Work Text:
Mikasa is greeted by warmth cocooning around her when she opens her eyes. It’s the scarf wrapped around her neck, shielding her from the cold of the night, and the hot tears rolling down her cheeks. She clutches the bedsheets over her mouth to choke down half-conscious sobs which threaten to escape her tightly pursed lips.
She doesn’t want to wake them up. Mrs Jaeger has done everything under the sun to make her feel at home the past few weeks. Tonight, she brewed Mikasa hot tea. The girl didn’t let her see the tremble of her lips as she pressed the cup on her mouth. She let her assume that her soft whimper was due to the beverage’s temperature and not because it smelled exactly like how her mother made it.
Eren saw, and he knew. He said nothing. He just clumsily squeezed Mikasa’s hand under the table until his parents sent them to bed.
In her nightmares, Mikasa doesn’t relive that night. She doesn’t dwell on the iron grip she felt on her heart until it was crushed into nothing when the life faded from her parents’ eyes, or on her innocence, which left her soul when the men bled out by her knife.
Instead, she sees her mother. She remembers her dresses, light as a summer breeze and her hands, rough yet gentle as she braids her hair. But never her face. As much as she cranes her neck to peek under the curtain of black hair and begs for her to lean down so she can take one final look, she never listens. She plasters on a patient smile and mercilessly keeps brushing her daughter’s hair, deaf to her pleas. Mikasa is already forgetting what she looks like. And that’s worse than any nightmare that could ever torment her.
She sniffles and wipes her nose from her nightgown’s sleeve. Her hair is meddled, as if it’s mourning the loss of the woman who tamed it. Eren, merely a small bundle under the covers of the other bed in the room –so close yet so far- shifts in his sleep, his breathing pattern changes. Mikasa grips her bedsheets and closes her eyes again. She will fall asleep, eventually. She struggles to choke down her sobs.
Eren shifts and sits up. “Mikasa?” he searches for her groggily in the dark. “Are you awake?”
A brief pause. “Yes,” she replies softly.
“Good.” He yawns and walks to her bed. “Because I just woke up. Armin spoke to me about glaciers and snow covered land yesterday. Even if you build a thousand snowmen, there still will be snow for more. I had the most amazing dream, we were there and we built the biggest snowman of all, as huge as a titan.”
Mikasa hums a response. She wishes she could accompany him in his dreams so badly. “It must have been cold there.”
“Yeah, it was. And I didn’t have my scarf, because I gave it to you.” He reaches out to tug at it playfully and finds it damp. His eyes widen slightly and he lets it fall. His head cocks to the side in good-natured curiosity. “Mikasa? Why were you crying?”
“I had a nightmare,” she mutters.
He taps a finger on his lips. “When I have nightmares, mum makes me tea.” He turns towards the door, only to be stopped by Mikasa, who grabs his shirtsleeve.
“Don’t wake up Aunt Carla.”
Eren frowns and she can read it in his eyes that he disagrees, but the edge to her voice made his certainty falter. He’s so stubborn that she fears he will bring his mother in anyway, so she instinctively tugs his shirt, anticipating resistance. However, all he says is “okay then. We’ll figure something out.”
When Mikasa had nightmares back home, mum would let her in the bed and hold her until she fell asleep. Her cheeks flush, she can’t ask that from Eren.
His eyes light up as he’s struck with an idea. Her heart stutters at that unique colour, the bright green which seems to change shades from the intensity of his emotions. “I know what’s wrong. You weren’t with me and Armin in the snow because you were trapped in your nightmare. Fall back asleep and follow me into my dream and I’ll take you to the snow titan. Don’t lose me, okay?”
“I don’t… know if it will work,” she mumbles. Her mother’s touch is haunting her even now that she’s awake. She wants more than anything to curl in her embrace in her dreams, but her heart bleeds and breaks when she indulges and inevitably remembers how things are, how they always will be.
Eren fills her vision by stepping closer. “Do you trust me?”
Mikasa nods.
“Then give it a try.” He leans forward and presses a kiss on her forehead, quick and awkward. He runs to his bed, takes the pillow and gestures at her to scoot over. He climbs under the covers. His feet are cold. Then, without warning, he yanks a red string from the scarf and fastens a knot around his index.
“What are you doing?”
“Tie it around your own finger,” he says confidently. “That way, you won’t lose me whenever I go.”
Her pulse stutters at the kindness of his voice and his certainty that he’ll keep her by his side forever. That he’ll always protect her. Mikasa falls asleep with his dishevelled image etched into her mind and with the memory of his brief peck on her forehead kept right next to her heart. She forgets everything else, just for one night.
“I will wrap that around you as much as you want. Now and forever, as much as you want!”
Mikasa rests on the infirmary bed, her eyes glued to the ceiling. Her hand ghosts over the bandages around her ribs, brain hazy from the painkillers that Hange insisted that she took, which Armin eventually slipped in her food after her persistent refusals.
Her mind revolves around the evening that just passed. She didn’t have time before, as she forced herself on her feet to check on Armin, Jean, Sasha and the rest, but now it’s just her and her thoughts.
