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In the chill of the springtime breeze, the grass stands tall and sways daintily, the glaring crowns of the flowers dangling in a plethora of tempting colors and chanting in pursuit of alluring hard working honey bees that were on the lookout to collect their sweet produce.
Half asleep, she shields her still sensitive eyes from the brightness, lids protesting at the greeting forenoon sun, peeking from the clouds till it lastly emerges fully from the shelter of the last of the passing celestial pillows, gliding gracefully across the turquoise planes of the sky.
Sunbeam dips her bare forearms in its enclosing mantle of intangible gold. Mellow warmth follows the rays’ path and burrows itself underneath the damaged surface of her skin, dry and covered in patches of scabs from the recently passed harsh winter months.
Brushing the longer ebony strands of hair that had come loose from her messy bun away from her face, she hoists herself on the sturdy tips of her toes with ease, extending her arms and reaching to remove the final clothespins from the frail strings of the clothesline.
Mikasa, what are you doing there?
Her mother always used to tell her, shaking her head in a stifled snicker as she peeked down from the clothesline, only to be greeted by the comical sight of her daughter strenuously stretching out and flailing her short arms in helpless movements, exceeding her small height by an impressive amount yet barely high enough to touch the dangling legs of her own hanging pants.
Don't worry, dear. Someday when you grow as tall as me you can help me out with the laundry. By then, I may need an extra pair of hands .
Though that day never came, she was more than grateful to have survived long enough to see the days she could perform those repetitive domestic tasks in the vicinity of her own home
Once she’s done collecting the sun-dried laundry completely, she kneels down and picks up the wicker basket to make her way back to the quaint and modestly sized cottage, carrying the handwoven container against her hip as she plods through the kneehigh wilderness as quickly as the fields of thriving weeds enable her legs, ever careful not to trample and inflict damage on the fragile dandelion younglings by accident, their bitter-sweet fragrance mixing with the scent of the fresh clover and jasmine emanating from the clothes.
Having set foot on the porch of the house, she opens the slightly ajar door further, slipping out of her favorite ballet flats before crossing the threshold of the entrance.
These days it doesn't take a keen eye to notice the already open patio door anymore, seeing the semi-sheer curtains flutter in patterns as delicate as water and reveal a preview of their vast backyard from the periphery of her vision whilst heading for the bedroom at the end of their hall.
She'd always loved this unassuming part of their house the most. Ever since occupying this treasure of an uninhabited parcel of land, entirely devoid of any signs on life or information about its former owners, she'd considered it most characteristic simply for the amount of natural light it was capable of capturing by virtue of its build.
She enters the space promptly, without first making sure to announce herself with a light knock on the wooden veneer, nor deeming it a necessity to press down the handle to the door with thoughtful cautiousness, reducing the high-pitched noise produced by the squeaking hinges (which were long overdue for another oil treatment) to the lowest possible minimum in order to not disturb the rest of the person she knows was no longer inside.
Letting the large basket plop on the unmade cushy bed, retelling the old tale of yet another slow and draggy start into the morning, the crinkles on the linen bed sheets crease even deeper upon impact.
"Five more minutes?" with a mumbled groan, her voice too weary from heavy slumber, she asked him the same old, mundane question that she already knew the answer to the moment initial gleams threatened to spill and disturb the tranquility in the safehold of their shared room.
Though her lids were tightly shut, she felt him tense up and roll over his arm in an subconscious attempt to block the infiltrating light from interrupting their morning peace earlier than either of them wanted, curling up against her body comfortably and coaxing her to snuggle into him in doing so as he tucked the top of her head secure under his chin.
"Five more minutes." he managed to mutter against her with an almost inaudible sigh, his breathing stirring the protruding curls of her bed head before dozing off again almost immediately.
Needless to say, just like on every instance in their sleep-drunken state, today's quick exchange had yet again proven itself to be mere wishful thinking on their part, their prolonged laziness always lasting far beyond the infamous delay of five minutes.
But that posed no issue, they had all the time in the world now.
Having long ingrained the motions into their memory from neverending day-to-day chores, her hands pick the garments back to back, neatly aligning the sleeves by following the direction of the seam lines and folding them into little textile squares before repeating the routinely procedure.
Only lightweight and flowy materials like linen and cotton were reserved for their wardrobe now, replacing the once tight-fitting bodysuits and constricting metal fasteners of the past with baggy clothes.
