jean is french and eren is the dumb exchange student who's in love with him
The more of these I do, the more I realize that I am complete and utter shit at writing something that actually matches the prompt?! I don't know what's wrong with me.
Nevertheless.
I have a vague feeling this needs to be more than a drabble but I'm not sure I am ready for that undertaking. /lies on side
skyfireflies helped me with the French. If I made any mistakes please correct me :(
*
There’s a cafe he frequents, located on the same street as the flat he’s renting for the next six months. It’s a tiny little place, crammed into the corner of an old brick building like an afterthought, but he goes there for the coffee (decent), the atmosphere (homey), and the guy who usually sits at the table by the window (really really ridiculously good-looking).
The guy who sits at the table by the window presumably has a name, but Eren has yet to learn it. He wears thick-rimmed black glasses and a twee little scarf, which makes him look like a hipster, and reads books by Murakami or Kerouac while drinking copious amounts of black tea, which only serves to strengthen that impression. Eren is deeply smitten with him. The moment he walked into the cafe and saw the guy absently pushing his glasses up his nose while reading a massive book titled Gödel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid, he’d fallen in love. It doesn’t even matter that he doesn’t know this guy’s name or the smallest thing about him. Something about the guy makes Eren feel like this is fate, and everything else is a minor detail, easily rectified.
A typical afternoon finds Eren sitting in a corner booth, staring openly at this guy over the cafe’s little paper menu, not nearly large enough to serve as adequate cover for espionage. The object of Eren’s affections has a sharp nose and high cheekbones, and a mouth which looks to be shaped into a perpetual, kissable pout. (Probably on account of reading all those hellishly boring books, Eren supposes.) Because he always sits by the window, it allows sunbeams wafting through the glass to gently tousle his hair, turning it the color of burnt honey.
Watching the guy sparkle like a vampire in a teen romance makes Eren’s mouth water. He jumps when the waitress comes by to take his order, and after some haggling in broken French, secures the cup of coffee that is his ticket to continued stalkerdom.
The guy (as Eren learns, after several extended observation sessions) has a schedule like clockwork. He comes in at nine sharp on Mondays and Wednesdays, at teatime on Fridays—sometimes Saturdays, too—sits at his usual table, orders comme d'habitude, pas de sucre s'il vous plaît, and then takes out a book and starts reading. There’s nothing special about that particular table that Eren can see, but after thinking it over he decides that a guy who wears a scarf indoors probably needs direct sunlight to keep warm. (Even if he is a vampire.)
In the end, the table becomes the central element of the incredible and foolproof plan Eren formulates to ask the guy out. The plan itself consists of two steps. Step one is to sit at the guy’s table with him, and step two is to actually ask him out. What, Eren wonders, floating on a self-congratulatory cloud of his own brilliance, could possibly go wrong?
He puts his plan into effect on a Friday after work, because it seems auspicious. He knocks on wood, keeps his fingers crossed, and double-ties his laces to make sure he doesn’t trip over them. (Unfortunately this doesn’t stop him from missing the bus and being an hour late, but sometimes you just gotta roll with the punches.)
The guy’s already sitting in his usual place and reading when Eren arrives, but the fact that he’s there at all is a relief. Eren braces himself, girds his loins, and then strolls over, sliding smoothly into the little chair across from the guy.
“Hi,” he says, with what he hopes is a winning smile.
Without moving his head, the guy raises his eyes very slowly, staring at Eren over the top of his book.
“You come here often, huh?” Eren continues, then gestures vaguely. “I like your scarf.”
No answer. The guy blinks once, slowly, like a reptile.
“What’s your name?”
He watches the guy’s eyes swivel towards the heavens, as though searching for deliverance, and then overhears a mutter of something that sounds suspiciously like Quelle imbécile cette Américaine. Laughing, he replies, “No, that’s my name, not yours.”
That gets him a little twitch of the lips, treacherously close to a smile. Success! Heartened by this, Eren soldiers right on.
“So, what’s your comme d'habitude? Some kinda tea, I'm guessing?”
Without answering, the guy slides a bookmark between pages to keep his place, and then shuts his book. Eren reads the title upside down: En attendant Godot.
“I did that one in freshman year,” he says, nodding knowingly. Then he steeples his fingers and leans in with a serious look. “Listen—you wanna get coffee together sometime? I mean—not like here, but like. In general.” He pauses as a thought strikes him. “Do you even drink coffee?”
The guy gives him a look of sheer amused exasperation, and says, "Vous êtes complètement ridicule, je ne sais pas quoi faire avec vous."
“I know some of those words,” Eren replies, grinning cheerfully. “So—wait, where you going?” For the guy is putting his book back into his bag and getting to his feet, which is the least desirable of all possible resolutions to Eren’s plan. Face falling, Eren stands too, nearly knocking over his chair in his hurry.
“At least tell me your name,” he wheedles, deciding to just go for broke. (His pride takes a sullen backseat next to his dignity.)
Miraculously, the guy looks back at him. His expression is disdainful, but at last, he speaks just two words: “Jean Kirschtein,” before strolling away. The door swings shut behind him.
Jean. Jean. Eren’s heart sings with the word, like a hundred doves bursting into flight all at once, except with a lot less bird doo-doo.
“So, uh, same time next Monday?” he calls after the guy. His grin is so wide it feels like it’s gonna split his face in two. The guy doesn’t look back, but he does toss Eren a casual wave over his shoulder, which Eren decides to interpret as yes to next Monday, and probably Wednesday and Friday as well.
He tips the waitress with everything he’s got left in his wallet and leaves the cafe whistling. It’s spring in Paris, and for one Eren Jaeger, love is in the air.
*
For people too lazy to open up Google translate:
comme d'habitude, pas de sucre s'il vous plaît - the usual, no sugar please
Quelle imbécile cette Américaine - what an idiot, this American
Vous êtes complètement ridicule, je ne sais pas quoi faire avec vous - you are completely ridiculous and I don't know what to do with you
