"You look like shit."

Jean had walked down the stairs into the kitchen. It was Monday morning, after nine o'clock. He squinted in the light that was streaming through the windows. With his golden hair tussled from sleep, quite the bed-head, bags under his eyes, in a wrinkled t-shirt and lounge pants, he knew he looked like shit.

"Louise, don't curse. You're twelve."

"You swear all the time."

"I'm eighteen."

Rolling her eyes, Louise spun her spoon in her apple-cinnamon oatmeal. It was from those Quaker microwave packets, but it was her favorite breakfast. Tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder, the young girl took a sip of milk and looked up at her brother with her eyebrows raised. "You were out really late last night. Where did you go?"

"Why were you up so late?" Jean ran his fingers through his hair, making it stick up in spikes. He wasn't exactly a morning person, especially after a late night.

"I woke up when you ran into the wall. You hissed the F-word really loudly. You're lucky Dad and Mom sleep like rocks."

The boy cringed at the word "dad". Johnson would never be considered his father, no matter what. Louise may call him that, for she was young enough to have taken their mom's word for it when she said he'd be "a good father". However, Jean doubted it, having been quite the skeptical pre-teen going through his rebellious phase (if you could even call it that—he mostly just had a bad attitude that he has yet to grow out of).

"It's none of your business, kid," he said with a sigh, ruffling her hair (to which she squealed; honestly, pre-teen girls) before heading to the walk-in pantry to find something for breakfast. Stopping mid-step, he thought of something. Maybe he should just get dressed and go out. Marco would be up for brunch, and maybe Eren and Armin, too. They could go to the café, and maybe she was working.

He really liked the copper-y-ness of her hair, and he really loved it when it was down. Hell, she looked so cute in her sassy little pink apron, he could hardly stand it. And the way the stars reflected in her eyes….

"Earth to Jean!"

Blinking quickly and jerking his head back, Jean realized he'd been standing in the pantry, frozen mid-step.

"Are you an astronaut, because you're clearly up in space right now."

"Shut up, Louise. I'm in deep thought."

"Clearly," the girl sighed deeply, heading to the sink to clean off her bowl and spoon, "Besides, Dad wants to give you a curfew. He wasn't happy with how late you were out."

"I'm eighteen, he can't give me a curfew."

"Whatever, he thinks you're doing weed."

"You don't do weed, you smoke it. And I don't."

"How would I know the difference? I'm twelve."

"You sounded so innocent there, and very un-Louise like," Jean laughed as she hustled up the stairs, "Don't take forever! We have stuff to do today."

For a half hour Jean had been sitting downstairs on the couch, scrolling through Facebook on his iPhone when something caught his eye. Sasha had uploaded the pictures she'd taken and edited of the meteor shower they'd seen. It must have taken her all morning. Tapping her name, he went to her page and looked at her most recent status: After a late night and an early morning, I'm finally going to work. Maybe getting up at seven wasn't the best idea.

He hadn't realized he'd been smiling until Louise came down twenty minutes later, "What the heck are you grinning about?" Jumping, the boy flinched and dropped his phone to the floor.

"Dude, don't sneak up on me like that!"

Swooping down and grabbing his phone, the young girl began looking at what was on the screen, "Who's this? She's really pretty. Oh, did you go out with her last night? These are pictures of the meteor shower!" Suddenly, her eyes widened, "Oh. M. G. Are you dating her? Have you told Mom and Dad?"

"Shut up and give me my phone."

"No way! Not until you give me an answer."

"Wait, how did you hear about the meteor shower?"

"An article about it was up on your laptop when you left. I was looking for your headphones because I couldn't find mine, and there the laptop was."

"You creeper," Jean muttered as he snatched his phone from her loose fingers.

"Tell meeeeee!" Louise whined, causing her brother to flinch at the high noise.

"Nothing is going on. Sasha is just a friend who's into that space-y stuff."

"Right, because you would be so considerate to look up the meteor shower to know when to take someone outside of town to see the falling stars."

"It's what good friends do," Jean rolled his eyes, stuffing the phone in his back pocket before grabbing the keys to his truck, "Now let's go. I'm hungry, and you have dance later."

Sitting in the Expressions Dance Studio waiting room later that afternoon, Jean had his sketchbook sitting in his lap. His tongue was sticking out the side of his mouth as he furiously attempted to concentrate on the lines and curves of the bird he was trying to draw. With a deeply angered sigh, the young man looked up and leaned his head against the wall behind him. Art block, he thought, I haven't had this much trouble drawing since last August.

Tucking the sketchbook under his arm, he decided to wander the halls a bit. Maybe he'd see something that would spark his imagination, or something. The window he passed was to the small studio—Studio C—where he saw Louise practicing with Mina, a girl about his age who had been assisting Louise with her dance solos for the past couple of years. He watched as Louise attempted a switch-leap, leaping like normal with a leg forward and the other back, then switching their places mid-air. After her attempt, Mina's mouth moved as she was seemingly telling the younger girl what she needed to do in order to improve her technique.