When she gets a hold on the soft wool of the burnt ochre pigmented sweater, its proportions too bulky to have been made for herself, she grants herself the few seconds of leisure to bury her nose and smile into the fabric in sweet, nostalgic contention.
At its all too familiar scent, she fondly remembers the many late afternoons she'd spent on their rocking chair in front of the fireplace, thoroughly keen on hiding her progressing needlecraft away from his attentive eyes whenever he brought in a replenishing stock of chopped wood while she knitted the surprise gift for their first winter together.
She could still sense the nerve-wrecking anticipation that had seized every bone in her body, practically rendering her immovable from the sheer thrill of excitement when one evening he'd come back from a long day's trip of supply shopping at the nearest village to be well set for the winter season ahead of them. Immediately stunned by an overjoyed yet at the same time anxious Mikasa, he was handed the finished product by her with an enthusiasm in her voice rather atypical for her stoic conduct she’d usually put on.
"I've gone through some of the basic stitching patterns my mother passed down to me while I could still recall from memory, so I thought why not start off with a sweater as it is rather simple to make. I guessed you could use one since you’re out of the house more often recently." she had explained, or at least tried to, feeling like she needed to add some context to give clarity to the confusion clearly visible in his overwhelmed eyes, beginning to blink up from the gift in his hands as he shifted his attention and listened to her ongoing though endearing ramblings.
"Some of the rows may have ended up being too tight compared to the rest. I checked multiple times but I might have unknowingly dropped some stitches here and there, I mean- after all it’s been quite some time since I've last knitted something. Just tell me if you find anything odd in the finework so I can see to it and-”
"Hey, slow down there, Mikasa. Take a breath.” he butted in with a concerned grin, broken out of his prolonged stupor at last, his gripping hands quick to relieve her of the built up tension from her shoulders. “At this rate, you'll pass out on me. We don’t want that now, do we?"
Cut short by his interjection, she blinked rapidly at his alarmed pupils and swallowed down the other half of her interrupted sentence in anticipation of his still pending response, recoiling slightly at the unpleasant awareness that he couldn’t get a word in edgewise due to her wild tirade.
"First of all, I’m but an unschooled layman, I don’t think you should put your trust in me detecting minor imperfections that you haven’t found yet.” he stated with a confident adamancy in his own incompetence she could only describe as semi-paradoxical yet reassuring anyways. Releasing her shoulders, he held up his gift, inspecting its refined details with meticulous eyes that were bearing a childlike glimmer in them.
“This is really impressive work, the craftsmanship looks splendid if you ask me. Why did you never tell me you could knit? I mean I appreciate humility as much as any other person but being humble about your talents takes it a bit far, don’t you think so?"
Words of reaffirmation and praises were still a novel phenomenon to her she needed to get used to, filling her with a profound feeling of overflowing pride born from an origin entirely alien to her until then.
"To be honest with you, I didn't think I could either until I finally picked up needle and yarn again. It seems some habits from my childhood stuck with me all the way through at least." she replied as she lifted her chin to meet his inquisitive glance, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her cardigan in the sudden excitement coursing through her limbs.
“Your timing is perfect, you know, these last few days I was sort of thinking about looking for something thicker to wear underneath my coat. This will definitely come in handy for the upcoming months.” he passed another gentle smile her way that could brighten up anyone’s day, she reckons nowadays.
He never failed in being generous with his smiles. More so when she was on the receiving end of his affections.
"Oh really? That sounds great. I hope it'll be enough to keep you warm when you're out working. Obviously, I couldn’t take your measurements - that would’ve spoiled the whole surprise - so I just tried my best to base it off your other sweaters. It may run a bit big though since almost all of our clothes have stretched out from all the washing."
"No need to worry about that, I'm sure I'll be growing into this far sooner than expected.” he professed half-ironically, his gaze betraying his thoughts as it strayed to the many hearty meals set on their dining table, the food yet to be served still steaming deliciously from their clay pots.
“As for the cold,...” startling her senses, he then reached her side and placed a small peck on her parted lips without further thought, leaping off the premature stage of timidly testing uncharted waters in their early relationship with a bold jump before carrying on suavely.
“...I will think plenty of you while wearing it, that’ll be enough to keep me warm." the low baritone carried a humorous glint, making it only seem more as though his daring action left him entirely unaffected.
The sweater back then marked only the beginning spark of many more self-knitted pieces which were yet to come, all of which had soon become his personal favorites, given the high frequency they had ended up stained in soil and dirt.
