Chapter Text
“Are you guys coming to my game this weekend?”
Eren’s voice is an eager chirp, a boyish grin indenting dimples into his copper cheeks. He gives his smaller friend a playful elbow to the shoulder.
“Of course! It’s almost the play-offs, isn’t it?” Armin asks, wide eyes blinking fervently up towards Eren. Both the boys’ gazes swivel expectantly towards Mikasa, whose rosy lips have parted, a sliver of pearly teeth sinking into the corner of her mouth as she closes it, clenching and unclenching her jaw, like she’s rolling something bitter underneath her tongue. Her gaze flutters haphazardly from Eren to Armin, then back to Eren, before dark eyelashes fall over a dumbfounded gray stare, veiling her expression while the wind knocks tendrils of charcoal hair across her face. Eren’s eyes never falter, catching the way a strand of hair sticks to her shiny lip gloss.
“What’s wrong, Mikasa?” Armin’s the first to speak, craning his neck to get a closer glimpse of the silenced girl, before leaning back as she creaks her head back around. Her attention focuses on Eren, and his breath billows out a pursed mouth, hands curling into soft fists in his pockets when she says,
“I can’t go.”
The noon’s quiet breeze is accompanied by the trio’s steady footsteps. Backpacks swish against the fabric of clothes, shoes hitting the concrete sidewalk.
And Eren feels his chest carving itself into hollowness, because this game means so much to him; it’s the game determining whether or not his team will make it to the play-offs. But the funny thing is, when he swings a bat to a ball, closes his eyes and imagines he’s hit the winning score, he feels his teammates, ruddy and noisy, caving in around him, bumping heads and knuckles and screeching his name. But their faces are blurred, when he looks past them in this fantasy of his, and sees a familiar face in the crowd; her dark eyes rounded into softened pools of pride, the apples of her cheeks glowing pink and squished away from her mouth by an impossibly perfect smile, hands hovering over her chest as she claps over and over, his name leaving those soft lips of hers in an alluring chant- Eren. Eren. Eren.
“Eren.”
Her voice. Mikasa’s voice, calling out to him. She’s elated and proud and the cutest cheerleader in his head.
“Eren?”
Mikasa’s voice.
“I’m sorry.”
Eren’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head when his chin dips back down to meet her gaze, drinking in the look of sheer guilt twisting that pretty mouth of hers and pressing her eyebrows down towards her eyes. Her head is cocked to one side, her fingers fiddling with the strap of her backpack.
“Oh.” His voice is a quiet breath, and he almost throws his hand over his mouth in regret when he sees the way she winces at that. He hastily interjects amidst her evident self-guilt; he can’t stand the way that expression looks on her.
“It’s okay. We only just got the game time today, and it’s two days away. I get it,” he insists, voice warming as he peeps down at her, trying for a smile, though he only grows more confused when she shrivels away from his eyes, acting as though they were knives piercing through skin, tearing flesh and muscle until they reach the sturdiness of her bones. He doesn’t know why she’s avoiding him; why she’s curling into herself to make herself look smaller, shoulders hunched around her face as she blinks down at her shoes while they walk.
“It’s fine, Mika! Just come to the next one,” Armin urges, exchanging a silent glance from Eren over the arch of her drooping neck before looking back up at her face. He’s beaming and consoling, but Eren sees the way concern rims the corners of his bright ocean gaze.
She hasn’t even explained herself yet, but Eren’s teeth grind as he already anticipates what she’ll say. His hands itch to yank her face out of the collar of her hoodie, palms on her cheeks to force her to look at him and spit out what he already knows is coming. Because he’s already seen it; already been dreading it for some time now. The stolen glances, the soft spoken conversation behind his back that he pretends not to hear, the way that douche’s hand “accidentally” brushes against hers out of the corner of his vision when they’re walking as a group. He pretends not to notice, to hear or see or feel, the way Mikasa’s drifted away from him and closer towards the heart of someone who isn’t him. He curses himself for hanging back all this time; curses fucking Jean for snatching away something that was never his to begin with.
“Jean asked me out.”
Fuck.
His footsteps slow. He blinks. Once, twice, several times. His breathing shudders, ribs quivering against the cold.
Fuck.
Jean’s finally asked out Mikasa.
His Mikasa.