Moving on, Jean chuckled to himself. Louise is a lovely dancer, but sometimes she got too indulged in what she did wrong that she was never satisfied. At least it gave her determination. As he made his way down the hall, to the slightly larger Studio B, something caught his eye in this particular window. A familiar brunette ponytail whipped around as a young woman was turning in her a la seconde fouettes, using her momentum to do a single plié chainé turn into a calypso leap, rolling on the floor out of it all.

He stood, mesmerized by the grace of the turns and leap. It had seemingly been one single, fluid movement. As it ought to be, he thought with awe, now that's dancing.

Stepping into view of the window was Miss Petra, the owner and instructor of the studio. She was smiling and clapping her hands. If it had been him in there, Jean would have done the same; he was pretty sure the woman was praising Sasha up and down for her lovely movements.

That's it!

Jean hurried back into the waiting area before either woman noticed him, sitting back in the seat he had occupied before. This time he knew exactly what to sketch. Flipping the notebook open to a new page, his pencil began to move quickly across the surface of the porous paper. Forming out of soft strokes was young lady doing a lovely combination. It started in a still of fouettes, chainé, and finally calypso. The sketch was a series of movement, flowing the way an actual person would dance.

Even though the girl in the drawing was a bit ambiguous, when Louise came out of the studio, water bottle in one hand and half-shoes in the other, she pointed at the sketch.

"I told you, you totally have a thing for her."

"Do not. She was just in the next studio over and I decided to draw a dancer."

"And it just happens to look exactly like Sasha?"

Just then, a voice came from down the hall, "What happens to look exactly like me?"

With a sharp inhalation of breath, Jean slammed his sketchbook shut, pencil flying across the room. His face inflamed with mortification.

"His drawing!" Louise interjected, hopping up and down, "He crept in on your lesson and decided to draw you!"

Picking up the pencil at her feet, Sasha Braus laughed as she walked over and handed it to Jean, "How flattering. I didn't think you drew anything other than those still-life pieces I saw on your desk."

Louise's jaw dropped, a strand of blonde hair falling between her eyes, "You were at our house? When?!"

A small blush tinted the brunette's cheeks, "J-Just a couple days ago. I think you brother said you were at dance lessons."

Tilting her head to the side, his sister looked curious, "Jean never mentioned you danced here. Actually, he never mentioned you at all, I just saw you on Facebook when he was scrolling through your pictures of the meteor shower," she continued to ramble, "I told him you were pretty and he denied that you two are an item, but I totally know better because let's be honest, you're like the only girl he's hung out with in forever and Jean doesn't hang out with girls unless he likes them—"

Louise was cut off when a hand clamped down over her mouth, "Sorry, Sash, she's a chatterbox who likes to make up gossip. H-hey!" Jean jumped back, wiping his hand on his shirt, "Don't lick me, Louise!"

"You asked for it. I do not make up gossip!"

Casting his sister a glance, Jean glared at her as if to say shut up or you're dead, which got Louise to shut her mouth and pout. "Preteens, right?" Jean shrugged, laughing weakly.

"It's alright. Say, Louise, let's talk dance sometime, okay? I can take you to lunch or the mall or something. Here," Sasha pulled a sticky note out of her bag, using a pen to write, "This is my number. Shoot me a text so I know who you are, and I'll be sure to get back to you about hanging out as soon as possible." She winked, before breezing past the brother and sister, "See you around!"

As soon as the young woman was out the door, Louise turned wide-eyed to Jean, "She's perfect!"

"You're just saying that because she offered to take you to the mall. Which, if you do go, no coercing her into buying you anything. You still have some birthday money left, spend that if you must. Now let's go home, I'm tired and need a nap."

"You don't nap anymore."

"Shut up."

It wasn't unlike Jean to lay on his bed with earbuds in, listening to a variety of pop-punk songs. In fact, he was in the mood for some (relatively) older songs. Therefore he wasn't surprised when Love in a Box by The Workday Release came up on his shuffle. However, as the words began to flow into his ears, he found his mind drifting off into the abyss of his mind. Music always encouraged emotions to stream openly behind closed eyelids, but this time it was different.

Had it really been necessary to kiss Sasha the night before? It had been done on impulse, but it had felt really good. He'd kissed girls before, some he dated and some he didn't. No big deal, right? Lies, Jean. You're telling yourself lies.

Dragging his palms over his eyelids and down his face, he let out a frustrated groan. No, college was coming in the fall, he didn't have time for a girl from his hometown. But…why did he want to see her again soon? After all, she did have big, pretty brown eyes. He recalled the way her hair had fallen over her shoulders when he pulled the ponytail holder out. Jean had just been happy to watch her look at the sky.

Louise was right, he didn't do something special for just anyone.

"Jean, you idiot," he mumbled to himself, "Get a grip."