happy birthday to our birdie-loving artist. enjoy.
- 𓅪 -
now playing... possibility - lykke li
You've been having a hard time adjusting.
It's been one year since you began your new prophetic chapter here in the city of Liberio, Marley. A city right off the coast known for its piers, population, and university – the sole reason why you were here, sitting on a concrete bench watching the boats sail off to the west, where your old life resided. It was cold, that part never changed. Clouds harbored your sights with each passing hour, you wondered if the people here even knew of a sun. Naturally, it was always weather for a sweater or a scarf, or both as you were right now.
You weren't very accustomed to the cold, your whole life being warmed by Eldia's clear skies and the feeling of familiarity, all the opposite of change.
Your body was covered by the oversized brown leather jacket you had in the bottom of your suitcase, it was a gift from your father during one of the countless outings you went on in preparation for moving to Marley. You'll be right on the coast, he'd say, make sure you wear lots of layers. Next to you lay a small muffin wrapped in a napkin, baked freshly down the street. Around your neck lay a vintage scarf, which didn't do much unless you rested your chin right on top of it, as you were right now.
It was hard to read by the ocean currents, the wind demanding to be felt with each paper forcibly turned against your nimble fingers. It was even harder to write, the combination of the wind wanting to move on to the next page yet your mind, soul, hand, and everything else that came with the passage of writing simply could not follow at the same pace made for a battle each time you tried, the victor forever being nature.
If it wasn't for the loose braid resting on your slightly hunched back, more than just small strands of hair would be flowing in the wind. You couldn't deny that it felt nice in a sense to feel a wind, a force of air demanded to be felt - it reminded you that you still had feelings left to feel beyond the blank paper underneath you. You couldn't pinpoint why, but the second you realized so, you began to feel your eyes warm just like Eldian rays, just to water just like Marleyan coasts.
Tears slowly fell, your mascara-coated lashes rapidly blinking as the cold air now felt harsh against your nimble skin. The boats became blurry due to tears and smaller due to departure.
You felt blurry due to tears, and smaller due to departure.
One year has passed since you've been on the other side of the ocean, the other side that had another version of a girl who was lost somewhere along the way in this deep, translucent blue ocean. One year has passed and you held a standard beyond just academic validation, but academic excellence. That part hasn't changed, it was easy to focus on school when you didn't have anyone to talk to, or even somewhere to go. It was easy to fall back on school when nothing else was available to give you a sense of approval. Your nails traced around the small flowers painted on your trusty journal, the tips of your fingers feeling frozen against the cold surface. It wasn't a friend, one with warmth emitting through their skin, but it was comfort. Comfort from a small piece of bound, beige pages and obsidian ink filled with thoughts and words and feelings that could've been said out loud, but would have been wasted; no one would be listening anyway.
In a world full of people, wonders, and sights, with feet planted in the middle of it and eyes ready to embrace it all, you had nowhere to go.
You took a bite of your muffin in a threat to feel better, the lump in your throat just magnifying as it went down. You kept eating it, looking up at the sky to witness the seagulls flying right above the boats which were now just miniscule to sight. Cinnamon, the ones back home are better, you wrote. You force the forty-three or so encapsulated muscles to work against your will and move the curves of your skin-toned lips which began to feel tighter as the wet tears and cold wind met above them, hoping to feel something other than what you were feeling right now. Cinnamon, just like the ones we'd eat together, you wrote.
It was stupid, how such a small detail could bring back senses from another time in the form of taste and memories. How our bodies store such feelings and emotions that are only triggered with the slightest flavors such as a damn muffin from a random bakery you decided to walk into. It was stupid, how a year later, you found yourself with the same taste of yearning for a person as sweet as this cinnamon muffin, who probably hated you. It was stupid, but it was real. Real was enough to get your fingers to wrap around your trusty pen and hover above your trusty journal, obsidian ink appearing and bleeding through, just like the tears rolling off your cheek as they meet the same page.
It's like you could hear his laugh through the wind, hoping the same breeze could transcend a message you've longed to give across this ocean of verity;
I miss you, you wrote. You felt.
- 𓅪 -
You've been having a hard time adjusting.
To the silk, emerald seams that were being tailored to your body at this very moment, that is.
"How does this feel?" you hear Hitch ask lowly, her dainty fingers softly pinching around the cloth that rested on the dip of your waist. Her eyes look up to your absent ones through the reflection of her studio mirror, "Y/n?"
You blink a couple of times, "Sorry, what?" you ask, looking at yourself in the mirror before locking with her green eyes. Hitch raises a brow, "Daydreaming over there? I asked how this felt, the sides looked a bit too loose for my liking, but it's up to you."