He knows he’s got no right laying claims on a girl who is solely her own; strong-willed and ambitious and free to launch herself into whoever she wishes; but a selfish part of Eren tells him, She’s yours. She’s always been yours. Jean can’t have her- she doesn’t deserve her. You were here first. You’ve been here the longest. Who the fuck does he think he is? And he wants to punch himself for the mere thought of his innermost voices. He knows of his cowardice; it’s enveloped him in deadly vines of prickles and thorns that scratch and claw at his skin, and he doesn’t even try to ward off the growing weeds; he watches as they grow more infested, wrapping tighter and tighter around his severed limbs, his shaking ribs, his bleeding throat, until he’s been rendered raw, voice scratched away and eyes left without a face. Immobilized and pathetic to the feeling that’s engulfed him whenever he so much as looks in that girl’s direction. He’s a coward who has kept his silence since the day he first met her. Who is he to hide her away from someone else who's ripped free of the vines’ vicious wrath?
“Wow, that’s great!”
Eren’s hands have grown awfully hot inside the pockets of his jeans, and the way Armin smiles at the news makes him imagine slugging that stupid grin off his face. But he isn’t a fool to the way his friend’s expression falters for less than a fraction of a heartbeat, and he knows he’s transparent to the ever-perceptive boy.
His adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows a mound of thorns, forcing them down his throat to choke out a few halfhearted words.
“About time that punk asked you out,” the boy finally speaks, voice strained as he forces his eyes not to wander; not to stray too far from the path ahead, lest they catch a glimpse of Mikasa’s milky face. They don’t see the way her smile drops when she hisses against the cold, mouth upturned into the smallest smile that nearly drops when she replies,
“He’s not a punk. He’s your friend.”
Eren didn’t need any reminders on how much of an ass he was internally being. Jean was his friend. Not some jackass douche that would tend to Mikasa’s affections in all the wrong ways. He was assertive. He was responsible. He was a dick sometimes, but when it came to Mikasa, it was clear as day how much he cared about her. And though the thought should have been comforting to Eren, it was so fucking disgusting it made his skin crawl, the collar of his sweater feeling unusually tight and stiffening around his strangely heated neck.
Eren was quiet the rest of the way home.
___
The cool, crisp sheets of Eren’s mattress crinkle, the bed swaying under Mikasa’s weight as she rolls onto her stomach, her cheek plopping into the palm of her hand. Eren’s a few feet away from the edge of the bed, taking a seat by his desk that’s positioned in front of the window. She watches him silently as he pulls back the sheer white curtains, propping open the window to let a chilly draft into the bedroom. The focused furrow of her eyebrow softens, the notch in between them untangling itself from her skin as her eyes round. His jacket slips from his shoulders, and she doesn’t miss the way his blades protrude through his t-shirt when he leans over to discard the jacket into a hamper. The broad planes of his back taper down to the backs of his ribs, wrapped in firm muscle.
She wrenches her wandering, curious eyes from straying any further, instead holding out her hand, palm side up, towards him, fingers curling in towards her palm.
“Can you hand me the red notebook in my backpack?” When she hears a quiet scoff, she paws her hand in his direction, fisting the air as though trying to punch him. He nudges it aside easily with his knee, a tease of a grin eating away at the corners of his twitching lips, dimples flickering in his cheeks as he begins to laugh. Mikasa notices how his eyelashes flutter over his eyes, the bright greens of them wrinkling as he turns away from her to unzip her backpack, which isn’t even mere inches away from the foot of the bed.
“Mikasa, your backpack is literally right here. You’re so lazy.”
“You were already up,” she points out, to which Eren can only roll his eyes. Her smile is soft as he sits down at his desk, swiveling around in his rolling chair to face her.
“You ask so much of me,” he woes pitifully, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead dramatically. Now it’s Mikasa’s turn to scoff, as she flips open her notebook to a half-completed page; evidence of an assignment in progress she has yet to finish.
“You’re so weird,” she says in a quiet hiss of a breath, eyes averted to her notebook, busying herself with jotting down notes.
“What? Says y-”
“Eren? I’m trying to focus.” Mikasa’s monotonous drawl is laced with a subtle hint of a tease, seen in the way a smile curves her pink lips from underneath the shadow of hair strands cast across her face. She doesn’t need to know that his shoulders start to quiver in a silent laugh, and she catches herself wishing she could wring her hands around his neck, loosening the screws in his tightened throat and prying open the tenseness of his jaw to hear him laugh aloud; to hear the words on his mind leave his tongue, fizzling out of his mouth and laying themself before her clear as day; so vastly different from the heavy fog that has recently engulfed his mind, crumbling his words so that they die on his tongue whenever his lips part to speak.
