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Eren knows that their squad hadn’t intentionally left Mikasa and him behind. He knows that it was probably for the best - to leave the injured party in the city and take off with the mission. It’s the right choice, of course. It’s what Eren would’ve done as well. Injured people… they aren’t a burden (certainly not - they are human), but they do make it more difficult for a mission to be completed. So he doesn’t exactly mind it when Levi orders him to stay behind in the confines of Wall Sina. What he does mind is that Mikasa has decided to stay with him.
“You aren’t even injured.” He tells her. “And even if you were, it wouldn’t stop you.”
“Eren.” Mikasa says, and he doesn’t even need her to say the words that are already written in the air, tinted with exasperation: Shut Up.
“Fine.” He says, turning away from her in his bed. The conversation leaves him with a bitter taste in his mouth, and though Mikasa hasn’t outrightly shown her annoyance towards him, he can still feel the irritation in the atmosphere. He feels a pang of guilt in his heart, knowing that he should be kinder to her. He doesn’t exactly know the exact extent of her injuries and it could be something internal. So, he swallows his pride and apologizes.
Mikasa grunts in response.
Mikasa never grunts.
Mikasa says a few words or says nothing at all. She doesn’t use gestures to convey her messages and doesn’t diddle daddle around the lines. If something needs to be said - she’ll say it. Blunt and forthcoming. And if something doesn’t need to be said, then it’s simple. She won’t say it.
He decides to leave her on her own for the moment. This is dangerous territory, he knows, and a Mikasa in a sour mood is a Mikasa you didn't want to know. The room is quiet, except for the crackling of the fire by the fireplace and the harsh wind that blows and rattles against the window. He looks at his bandaged hands, fingers broken due to the debris that fell on their last excavation. He was tempted to transform, but he knew that it wouldn’t be appreciated by everyone. So he took the hard way out, and waits in agonizing pain for his fingers to heal.
Mikasa had been there with him when the debris was falling. He vaguely remembers her look of shock as the rocks came crashing down at them. She must’ve pulled him out of the way then - and got injured in return. He’s almost angry - she’s done it again. Sacrifice her own safety for his sake, and he almost wants to shake her vehemently for it. He knows why she does it - why she will always do it - but it doesn’t make it easier to understand. Doesn’t make it easier for the guilt to alleviate itself.
He looks back at her - and she has never looked so small. Huddled into the corner of her bed, head resting in between her knees and arms wrapped around them. He very rarely sees this side of her. The side of Mikasa that no one has gotten to known except for him. The side that is scared, confused and bewildered. The side that wants to do nothing but sleep and forget. He desperately wants to reach out to her - wants to tell her he’s sorry. He doesn’t even know what he’s sorry for. Sorry that I put you into harm’s way? Like I do time and time again?
With his head a bit clearer and his attitude more depressed than angered, he finds himself to be parched. His throat is dry and he can feel the comings of a cough-attack. Slowly, he removes himself from his bed to not wake Mikasa up – but obviously he must’ve failed, because the girl’s head perked up from where it once was, curious black eyes on his back. He ignores her stare and reaches to the table where the jug of water was kept. Filling his cup, he asks her, “Do you want water?”
“Yes please.” She says. Her voice is so small, and so meek that he’s almost concerned.
He fills a cup for her, the injury of his fingers making the action difficult but not impossible. He walks over, handing her the cup as she accepts with graceful fingers. Their fingers brush against each other and Eren has to stop himself from recoiling. It’s not as though the touch was bad or that he was disgusted by Mikasa – far from it. It was just – her touch was much warmer than what he expected it to be. As the years went by and Eren and Mikasa grew up – touch became a distant thing. Something not to be thought about. Something unimportant. And to be frank, Eren had no, well, desire to touch anyone. Whether it be in a platonic or romantic sense. He always thought that there were other ways to express affection for others. He remembers his parents. The two were never very affectionate – at least in Eren’s presence – but the trust they had for each other spoke more than any declarations of love could.