"However looks better, I feel fine," you assure with a nod as you flash a small smile, your eyes becoming absent once again as they find a blurry spot in the mirror, which happened to just randomly be the wooden floor panel Hitch had stained with white candle wax. She squints her eyes empathetically, humming as she gets up, "Maybe I'll take some off just a bit... Sasha, how do you feel?"
"Like I'm the bride," the brunette gushes, her feathery soft auburn hair flying around as she spun in her freshly tailored dress, letting it flow with the rhythm of her two bare feet turning clockwise, "It's so snug, Nic probably won't be able to keep his hands off-"
"Okay! Who's next?" Hitch interrupts, looking around at the last remaining girl before herself, Annie. Their contrasting hues make contact with each other through the same mirror you were lost in, causing Annie to shift slightly as she gets up sluggishly from the thrift couch. Placing her hands inside the back pockets of her low-rise jeans, she mutters, "Guess that would be me."
Somewhat like you, Annie was still adjusting to the group. Her only association was being Armin's girlfriend for almost a year, though the group never made it feel as if that was the only reason to familiarize themself with her. Both Armin and Annie shared a quiet aura within their corresponding personalities, but Armin's felt soft, and Annie's felt strong. Her gaze was sharp, and her lips were naturally in a pout, which always left you wondering if she was mad at something you did. Nevertheless, the girls welcomed her as if they knew her from the start.
Hitch runs to grab the plastic-covered dress, placing one hand lower than the other to make sure it wouldn't drag on the floor, "Okay, yours was a bit tricky due to your height, but I think I managed to make it perf," she mentions as she hangs it on the wall behind the wooden chinese dressing screen. Annie slowly walks behind it, Hitch's eyes reverting to you, "So, how's it going at Levi's?"
Slowly walking away from the mirror you play with your charm bracelet as you shrug, "Good, tips are always nice when I wear ribbons in my hair or if I just flash a big smile," you half joke, a small smile appearing as you recollect the few times that's happened.
"Being pretty gets you very far," Sasha strides by you, turning you back to face the mirror once again, "But you're stunning, which gets you even further."
You smile as you feel her chin rest upon your shoulder, "God, I can't believe we're bridesmaids. Bridesmaids! Seems like yesterday we were teasing Mikasa over her obvious crush on Eren."
"It wasn't that obvious," Mikasa chimes as she surprisingly enters Hitch's studio, which was not really a surprise to everyone else – she had a bad habit of leaving her doors unlocked. You all turn to greet her and her belly, which is shown beautifully with a fitted cream dress and a light pink cardigan, alongside that familiar red scarf.
"Mika!" you, Sasha, and Hitch say in unison, Mikasa's eyes landing on the dresses you had on. Her hands lightly cover her lips in shock, "They're exactly how I imagined they'd look like..."
The blonde playfully rolls her eyes, "Oh you know, had to somehow step up my game for the royal wedding."
That wasn't far from the truth, as the Jaeger family was very well known in Rose district, let alone all of Eldia. Mikasa and Eren's wedding would be full of many known families, as well as their beloved friends – a mixture of the two worlds will be an interesting sight to see. You, coming just from both, knew that to be very true.
Annie finally steps out from behind the screen, her posture sluggish as she reveals her dress – each one has the same shade and print, though their cuttings are slightly different. While Annies was swayed to only have one strap, Sasha's was an off-the-shoulder type. Yours, on the other hand, has thin straps tied to the front of a deep curved neckline, with the back slightly exposed. As Mikasa gazed at her bridesmaids' appearances, her eyes kept tethering back to yours, "Gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous."
"Well, let's see yours Hitchie," Sasha says as she lightly pushes Hitch, suddenly becoming shy, "No no, we're focusing on your guys' dresses."
"As maid of honor, I command you to get dressed," Sasha protests, making Mikasa giggle, "As the bride, I too command this."
Hitch's mouth opens defenselessly, looking towards Annie, then you. You shrug your shoulders with a small smile, while Annie simply states, "We're all in them. It's only fair."
Hitch sighed in defeat, walking towards her room, which was only a few steps away. Her studio was small, most of it consisting of the kitchen-living room space and a room with one connected bathroom. Hitch made it work, every space not being wasted with posters of her favorite Vogue covers and runway models, vintage Gucci campaigns, and New York landscapes. The floor was relatively clean, except for the wax in the corner of a decorative candle she accidentally kicked when she was one too many drinks in on boxed wine, and the pile of unopened packages that were covered with whatever jacket she wrote that day. Most of her living room consisted of her work, the big antique mirror with a chipped gold border around the corners, and the little step stool she had her clients on as she tailored them during her evenings outside of work. Her studio was straight out of a 2000s romcom with a protagonist from Manhattan who had no idea what she was doing with her life – it was her mindset, after all.