Mikasa finds he’s been even more unreadable than usual lately. She’s always been able to look past those never-faltering eyes of his, leaning an observant ear in to listen to the melodic rasp of his voice that has always revealed his thoughts, and to listen to the sputtering pattern of his heartbeat which never fails to expose his feelings; when it speeds or slows, when it erupts into frantic bursts that rattle his chest. Maybe she’s lost her touch. Because nowadays, she can’t sense any of the imperfections of his voice or the shifting regulations of his heart.
The two work in a comfortable silence. Mikasa’s jotting down notes into her notebook, splayed out on her stomach on his bed. Eren’s back faces her as he types away at his computer from his desk. This routine of theirs is cozy and familiar; on the days Eren doesn’t have baseball practice, they walk side-by-side to Eren’s house that is only mere blocks away from her own. Backpacks slide off their shoulders and hit the ground. They write and type and say nothing and talk about anything and everything.
Mikasa hears Eren rustling. She hears the swish of his arm brushing his desk, catching how his chair creaks when he leans forward. She looks up in time to see him run a tense hand through his slightly tousled hair, and he clears his throat in a nervous sputter.
“Eren?” she prompts, eyebrow quirked.
“Sorry, I just was, uh-” his voice trails off awkwardly, followed by a sound, caught between a sigh and a groan, that sounds nearly frustrated.
“What is it?” she presses, pushing her notebook away from her a little and sitting back on her heels. A fingertip subconsciously swirls against the navy outlines etched across his white bedsheets; of baseball hats, balls and bats that match the posters of various players on his wall. If she closed her eyes, she could still recall the names of every player he had displayed, having memorized them from all the times he’d gone off on stupidly, adorably boyish and eager rambles.
“Nothing. Was just gonna ask about your… date tomorrow. Where he’s taking you and stuff.” Eren’s voice is quieter, bordering on a mumble as he rubs at the back of his neck, still facing away from her. Her eyes avert to her lap, parted lips snapping into a rigid line.
“We’re going to the movies. Then grabbing a bite to eat, I think.”
Mikasa’s going on her first date. She’s been asked out for the first time by a cute boy with big brown eyes and a kind smile. He opens doors for her and walks on the street side of the sidewalk, dipping his head down whenever she speaks to lend an attentive ear, never faltering even when she’s repeating herself for the fifth time because compared to the voices around her, she’s so, so much quieter, and yet he’s so, so willing to listen to her. She still remembers the way his hands had nervously wrung when he’d asked her out, over and over, again and again, around and around. She swears they must have grown dizzy. She still remembers the way he’d tucked a strand of hair behind her ear after she’d agreed to go out with him, before snatching his hand away just as quickly, hastily apologizing for acting on such an impulse. And she’d smiled, rocked back and forth on her heels, and told him she was looking forward to their date.
She’d ignored the way her chest tightened, heartstrings tangling into knots with ends that had begun to fray. She’d ignored the way her throat closed up, winding into a jumbled twist that yearned to eat her words right back up as if she’d just told a lie. But she hadn’t. She was telling the truth.
That’s what she tells herself, anyway.
She thinks back to when Jean, with fidgeting hands and a sheepish grin, had hovered anxiously over her after school that day to ask her out, trying her best to erase the contorted image in her mind of brown eyes that had faded to green; of light, ash brown tresses that had been painted a dark cocoa. She erases the remembrance of the instinctual, primal tug in the pit of her stomach that had told her to refuse, to turn on her heel and run away. But Mikasa, ever in denial, insisted the sick feeling in her gut was just butterflies. She told herself she was excited.
She still tells herself she’s eager, when a twitching smile is plastered across her mouth, the corners of it feeling awfully tense when she laughs awkwardly. Blotches of heat bloom across her cheeks, and she isn’t sure why she feels so embarrassed and almost reluctant to talk about this with him.
That’s another thing she tells herself. That she doesn’t know why talking about Jean to Eren is so difficult for her.
“Well, don’t stay out too late,” Eren chides, which only makes Mikasa give a light scowl, shaking her head.
