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In the quietest moments on an August night, where the crickets chirp lullabies for the shimmering stars above, and the cool grass sways in a gentle and silent breeze, you can find Mikasa in her usual spot: under a tree, next to a small grave, lost in her own thoughts as the moon rises and casts its rich glow over the hills.
It’s been half a decade since Eren— her Eren, the only star in the night sky she thought she ever truly needed—left the world forever. She’s visited him ever since, though it was much easier to do so in the summer. Ever since the night Armin had to drag her from this spot, half-frozen from lying by the grave in the dead of a winter night, she sticks with visiting him when it’s warm enough to not freeze to death if she ends up falling asleep. She can’t help it—it’s a nice spot to close her eyes.
Remembering this, she chuckles to herself. That was long ago, in a different time. She knows better now. She looks at the stone, brushing off the bits of nature it’s gathered in the month since the last night she came. She’s always too busy during the day, but nights are hers. A small bouquet of dried wilted flowers catches her eye, one she knows she didn’t put there, but she doesn’t move it.
“You’ve made yourself at home in my mind for a long time, Eren,” she says. “How long are you planning on staying?” She chuckles, but a strange sensation fills her stomach—something about being here tonight is strange. The fluttering travels to her heart, and she focuses her attention on the soft crunching noises coming up from behind her.
The crunching continues, getting closer each time, and Mikasa realizes they’re footsteps. She sits up and peers behind the tree, and the light from the full moon reveals Jean making his way to her—or, perhaps to Eren, since he doesn’t seem to notice she’s there, but she spots a small flower bouquet in his right hand.
“Jean?”
He stops, wide-eyed, looking at her as she gives a small wave. After a few seconds, his face relaxes, and he walks up to her.
“I didn’t expect to see you here tonight,” he says. “I usually visit once every few months to, well…” he looks at the flowers in his hand, which look about the same size as the wilted ones she found earlier.
“Of course,” is all she says, watching as Jean kneels at Eren’s grave, taking off the dead flowers and carefully setting down the new ones he brought.
Mikasa can’t help but marvel at him for a few seconds. He looks older, and dare she say wiser, since the last time she saw him. These days, time seems to pass too quickly without her permission—the last time she saw Jean and the others was maybe a year ago, maybe more, or maybe less… but how many times has Jean visited Eren? How have they never crossed paths before tonight?
“I’ve come here alone at least a few times a year,” he says suddenly, as if he was reading her thoughts, “but it feels like he’s fading from my memory. It was weird, back then, I never thought there’d be life like this. Never thought I’d be moving on, and he wouldn’t.”
Mikasa nods, and they both stay silent. A warm breeze picks up, shaking the branches and leaves above, and causing shadows to dance along the surrounding grass.
“How are you doing these days?” he asks, lifting his head to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry if you get asked that too often, but I wonder about you from time to time.” His eyes dart to the ground, as if he didn’t mean to say that last part.
“It’s alright. I’ve been busy enough with work. It’s taken a lot to try to bring peace to the island again.”
“I get that,” he sighs, “I can’t get peace when I’m at home, working, or just walking down the street.” He brushes a leaf off of the grave when it falls from above. “I look forward to nights like these. Reminds me I should be grateful.”
Mikasa hums in response, the word grateful repeating itself in her head. Of course she’s grateful to Eren. But, moments like these—the quiet August nights filled with warm breezes and the distant chirping of crickets—should be spent on her own time, right? Not alone, grieving someone she lost so long ago?
Jean slowly gets up and takes a step back. “I’ll leave you be—”
“Don’t,” she interrupts.
He stares at her, keeping his body still.
“I mean… stay. Please. I don’t mind not being alone for once.”
Jean’s expression softens, and he sits down next to Mikasa, minding her—and Eren’s—personal space.
“I don’t mind not being alone, either,” he says, soft and low.
Not a word is exchanged for a while—a comfortable silence falls upon the two, the only thing breaking it being the leaves above when the wind rustles them, causing the branches’ shadows to dance in the moonlight. And Mikasa feels her eyelids becoming heavy—with every blink, it’s harder to open them again. Slowly, her head makes its way to Jean’s shoulder, and if it bothered him, he said nothing. But before she can fully fall asleep, Jean shifts under her, and Mikasa lifts her head up while mumbling an apology. He replies with a soft “sh,” wrapping his arms around her and guiding her head closer to his chest.
“You can rest now,” he whispers, and there’s something about the genuine softness in his voice that brings the fluttering sensation back to her heart.
“Jean…” she breathes, but whatever she was going to say next is lost as the remaining bits of her consciousness slip away into darkness.
Maybe their lives in the daytime would be filled with nothing but worries and responsibilities, but nights were theirs; and it’s now, holding each other outside on a night in August, that they finally, after all these years, can find their peace.