A few minutes pass, and she walks out with the same patterned dress, though hers was supported around her neck in a halter fashion, while her back was exposed in a deep curved cut sitting on her lower waist. It was relatively loose, though thanks to her short bob and a physique sharp around the curves, it made up for it all too well. You could not help but look down at yours, wondering for a guilty millisecond if you looked just as good. It was a millisecond too long of thought, as you felt your blinks become slow in the realization of it.
Hitch's expression became shy as she slowly turned around, "So... what do you think?"
Her bright emerald green eyes peek through the few strands of hair that cover her face, capturing everyone's eager nods and smiles, until they land on yours. They felt as if they pierced for an answer, which you subconsciously obliged, "You look amazing, Hitch," you say, and a slow, reassuring nod emerged.
"You'll turn heads for sure in that," Sasha comments, making Hitch hum in amusement, "Stop," she jokes playfully, "I just wanna turn one head."
"Mm?" Sasha cocks a brow, "Finally giving Marlowe a chance?"
Mikasa laughs at that, making Hitch roll her eyes, "No, not him. I didn't mean someone specifically," she backtracks hesitantly, her head becoming low as she plays with the tips of her pastel pink nails, "I just mean, one person would be just fine, you all already have yours."
Hitch goes up front to the mirror, continuing, "It would make for a cute love story, don't ya think?"
Her eyes then averted to you, "How did you meet Reiner, Y/n?"
Her question surprises you, blinking a couple of times, "I met him back in my university days, I think I told you guys the night of your party-"
"Yeah, I was pretty fucked up," Hitch mentions, tucking both sides of her hair behind her fairly pierced ears, "But... how? Was it special?"
You were never one to overtly share the details of your life as conversation starters or as a topic at all; the attention it brought and people's perceptions made you uneasy because of it. That's why writing came so easy to you when it was time to share a story, but even through written words, the story of how you met Reiner still felt hard to tell – not because it was complex, but because of how it has grown to be where it is now.
"Tell me, are you the loner I've heard so much about?" he says, voice slightly raised amid crashing waves and howling winds.
"Depends on what you've heard."
"In a way," you began, hesitant with your wording, yet still truthful, "It was anything but expected, for me at least. He said he always knew we would end up together."
That was true, Reiner was always so sure of that, it made you smile each time you faced doubt. The doubt became frequent, and the words eventually had less of an effect in the face of the actions of now. You left that part out – it didn't fit with Hitch's narrative of you and Reiner, or even yours.
She gives you a heartfelt smile, "Such a lucky girl you are Y/n, really."
She says it mindlessly, quickly averting her attention towards Annie, Mikasa, and Sasha having their own conversion, while you hang around Hitch's words that were left in the air, with no response from you. Is that how you were seen, as a lucky girl?
Lucky? Anything but luck.
It was easy to accept a compliment when it derived from a version of you that was simply not true. It's like thanking on behalf of someone who wasn't present, though the absence wasn't known by anyone but yourself. That was the hard part. This was the part that lingered within you, the part that wished you could take such a simple compliment, yet your anything-but-simple mind could not accept it – it simply wasn't you, but someone you really wished you were.
Three harsh knocks against the wooden front door and a small creak as it was opened by none other than Connie Springer and his best friend, a taller figure who had his hands fitted inside his pockets, Jean Kirstein.
"What's u-" Connie begins, his voice loud enough to be heard by the next five neighbors down the hall.
"Connie!" Hitch yells, shoving him out while the rest of you try your best to cover the dresses you had on, "Get out!"
The top of his shaved head gently hits Jean's chin, making him rub it with one calloused hand, "You always have your door unlocked Hitchy, why are you kicking us out all of a sudden?" Connie yells through the now-closed door.
"Yeah yell that out for everyone to hear, idiot," Hitch rolls her eyes, "I have the girls in here in their dresses for the wedding, so sorry, no peeking."
Jean's eyes pique up, wondering if girls meant you too, on the other side of this thin, wooden door. Connie sighs, "Does it matter? It's not like me and Jean are the groom and you guys are the brides."
Your eyes pique. Alongside another.
Hitch turns to Mikasa as her head turns with some agreement towards what Connie said. Mikasa yells out, "I want all outfits as a surprise until the day of the wedding!"
Connie rolls his head back with slight annoyance in his eyes, "Guess we'll just tell them later."
Suddenly the door creaks open just an inch, enough for a bright, emerald green eye to peek through, catching a smirk from Connie, "Tell us what?"
"Well, you see," Connie begins, "It's been a while since I've hosted my classic con man ragers with everyone getting their lives together and whatnot..."