After folding the rest of his prized possessions, she ensures to stack them just the way he likes them organized. Meticulously coordinated by their muted colors before storing them away on the shelves in their unadorned closet where they are guaranteed protection from intruding dust and pollen carried by the mild spring air.
With efficiency acquired through the huge chunk of workload, she proceeds, grabbing the long end of the blanket and making the bed with only a few swift motions.
A loud huff escapes her as her lungs begin to fill up again, renewing lost stamina.
There were said to be days where she was notoriously hailed for enduring any physically challenging demand, facing every might thrown her way head on with just the snap of her finger, but those sayings lie too far in the past now to matter. Far too few of this tale's spinners and readers are alive to commemorate the soldier who's bid herself farewell many years ago.
She'd long made amends with the girl left homeless again, shattered into shreds after her last stand and since looked ahead to perfecting the closing epilogue to her story as best as she could.
And so far, she guesses she's done much better than she could've hoped for at the beginning. So much so, that especially throughout the initial phase of familiarizing and settling into their new surroundings, a malicious premonition would crawl up from the back of her mind every now and then and feed her with dark thoughts in the subsided moments where she'd thoroughly scrutinize the enclosure of their four walls and take notice of the stark contrast between her many wall-mounted embroidery pieces and the complete absence of personal belongings on his side of the room.
He didn't need to outright say that he preferred his space decluttered yet still, in those moments, a fear long thought to be defeated would slowly creep in on her, leading her down a dangerous trail of doubts.
Like whirling her way through a tunnel entertaining her with its wicked schemes, too benevolent to suspect anything that could betray the underlying deception that maybe, maybe she had never shared this room or this secluded home with anyone dear to her to begin with.
Nowadays however, she knows better than to believe in such made up falsities.
Because night upon night, the assurance of a heavy body spooning her scar-littered back along with his quiet snores lulling her into pleasant worlds had etched itself deep enough to burn into skin and memory, telling her of another story she could not have made up, for it seemed she had given up dreaming beforehand.
One of late yet eventually found adolescence, promised togetherness and, in some parts, of happy endings too. Even if the latter was not quite similar to the various ones they'd come across in the humble collection of fairytale and folktale books that had begun to collect dust in their resting place within the inhouse library, reading them aloud to each other sometimes, like when full-mooned midnights kept them wide awake and stretched far into the pinkish and tangerine hues of dawn. Descriptions he had tended to use the numerous occasions she'd sat beside him when the surging sunrise announced its presence, easel and stool set up outside and oils mixed on the palette in his hand, waiting to be spilled on his precious painter’s apron.
Adapting to the calm life that homemaking entailed proved itself to be a big hurdle in and of itself. And even now, it could sometimes be difficult to convince themselves that they were deserving of every single tick of the clock in which they got to while away in each other's company for the remainder of their hopefully many days to come.
But they got here nonetheless. And they moved through a beautiful reality at a standstill, hooping from one grayscale camera snapshot to another like the ones they had put up plenty of to adorn their blank hallway and will continue to do so till there wouldn’t be any area left to decorate anymore, a pictured storybook of their homesteading journey narrated by their ever-spectating walls.
Somewhere along the way, in between the interweaving alternation of seasons and the aging of their environment, the universe appeared to have stopped spinning for them when they retired from the scouts, a desire to make up for the unburdened youth they previously were denied.
In this makeshift universe however, minor tokens of aging hadn’t ceased to take a natural toll on their bodies; they were the singular inevitable exception they could not withstand. Managing tasks had indisputably become more tedious as they got older, the strain of mere household chores causing their backs as well as their battle-tested joints to ache faster than during any undergone confrontation on the front lines. Yet unlike before, where physical endeavors were without avail, every rare instance of what seemed like a small victory over their enemies crushed by the emergence of an even bigger foe, the exhaustion clinging onto their bodies now arrives in the shape of an indispensable reminder that this time around, their effort was indeed culminating in better and more promising years than each one preceding them. A future not predetermined by fate but shaped by the labor of their diligent hands.
Each ugly blister they would obtain on their palms and feet and every muscle they would pull throughout they’d considered a personal reward encouraging them to keep going, a potent feeling applicable to even the most trivial of accomplishments such as weeding their garden or helping out lost little critters that had wandered astray find the exit.
She recalls one evening in particular that had unfolded after a physically draining day of reaping the many fruits of their prosperous, very first harvest. They’d all but collapsed on the sofa and taken turns massaging, relieving each other of the looming back pain that would've certainly announced itself the dawnbreak afterwards.