He does remember his father bringing in flowers one day. It wasn’t a very important day as far as Eren knew. In fact, it had been a very ordinary one. He was helping his mother make dinner in the kitchen and they both were chatting – well, it was more his mother lecturing him than anything – and the door unlocked with the face of his father emerging through. He wasn’t supposed to be home until after dinner was cooked, and Eren surmised it was one of those special days that his father had. The one’s where he would look at both him and his mother and hug them both especially tight before he left for work, and would come back home as soon as he could. His father had a bouquet in his hands. Even now Eren can remember the brightness of the flowers and the sweet aroma that they brought to the house. His father handed them over to his mother, who had a look on her face that Eren couldn’t completely decipher. He knows that her eyes had glossed over with unshed tears when his father had said, “I was in the market and I saw these. They reminded me of you.”
With a wrench in his heart, Eren feels terribly homesick. The situation is almost enough to make him laugh. He hasn’t had a home in years. He wonders though, what his home must look like now. If it was still the crushed rubble that he last saw it to be. They have been so focused, so desperate to find a way to his father’s basement that he almost forgets that a home was built over that. A place where he was raised. A place where his parents had protected him for years until they couldn’t. A place where he held his best memories – and the place where he held his worst.
The look of fear on his mother’s face as she knew that it would be the last time – it’s something that makes him sick. He feels so nauseous and he wants to shake the image out of his brain. He never wants to see that fear on someone’s face ever again.
He feels lonely, and the physical contact – could it even be called contact for how short and unimportant it was? – that he and Mikasa had only rectified that fact. He curls up into his pillow and wills the blurriness in his eyes to stop. Frustrated, he picks up his cup with such vigor, but as though registering the pain that swells from the nerves of his fingers, he promptly drops it and the cup falls to the ground, breaking into pieces.
Mikasa jumps. “Are you – “
“I’m fine.”
“Do you – “
“I’m. Fine.”
He almost sighs with irritation when he hears her footsteps moving towards him. Mikasa kneels down, and places her hand on top of his as he goes to pick up a piece.
“Don’t. Your fingers are injured enough.” She says, voice soft. He is so shocked by the feeling of her hand – so warm and still so soft against his own – that he doesn’t say anything. Mikasa takes his silence for agreement and begins picking the shards on her own. There aren’t many – just a few – and she collects them all into the palm of her hand, and throws them all away in the nearby bin. She walks over to where he is once again, her palm slowly moving against the wooden floor to feel for any little pieces that might remain.
“Make sure you wear your slippers when getting out of bed.” She tells him, holding out her hand for him.
He grabs her proffered hand – relishing a few moments in her touch – and promptly lets it go. “Thank you.” He says, voice genuine. “I really mean it. Thank you.”
She gives him the ghost of a smile. “Get some rest Eren.”
He wants to say more. He wants to tell her not to leave. He wants to tell her about the thoughts that are plaguing his head and tell her how lonely he feels – because if there was anyone that could even understand a fraction of his pain – it was her.
“Mikasa.” Eren starts but stops. He… he doesn’t know where to start with this. Mikasa’s questioning look makes him feel panicky and his mind automatically makes up a lie. “I feel hungry.”
“I’ll bring something up in a few minutes.” She says immediately. “Lay down, alright?”
He nods, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning against it as Mikasa makes her way out of their room to go find the restaurant in the hotel. As soon as the door shuts – he feels emptier than he ever has.
He counts down the seconds that go by and inspects the room that he’s confined in. It’s a nice room, with strong hardwood floors and a lit fireplace. The pitter patter of the rain against the window is enough to make Eren feel calm. He focuses on the sound of the rain and waits for Mikasa to come back – just so that he could stop feeling so – so – depressed.
She comes back though. She always does. He can smell the hot plate of food that she carries in her hands and sits up to look at her. She places the tray on the bed, holding up the plate filled with soup and mixing it around with a spoon.
“I can – “
“Eren.” Mikasa gives him a stern look, which softens after a few seconds. “Let me.”
He swallows thickly and acquiesces, opening his mouth as Mikasa brings a spoon up to his lips. They sit there in silence, Mikasa blowing on the hot soup and bringing it up to him. He feels embarrassed – like a child being fed by their mother – but he also feels nice. Eren realizes that he likes being indulged in like this. He likes Mikasa taking care of him. He likes knowing that someone is concerned about his wellbeing.
