𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 | 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧

𝐗𝐗𝐗 : 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 *

Content Warnings: Sexual Content

. . .

Before you left the grove, you stole a decent bundle of cedar to take home, along with a few final kisses. You sent Jean back to the Yeagers' house to sleep rather than accompany you and Mr. Arlert to the lake, which you quickly came to find was the wisest choice you had made in months.

Had your lover come, Niccolo would have beat him senseless in the fiery rage you ignited the moment you walked in the door. Your dearest received enough battering for the rest of the summer. Maybe even the rest of his life.

You had pulled out all the best arguments: logical reasonings as to why it made sense for Jean to return due to him paying for the space; ethical reasonings that the Frenchman had grown much more tolerable since Niccolo's trip to the city; and lastly, the emotional reasonings that you deserved to live normally with everyone you had come to know throughout this summer and all the previous ones because so much time had already been stolen.

To ensure Niccolo did not catch on to the selfish and salacious intentions behind your beggings, you threw Eren into the conversation every few minutes. You missed your oldest friend; you deserved to spend time with him; he would depart for college in late September, and you would not see him until Christmas–unassuming anecdotes like those.

Mr. Arlert watched you plead the case in the entryway from the parlor sofa. Words formed behind his blue eyes as you struggled for victory, but his secrets remained trapped behind a chewed bottom lip. Perhaps it was because he understood how pointless this fight was. Words were worthless when whining on deaf ears.

You might have lost your voice for some time, but Niccolo had lost his hearing to match. Then again, Niccolo had always been a stubborn creature. Although he would let you go out and walk now, he would not bend on other matters so easily once his mind was made.

"No! Absolutely not!" Niccolo blared, his face redder with every protest he threw at you. "I have said it once, and I will say it a thousand times until it sticks: under no circumstances am I allowing either of those idiots back in this house! And you will not leave this house without my supervision from now on, Y/n! I swore to look after you, and that's what I plan to do!"

"But–"

"No! For the last time, no!" And Niccolo stormed off into the safety of the kitchen. Thunderous steps shook the house the further he went, and you were left standing still as stone in the entryway.

Tomorrow, or maybe even as early as dinner, Niccolo would act as though he never raised his voice to you and that all was well. You probably wouldn't even receive an apology. He would carry on with his life, disregarding how he obstructed yours. How inwardly furious that made you–knowing that everyone had the freedom to move forward while you remained frozen in place.

Having no option but to grin and bear Niccolo's nature, you drifted into the parlor and threw yourself onto the sofa beside Mr. Arlert.

"What would you have me do?" the author asked when you were within whispering distance. "If Jean cannot come here, then how do we proceed? Should I sneak you out through the window each night? But what if you slip and break something? What if Niccolo catches us? He'll pound on me for acting as an accomplice. What should we do? What can I do?"

Why could nothing ever go smoothly? Why did you always have to take on the dirty jobs and make the difficult choices? Why did you always have to be the man? There was always an obstacle to evade; a hill to climb; a monster to slay.

And while you sunk into couch cushions, the clock ticked against the wall. She was loud and persistent the closer she crept to your ear. Her unfeeling finger tapped endlessly on your scarred temple as if to say: It's time to give up, child.