clementines. 🍂 a jean kirstein collection

flaws

summary: it's a cool night, but jean warms you, body and mind. 

warnings : self indulgent so.... proceed w caution. mentions (slightest) of nudity and sex (this fic is completely sfw, don't worry :) ), kind of sad-ish hurt/comfort type fic.

a/n : something short to satiate the lack of fics this month it might take alot longer than expected for me to post the other fics!!!! i promise I'm working on them but they're super duper long and not to mention heavy. thank you for being patient with me (*'ω｀*) this was going to be a part of belonging but i decided to scrap it cause i didn't know how it would fit in the fic. enjoy!

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the grass was damp as you sat on it, and jean's presence was much like your own - persistent.

you don't speak for a minute and the silence stretches far beyond the time you share. it says more than it needs to. it says he's here for you. it says i can see you in a crowded room. it says I'll be there for you if you let me.

the minute passes. jean nudges your shoulder with his before he speaks. "I've never really seen you ask for help." he states, like it's one of the universal truths, which it might as well be.

you shrug. "I'm stubborn."

there's more to it. there's always been more to the things you say, and what you want to say is that asking for help inherently meant asking for forgiveness, asking for help meant you were guilty of not wanting it. when you do end up building your courage, finally untying the knot your tongue has made, the 'help' never shows. you ask for help to the space, to the walls, to the mirror, expecting to find someone there. some solace.

there's no hesitation in his voice when he decided to answer your unsaid question.

"i like that you're stubborn," he shrugs like it's a feature and not a flaw. "it means your love isn't going anywhere."

there's a beat. the same silence. then, "i never saw it like that." comes from your lips with a gentle exhale.

his lips quirk up slightly. the smile doesn't meet his eyes but the corners of them squint anyway. you love that about him; his eyes speak more than his expressions or face or words or hands do. you love more that you're probably the only one who can decipher the code in his eyes.

they look at you now, only now, you can't see what he's saying in them. you can never tell when or if someone is loving you or has decided on giving up, and even now you want to shake his shoulders and ask if there's something he wants from you. if there's a reason he's sticking around. if there's a reason he sees a use in you.

his hand grazes the top of yours and you note how his palms are warm against the cooling night. his hand lays there, on top of yours - persistent.

you figure it's your turn to speak again. there's no difficulty in your voice, none of the reluctance or hesitation that comes with talking to other people. it's easy with him, you realize. your mind doesn't run rampant with an overload of questions; ifs and buts and whens and whys.

"how can you say that so confidently?" you ask. you don't really mean to, because everything jean says is mostly true. he's honest almost to a fault and you have no doubt he meant what he said only because he's seen you, because he's been so close to you.

he shrugs again. his other hand - he refuses to remove the hand laid on top of yours - weaves through his hair beautifully. the action itself might have left you mesmerized if it wasn't for what he says next.

" 'cause i know you."

there's a sort of intimacy that comes with words. intimacy that no amount of nudity can get you. you could lay in your sweat after a long night under the covers but you could never hear the sincerity that comes with something like this. it's no secret jean loves you; you can tell because you know him. there's something special about him knowing you, though. when you've gone long enough without the comfort of being loved, you start to doubt if anyone has ever known you. but you find yourself wrapped in that comfort now, with him. he knows you. you remember the one time you told him about how you read this excerpt from some book you barely remember the name of, that loving someone meant knowing them. loving someone meant seeing them in their light, no matter how dim or strong, and choosing to know them. choosing to hear them.

he's choosing too. he chose you.

you smile the way he always makes you smile. his eyes, in all their glory, look at you like they always have.

your hand turns from under his, palm facing his own. your fingers move to curl as his eagerly do the same around yours.

for the first time you feel the reciprocal. you feel your love rooting itself in his mind and his in yours.

you feel both; persistence and stubbornness. for the first time, his flaw is met with a smile.

for the first time, your flaw is met with understanding.

for the first time, you are both loved.

✿