"By ragers do you mean us hanging out at your house until we have to tuck you into bed because you get so wasted?" Sasha asks, making you giggle softly.
"Maybe," Connie responds defensively, "Look, it's been a while since we've had everyone together, now with Y/n too."
"Alight, when do you want us there?" Hitch asks, closing the door once again.
"Tomorrow night. Just bring some bottles please, I only have half a bottle of tequila."
"Byob, got it." Hitch clicks her tongue, "See ya."
Connie looks proud as he begins to walk away, noticing how Jean hasn't followed, "You comin'?"
"Yeah..." Jean began, slowly walking beside his friend. Connie pats his shoulder, "Sorry you couldn't get a peek at Hitch," he says, failing to finish his sentence before bursting into laughter. Jean shakes his head, "Shut up..."
Jean looks down at his feet, the creaked door in his brain, replaying in slow motion. He swore, just above the golden head of Hitch, he saw a reflection in the mirror he helped her bring up to her loft. He swore he caught a glimpse of a certain charmed bracelet on the arm of a certain person he piqued to see.
He demanded his brain to erase the memory, to not try to make out how you looked, especially in such a dress. He felt like waiting on his own will this time – as he came to know just how finally seeing after such a wait felt.
- 𓅪 -
now playing... welcome and goodbye - dream, ivory
You've been having a hard time adjusting.
You were walking once again on the gravel path towards the dock, this time with the cusp on the connection between the sun and the moon; sunrise. It's become a routine, really; wake up in an empty room with boxes on the corner collecting dust, just enough wardrobe in the closet to get about the weather outside, slowly rise to get ready for the three or four classes you had in the day. You'd get back to your place, a small apartment near campus, with nothing but your copper key and a lonesome face to enter. Somewhere, somewhere between this tiresome routine and an even tiresome soul, there was always a sunrise to look out for. Something to look forward to.
So you did.
It was weird. Above, just like the waters in front of you, it was clear. It was clear and easy to see. Waves are easy to see; they're big and they're apparent. Yet, just as if a human was present, they were caused by the friction of what could not be seen; forces of winds. The same ones that push against the pages of your book whenever you read here. The same ones that make your face feel even colder when you can feel tears roll off your skin.
Yet, deep down, it's all a blur. It was dark, with no waves for anyone to see.
You slouch a bit once you sit down on a similar concrete slab. No book, no cinnamon muffin, no vintage scarf to accompany you today. Just yourself. Just you and some waves.
Your cold hands lay on top of your bootcut jeans, one cupping the other. You only wore a gray long-sleeve, immediately regretting the decision. Your eyebrows couldn't help but stitch closely together as you looked out at the dock, the wind was becoming harsh with each wave that crashed against the surface.
Small blinks of an eye. Slow, small blinks of the eyes.
Slowly, slowly, and done. They don't blink anymore, they stay shut. You stay still. You recall that one time. You almost moved at how embarrassed you were, the day you so stupidly jumped into the cold, dark, water in the creek. You could feel as if the water was still in your body, and you could remember the moment you were pulled right out.
No one would be here to pull me out, you thought.
The waves would pull me right in. In the blink of an eye, I'd be right down with the water, for no one to see.
Your eyes opened.
You realized just how lucky you were that night.
The sun was apparent in its rising now. You'd hoped you feel the same way too... eventually.
- 𓅪 -
"I can't believe it's been a month since I last saw you..." Pieck sighed, her voice slightly muffled as she shifted from her bed; it was nearly 9 p.m. in Marley. You could only half smile at the fact, responding with, "Yeah, times are flying pretty fast."
You placed your phone on top of your vanity and leaned against an old jewelry box so the camera was facing toward your frame for Pieck to see. You take a few steps back, revealing your outfit of the night; a white babydoll top, with short sleeves that rested elegantly on your shoulders. Paired with some jeans and wine-red flats, you twirl to show Pieck.
"Super cute, where'd you get that top?", she asks, her face lopsided as it was not resting against her pillow. "Not sure, it's pretty old."
She hums, noticing how you paced a bit, your eyes scanning your body as you looked at the vanity mirror behind your phone. You played with your hair, putting it up and down, not with curiosity, but with frustration.
Her gaze softens, "You look beautiful."
You look back down at your best friend, through your phone and across the ocean, "Thank you, I miss you."
Pieck yawns, "I miss you more. Have fun tonight, for me," she says with a small smile on her face. You nod.
The call ends, and you grab your silver key and handbag as you walk out of your apartment. It was fresh out, and as usual, many people were walking on the streets. The lampposts had just turned on, and the sun was softly resting on top of the mountains.
Hitch's place wasn't too far from your own, it was just more into the city. That fitted her well.