"Bearing the pain hurts only half as much when I am beside you. Just having you next to me does magic to ease the sore." he’d simply confided in her as he leaned further back into the mending pressure of her kneading hands, savoring the riddance of an exceptionally stubborn knot on his nape that had been plaguing him almost the entire day like an annoying mosquito buzzing in one’s ear constantly.
Back then, they hadn't come to her as a surprise at all. His candid words and the actual message of the unuttered ambiguity they bore beneath their inconspicuous surface. Similar to sensitive petals upon nightfall, she felt her heart constrict and clench with compassion as she too had found herself pondering over the soothing effect his sole presence had evoked in her heavy mind more and more recently.
"Rest with me then, Jean. From now on and forever." she had declared in a whisper.
That was fairly soon into their chapter of new beginnings under an abandoned roof in the mountainous, northern regions of the Paradisian hinterlands. A refuge they had discovered about three months after first talks arose of unofficial underground activities planned among both enraged commonfolk and renowned statesmen who were conspiring in the closed cellars beneath shady taverns and whose bloodthirsty cries demanded the retaliation of unavenged treason.
Ever since, with the certain turn of a single confession, what had once been their two-bedroom sanctuary had become a cottage with a single bedroom, leaving them with too much living space to utilize without any clear purpose to fulfill.
Speaking of which, she picks up the now emptied out laundry basket, tucking it under her arm and heading for the spare room at the end of the hall. Entering the large enclosure, she stores it under a cabinet shelf next to the rest of their cleaning supplies and allows herself a moment to take a detailed glance around the provisionally arranged multi-purpose room that came about through spontaneous convenient usage rather than elaborate planning.
Every thinkable tool and supply that belonged to the classical arsenal of any aspiring artist could be found here. Opened cans and tubes of carefully selected paint alongside brushes and spatulas coming in all sizes as well as at least a dozen of unfinished canvases depicting what largely seemed to be scenic landscapes were scattered around the floor that he'd mindfully covered with a layer of all the old newspaper issues they had never read.
Typically ambitious Jean. He’d always take on way too many projects at once and not see them through to completion, the perfectionist in him always taking the upper hand over his overestimated self.
Continuing to let her gaze roam over the scarcely illuminated space, something to her right sparks her interest and she slowly advances forward, towards the bumpy crack on the naked white wall that becomes more distinctive with each step. She lifts a finger in an effort to inspect its nature. Her suspicions are proven right when upon her touch, the top coating immediately begins to peel beneath her nail before flaking off the wall like snow falling graciously from the clouds.
An indication a new coat of paint was way overdue which was so shamelessly obvious to the eye that it couldn’t be put off any longer.
Perhaps, they shouldn’t go with that gloomy tint of chalk white again and select an actual color as a welcomed change from the continuous absence of the aforementioned.
Maybe a meek pastel like the quiet green of the sages on her kitchen windowsill she’d recently repotted could make a significant contribution to liven up this otherwise all-functional room. Or maybe a coolish purple that resembles a shade between the lavender in her herbary and the evergreen periwinkles at the glade down the forest path would be the most appropriate choice to make up for the lack of blues without risking an overbearing finish.
And eventually, there’d be the delightful sound of cheery laughter bouncing off these repainted walls someday, and it will be heard everyday.
By then, they would have of course replaced the ground made up of disarranged newspaper with a proper carpet that would be soft enough to dig her toes in and prevent running pairs of tiny feet from catching a nasty cold.
And when crickets would start to chirp at the wake of the nocturne hours, small bodies would be hiding underneath small-sized blankets in a practiced manner, clutching at their crochet stuffed animals while pretending to be fast asleep when mere seconds ago, the faintest of murmurs had pervaded the-
There it was again. That fuzzy, exciting current.
That unfamiliar source of giddiness permeating her body and spreading to the core in her abdomen.
Silly, foolish woman , she scolds herself, balling her fists into the flimsy material of her pleated skirt as if resisting an entrenched urge on the verge of taking flight.
She couldn’t make sense out of these feelings or why she had them in the first place. It’s still unfamiliar to her where they had suddenly come from and why they kept reappearing as of late.
Had she ever dreamt of such a future before?
Sure, in the long past, when she was an unwary child to her late mother and late father, ignorant to the vast number of looming obstacles in the world, the notion of becoming a parent herself at one point in her life seemed to be a non-negotiable and self-evident part of finding a partner to love, spend her adulthood and old age with as she could have seen her parents do in a different timeline.