“I’m sorry.” She says, so suddenly and so quietly that Eren would’ve missed it.
Slowly, he says, “What are you sorry for?”
“I was… mean to you.” She finishes, eyes darting away from his.
“Mean? Mikasa – if anything I’m sorry. I was being a jerk.”
“You weren’t. You were right. I’m not that injured and I could’ve made it back with the squad, but I…” She hesitates.
“But you what?” Eren pressed. Mikasa turns her head away from him, placing the spoon back into bowl with a ‘clink’. He can’t see her expression well at all from this angle and he wants nothing more to do than hold her hand and ask her what’s wrong.
“I couldn’t leave you behind.” She says with finality. “I wouldn’t.”
“You don’t have to keep protecting me.” He says, more for her sake than his own. “I’ll be fine Mikasa. You just have to have faith in me.”
“What if you’re not fine?” She looks towards him. “What if… what if something happens and your titan form can’t protect you. Eren, your injury – “
“Is mine and mine alone.” Eren says. “Not yours, not anyone else’s. It was a result of my mistake.”
“But Eren,” Mikasa pleas. “What if I hadn’t pulled you away in the last second? What then?”
He doesn’t have an answer. Now, he’s the one to look away in shame, unable to meet Mikasa eyes because he can’t bare the weight of her gaze.
“You can’t expect me to sit around and do nothing.” She says. “I’m… always here for you. I always will be.”
He says nothing. This is an argument they have had since the beginning. Eren wanting to fly away but Mikasa wanting to always keep watch. He guesses that neither of them will truly win this fight, and if they keep continuing on like this, someone would get hurt.
Eren is aware of his anger. Knows that it knows no bounds. He speaks words – harsh and quick – blinded by rage, and he knows well enough that those words bite and pound into bruises, beating them until they bled. He doesn’t want to act this way, and if there is anyone who is undeserving of his anger, it’s Mikasa, and he hates the many times when she has had to bear the brunt of his anger. Hates himself for allowing his emotions to overcome him.
They sit there in silence, their thoughts overtaking them. He wants to ask – what are you thinking, Mikasa? What do you want me to know? But at the same time, he’s hesitant to seek the answer out.
She’s the one to break the quiet first. “I bought this ointment from the lady at the front desk,” She says, pulling a small jar from her pocket. “It’s supposed to help with breathing or something like that. But I think she just swindled me.”
He cracks a smile. “Maybe she didn’t. Open it and let’s see what it is.”
The smell of the ointment is strong and pungent, but not bad. It smells like toothpaste and menthol and mint. Oddly enough, it smells like what he thinks the outside must smell right now. The smell of rain and thunder. The smell of drenched flowers.
“Made from Eucalyptus oil,” Mikasa murmurs, reading the side label of the jar. “Should be rubbed on the chest, throat, and back.”
She looks towards him expectantly – and suddenly Eren just knows what she’s thinking about.
“No.” He says.
“Ere- “
“No Mikasa. I mean it.”
“It’s supposed to help with breathing.”
“So? My breathing is perfectly fine!”
“Not really. You’ve been breathing a lot more heavily these days.”
“How do you know that.”
“I observe.”
They stare, eyes never wavering. But it’s useless in the end of course – he can never win these fights against Mikasa. He is the first one to break away contact, sighing heavily as he does so.
“Fine. Just make it quick.”
She dips her fingers into the ointment, the oil stuck to her fingers, and picks up his shirt slightly, the edge of her palm sliding in until it reaches his chest, and slathers the material on the skin.
He has to bite back a hiss.
It doesn’t feel bad. Not at all. But there is a sensation – a strong one. He isn’t burning, but it feels like he is. He feels like his insides are being cleansed and replaced and he feels clean.
Mikasa’s fingers are warm, he notes again. So warm.
She repeats the motions over and over again until she’s satisfied. She retracts her hand away, pleased with her work. “How does it feel?”