Your hair slowly swept back with each step you took, and your eyes scanned around the streets and passersby. You take a turn to another busy street, where you see a familiar face.
"Y/n, hey!" Connie says, waving at you as you are still walking towards him. You wave back, "Hey."
Connie was a similar, but mature version of himself compared to the one you knew years ago. He still wore the old 90s anime shirts, the ones that were baggy on his slim body. He still wore the beanies whenever his shaved head got cold. However, he did end up getting those tattoos he always talked about during lunch; a sleeve with roses and other images you couldn't really make up. He ended up getting his ears pierced as well, you recalled how his strict mom said she wouldn't let him until he was out of the house.
"So, heard you've been working at Levi's" he mentioned as you both were now walking to Hitch's place. His voice was slightly awkward, you two were never the closest. You nod, "Yeah, it's not as bad as you'd think it would be having Levi as your boss," you confess, making him chuckle, "Yeah, you're not wrong about that. I worked there for a bit after high school."
Your eyes raise in amusement, "Really?"
He nods, a small smile creeping on his face as he walks with his hands inside his ripped jeans, "We all did at one point; Sasha and I in the summer, Mikasa always helped her cousin out here and there, so Eren naturally followed. Marco and Jean worked not too long ago. But it was only because they ended up cracking a window."
"What?" you asked, Connie nodding in confirmation, "Yeah, you know that statue in the corner, the one of a tree? Marco sculpted it. He and Jean were carrying it into the shop when it accidentally hit a window, causing it to crack. I thought it looked cool!"
"I can only imagine how pissed Levi was," you mention, a small chuckle erupting from your lips. "So, what are you up to now?"
"Right now, well..." he began, "Not much. I'm working at a law firm."
This time you stop in your tracks, him following confused, "Really?"
"Yeah, it's pretty cool I found a firm right after passing the bar," he says nonchalantly, "Hours are gruesome though."
"I have to say, I'm shocked," you admit, slowly walking once again. Connie gets a chuckle out of that, "Yeah, it wasn't my first choice, but it felt like the right one."
You walked silently, looking down at your wine-red flats, "What did you initially want to do?"
"Honestly, I wasn't so sure," Connie's hazel eyes looked up at the sky that was now becoming dark with each passing minute, "It felt like I was the only one who wasn't sure what I wanted to do. You leave, Jean and Marco being the artists they are, Mikasa and Eren following their parent's footsteps, hell, even Sasha finding something that aligned with what she loved. Then there was me."
You stare at your friend, the funny one who is constantly in shit, and then some, with an expression so different from before; the same, yet mature. Connie smiles, "But, I realized what is meant, naturally finds its way to you...at least I'd like to think of it like that. Who knows, I could be doing all this for no reason, and all I'll be left with is a shit load of debt."
You couldn't help but chuckle at that, adjusting your purse as it hung over your shoulder, "I'd like to think that way too."
I really want to.
You arrive at Hitch's studio, the windows from outside showing a good amount of people in what was the living area. The corner was encapsulated with dainty fairy lights and a few potted plants. Connie opens the door for the both of you, letting you walk in first.
"Heyyy!" Hitch yells, the end of her words being slurred, "Connie and Y/n are hereee!"
You hear a bunch of heys as you scan the room, seeing just about everyone there. The kitchen had all sorts of bottles and small food arranged around them, Hitch's TV playing Tame Impala.
"I love those flats Y/n," Hitch says as she drags you to the kitchen pouring you a glass of champagne, "Oh, thanks," you muttered, at both the flats and the glass. Hitch finishes hers, beginning another round, "God, I needed this, work has been killing me."
"A lot of clients?" you asked, swirling your glass. Hitch nods, smacking her glossy lips, "The worst. My boss has us working with the most snobby customers, all of them wanting whatever the latest style is, which I get, but where's the originality? It's your wedding for fucks sake."
You raise your brows in amusement, which only invites Hitch to lean against her counter as she continues, "It's just tedious work, but tedious work in the same style? Yeah, no thanks. Makes me grateful Mikasa gave me freedom on the bridesmaid's dresses – which by the way, you like?"
You nod, looking around at the food platters, "Yeah, it's beautiful."
Hitch stands up, now leaning on the table you were at, right in front of you. Your eyes look up to hers; Hitch is a really pretty girl. The most emerald of eyes naturally blushed expression, and soft blonde hair that framed her face so nicely. She was short, and had a figure that hugged well with whatever new fashion statement she wore; tonight it was a short, silk slip dress in a bright pink color. Above all, she was the life of a party, if she was there, heads were bound to turn.
She gets closer, "But, do you like in on you?"
