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He shifts on the mattress, a habituated arm reaching out. It feels around, as it always does, but fails to find that familiar warmth of her skin.
“Hmmph?” He cracks an eye open. Her empty pillow meets his gaze.
“Eh?” He lifts his head, rubbing his eyes.
Her side of the bed is empty, the quilt has been pushed to the side, the bedsheet creased under her weight, there's a dent on the pillow in the shape of her head. Did she go to the washroom?
He turns to check if there’s the yellow line of light peeking from under the washroom door. But it’s completely dark over there.
“Eh?” He now sits up, searching around the room.
As he turns to see the open balcony door, a rectangle of bright silvery moonlight, against it he finally spots her dark grey silhouette.
She’s sitting on one of the balcony chairs, staring at the sky up above, the wind teasing the loose strands of her long black hair.
For a moment, he stops there, taking it in. It feels like a dream, she feels like a dream, serene and divine.
With a small smile on his lips, he then pushes the quilt aside and gets off the bed, slipping into his slippers before heading towards the balcony.
“Hey…”
It startles her, but she collects herself the very next moment. Turning back, she tilts her head up to look at him. The moonlight creates patterns of light and shadow along the swells and dips of her face.
“The moon is so beautiful tonight, isn’t it?”
“It is,” she says, turning away from him and up at the moon once again.
He walks into the balcony and sits himself beside her on the other chair. As he does, she turns back to him, and he sees the moon reflected in her dark grey eyes. She looks breathtaking, like a goddess. How come she is real?
“What’s wrong?” He asks, with a smile. “Can’t sleep?”
She shakes her head, it's a very subtle movement that he almost misses thanks to the semi darkness of the night.
“Nightmares again?”
“No!” she says, a little loud. “The nightmares have stopped. I told you.”
“Yes you did.” He nods. “Then, what happened? Why can’t you sleep?”
“I…” she looks at him, then closes her lips, her gaze falling down to her lap, at her hands. “I was…” she starts picking at the hem of her sleeve. “I was thinking…” she keeps tugging at that one loose tread.
He reaches out his hand, and with it he grabs hers, in a gentle but firm grasp. She stops picking, and then slowly, looks up at him.
“Tell me,” he says, giving her his most reassuring smile as his heart pounds inside his chest.
She blinks a few times, then turns her hand in his grasp, latching her fingers together with his. “I’m… scared” she speaks in a voice that is almost a whisper.
“Scared?” He asks, frowning. “Of what?”
She casts her gaze up at him once again before casting it back down, at their joined hands. “Our wedding is today.”
“Is it? Damn!”
She looks at him, a reproachful frown on her face.
“Sorry I was just trying to lighten the mood. Please continue.”
“Once we’re married... you will be my family.” She says, caressing his knuckles with the index of her free hand.
He waits for her to continue.
“Every time I’ve had a family in my life…” she stops, her words failing her. But what she says is enough for him to understand.
Of course.
Of course…
He smiles, then leans over, bringing his face close to hers so that he looks her directly in the eye. “Do you want to call off the wedding?”
“Huh?” Her eyes go round, mouth falling open. “W-hat do you mean call off? It’s… today. Everything has been arranged, all our friends, Captain Levi, came from Marley, just to attend our wedding.”
“So?” He leans back on his chair, cocking an eyebrow. “It’s not their wedding. It’s our wedding and we can call it off whenever we want. Besides, we're still giving them a grand feast and letting them stay in our house. What do they have to complain about?”
After a long stare, the muscles on her face soften and something like a hint of a smile curves the corners of her lips.
“Jean…”
“I’ve said this before, haven’t I? I’m happy with you the way we are. We don’t need to get married if you don’t—”
“I do!” she says, not letting him finish. “You know I do. I want us to be family,” she almost pleads with him.
He watches her, with a pang in his heart. A loud sigh escapes him. “So do I. But nobody knows the future and I cannot just lie to your face and say that nothing will ever happen. It's too naïve, we could never convince ourselves of it, having gone through that hell.”
