clementines. 🍂 a jean kirstein collection

sight.

summary : jean's eyes were always a sight to behold

warnings : use of the word "eyes" way too much

a/n : i should be studying history but this is what happens when i listen to one too many bollywood songs and yearn a bit too much. enjoy :)

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jeans eyes were always something you found yourself looking at unintentionally. in the middle of a conversation about him telling you of the many antics Sasha and connie had partaken in that day, you found yourself not being able to pull away from his eyes.

and you couldn't blame yourself either; you'd seen many other people being incapable of pulling away from his gaze while talking to him. everyone thought jean was a heartthrob for a reason.

but what you never noticed in his eyes was the love they held for you.

everyday would be the same - he would sit beside you in your class or in the library on on your couch and you'd play with the same line you had of being in between friendship and something more. his eyes would either be locked with yours or on his books or on his notes or on the screen playing a dumb rom-com infront of you. (jean denied ever liking them even though you knew it made his hopeless romantic heart pound with yearning).

and when jean paused the movie or took a break, his eyes would find yours again, waiting intently for him to start talking just to look into his many hues. his unfairly long lashes blinked with liveliness that was only shown towards you. they framed his eyes perfectly; just like the skin around them. they looked like something a great sculptor would use as a reference, only for the carvings to come out pale in comparison of the real ones. and as his stories or the recollection of his day would end, yours would start.

his eyes said more than his words or hands could. even while being a creative (his art was something your own eyes would amaze upon), his art could never make his feelings and emotions as tangible and real as his eyes did. you didn't know if it was just you or if everyone could read him so openly like this, but you could tell when a compliment would actually be heard or if he would shake it away with a cocky smile. you could tell because you were the one giving him those sweet coments, because only someone as close to him could see something he did and find it endearing instead of annoying or overused. his eyes would widen slightly and blink a little when he comprehended your rare and specific compliments, but he would recover quickly with a shake of the head and a scoff. ("i knew that already" he would say. he didn't know that already. you could tell.) and just as happy as you'd seen his eyes, they would also be the ones to blink back his stubborn tears when his crush kissed that brunette with a much different pair of sea green eyes than his brown ones.

you'd see his eyes then, as he rushed away from them and towards the balcony, how he tried to conceal his real feelings in order to protect himself. but he couldn't hide from you, and when you made your way to him and lay your hand on his back, his eyes blinked the silent tears into existence.

"i feel like I'm always the second choice." he said. his gaze was directed towards the city down below.

"not to me." you said.

his teary gaze now locked into yours - sincere and concerned and warm.

the corner of them wrinkled. he sniffled as quietly as he could, not letting you see how much you won him over. but you could tell.

you were sure some painter had looked into his soul and decided to transfer all it's feelings into his vision. he'd argue they were nothing special but you never told him how much they were. they were small, the skin around them wrinkled with all the years spent smiling under the sun, a little rugged. but the colours and the intensity of them was much more than special.