Her question catches you off guard, making you take a sip out of nervousness and a lack of answer, "It's just, I saw the way you were looking at yourself in the mirror, I see it all the time in fittings."
"I know we are not close, and it could be the fact that I am very much tipsy at the moment, but I'd hate for you to feel that way."
You wondered if even the most fatefully created girls like Hitch felt like that, a wonder that felt so teenager and immature, but so deep and embedded into your being. Either way, it felt too transparent for you, making you subconsciously take a step back, giving those fake smiles you always had in store, "Thank you, Hitch."
You left her still leaning against the table, her acrylic nails struggling to grab those small blocks of cheese that were on a wooden board, looking across the room where everyone hung out. She sees how everyone laughs, dances, and connects in her living space; it makes her happy. Hitch was well aware she was a life of a party, that she could turn heads. However, she was also very well aware, so painfully aware, that she couldn't tilt the head up of the one she wanted the most.
"You stare even more and you might come off as a creep."
Eren mutters by the corner of the living space, right next to Jean, who slightly jumps at his words, "Shut up."
He couldn't help but laugh as he coughed, making Jean even more pissed, "We might be friends, but your laugh still irritates me."
"Just be grateful I didn't say it loud enough for your... What was that nickname you gave her?" Eren smirks, seeing how Jean's eyes slowly turn to give him a sharp side-eye, "Shut up."
Never in a million years would Jean tell Eren, a friend and enemy in one, about the nickname he gave you. It was only by stupid luck, something Eren had possessed in him, that he found out. He hasn't let it go since.
"No really, what was it," Eren ponders, his mouth downturned as his brown brows slowly stitched together, "Bunny? No, that's kinda weird..."
"Birdie," Jean mutters before he takes a sip of his whiskey, "Now seriously, shut up."
He notices how you floated from group to group, staying with Mikasa and Sasha as they were on the couch, you sitting on the armrest with your legs gracefully crossed. He could tell you were trying to engage in their conversation, but your eyes struggled to rest in it. They scatter around, accidentally locking with his.
Shit.
Jean felt his face become hot but gave you a small smile nevertheless. You return the favor, your free hand making a soft wave motion. Eren waves too, between the teeth that grinned he says, "God you two are still the same."
Jean couldn't help but smirk at that, "Shut up," he says once again, with small amusement in his tone.
You were on your third glass of champagne, courtesy of Hitch, who was now asking Mikasa about her honeymoon, "So, any locations in mind?"
"Yeah, our house," Mikasa responds between her bites of a muffin, adjusting herself on the couch, "You forget I'll be having a baby around the same time."
"You forget that your kid will have a bunch of aunties to help around," she says. Mikasa only shakes her head, "We'll probably go on one when she's about three months or so."
"Jean says France is really pretty in the summer," Hitch mentions, "Jean! Come over here."
Both Jean and Eren go towards your group, Jean patting Hitch's head, "What's up Hitchhiker?"
"You're the traveler here, what are some nice places to go to in the summer? For Eren and Mikasa's honeymoon!"
"Our honeymoon?" Eren repeats, looking at Mikasa's expression, who only mouthed "Just go with it."
"I'd say France but knowing how Jaeger sweats it's probably not the best idea," Jean mentions, "So maybe alongside a coast."
"Marley is alongside a coast," Sasha mentions, "Right Y/n?"
You nod, being brought into the conversation you felt more content to see just play out, "Mhm, but the weather is pretty depressing."
"Really?" Sasha asks, to which you just nod, "I agree with Jean, France is beautiful in the summer, specifically in Cannes."
"How so?" Hitch's curiosity piques, crossing her self-tanned leg over the other. There was only one answer;
"The sunsets," your voice mended in with Jean's, in harmony that made you slightly embarrassed. He hums, "Sorry."
"Especially by the beach," you add, "I visited with my fiance's family around... two years ago?"
"How sweet," Hitch responds, "So you're close with his family? Sorry, that's probably a given."
Mikasa closed her eyes, knowing it was too good to be true for drunk Hitch not to overstep. Or sober Hitch.
That question, unbeknownst to everyone, held a different weight to it.
"Well, they were the only people I knew in Marley, besides Reiner and my best friend," you explain, "... and eventually lived with them my last year of college. I owe them for taking me in when I had no one."
The Reiner family, just like your own, were well respected in their societal worlds. They had the name, and the money, and with that comes standards. Standards pushed upon their own son, and eventually, his fiance. Despite that, Mr. Braun was someone you didn't see as much, like a true head of a family. He was only that in public; the real head was Mrs. Braun, a woman that was too-
You blink, not wanting to think anymore about it.
Jean walks away to put his glass in the sink, making sure to rinse it. Your eyes trail with him, being brought back to the group as you hear Sasha ask, "Who's this friend!"