At that her shoulders slump, and she sinks into her chair. Her face hangs, and locks of her dark black hair curtain parts of her face away from his view.
A light summer breeze plays, carrying with it a faint, woody scent. Fragments of white translucent clouds roam around the sky. The cobblestones on the road below glisten in the moonlight. In the silence of the night, all he can hear is the steady thumping of their hearts, hers a little faster than his, but mingled together they create a harmony that sounds like music to his ears.
He breathes in, filling his lungs with the fresh air. Then, he tightens his grasp on her hand. “This in no way comes close to what you have been through, but…”
She looks up at him.
“But all those years I lived in Marley, leaving mom and dad here in Paradis, I spent every single day in fear of losing them. Every morning I woke up fearing they'd been killed by the Jaegarists. Every time a letter or a telegram would arrive, my heart would jump to my mouth, my body would freeze, I wouldn't be able to breathe. I had nightmares, night after night, so much so that after a time, I feared going to bed at night.”
She listens to him, her eyes fixed on his, eyebrows drawing close and lips pressing together into a firm line.
“And…” he says, holding her gaze with his own, “I was worried for you as well. We all were. You were here on your own, at least the three of us were together.”
She doesn't say anything but he hears a soft gasp and her lips quiver a little.
“But nothing happened. Days passed, then weeks, then months, then years. Slowly, I got used to it, I stopped living in that constant state of fear.” This time, it’s him who looks down. “I think there are things that only time can heal. So all we can do is, give it a chance, and give it time.”
They remain like that, seated side by side, hand in hand.
“All I can say is, I will fight. With everything I’ve got, if anything were to ever try to take me from you. But for that… you will have to give me, give us, a chance.”
He hears her scoff, and he looks up.
“Haven’t we had this conversation so many times?”
He smiles, messaging the back of her palm with his thumb. “We have. But clearly, that hasn't been enough.”
“What if it never is?” She asks, leaning close and resting her head on his shoulder, her voice a soft whisper.
“Then we’ll keep having this conversation over and over again. Just that.”
She breathes in. “This is your last warning, Jean. I come with heavy baggage.” She says, but her tone is lighter.
“And… don’t I?” He wraps his arm around her shoulder. “And so much of our baggage is shared. If not us, then who?”
She lifts her head to look him in the eye. A gentle, almost ethereal smile lights up her face. And in front of that smile, he can’t keep up with the pretence anymore. “I lied.” He says.
Mikasa frowns a little.
“I-I do want us to get married, even though I’ve been so happy, the happiest I’ve ever been in my life, the last four years. But I still want more. I want to be called your husband, to call you my wife. I want us to make babies and raise them together in this new world we've sacrificed so much to create. I want Sunday morning breakfasts and picnics in the garden and family trips to the beach. I’ve already had so much, but I still want so much, so, so much more with you.” He sees a sparkle in her eyes as she listens to his every word. “But…” he continues, “if you’re not ready yet, I can wait.”
“I can’t,” Mikasa says in a whisper, shaking her head, while stroking his hand on her lap, “I can’t.” She straightens herself up, her eyes meeting him, firm in their conviction. “I’ll risk it.”
He watches her, searching for any trace of uncertainty she failed to mask. But he finds none.
“Alright,” he nods. “Marriage still on then.”
“Marriage still on.” With a smile, she leans close, then places a gentle, feather-like kiss on the bridge of his nose.
He smiles. “Shall we go back to bed? We have a long day coming.”
“Hmm,” she nods, still smiling.
They get up, hands still latched together. And she leans against him, the warmth of her body seeping into his skin through the flimsy barrier of their cotton night-clothes.
“You’re warm.” She says, as they make it back into the room.
He smiles, and gently squeezes her upper arm.
“And Jean?”
“Hmm?”
“Ever since I’ve known loss and grief, the last four years have been the happiest years of my life as well.”