*I don't own Jane and the Dragon or its characters

Something I've noticed a while back is how during and after the events of Mismatched, Gunthers attitude towards Jane had changed. Whether he is realizing truth, or his hate being realized, I cannot be sure. I am sure of one thing, something changed, and well, that is part of the reasoning behind this fic.


From where he stood, copper tresses stole a moment, fear gluing his feet in place. He could not fight her, he would not, he started to believe the words from the day before were true. She fancied him, quite right to, for he was handsome. No, that was not right, there was no way she loved him. Bat bladders, it was a predicament.

Three freckles behind her ear teased his sight, weaving a series of silent compliments. They could never be friends, and her smile, her awkward laugh, and kindness were all the more reason, it was the death to the beginning of such ideas. If only they were siblings, then perhaps they could be friends.

If sight ever sought, if thoughts ever carried doubt, then her determined strength would fracture insecure inclinations. Worn leather, blistered palms, clouds of dust, the clarity of happiness alive in the fire of emerald eyes forbade him to reason otherwise. Yet, their history, past hostility, incongruence, petty hours spent shouting, striking, weakened the reason. Oh what kindness was killed with maddened pride, the price for peace, poison to the reason. His words brought doubt, a disease to the truth, distorting reason.

Really, could clouded concentration dare to try, and relay as to why everything he thought was true? Or could age play, pricking, praying, pressing soft stories into his mind, defending the idea, killing the reason?

"Gunther, I cannot fight you, since you are also nice."

His youth died then, he forgot rationality, he welcomed the opportunity, he could deal with what she wanted. If he had a reason, it was her. In time things changed and could change, and distort, bringing truth behind the reason.