"Oh," you began, a small smile thinking of your friend who was probably sound asleep by now, "Her name is Pieck, we met..."
The night was getting late, and everyone was more tipsy than ever. Hitch, Connie, and Sasha were dancing along to Just Dance YouTube videos on the TV, a horrible attempt at that. Mikasa and Eren were starting to pick up any empty glasses and plates, while Annie and Armin talked to Marlowe, Jean, and Marco. You sat on the now empty couch, just watching as Connie fell in the middle of a spin, turning it into a breakdance.
You sink into the couch, watching just how everyone was talking to each other, how they shared each smile, each chuckle, each moment. You found yourself as just a wallflower – you struggled to feel wanted here, to feel like you fit in with them. You stared down at your half-empty glass, the clearness within the champagne and how it reflected upon the light above it.
It was a hard gulp and an even harder look. Your mind begins to think about your life, your life outside of this place.
This isn't my life. Not anymore.
One month has passed, and you felt more lost than the girl who sat at the brink of the pier, looking across the ocean for the place she now stood at, years later.
That alone was enough for your chest to ache, and your body to get up, you scanned rapidly. Your eyes scanned all around, your vision became blurry, and your breath felt rapid. You had no choice but to go out to the balcony of Hitch's studio, the gust of the crisp air nightfall felt like a cool blanket on your raw skin.
now playing... this is me trying (the long pond studio sessions) - taylor swift
(i beg you to please listen to this specific version when reading! in flawless playlist.)
It hits you so suddenly, this agonizing feeling you've had derived in you for who knows how long. The younger you were, the easier it was to ignore. As the days passed though, it only became more apparent.
You placed your glass onto the little end table of the balcony, looking back at your friends who had no care in the world, then back to the city, the city that was calling your name this whole time. The place where it all started, the place that across oceans and ages, called for you to be here right now. The reason, well, you weren't quite sure.
In a subconscious attempt to make you feel better for the choices you made in the past seven years, you weren't sure if this was fate fucking with you, bringing you here to only make you feel worse.
You closed your eyes, desperately searching for an answer as to why you were here at this very moment.
"I thought you had left."
There it was.
You quickly blink your eyes and no longer lean on the balcony, only to hear footsteps coming towards your side, no need to turn around. Jean leans against the balcony as well, and you catch a glimpse of his chiseled jaw and soft, brown eyes staring aimlessly at the starry sky.
"I needed some air," you explain, mimicking his position, "The champagne got to me once I stood up."
He only chuckles at that, playing with his thumb, "I don't want to overstep, but I need to ask, Birdie."
Your heart races once you see his eyes finally looking up to see your blank expression, and his body leaning towards you, those eyes aimed right towards you, only you.
You felt nervous, so nervous only a small "Hm?" coming from your lips. He stares at them, feeling his own self becoming nervous at your expression, just waiting for his voice to return.
"What is in that head of yours, that makes it seem like you want to run the first chance you get?"
It was probably too blunt, so Jean thinks. He wasn't sure if it was the whiskey from his half-full glass, or the piquing, aching curiosity to step into the mind of someone who constantly harbored him. He needed to ask – because he so desperately wanted you to let him in.
You contemplate. You feel a lock and a key, and they come together. Together, they come undone.
"I've...been having a hard time adjusting."
Alone, they open.
"Adjusting to what, Birdie?" his voice, raw as moonlight and soft as nightfall. It travels through you, all over, and adjusts itself inside that little crack in the door, his eyes daring not to look away. He didn't want to look away.
You were adjusting to the fact that you weren't that girl anymore; the one with wide eyes, young aspirations, and hope that only derives from someone who has yet to live out their years. Sure, it wasn't many years, you were well aware that your life was just starting, yet it felt like it was falling right before you could ever fly. You weren't sure what hurt most, falling straight down with pinned wings or the fact that you thought you'd soar with them in the first place. You couldn't adjust to the fact that maybe, just maybe, all that you wanted, the things you worked so hard for – the idea of contentment, the idea of acknowledgment, the idea of finally being good, wasn't what you needed. You couldn't adjust to the idea, the feeling, the realization that comes with regret.
Wants are constructed by what the mind thinks is good, but it isn't always what the soul needs to be happy.
"I, I don't know," you respond, feeling your voice become fragile. Dare he even carry it, dare he not drop it?
"I feel, I feel like I don't belong here, to be honest. Not anymore," looking out to the city, "I'm not this girl you all knew, and I'm not this girl that is in Marley. I'm a friend, I'm a daughter, I'm a soon-to-be wife, but I don't know who I am to myself."
