Chapter Text
This world was cruel.
That was a fact Mikasa had learned at a young age.
A fact she had tried to deny in favor of clinging to her white veil of innocence. But that flimsy veil was roughly torn away the day the burglars came. She was forced to recognize the truth that the world was a ravenous monster that took and took and rarely gave back. Everything in this world was born only to die.
Her father, with hair spun of gold and eyes as blue and as open and honest as a clear blue sky, was the first to be taken that day. The dark maroon of his splattered blood blended into the red flannel of his shirt. Discarded and pushed aside, his body hit the wooden floor with a heavy thud. Only moments ago he had been praising her sewing skills and offering a smile so warm and bright it felt like sunshine. His hands were large and calloused from all his woodworking and only moments before they had been filled with warmth as they patted her head. It took a second maybe less for the world to take her father’s sunshine smile and warm hands away.
Her mother, a talented seamstress, had soft grey eyes that shone like a quartz moon with onyx hair that was as soft as silk. She was the second to be taken from her in the same span of time. Her mother had grabbed her silver scissors and flew out of her seat in a dash of black. There was a struggle, but not much of one. Her mother was slender and frail and a hard blow to her head rendered her dead in seconds.
Had it not been for the commotion her mother had created as she attacked the burglar; wild and feral and screaming like a banshee then maybe the boy next door wouldn’t have come brawling in wielding a gun. Mikasa took her mother’s discarded scissors in her shaking hands. They were coated in the red residue of the now-dead burglar. The scissors felt warm...hot even, humming in her trembling hands. The boy with blazing green eyes had caught two of the men by surprise and quickly, much too quickly killed them. The third adult quickly recovered from his shock and held the boy up by the collar of his red scarf, kicking the gun away as soon as it fell from the boy’s hands.
He was shouting, the boy was shouting too.
It was white and red.
The white noise of screaming and struggle. The red of the blood, the red of his scarf, the red of his face flushed with rage... and the green broke her out of her trance. He glared at her. It was like he was challenging her to take the bait, to survive, to fight.
“Fight! You have to fight!”
Yes, she had to fight because if she didn’t then this cruel world would swallow her whole without a second thought.
She screamed as the world went bloodshot red, the same color as her father’s blood, as her mother’s blood, red like the boy’s warm scarf.
She owed him her life.
He gave her the strength to fight and for that, she was eternally grateful. Her admiration and thankfulness toward him were ineffable. On that day she vowed to return the favor by becoming his strength. She’s never felt so protective over something in her young life and she is sure it must be love. He had come in like a knight in shiny armor and whisked her away from the horrible world, shielding her from the cruel, cold December wind with his warm red scarf. His act of kindness, of bravery, moved her heart in ways it had never been moved before.
It was soft and sweet and vulnerable.
And, it could be taken away.
The warmth of a scarf could be snatched away at any moment and she would be left stranded with the cold winds of reality once again. So she had to protect it. Protect him. He deserved to be happy, he deserved her everything. He was her scarf, her warmth, her reason to keep living...the reason why she was living. He was warm and soft, a form of protection just like the scarf he gave her...
She wouldn't allow him to be taken away from her.
Mikasa followed him like a shadow. She consistently trailed just a little behind him in order to keep an eye out for any signs of danger. She also made a point to always have aspirin and bandaids on hand because he was such a rowdy and reckless individual. Her aunt Kuchel, who had taken her in after the burglary, would often tease her saying she was Eren’s personal nurse.
Eren.
That was the name of her savior. The name of the only person she would ever love.
That moment--back when they were ten years old...when he wrapped his scarf around her. She swore she saw iridescent phosphenes surround them in a nimbus of light and warmth that deeply contrasted the white backdrop of winter. It was like what she had read about in fairy tale stories.
It made her feel sweet and pure.
Mikasa had always been a fan of sweets and she fell in love with that feeling. She would give anything to feel that way again. To feel innocent and warm like chocolate.
He had become her everything ever since that night. It must have been destiny then that they met on that day.
She never questioned her devotion. All she knew was that she wanted him to need her like she needed him. Mikasa couldn’t bear the thought of being abandoned again so she had make herself useful. As long as she was useful they could stay together forever and even as she grew older she held onto that conviction.
How can a belief this strong be wrong?