Similarly to most children, she would’ve most likely nodded in staunch agreement, had anyone asked her younger self if she wanted to become a mother one day. Back when all her previous knowledge on the responsibilities of parenting consisted only of caring for her undemanding baby dolls who never grew up or talked back, any awareness on the excruciating levels of patience and emotional resilience required for the mentally taxing duties regarding the rearing of another human being not yet comprehensible for a child at the naive age of nine.
Now however, knowing more about parenthood and all the sacrifices it entails, the longing hit her with much stronger force. More and more often, it casually crept its way into the idle ponderings of her mind whenever she happened to zone out during the day.
The first time she took notice of these new feelings was about five months ago. She’d been anxiously awaiting her monthly blood in the bathroom as she was almost a month and a half late, constant worry never leaving her. Throughout her teenage years missing periods for up to many months at a time were commonplace for the majority of young female soldiers who had pushed their developing bodies to extreme limits by following a strictly monitored diet and intense daily workout sessions to top it off. A price they had paid to uphold the pride of their homeland.
Only after the war, when she’d begun showing her body the kindness it needed, treating herself to increasingly bigger portions and giving in to the temptations of her occasional cravings for sweets, had she slowly observed her menstrual cycle become regular as her life too had changed for the better.
That day on which her body had seemed to have reverted to its old ways, she’d waited and waited till the suffocating tension dissolved, a breath of relief escaping her when she had spotted a red droplet at long last, which dispersed the cause of her distress.
It was only a while later, when she went about her usual routine the same afternoon that a foreign twinge of disappointment nagged at the back of her mind, opening up various questions to a fervent longing yet unbeknownst to her.
Such as why she felt saddened out of the blue although she'd finally gotten her period.
And, more importantly, why she just couldn’t stop herself from thinking about the life-altering implications for the future had she not bled that day or the days after that.
It’s natural to yearn for this , she had learned to reassure herself.
You can afford to think about it now .
…
..
.
Without prior warning, the clangor of bells and loud bleating pull her out of her ruminations, inciting her to step closer to the approaching sounds from outside. From the room's window she's able to catch a passing glimpse of Jean herding their sheep together into one moving mass.
It’s only then that she remembers she hadn’t bid him good morning yet. So she leaves her daydreams and quickly finishes up dusting the tops of their wooden furniture before striding out into the open.
Once outside, she finds him among the grazing animals, sluggishly seated on a low wooden stool and milking Daisy, one of their few ewes in their small flock, who kept nipping at the grass as he mouthed nonsensical gibberish in an artificial timbre, appearing to be unbothered by the proficiency of his pulling fingers.
The jolly sight of it immediately makes her reminisce back on his beginning attempts at milking their livestock a couple weeks after they had thrown their very first litter. Looking back on those times, calling it a messy spectacle would be more than just a generous understatement.
Now though, having shown ambition to gain the needed practice as is in line with his strive for betterment, he’s improved his technique almost to perfection. She'd even go as far as to say that he‘s more efficient at it than her by now.
When she'd pointed it out one time, he had only abashedly dropped his head in that adorable manner she'd come to relish over time and begun scratching his neck in humble embarrassment, denying her claim in a sincere down-to-earth manner and in no way taking his own advice about proudly flaunting one's skills for the world to see.
"What can I say, I was taught by a natural after all."
He let his beard grow out ever since they had settled here, finding it rather annoying to tend to his daily maintenance of his orderly trimmed goatee. His long beige tunic was loosely fitted around his torso, giving a freewheeling spirit to his appearance. She hadn't picked up on it in their earlier days but back in the military, he was not only wise beyond his years but sometimes also looked vastly older than the mere adolescent he was, his brows usually drawn together in full concentration and marring his boylike features as he overviewed reports or strategized operations. Nowadays, his eyes light up more often, causing the vaguest semblance of youthfulness to peek through the aged lines he'd matured into.
As her studying eyes lingered on him, an audible yawn came over her, giving away her yet undetected presence. Before she could even try to give the false impression of busying herself with fetching water out of the well she’d leaned against, he’d already shifted his focus to the sound, catching her apologetic gaze over his shoulder.
“Now look who’s sneaking up on me like a zombie? It’s almost noon and you still look like Captain Levi’s just forced you out of bed at 4 am for cleaning duty.“ he called out to her with feigned mischief, pretending to check his imaginary wrist watch so as to conceitedly boast his punctuality.
