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It was a mistake.
Lanterns burning low, stumps of candle wax, flames long since extinguished. Clothes strewn about the floor, stained with blood and dirt.
It was a mistake.
Tangled, naked bodies, the heavy smell of red wine still lingering, hours after the last drop was drunk.
"It was a mistake." All of the warmth from the previous night had disappeared, leaving Mikasa's eyes cold and distant.
Jean shifted his hands from his face, letting them drop to his lap. She was already on her feet, buttoning up her shirt. He supposed that was best: get dressed quickly, remove the evidence, go back to their lives as if nothing had happened. "What, you asking for it or me giving in?" His expression matched hers: cold and unforgiving. Anything he'd felt the night before was gone. "It was just sex, right?"
Mikasa's stance betrayed her discomfort, though she tried to hide it. "That's what I'm saying."
"If it was just sex, then why call it a mistake?" Jean's face was unchanged. "We've been stuck in this borderland shithole for God knows how long, fighting for our lives. I think we earned a little stress relief. Even if it only lasted about twenty minutes," he muttered.
She glanced at him, but didn't respond. That was typical for her, she kept her thoughts to herself most of the time. And now that she had finally spoken up, it had led to this: misery and disappointment. Not that the twenty-some odd minutes of foreplay and sex hadn't been good—after all, beggars could not be choosers. Twenty minutes, and then a few hours of sleep, only to wake up stone-cold sober.
He stood up, and even in the low light, the scars of the past several years stood out on his bare chest. Then he grabbed his shirt off the floor and pulled it on, focusing on each button as he fastened it, a dark look in his eyes. "Was the mistake doing it in the first place, or just doing it with me?" He looked directly at her. "Huh? Mikasa?"
Her eyes hardened. "It was a mistake altogether. We're comrades."
He kept his eyes fixed on her. "And if it were someone else here...instead of me…?" He glanced down to buckle his pants and smooth out his shirt. "Can you honestly say you'd be treating him like this?"
"He's been gone for months," Mikasa snapped, clenching her fists. "Why do you keep bringing him up?"
"Because he's not here and you're still thinking about him!" Jean nearly shouted. "I'm the one who's with you! I just had sex with you, and you're thinking about him!"
"You brought him up. Not me," Mikasa retorted, far from losing her cool. Jean had completely abandoned the idea of keeping his. "Besides, what does it matter? You said it was just sex. Right, Jean?" she said pointedly.
"Of course it wasn't!" Jean said, frustrated. "When is it ever? And you know how I feel about you—I shouldn't even have to say it. It's completely obvious."
Mikasa relaxed her hands and her face softened slightly. "Jean, we talked about this. You need to forget about your feelings...at least for right now. This isn't the time for romantic entanglements."
It was hard to face her, but he did, anyway. "Forget my feelings?" He clenched his fist at his breast. "Listen, those feelings that you think are so easy to cast aside—those are the only things keeping me going right now! The thought of us somehow living normal, happy lives—I'm clinging to that." He squeezed his fist more tightly. "Tell me, Mikasa, what else do I have to live for? We're all just running towards our own deaths—have been for years." He sighed, letting his hand fall at his side.
She caught his arm as he started to leave; her grip was firm. "I asked for this, right? I came to you."
"So?" He tried to pull away, but she held on. "I just happened to be there."
"That's not true." She wasn't looking at him, but her hold on him was tightening. "You need to listen, Jean, because I'm only going to say this once." He stared at her, questioning whether the next words out of her mouth would be a death threat. "I came to you because I...wouldn't find comfort...in any other man's embrace." She met his gaze and he gaped at her. "Not even Eren's." He couldn't help but sense the addendum "not anymore" to that statement.
He was frozen, unable to process what he'd just heard. "Does that mean...you...have feelings for me?" he sputtered.
"I don't know what it means," she said softly, yet sternly. "I only know that you're...different...from the others." She turned her head and he noticed her cheeks were the faintest pink in color. "That doesn't mean I intend to treat you any different on the field."
"Mikasa, I...um, I'm sorry I said those things to you," he said.
"It's fine." She let go of his arm. "I know you're insecure and feel inferior to Eren."
He furrowed his brow. "Wha—? Hey! I am way more skilled on the field than that bastard! And I'm not too bad at...that either," he said, gesturing towards the pile of crumpled blankets that had been their bed. "I wasn't...terrible...was I?" He set his jaw; now he did feel insecure about that.
The corners of her lips twitched and he stopped, rubbing the back of his neck. "Do you think...everything will work out in the end?"
"I didn't know you to be so sentimental," he said dismissively, but changed tack when he saw the dejected expression on her face. "Uh, look." He took her hands, which were surprisingly warm to the touch. "Honestly, I have no idea if any of us will make it, but...I don't plan on dying anytime soon. And you better not either," he added with a smirk.
"I won't," she said. "I'm the strongest one here, besides the Captain." She grimaced a little.
"And, um…" he began, letting her hands slip away, "if you ever want to do that again...I wouldn't say no." Now she was really blushing. She pushed her hair out of her eyes then shifted her arms around her middle. He was struck by how small she looked, how...vulnerable. Normally, she projected strength and stubbornness, but he couldn't see any of that right now. He was overcome by the feeling of wanting to hold her, keep her—take her away from all this and live out the rest of their days in some quiet corner of the world.
Of course, that wasn't possible—not now, perhaps not ever. No, the reality was that those twenty-some minutes and the few hours of peaceful sleep that followed were a rarity in this world that they lived in. He didn't expect to have a moment like that with her again, because the reality was that he likely wouldn't survive the upcoming assault. He stared at her, with that soft expression on her face, the rare warmth that had filled her eyes once again—he wanted to hold onto this moment for as long as he could.
"Jean?" she said. "Should we go?"
He swallowed, trying to hide what he was feeling inside, trying to cling to that feeling of holding her, of her body beneath his, the gentle touch of her lips on his. He set his jaw and nodded. "Yeah," he said, before following her out.