Eren saved her. He stepped between her and death’s outstretched hand with a fire in his eyes she hasn’t seen in a long time. Vague memories pop in the drug-induced dullness of her mind. The way Eren’s fists clenched, the fervour of his promise, his solid form supporting hers as he carried her to safety. None is as jarring as the terror on his face when that titan grabbed her mid-air, when she screamed out in pain as her ribs cracked.
Mikasa stands up and drags her feet to the chair by the window, wincing with the pain her every step inflicts on her. She doesn’t know how much time has passed until Eren walks in. She knows it’s him even before she turns around. She knows his gait, the rhythm of his breath, how her heart rate picks up ever so slightly in his presence.
“Mikasa. How are you?” His voice is gentle, soothing.
“I’m fine. Thanks. How are you, Eren?”
He dismisses her worries with an absent-minded wave of his hand. “Good.” He stands in front of her, unsure of what to say or do. His fists clench and relax and she finds herself drawn to his eyes, green like the forest floor in the spring, like life itself. She has the urge to soften his knit brow by pressing her lips against it, an impulse which makes her cheeks flush.
They’re not kids anymore.
Mikasa is overjoyed that he’s okay, but she still can’t help a lingering disappointment when she recalls the heat of his breath on her lips, how close she was to feeling them against her own. But that’s selfish, so she buries it deep and hopes it doesn’t spread roots. It’s enough that he’s in front of her, alive. Everything else matters little.
Eren takes a step closer and drops on one knee. His fingers brush her cheek when he fixes the scarf around her neck, evening the two edges. He’s come so close that Mikasa can freely study his face. His features have already started to leave the traces of boyhood behind for a more mature attractiveness. He’s grown, they both have.
Eren meets her eyes and his lips quirk in a small comforting smile. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
He doesn’t pull back like she expected. After a moment of hesitation, he cups her cheek and inches closer. Mikasa’s fingers slightly tighten around the hem of her shirt. When his lips press between her eyes, calmness spreads through her, easing some of her lingering pain. It’s the spot where she wanted to plant a kiss on his own forehead, to show him he’s not alone. Another shared look, and he seems to read everything in her gaze without her speaking. They’re linked in their souls, after all.
Mikasa’s throat burns less now that the alcohol is almost entirely gone, thanks to Jean, Connie and Sasha. Laughter echoes through the tent and Mikasa is feeling free as her worries are now nothing but a bundle in the back of her head, which she won’t poke tonight.
Someone brought a gramophone and now her thoughts flood with sweet notes and a song in a language she doesn’t recognise. She’s blissful, more than she’s been in a long time. Armin is somewhere, having promised to bring her something to drink.
“Mikasa.”
She turns on her heel to come face to face with Eren, a bit dishevelled and slightly flushed, but handsome as ever. He’s smiling. How she loves to see him smile. His hand is outstretched, a palm facing upwards in an invitation. She slides her hand in it and he grips it tightly to pull her flush against him, with his other arm sliding along her lower back. Her other hand finds its way to his shoulder, and so they sway following the rhythm.
Eren’s eyes trace her features idly at first due to the lethargy the alcohol plunged him into, but the spark within them slowly flickers and comes to life. His stare almost burns. Mikasa’s heart leaps in her chest, she feels oddly exposed without her scarf.
Eren leans forward, gaze flicking between her half-lidded eyes and her smile. His lips brush her cheek, his breath traces goosebumps along her jaw. “Do you like the song?” he whispers in her ear.
Mikasa listens closely and realises that she could understand the words if they didn’t twist around her mind and turn into smoke, escaping her comprehension. She can’t recall a single one, but still knows them in her heart. Eren resumes humming the tune in her ear.
She sighs. “I wish we could dance to this every evening when the war is over.”
“We?” He doesn't manage to hide his hopefulness from her.
Her gaze falls to his chest, unable to meet his eyes. She knows the answer he’s looking for, the one she aches to give him. You and me, forever. That feeling has lived within her for so long, begging for a chance to be conveyed into one small sentence which can encapsulate the entire world. It would be like trying to fill constellations inside a glass jar. It’s too much for her to try.
Eren reads her silence. “You’ll dance to it as many times as you want,” he promises solemnly. Mikasa doesn’t like his tone. As she opens her mouth to ask for an explanation, for a honeyed lie instead for a bitter truth, his gaze falls to her bare neck. “You don’t have your scarf.” His voice is casual again. His eyes aren’t grim.
“I left it at the Azumabito Estate.”
He hums. “I just... wanted to…” He trails off.
“What, Eren?”
“Ah, it’s nothing.”
“You’ll wrap it around me when we go back,” she suggests. “Is… that what you want?”
She raises her eyes to his, and they say more than his words ever could. “Yeah.” But that’s not all. His fingers slot in hers and Mikasa remembers the red string around her index, a child’s pure promise of safety. She wonders what it would be like if they wrapped it around their ring fingers and never took it off again. If they could keep each other safe with the same certainty as when they were young. If. What a cruel little word.
Eren reads her eyes. His heart beats in sync with hers.
“Close your eyes.”