Your words came easily in the face of Jean Kirstein. They might cast themselves as something different, and play out into something else, but they always come out in the end as the bare truth. A bare truth you couldn't even tell yourself, but you found it so natural to tell him.
"That girl doesn't belong here anymore," Jean responds, coming closer. He looks at those eyes, they're like a labyrinth. He carefully walks through them, "That girl left, a long time ago."
"Do you miss her?" you ask, looking at his expression before his words could answer. They stay the same.
"Always."
"Me too."
"But the one that's in front of me," he gets even closer, daring himself to place his hand on yours as it rests on the balcony. His skin was slightly calloused but warm. It felt so different on your own, you couldn't help but hear your breath hitch. Above all, you didn't move it.
So he doesn't move.
He dares himself to grab it, lifting it up, those cherry red nails gleaming in front of him, "She belongs anywhere she goes. You always have a place here, Birdie, with everyone. With me."
It's like the same winds from the ocean before, the ones that made your very eyes tear up, transcended to this very moment, through a night filled with stars, hopes, and dreams – all dying out and being reborn at the same time.
"You can miss the version that's left of you, but you can't let it stop you from the one you're going to become," Jean says, "I know that better than anyone."
"I'm trying," you confess, your thumb subconsciously rubbing against his. He only smiles at that, "That's all we can do."
You stay silent, one nod as you look down at your hands, slowly letting go of his. Jean immediately does the same, missing it in an instant. He grabs a pack of cigarettes in his pocket, placing it between his lips. You stare at him, how carefree he was with everything he did. You couldn't help it, he had an own labyrinth of his own.
He turns to face you, wide-eyed, "Sorry, should've asked. Do you mind if I?" he says, cigarette still between his lips. You shake your head rapidly, "No, no. You're fine."
"Actually," you began, "Do you have an extra?"
"Huh," he says, immediately bringing out his pack, "Didn't think you were much of a smoker."
"I'm not," you smile, "But I didn't think you were either."
"Guess we both have a lot to learn about each other," you respond, placing the cigarette on your own lips.
A small click comes from his lighter as he lit up both of your cigarettes at once, the tips of your noses mere centimeters away. You look at his lashes, his brows furrowed, and his eyes sparking with the fire, smoke slowly rising to the sky. The smell was strong, but it wasn't too bad.
You don't apologize for that, for any of what you said – it was the truth or rather the beginning of the truth. That was all Jean wanted. It was all he needed.
It was late, almost everyone had left, except for you and Mikasa. Hitch was out for the night, sleeping on her bed covered in countless outfits. Connie and Jean had left right after carrying her to her room. Eren went to say goodbye to Armin and Annie, walking them out and waiting outside for Mikasa.
"Does it always go down like this?" you ask Mikasa, cocking your head towards the hallway. She only sighs, which makes you laugh. You two were cleaning up, folding blankets, locking windows, and turning off the lights.
"Her motto is you have to be the most wasted at your party," Mikasa explains, "Which happens to be most of them... but we know it's because she wants us all together. It's been harder to do that over the years."
"Yeah, I can imagine," you respond, looking around, "Well, I think that was all of it-"
You were interrupted by Hitch barging out her door, running to the bathroom that was just across from it. You and Mikasa immediately look at each other, "Stay here, I'll be right back," she says.
"Are you sure?" you ask, to which she just gives a reassuring nod. You grab your purse, and Mikasa's scarf as you just wait in the now empty room. It was odd to see it so silent, just an hour ago being the exact opposite.
You turn to see that mirror and your reflection. Slowly looking down, and back up.
"It's okay, it's okay," you hear Mikasa tell Hitch. You couldn't help it, Mikasa wasn't very mobile at the moment to handle Hitch, who was most likely throwing up all she took in tonight. As you walked closer to the hallway, you heard cries.
"Hun, c'mon let's get you back to bed," you heard Mikasa say, "You have nothing to be sorry about."
You stop before the door, hearing how Hitch was crying over something else.
"I know, but," Hitch sniffles, "I just wish I could tell how much I like him, Mikasa."
"I want Jean to see me as more than a friend. I want to be more than friends."
Your heart stops.
"What do you think, hm?" Hitch asks between cleaning up her mascara-stained cheeks. Those eyes pleaded for Mikasa to answer.
"I, I don't know what to tell you, Hitch," Mikasa confesses, "Jean has said it before, he doesn't see himself with anyone."
Your heart drops, and your eyes widen. You look down at your nails, they linger with the smell of sparks.
"But I can try, right?" Hitch asks, looking at herself in the mirror, smiling, "Yeah, I can try."
That's all we can do.
- 𓅪 -
thank you for reading. thank you for staying.
socials, playlist, and visuals in bio.
see ya in the next one - lex <3