A/N: I apologize for the odd HTML thing that happened for my first publishing, I didn't read it after I published it and only now caught it. This problem has been fixed.
Jean was, as some might call him, a disagreeable sort of boy. He did not make friends with any of the nice children who lived next door, did not eat any of his vegetables, and did not obey Martha when she asked him to clean his room. Instead, he played alone with his toys and books, and if he played outside, he made sure to track a sizeable amount of mud into the house without wiping his feet even once on the mat.
Despite his behavior, his mother was blind to each and every one of his faults. Due to her busy schedule, she did not get much time each day to fawn over him, but when she returned from her engagements, her attention was focused solely on her little Jean. If Martha remarked that he had been particularly troublesome that day, Ms. Kirschtein would reply that Jean was simply a headstrong little boy, just as all boys his age were, and he would grow out of it. Because he had a mother and a servant who catered to his every whim, little Jean had a very strong sense of entitlement, and would not simply "grow out" of his headstrong tendencies.
One day, however, Martha was very sick, and Ms. Kirschtein had business to attend to, so Jean was free to do whatever he wished without anyone watching. He had a strange notion in his head that there was more to be seen than just his backyard, so he chose to wander outside.
He walked to the woods behind his house, and looked at them. They were not frightening, but he understood that a young boy like himself might easily become lost in such an expanse of trees and bushes. His curiosity would not permit him to go away from the wood, so he walked along the edge of it for what seemed like many miles, although really he just walked a little past the servant's quarters.
Suddenly, he came upon a girl. She was a queer sort of girl, he thought, for she was building a small structure out of twigs and leaves, and did not even glance at him as he stopped in front of her. "What are you doing?" he asked, rather rudely, without introduction.
She ignored him, and continued weaving pine needles through the upright sticks, as if constructing a very small circular wall. He noticed that her hair was a very strange color, quite unlike his. It was almost like the sky after the sun went down, he thought.
"It's very rude to ignore someone who is talking to you," he persisted, not understanding that he himself was capable of rudeness, and was being quite rude as he intruded on her creative playtime.
She was very quiet for a very long time, and little Jean continued to ask her what must have been very irritating questions, until she finally looked at him. "I am building a fairy house," she said matter-of-factly. She then returned to building her fairy house.
He noticed that her eyes were also a unique color, like rain clouds or little round stone pebbles. "I've read about fairies in my books," he replied, "but they aren't real. They're just stories," he said, quite proud of himself for being smarter than the strange girl.
She shook her head and began to create a sort of roof out of leaves on top of twigs. "You're wrong. Fairies are just as real as you and me," she replied unabashedly. It seemed that she was only half-interested in the conversation, and more engaged in her 'fairy house.'
Unused to being ignored or outright contradicted, Jean felt quite taken aback. "How do you know?" he asked indignantly. "Fairies are myths, like the monsters in your closet. Someone made them up because they wanted to talk about something, not because they existed!" He crossed his short small arms and waited for a response in irritation.
She looked at him in the eyes again, which he decided he didn't like, because her gaze was quite unsettling. "I know because I've seen them," she said shortly, and quit looking at him, for which he was glad.
He couldn't believe that he had stumbled upon such a stupid girl, and shook his head. "If you've seen them, then you must've seen other things," he taunted childishly. "Like trolls and elves, right? And I'm sure the animals talk to you, do they? I wouldn't suppose that you found a magical land in the back of your wardrobe," he said, thinking himself quite clever.
"You're half-right," she started. "But most animals don't talk, except for mice; they're quite smart. And why on earth would there be a magical land in the back of my wardrobe?" she asked incredulously, eyeing him in a way that suggested she didn't quite comprehend that he was making fun of her.
Jean sighed in arrogant exasperation. "I think you're making all this up. Fairies and elves and trolls and talking mice can't exist. Only children believe in them."
She looked at him strangely. "You're a child, too."
Jean grew angry. "I am not a child! I am eight-and-three-quarters, I am not a child!" he insisted, stomping his foot in a tantrum.
"My mother calls my older brother a child, and he's twelve. So you must be a child," she countered.
He fumed, but did not admit defeat. Instead, he changed the subject. "It doesn't matter, because they aren't real. No sane person has ever seen them."
The little girl seemed satisfied with her fairy house, and nodded. She took it and placed it with extra care under a tree. "That's because they haven't looked in the right places," she finished simply, and turned on her heel and walked back to her home without another word, leaving Jean bewildered and alone beside her fairy house.
A/N: This is set in England in the late 1800s, which explains several aspects of the story. One being Jean and Mikasa's formal language at such a young age, a second the way I am writing it. The third reflects the servant/master/estate system where wealthy people would own large properties and poorer people would work as servants. This can be seen in books like Pride and Prejudice, although by the late 1800s estates had become smaller. Jeankasa will be platonic at first because of their age, but eventually romantic once they're older teenagers.