Mikasa has almost fallen asleep in the span of the two seconds she screwed her eyes shut. She’s too tired, she could curl up and sleep in his arms. Then, Eren kisses her forehead, on the same exact spot as he had that night when they were kids, and she’s awake again. Now it’s a lingering press rather than an awkward peck. Mikasa’s cheeks turn red, because there’s something so deeply intimate about it. A secret shared only between the two of them, so plain but so complicated at the same time.
I want to be yours.
I want you to be mine.
It’s a vow and a lament alike. It could become either by the end of the war and she wants to believe the chances are equal, but the scale already tilts towards chaos. It was always bound to.
“Mikasa…”
“Shh. Listen to the song.”
Now her cheek presses his and they sway gracefully, albeit a tad tipsy. The singer’s voice fills the tent. “The world is cruel, but I still love you.” It might have been her idea that she understood the words, lost in the haze of her drunkenness. The wetness of Eren's cheek might have been her idea as well. She doesn’t know anymore. Mikasa holds his shoulders tightly and tries to forget about everything else, just for one night.
The next time she hears it, her heart is quiet.
“Close your eyes.”
She does, and her soon-to-be husband presses a tender kiss on her forehead. Mikasa breathes in the sweet flower scent. Spring has almost given its place to summer and the town looks like a painting with its fields decorated by colourful flowers, pinpricks in the gold. Birds flock above, carrying the joyous message to the ships that arrive in the port. Shiganshina is at peace, they all sing. Their home is at peace.
Mikasa stands out among the vibrant colours with her white gown, plain and simple, but light like a wraith’s. It all feels like a dream, the tears shining in the corners of Armin’s eyes when he hugged her, Eren's rebuilt house towering proudly over the town, the clench of her heart in her anticipation.
Mikasa opens her eyes and the vibrant colours fade to calming hues and tentative stinging reminders.
Armin’s tears are only half joyful.
Nobody will ever live in the old house in Shiganshina again. Armin and Mikasa rebuilt it in Eren’s memory and often visited. Armin brewed tea and Mikasa read by the window. Neither talked, but it was warm, it was like home. She knows that she’ll never step inside it after today.
The clench of her heart is muted excitement and just a little lingering grief, derived from the gentle press on her forehead.
Jean pulls away and smiles down at her. His black suit flatters him, and she can see how much time he spent fixing his hair. He wanted to look good for her, for today and for forever.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
Her eyes brim with tears which she doesn’t let spill. Mikasa wipes them with the back of her hand and the wristband she rarely removes anymore. She doubts she will in front of him, and he’ll never ask her to. She nods and it’s not a lie, it’s just that particular gesture at that particular moment flooded her with memories and feelings she promised herself she’d keep locked for today, for his sake. Or at least that she'd try.
His smile turns just a little sorrowful. Jean will not tell her about the white bird which landed on his windowsill. He won’t share the stutter of his heart when it caught his eye and how he threw away the tie he fumbled with and found himself running to the window when it flew away, gaze fixated to where it disappeared, his chest sinking with longing. As if he was saying goodbye to an old friend.
He will not tell her that he remembered how Eren kissed her on the forehead –Armin told him and he remembers witnessing it as well, through the haze of alcohol once upon a better time. He doesn’t know what came over him and he promised to take care of her to a pigeon.
Mikasa smiles at him and takes his hand.
Jean never kisses her forehead again.
It’s not a light she sees as she leaves the world back and it’s not the sweet scent of flowers which greets her to the other side. It’s the stroke of the summer breeze under the tree and the sunlight on closed eyelids. Leaving her heavy body behind is as easy as shrugging off a coat. As much as she wants to listen to her loved ones bidding their goodbyes, it’s so easy to let their voices fade as she floats into the void.
And so Mikasa goes.
She opens her eyes under the tree, with the warmth of someone’s presence by her side. She knows who it is before she can give a name to the silhouette.
It’s been fifty years, but at the same time only a few minutes. A lifetime and the time from one second to another. His eyes are much more beautiful than she remembers. The curve of his nose, his firm shoulders, his smile. No photograph would ever be able to do it justice.
Eren still holds a lock of her hair between two fingers. “Mikasa.” His smile trembles, he fights back tears and that’s how she knows he’s real.
She rushes to his embrace and he falls on his back, whisked by her momentum. Tears roll down her face and fall onto his own. Mikasa kisses his nose, his cheeks, the corner of his mouth, again and again. She whispers his name and Eren’s smile widens. He grabs her by the waist and flips them around so that he’s on top. He admires every inch of her, his eyes glint with an emotion she’s only seen fleeting hints of while they were alive. His lips crash against hers, gentle but impatient, and she responds with equal fervour.
“I love you,” he says on her mouth, unable to part from her for more than a breath. “I’m so sorry I never told you.”
Her fingers thread through his hair, pulling him close. “Don’t be sorry.” She’s here now. He can tell her as much as he wants. “I love you. So much.”
Eren kisses her again chastely, and his lips trail up her nose to her forehead. He presses a lingering kiss there, this time without any rush or grief. Maybe this could be the forever that they lost. When he pulls back, his eyes are warm and his smile the brightest Mikasa has ever seen him wear.
“Welcome home.”