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“ I saw you in a dream.
You had stayed the same
You were beckoning me
Said that I had changed ”
~
It was during serene moments such as these when all her worries would wash away as though she were being cleansed of her anxiety. The familiar rhythmic motion of fingers combing through her ebony locks and running through the tufts of hair that threatened to knot together fill her with an odd sense of comfort, as though this simple act of someone flattening down the stray strands of hair that refuse to be tamed indicates a level of safety that she’ll never find elsewhere but here.
More often than not, the roles in this circumstance reversed, with Mikasa being the one to play with the sepia-brown jungle atop a certain boy’s head as he rests upon her lap.
However, in spite of the reversed positions, the change doesn’t seem to bother her.
She is almost too comfortable with this change—with being in a position in which she isn’t constantly having to peer beyond her own shoulder to watch her own back. So comfortable, in which, it is her lack of apprehension that forces her to worry. She doesn’t worry for long though, because, in due time, her unease wafts away as steam would curl off a mug full of hot tea.
In the absence of chaos comes a peace that fills the void that the lack of discord has left in its wake; the amenity of cicadas buzzing nearby accompanied by the gentle rustling of leaves dancing in the summer breeze sounds quiet in her ears compared to the screams she’s heard on the battlefield.
Battlefield…
The sudden thought jerks her away from her peaceful state of mind and into one of slight unease, prompting her to peel her eyelids open and take in the sight around her.
When she sees emerald eyes that burn with ambition—everything she fails to see in her own reflection with her steel grey eyes that seem more lifeless than anything—she is almost stunned by his piercing gaze. Even when not fighting for their lives—even in such calm moments such as these—his eyes still hold a certain type of intensity as though the flame of vehemency within him is constantly burning brighter and brighter.
How does he do it, she wonders.
That, she may never know.
Nonetheless, a fond smile tugs at her lips. The act of smiling still feels odd, but around him, it never feels ingenuine.
“ Did you fall asleep? ” He asks her, though unlike the unwavering fervor in his eyes, his voice sounds distant.
With a gentle shake of her head, she says, “ no, I was just relaxing. ”
He blinks, unsmiling.
“ Being with you is relaxing, ” Mikasa admits through an exhale. “ I feel comfortable. Like… I’ll never feel this safe anywhere else… ”
Like you’re the only one I can depend on, she doesn’t say, because saying that might be a bit much, and she’s just testing the waters of their relationship as of now. They are friends with feelings that root deeper than simple platonic affection, but they are still a bit confused.
But then his lips tighten, eyes softening at that slight confession. It’s nothing much, but it’s all he seems to need to look at her with such fondness.
They never seemed to need much for each other anyway.
“ It’s odd… ” he murmurs.
Her brows raise. “ What is? ”
He blinks, and for a split second, the fire in his eyes fades. It fleets for just a fraction of a second, but Mikasa doesn’t miss it. She observes it fade—catches it—and then suddenly, it begins to stick to her like a phantom. That moment when his zeal seemed to waver is suddenly tearing her from her reverie as though she is sensing an impending moment of dread.
The calm is fading and now comes to terror.
She watches him part his lips to respond, and in a last-minute attempt at interrupting him, she parts her lips in tandem with his—as though interjecting will alleviate her unease—but it is fruitless.
“ It’s odd how you can be so comfortable with someone like me. ”
She swallows. The atmosphere has already begun to shift.
“ With someone who is dead. ”
No.
Like a dream, it all fleets all too quickly. The scenery around her fades into a nightmare comprised of traumatic recollections that drag Mikasa deeper underneath the anxiety that floods through her system. Crimson drips dripping down her fingers as she holds Eren’s decapitated head in her hands, grasping the face of a man that had once been her everything. His eyes, once so bright and so hopeful, are dull.
Trying to escape the memory is nothing but a tiresome effort that corrodes her mind and the harder she fights against it the stronger it becomes as it subdues her. It is as though she is being force-fed wine too concentrated for her tolerance, but as she struggles she only begins to choke on the alcohol.
Each desperate time she reaches to grasp at the daydream at the back of her mind she becomes nothing but more exhausted.
But it is because she is so accustomed to clinging to Eren that she finds it hard to finally let go. Although she had slain him on that day when he had intended to flatten to Earth, she refuses to accept the fact that she must discover life beyond him when she has sacrificed so much for him. Too acclimatized to risking it all for him and too fearful of the hurdles she’d have to overcome should she finally let him go but also too mentally exhausted of suffering from grief each time she attempts to envision happiness has her in an odd limbo.
She has to let him go for the sake of her own emotional stability…
…but she also misses him so much.
“Mikasa.”
The girl jerks back into consciousness as though someone has yanked her from sleep, snapping her head up to greet who had awoken her from her dream-turned-nightmare.
When she sees Armin’s familiar face gazing upon her with worry, relief floods through her system.
“Armin…”
He offers her a tight-lipped smile. “You fell asleep at his grave again,” he tells her.
She blinks, turning to see Eren’s small grey grave sitting beside her atop the grass, bellflowers sprouting to life beside the moss crawling up the side of the craves of his name. The sight of it is so painful, but she doesn’t cry.
She won’t cry.
“Sorry,” she quickly forces out, the apology clipped as a means to hide the waver in her voice.
“You don’t have to apologize,” he tells her. “But everyone else is waiting for you.”
She blinks. “Everyone… else?”
Armin sighs at her, pulling his hand away from her shoulder and standing up to his full height. “Did you forget? We were all going to have lunch. When you didn’t show up… well, we had assumed you would be here.”
Mikasa cocks a brow, ready to question her blond friend further before he interrupts her before she can squeak out the beginning of her inquiry.
“Come on, let’s hurry up.”
Even with unanswered questions, Mikasa pulls herself up to her feet, and when she does she peers down the hill to see a familiar throng of people standing at the foot of it, all chatting amongst themselves. Jean, Connie, Annie, Reiner, Pieck…
When she rises they all shift their attention to her, and for a split second Mikasa finds herself at a loss of what to do before she pulls her lips into a small smile and adjusts the familiar red scarf around her neck.
Smiling, as it was in her dream, still feels a bit odd, but around them, it is just as genuine.
And as much as she may want to be in her head forever, imagining Eren still being by her side, she knows that it won't be real.
But at least this is real.
It isn't a lot…
…but it's enough.
I never really needed that much anyway.
~
“ Tried to keep my eyes closed
I want you so bad
Then I awoke and it was so sad ”