steady," Jean repeated for the millionth time, despite only just reaching the third floor.
"I am plenty steady. You don't need to carry me."
On cue, you nearly tripped over your skirt. You would have kissed the floor if it were not for Jean's grip on your biceps. "Only when your ankles agree with your mouth will I let you go."
This repetitive game continued up the two other flights and through the hall. Mentally, you tallied the unholy libations you indulged in during the two hours in this noisy paradise. Your looseness became more easily explainable once the imaginary lines ticked to seven.
And perhaps it was the aphrodisiacal aspect of the oysters taking hold or the sensuality of drinking champagne under spectacular chandeliers, but once Jean shouldered open the hall's final door, the dulling drunkenness mixed with another sensation: pulsating desire.
You were even more reckless when you entered the suite. Where Jean had dragged you along moments ago, you now attempted to pull him into his bedroom.
"Where is your weak body attempting to take me?" he asked with chuckles brightening his deep voice.
"To your lonely bed that screams for us to rough up the sheets. We have some time alone before we have company. Let's make some good use of it."
Jean pulled you away from damnation to favor the bar cart still waiting by the door. Instead of filling your old glass with wine, he poured it full of water and held it before your lusty eyes.
"Drink," was all he said.
A nasty frown tugged your lips down, but you complied with his demands, believing his appeasement would lead to a far more pleasurable outcome. Then, he refilled your glass and made you swallow enough water for your stomach to ache from fullness. When you could drink no more, Jean led you to your room instead of his. In the darkness, he sat you down on the bathtub's edge and found a rag to wet. He wiped your face clean and relaxed your hair despite all the protests that you were more than capable of refreshing your own appearance.
"You care for me, so I will care for you," he said after your final complaint. "Can you dress for bed, or do you need me to assist?"
"I only need you to help undress me, and then I can help you with your clothes. No need for dressing after."
"So you can dress yourself. Good. I hope you know that you are fortunate I am a man with self-control."
"Unfortunate," you corrected.
Jean chuckled again at your glowering; his nasty smirk glowed violet in the pale moonlight streaming from the washroom window. He disappeared and returned with one of your nightgowns in hand. "Stand and turn. I can loosen your corset before I step out."
You did as he said and felt his hands playing with your laces. His fingertips brushed over your clothed spine a few times, and the sensation was as good as any foreplay. The pent-up desire left you desperate to remove every barrier that blocked you from him.
"Why do you need to step out?" you whined when you could pull an unrestricted breath again.
"For you to change."
"You've already seen me entirely bare."
"That does not make that sight of you any less sacred." Jean's perfect hand squeezed your shoulder. "Yell for me if you get stuck or teeter over. I will wait beyond the door."
You did not turn to see him go, but slow footsteps and the click of the handle signaled Jean's respectful exit. You huffed out a tainted sigh as you shimmied off one outfit for another. You took care of the rest of your nightly routine and then piled your discarded gown and undergarments in one arm. With the other hand, you tore open the barrier to find Jean untucking your comforter for you to slide underneath it. Once he finished and noticed your state of dress, he gestured for you to lay down on the open sheets.
"You can't join me in here. If Eren–"
"I am not joining you," Jean silenced you. "You need to sleep off the wine, so get in."
"You are not using your brain, Mr. Kirstein. We had oysters, and now you have a fine bed and a woman to enjoy them with."
"Yes, I did have all those things until you decided to favor your wine over me. Each glass made your lips looser than the last. Eren did not need to know how I... I taste. Even I did not need to know..."
You discarded your clothes on the floor and stepped closer until your beloved could feel your breath on his chin. "Are you jealous of my glass' rim? And did I embarrass you with my loose lips? I offer my most sincere apology, but you did enjoy my loose lips well enough the other night," you teased. "You can enjoy them again if you'd like. I've slept all day and wouldn't mind staying up to show you how well worth the price these rooms can be." You added depth to your voice, saying, "Our neighbors may even start to believe they share walls with a brothel."
"You say too much for a girl who will forget this conversation in the morning." Jean leaned low enough to capture your lips without taking the last inch to ignite a fire under your dress. "Now, get in the bed before I throw you in."
"Do it. Throw me in. I won't go otherwise."
"You will go on your own."
"I won't. You'll have to give me a very hard toss."
It was easy for Jean to pick up your drunken form, as you lacked the control to fight him off. He carried you like a bride a few feet toward the bed, dropping you on the mattress with a soft thud. You giggled as he threw the blankets over your body. Your beloved painter planted a perfect peck on your forehead, and when he pulled away, you were met with pitch-black eyes that were darker than even the most dreamy abyss.
Even in the darkness, you were fascinated with how large Jean's pupils were as he traced your nose and lips. Despite gazing into the most profound pit of nothingness in a place so foreign to everything you knew, you had never felt so safe as you did right then. There were no dark winds to fear or prying eyes to enkindle anxious embers in your mind when it was only you and him.
Jean was warm as the sun and loyal to a fault. He has every right to reject you for your damaged, lecherous, embarrassing nature but chose to wash you clean and dress you in white with the purest intentions. He lives in Heaven's reflection of Treachery, you thought to yourself. Hell and Heaven mingled in that beautiful room, and you would gladly expire into either side if it meant Jean was there to swaddle you in silk sheets. You were alone with a man you cared for, and he cared for you. What better end for you was there than that?
"Close your eyes and sleep," Jean gave one last order before leaving, but you failed to follow his final instruction for some time.
Eren swept into the room a half-hour later, yapping your ear off about every wonderful sight the hotel offered. You did your best to listen, but with each superfluous detail about the artwork that covered the walls or the carpet that blanketed the floor, your eyes grew heavier until you finally fulfilled Jean's final wish. The yapping ceased, and you dwindled into almost nothing as the sound of rain filtered from the washroom.
You fell asleep to the rain, but slumber's sweet embrace did not hold long. You were awoken but thunder no more than an hour or so later, but the booms did not come from the sky. Eren, who you turned to find lying beside you with damp hair, snored horrendously loudly.
Close your eyes and sleep, Jean's earlier orders whispered under the snores, but each attempt you made to fall back asleep was in vain. Even forcing a pillow over your ears did little to silence the death rattles.
As you contemplated his final words in the darkest pit of tired thoughts, your drunken mind came to the hasty yet definitive conclusion that you were very much in love with Jean Kirstein. He may not attribute that same ardent sentiment toward you, and you may never say the world's most terrifying three words out loud to him, no matter how many wine bottles or shells you left empty in your wake, but you loved both his obnoxiousness and him as a whole.
Finally, you fell asleep with Jean's voice and a blissful feeling that deafened your hearing entirely. The silence was more wonderful than Heaven's greatest opera.
Unfortunately, due to every drink you swallowed in an attempt to celebrate and then to cope, you forgot not only half of last night's events by dawn but also the entirety of the internal declaration of your deepest, most honest truth. The migraine that split your head into two hemispheres was even further aggravated by Eren's early morning snoring, but it was good for one thing: last night would be the last time you would drink for the rest of the trip.
Author's Note: So I woke up at the ass crack of dawn to edit this before work... Honestly, it's gonna be a phat minute before I post again since I want to get another chapter out on my Eren fic and the next Summer chap will be decently long, but you aren't allowed to be mad because today is literally my birthday so be mad tomorrow 😈 Thank you all for being the best gifts I could ask for ilysm 💕