clementines. 🍂 a jean kirstein collection

ur so pretty.

summary ; jean liked to drive alone, to sit in his thoughts for a while. it's getting harder to think when he cant stop himself from thinking about you, though. 

warnings ; jean is canonically left handed (yes this is a warning)

[🚥]

jean liked to drive alone.

even before he got his driver's licence, he'd made a plan of being the designated driver, researching different car models and gushing over the sleek designs, shiny coloured metal, and all of the features they had to offer. of course, he'd never actually buy the more expensive ones no matter how attached he was to them when he was a young teenager.

no, instead he drove comfortably in his mother's sedan that had gone through too much. there was a particularly harsh dent on the passenger side - the paint slightly chipped from when some asshole tried to park dangerously close to his car.

regardless, his first addition to the car was now long weathered under the uncontrollable temperatures - a bumper sticker he had bought when he first got his learners license, reading "LEFT-HANDERS HAVE RIGHTS TOO!"

not his wisest decision. Connie never let him live it down. speaking of, his friend also gave him a car hanger he had made himself, consisting of a lego version of jean that was messily glued onto a hoodie string. marco commemorated jean getting a drivers license by getting him a keychain of a mini lucky 8 ball, and Sasha had presented him with what he was sure was a lifetime supply of the little tree air fresheners.

despite all the years jean had put that poor car through, it drove as good as new - something you always praised him for.

getting into the driver's seat, he strapped on his seatbelt, turning the keys. the car started with a tremble, and jean threw his bag on the backseat before taking off to marco and his shared apartment just a little ways off-campus, providing for a nice, quiet ride that jean preferred after a long day. he liked to think about the day, mentally note everything down before having to open the door to his house again.

he bopped his head to the tune of the song you had introduced to him, thinking about how you had called him in the middle of the day after your classes had ended, in disbelief of how incompetent your classmates were.

"i mean, I'm not doing all the work, and I'm not going to take credit for it either, but I'm just annoyed that no-one even tried to participate. we're all doing this for a grade, at least act like you deserve one!" you rambled, and jean could hear you speed-walking through campus, your voice being carried away by the wind. he could hear each huff you took, and tried not to smile to himself as he sat back in the library, getting comfortable.

he hummed. "who are these people?"

you breathed out an annoyed laugh, "I'm sure you know them. this guy named Floch and this girl named Virginia?"

jean cringed, "I hate people that name their kids after states. be more creative-"

"exactly!" you said, and jean swore he saw the way you were smiling, a mental picture of your eyes bright and the apples of your cheeks pressed up against the corner of your eyes, smiling widely.

jean stopped at the red light, the song playing through his car, and he tried not to think about how you had come to him one night, almost in tears about it, claiming you put too much baking powder in your cinnamon rolls to the point where they had a "weird pineappley bite-back kinda taste," in your words, which he surprisingly understood. and then, how when it was just the two of you later that night, you admitted how much you missed cooking for Sasha after she had moved, and jean took you in his arms.