Resolved to play along in the back and forth of their ordinary exchange of jesting words, she crosses both her arms over her chest and retorts in a defensive manner that was more than overblown.
“The brain fog must have clearly gotten to you because last I checked, it was on your special insistence that I overslept this morning to begin with.”
“Oh, I see. Now you’re just gonna leave out the most crucial part of the story where you were the one to ask for an extra five minutes.” he challenges her, raising his eyebrow playfully before proceeding to present his case.
“The only fault I take in this is that I, as thoughtful as I am , didn’t have the heart to rouse you from your slumber earlier. But what sane person could blame me when you had looked so serene whispering my name in your sleep oh so delectably.”
The unanticipated ridiculousness to his reasoning almost made her choke on a repressed chortle, rendering her speechless as she seriously considered the credibility behind his testimony when he'd still made no effort in clearing up the blatant bluff.
In fact, he seemed to enjoy the view of her flabbergasted expression, flashing a small sympathizing smile her way, the specific kind that accentuated the faint marks of his dimples and somehow made the melodious singing of the many birds perched on the trees' canopies louder.
The soft contact of their eyes is broken off when a feisty lamb, their eldest one, charges at them from the distance, leaving a blinking Jean bewildered for a split second as he rowdily shoves aside his hands to latch onto his mother’s teat.
“It doesn’t look like he wants to leave the nursing stage anytime soon. A very spoiled one, it seems. Aren’t you, greedy fella.“ he talks to the little rascal like it knows its mother tongue, his light-hearted voice carrying no trace of complaint despite the taunting use of language.
Whilst taking in the endearing scene playing out in front of her, she can’t help but reflect on his remark for a longer moment, grieving after a darker truth.
“That’s fine with me, I don’t wanna see them grow up too fast. It's not like anyone’s in a hurry or anything.“
The melancholic words escape her lips and they share an understanding glance as they remain silent for a while.
Normally, it would’ve been a hurtful thing to voice, cynical even. But they’d both reconciled with that long ago.
Releasing a loud sigh, he accepts his defeat to the suckling lamb, cracking his knuckles and placing the bucket aside to leave him be.
“Well, I think his mama here would agree as well. She doesn’t seem to mind that her grown boy is refusing to grow up at all.“
A sense of warm contentment pulls at her heartstrings as she watches Jean patting the thick layer of Daisy’s wool and doting on her lovingly. She still remains motionless as ever, indifferent to both of them and only interested in the vibrant green blades of grass under her nose.
She remembers a few months prior when the ewe had become a first time mother. The entire duration of the lambing had been a tiring endeavor for Jean and herself, even more so for Daisy who, at that time, was at her sickest and was breathing heavily all throughout the stressful hours in the shed. Overstrained and untrained for the unexpected difficulties that had arisen, they had stayed up all night to comfort and assist her deliver a healthy offspring, taking turns cleaning her and pulling on the small emerging forelegs.
In the rush of it all, she had managed to pass quick glances towards his distressed face shaken by the dire situation, pale white and fighting back the urge to cry. She’d seen the tears spill down only after they had wiped the sweat off their foreheads, chests heaving and palms resting flat on the straw bedding as they observed the lamb ultimately united with his mother.
And she’d forever carry the memory that had struck a deep chord in her, the moving scene of a careful Daisy, tired yet overjoyed and delving aimlessly into the first steps of motherhood by licking the sleeping bundle next to her clean.
The connection she had felt with the animal at that moment was almost unbearable.
Even now, it’s powerful enough to make her ache with that overwhelming yearning again and she shivers at the rapid realization that she doesn’t want to keep it locked away any longer.
“Lately, I’ve been thinking…“ she begins to speak through chattering teeth, one corner of her mouth twitching upwards as she pieced together words in the attempt of decluttering her confusing feelings.
"I've been thinking of this place in another three, four years from now. Picturing us growing our home if the circumstances allow."
The syllables run like a river and she can see him turn his head in the direction of the tune of her disclosure from the corner of her eye.
“So soon? Are we running out of land again?” he chimes in. “It’s barely been a year since we last expanded our property. And y'know… we kinda already have an issue of producing more than we need. Plus there aren't nearly enough potential customers in our perimetres that we could possibly sell to.”
Huh?
“Or do you plan on keeping chicken too? If so, we would need to build a coop.” he continues his guessing game, his voice slightly exuberant now.