“Nice.” Eren responds in a daze. “And cool. You should try it. I could put it on for you if you want.”
Almost immediately, they both blush and look away. Eren wants to beat his head into the wall out of embarrassment. Five years ago, him touching Mikasa wasn’t a problem – but now, Mikasa was a woman, and it would be inappropriate for him to touch her the way she did with him. And it’s not like it would mean anything – it was simple, innocent touch. But he was well aware of the implications – well aware of the reasons why a boy would touch a girl when they were alone.
And it’s not like he wants to touch Mikasa in a way where it seems like he might be taking advantage of her – because he won’t. He would never, ever, do something like that. He would never take plight of her feelings for his own gain.
“I’m sorry.” He says.
“No, don’t be. I… you should.”
He almost does a double take. “What?”
She smiles, shy and uncertain, unable to meet his eyes. “I want to know how it feels like too.”
“Mikasa, are you – “
“I trust you.” She cuts him off. This time, she repeats, slowly, “I trust you.”
“Okay.” He swallows. “Okay.”
She lies down onto the bed, and he moves towards her. She is already unbuttoning the buttons that lay on the top of her shirt, fingers moving with grace. There isn’t much skin that shows, only the top of her chest and her throat. He slicks his fingers with the ointment, and presses down on her sternum, gently moving his way to the bas of her throat. Her skin is boney, and he’s sort of afraid that he might break her, so he goes as soft as can, and as slow as he can.
Her eyes are shut – and Eren is glad that they are. He doesn’t think he’d be able to withstand it. She looks calm like this. Peaceful. She is relaxed, and with a sudden clarity, he realizes that so is he. He has never touched her this way before, but it seems as though he has. Like he just knows. He wonders if that’s what she felt. He wonders if she always knows.
He doesn’t know why this feels so familiar. He doesn’t understand why his fingers don’t shake.
He looks at the scar on her face and wonders.
He’s about to pull away, hand sitting by the edge of her collarbone, when she brings her own hand up, laying it on top of his and interlacing their fingers. Midnight eyes glance up at him and he doesn’t look away – not this time.
“I don’t think you’re weak.” She says.
“I know.” He replies.
“But I am scared for you.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want you to die. I don’t think I could bear it. Not for a second time.”
He brings his other hand up to her cheek, thumb ghosting over her scar. “I know.”
She sits up, and the positions are reversed. He’s lying on the bed, looking up at Mikasa unflinchingly, hands both interlaced within each other, resting by the side of his head.
She has never looked at him this way before – but if feels as if she already has.
“I believe in your strength, however. I believe in you. I just… don’t want you hurt more than you already are.”
“You hurt me whenever you try to protect me. Let me protect you.”
She hesitates. “That’s different.”
“No it isn’t. You always protect me and I feel like I’ve failed.”
“You haven’t failed. And you aren’t weak. I can handle myself.”
“Doesn’t the same go for me?”
She doesn’t have an answer. He realizes that he’s won.
“Do you regret me?” She says after the silence.
“No.” He says, eyes widening quickly. “No. Not ever.”
“Even when you hate me?”
He has to smile at that. So he does. “Especially then.” But frowns and adds, “I don’t hate you.”
“I know.”
This conversation has taken turns that he hasn’t expected. He’s glad though, for the openness. It feels as though nothing has to be hidden now. He can look at Mikasa and see her, and think of her courage. Of her bravery. And of her strength.
But he has always looked at her like that.
It’s not an unexpected kiss. Far from it. It’s slow and gradual, and their breaths mingle into one another. They aren’t hesitant, they aren’t scared. They kiss and it feels like they have done this before. Like they have done this a million times over – but it still feels like the first time.
They touch in the way that it matters. She is Mikasa, all sharp angles and soft eyes, and her hand is so warm pressed against him. She grabs his hair whenever she can, combing through the rough strands and holds him near. There is a heat in this cold room. One that he has never felt before. It burns him and it doesn’t hurt. Whenever he’s with her – it never has.
They end in the dark of the night. She tells him that he should grow out his hair. He tells her that he will.
In the morning, the rain still falls.