The night of the burglary he was on edge. Just weeks prior he swore he saw some suspicious people milling around his house in a black SUV. They were tall and huddled in a group as their shifty eyes scanned the houses. They were up to no good. He could feel it in his bones! When he raised his concerns to his father he reassured Eren that every would be fine. His father stated various facts about how safe the neighborhood was, how he was friends with a police officer, and how they had the latest house security installed just last month. The little company sign that protruded out their yard as proof of their security. The man was too content, too easy to brush him off and that made a small ember in his belly grow hot.
Eren was never content with being well...content, not when he could do something. Waiting for something to happen was the way of the coward! You have to take action!
So that night he readied himself. Armed with a small pistol and a handful of bullets that he stole from his father’s basement, without his parents’ knowledge. He snuck downstairs when his father retired to said basement and his mother went to bed upstairs. With a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and his coat buttoned up he made his way outside. He hide behind one of the bushes just in front of his house and kept guard.
It was cold...like REALLY cold and he wanted to go back inside immediately, but then he saw figures approach the next-door neighbor's house. His finger found the trigger and he readied himself...the thought came that it may just be some friends or family members coming to visit but as soon as that door opened that idea was thrown out the wind and when he heard a woman scream he jumped into action.
Looking back on it now, he recognized how reckless and selfish he had been. He had only been concerned with keeping his own house safe...He was not fully prepared to defend anything else...or anyone else... He ran in guns literally blazing with no plan and no backup...he could have died in vain and he shuddered to think what would have happened to Mikasa if that had come to pass.
Eren liked Mikasa, loved her as a brother would a sister.
She was a wonderful person, but she was flawed in a way his young mind couldn’t really understand. She was strong, but she clung to him like a weight. She was caring, but she strangled him like a scarf in the middle of July. She loved him... but he always felt like it wasn’t genuine...It was hard to describe… There was something in her eyes whenever she directed her love towards him--it was always distant, like it wasn’t really for him.
The way she showed her love toward him also rubbed him the wrong way...She treated him like a king and delegated herself as a servant. He hated that. Hated how even though she was so strong she was also so very weak. She made him feel weak by extension and he doesn't know how to handle those feelings of inadequacy, which just made him frustrated! No one showed him how to deal with these 'frustrations'...
Oh, wait his mother did. Yes, whenever she was frustrated she would turn red and start shouting...So that’s what he did and it made him feel better...slightly...
If he shouted she would back off, if he pushed back when she tried to push forward she should get the message. That he didn’t want to be in a relationship. Not right now and not with her. He was sure if he didn't reciprocate her feelings she would move on, but that wasn’t the case.
The end of Junior High came. She had waited patiently since they were 10, but nothing came from it. Mikasa knew that if she didn’t say something, nothing would change.
'Change never comes to those who wait it comes to those who act.' That's what Eren taught her.
Now was the time to act...
It was just a shame he never did anything in all those years, never reciprocated any of her gestures. She wanted to believe it was just because he was too prideful to do anything, too shy. She needed to believe that…Mikasa wasn’t a liar by trade but her poker face was unmatched. No one could tell when she was angry or sad or even happy. So lying about her feelings came easily to her. Sometimes she lied so well she believed it and one time she lied so well she made Eren believe it.
That day behind the school’s magnolia tree she confessed to him. She poured her heart and soul; laid it bare for him and made herself vulnerable for the first time in a long while.
“I think I like you...no I know I must love you...Eren you make me feel strong and I care about you so deeply. I care so much that it hurts...All I want is to be by your side! Would you grant me that wish?”
He blinked and the 15-year-old Mikasa was gone in her place stood a 10-year-old Mikasa with long hair and a pale worried face hidden behind a large red scarf. She was scared...but he made her fell safe. In her eyes he was strong and he made her strong in return...
His heartbeat quickened--pitter pattering in a way he has never felt before. His head was reeling and his pulse was rushing. His legs felt like jelly and when he blinked again 15-year-old Mikasa was back, still anxiously awaiting an answer… expecting an answer after placing all her expectations on his shoulders...He swallowed a nervous wad of spit...She deserved to feel loved, to feel strong. If he made her feel that way then that was good, that meant he was strong by extension.
She loved him. She said she did...
But...
What would she do if he rejected her? Right here, right now…? His shoulders felt heavy and a single word flew out of his dry throat...
“Okay…”
That day Eren and Mikasa started dating.