Unable to react to the misunderstood situation she’d mistakenly created with her rather discreet approach to the subject, she deadpans his controlled excitement with a vacant stare, too baffled to respond back.
Stupid, charming idiot…
“What?“ he adopts a posture of immediate defense and apologetically rushes to his own aid, shoulders dropped and a hint of hurt plastered on his insulted exterior. “C’mon Mikasa, don‘t give me that look! Cause I definitely have been thinking about raising chicken for quite a while.“
Halfway there, at least.
“No, silly. N- not chicken…“ she stammers, thrown off guard abruptly and unsure of how to handle his unexpected comment.
Gods, why did he have to make it so hard for her?
“I meant it as in us . Starting a family together. Sometime in the coming future.“
His back straightened and the roving movements of his hands combing through Daisy’s curly fleece came to an instant halt mid-sentence.
For what seemed like an eternity, neither of them said anything. Only the improvised chorus of the sheep’s bleating cut through the loud silence between them that was now gradually becoming awkward though no silence could ever be uncomfortable enough to make her retract what she felt at this point in time.
"Sorry for my blunt delivery, I didn't mean to startle you. It just- it won't leave my mind and I think it’s best to have you know about it."
"No, no. I get it. I really do." he finally breaks out of his paralysis, looking off to the side. "I am just… taken aback, that’s all."
Another brief jiffy of calm passes until he recovers from his momentary shock and bolsters his resolve to meet her piercing eyes. Just like windows to his kind and broken soul, a profound vulnerability dances in those sun bathed hazel orbs.
"Would you believe me if I told you you’ve just reignited a cherished dream of mine I had long since buried and abandoned for my own good? Hell , forgotten even in the imminent uncertainty of war.” A self-pitying laugh rings clear in the air and he rests his elbows on either side of his knees, examining his hands with a bitter look as he harshly rubs the battle-worn skin, washing the sins off of him.
“I presumed that maybe if I miraculously survived till the end I could earn the privilege of having children one day - yet here I am and the guilt still weighs me down. Will I ever be deserving of that? Because… what right do I have to selfishly demand for the blessing of new life when I’ve claimed so much of it? How do you even hold and nurture life when you’re soaked in blood?”
Without realizing it, her feet had already begun taking off towards him on their own and she parts through the grass until she reaches the lonely figure, standing only a couple inches away from his sunken form. His subdued eyes look up at her timidly and her throat closes up at the raw fear she could read in them.
In the intent to console him, she encircles both his wrists and presses them to her lips. A simple gesture that smoothes out the rugged lines around his furrowed eyebrows like a purposefully designed cure to his sorrow.
“Don’t say that, Jean. Please. We’ve come a long way since those days, haven’t we? Just take a look around us!” she exclaims with a thin voice while stroking the calloused skin of his fingers with her thumbs before she takes his jaw between her hands, begging to be heard. “The luscious greenery, the fed sheep, the swarms of insects pollinating our flowers, all this life surrounding us exists because we made it happen. We could’ve turned out so different from the people we are today. We could’ve easily become cold and numb to the world and yet, we didn’t.”
They couldn’t in a million years, for they had retained their humanity.
Drawn in by her speech, he digests the gravity of her words as she traced small circles on his sparsely freckled cheekbones in an infinite loop, his attentive gaze repeatedly switching from her animated irises to the wide and genuine beam her face had now split into.
The tender act of it prompts him to wrap his strong arms around her from his sitting position and he envelopes her waist and back as if she were his lifeline to grab onto. She reciprocates his intimate response by tightening their affectionate embrace and filling the narrow gap between his legs to move her grip behind his ears. She leans his head on her stomach with a bare nudge, prepared to ward off any evil that dares to come between them.
His short inhales and exhales sync up with the quiet rhythm thrumming under her cotton blouse and she couldn’t say for certain whether he was carefully listening and imitating the pace of it or had just happened to adjust by coincidence.
"Mikasa?"
"Hmm?"
"Had anyone asked me when we still were young cadets if I could’ve ever imagined myself keeping livestock and growing crops for a living somewhere faraway, a place only a curious wanderer would visit, I’d probably have burst out laughing and dismissed that idea on the spot." he says against her and she could make out the weak smile forming through the thin material.
“I doubt anyone could’ve conjured up that vision in their head.” she states dryly, humoring herself as she envisions the look of pure terror his old bratty self would’ve worn at the mere audacity to associate him with the unprestigious lifestyle on the countryside.
Her comment elicits a muffled 'Yeah' from him and amused chuckles rumble through their chests briefly, the carefree aura that lingered in the atmosphere transitioning into one of solemnity not too long after.
"You know," his hands on her back unclasp, now tracing the curve of her spine.
"Just when I thought I had seen everything after traveling across the continents with the others, you came in, led me by the hand and took me to treasured parts of your world nowhere and nothing else could compare to. Gods , I am so tired from all the fighting and yet this - our life - is worth protecting and working towards. At all costs."
Comfortably, he angles his face so as to slant one half of it against the yielding flesh above her navel, his eyes closing at her instinctive caresses on his scalp.
"You've given me so much in these last years, I couldn't ever thank you enough to make up for it. But if it's one way I can sincerely express my full gratitude and if that's what you truly wish for, Mikasa, then I'd be glad to have a family with you. It's the least I can give you in return."
The ghost of his whisper quietens down and he lightly cradles her hips. Dumbstruck at his honest confession, she simply watches him nestling even deeper into her body as if she were a pillow.
"I'd love nothing more than that." he affirms his sentiment again and a stifled gasp gets stuck in her lung when just for a fleeting second, he had almost appeared not to be talking to her but to a kicking pair of legs in her belly instead. Like he was in the middle of making a silent promise to their future child he'd so longed for.
Something wet trickles over her cheeks and upon realizing what it was, her knees had already buckled under the sudden weight of the unbridled bliss that had erupted in her ribcage and consumed her.
Quick to react, the ash-blonde man maneuvers his grasp and catches her legs to keep her steady as noiseless, quaking sobs racked her poise. The firm lock of his grasp around her thighs strengthens when tears drop on his mane.
The happiness engulfing every fiber of her being right there was unlike any she’d experienced before, she thinks and for just a tiny illusion in time, she considers herself the luckiest woman walking on the face of the earth because of the palpable confirmation in front of her showing her through and through that she would have achieved the same outcome within every lifetime, no matter how rocky the path.
A long-awaited testament to her late parents that their now grown-up daughter had safely made her return to the untouched haven she was once forcibly removed from. Resuming her life seamlessly, almost as though she were never gone.
Are you watching over me, Mom, Dad? I know it took me a bit but I finally made it back home.
She feels him untangle her hold from his strands and interlock her trembling hand with one of his. Her eyes flutter shut when he begins peppering gentle kisses all over her knuckles, creating invisible trails as he wanders down the length of each of her fingers and up the back of her hand. In successive steps, he elevates himself to his full height all the while leaving one kiss after the other, on her clothed abdomen and chest, then from her collarbone to her accommodating jaw until he lastly covers her tear-streaked face with the loving caresses of his lips with no clear direction, causing the hairs on her arms to stand up.
Her left earlobe had tickled slightly when his beard prickled the sensitive skin there, and she could hear him take a heavy breath from their immediate proximity.
"Well, let's get started then." he then utters in a low voice against the shell of her ear, his outrageous words causing a choke to hitch in her throat. Searing blood rushes to her fair complexion in an instant, heating her cheeks up to what must’ve looked like a raging shade of crimson, she supposes.
"Wait, you mean like r-right now? I didn't think about a particular timeframe-" unable to meet his expectant gaze, she struggles to find the appropriate syllables, probably sounding like a babbling mess and feeling stupid as she accidentally locks eyes with a mowing ram that had his curiosity piqued by the wild gestures of her arms.
Dropping the facade, he throws his head back in a fit of laughter.
"Where is your head, Kasa? What kind of person do you think I am to jump to such an indecent proposal. Give a gentleman a chance to woo the lady first." he smirks with a teasing glint, pressing another kiss to her temple. "I meant the day. Let’s start it with a filling breakfast because I for one am beginning to starve!”
“Jean! Shut it…” is all she manages to say, the blush on her burning face deepening at the reveal of the blatant trap he's successfully lured her into.
Satisfied with himself, he just leans down and grabs the handle of the tin bucket containing the milk, ready to walk back to their cottage.
“I’m going inside to prepare the milk and set the table, could you draw us fresh water from the well?” he asks her without feeling the need to look at her frozen form, knowing that she would've done it on her own accord anyway.
On his way across the meadow, his tall frame brushes against the hanging branches of their single lilac tree.
A few of the fragile blossoms fall off and she watches them as they land and float atop the silk-like ripples in the milken sea.
Perhaps lilac would make a pretty color for their walls.
I'm sure he'd like that too.