“I’ll be fine, Eren,” she tries to assure him, watching as he whirls back around in his chair to face her, elbows on his knees as he slumps forward, eyes level with hers from about a foot away.
“Make sure he doesn’t try anything sneaky at the theater, okay? Don’t be afraid to slap his hand away. You could definitely beat him up real good. You’re strong.”
“Eren, you’re ridiculous-”
“Oh, and be careful when you’re in the car with him, too. If he drives to some empty parking lot in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere, get the hell out of there.”
“Oh my g-”
“Don’t let the guy get all sleezy with you.”
“Jean’s-”
“And if you wanna leave, call me.”
Mikasa’s pinches her nose bridge between her thumb and index finger, as if to relieve the tension there.
“Eren, this is Jean we’re talking about. Our friend.”
Her voice is direly serious though devoid of any true irritation. Only a minor annoyance and slight amusement as she blinks over at him. He rocks forward then back a bit in his chair, fingers interlacing against one another as he chuckles under his breath.
“Yeah yeah, he’d never do that. I know,” he relents. “I’m kidding. Just… uh- always good to be careful, y’know. Some guys accidentally get the wrong hint about some things, and maybe go a little further than you’re comfortable with… not that he’d do it on purpose- I- I don’t know. Nevermind. Whatever. Just be-”
Mikasa cuts him off, pitying the hole he’s dug himself into. There’s a hint of a teasing glint glazed over her inky eyes.
“Just be careful. I know. Don’t worry, Eren,” she soothes, a soft chuckle hissing out her throat in a hushed breath. Her hands are settled in her lap, wringing around and around. A few heartbeats of silence stutter by. Eren’s eyes are big, blown wide as he gazes at her. His shoulders are hunched forward, hovering beside his ears like they’re tense. The thought of running her fingers across his skin to ease the binded rolls of his muscles crosses her mind, but she hastily shoves it down. He opens his mouth to speak, and Mikasa hears him say to her,
“I can’t believe you’re going on your first date.”
She wants to call herself crazy, but she swears she sees his nose slightly wrinkle at that, like the idea leaves a foul sensation tickling his senses. His voice is quiet, the words sounding much like they were forced out of his mouth unwillingly than pushed by the tip of his own tongue by his accord.
Stop it, Mikasa.
Don’t be stupid. Don’t get your hopes up.
This is Eren. This is your best friend.
If something were to ever happen between them, it already would have. She can barely count the number of years they’ve known each other on two hands.
She’s always felt her heart drop down into her stomach, again and again when she feels herself growing hopeful of an outcome that will never arrive. When they sit next to each other, arm against arm, he’s never once lifted it to drape across her shoulders. Or when they’re walking side by side, when the backs of their hands brush against one another, and he quickly withdraws it into the safety of his pocket. Or when they’re talking, and Eren’s said something amusing, and they’re laughing with aching ribs and sore cheeks, and Mikasa pauses just to look at him, shift a little closer to see how his lips stretch around his mouth as he smiles, to which he looks back at her, only to keep laughing and lean away.
If something were to ever happen between them, it already would have.
“I know. I’m…”
She pauses, voice trailing off as she rubs her warm palms over her thighs.
“Yeah?” His voice is gentle. It’s patient. He’s always so patient with her.
“I’m really nervous.”
Eren shrugs.
“Of course you are. It’s totally normal. But it’s horse face. He can be kinda fun sometimes. He’ll take the stress off things.”
“Well yeah, I know. It’s not really… I’m not- it’s not that- ugh…” Her voice falters, face vanishing into her hands. She hears Eren shift off his chair to sit on the ground, feeling the way the mattress adjusts under the weight of his elbows when he rests his cheek against his hand to look up at her from below.
“Just what?” he presses quietly.
“Just that… I don’t have any sort of… uh- experience.”
“Oh my god if he lays a single finger on you-”
“Oh, no! God no, not that kind of experience!” Mikasa shrills, face heating slightly, waving her hands frantically in front of her face.
“I just meant like… the whole dating thing. Like being close. Flirting and holding hands and stuff like that.”
Eren’s blunt when he deadpans,
“And kissing?”
Mikasa’s cheeks puff outwards as she gives an exasperated huff, fingers clutching onto the sleeves of her woolen sweater.
“I’m not… entirely concerned about that yet, but yeah, you’re right. I don’t know a thing about it.”
Eren’s grin is stupidly wide when he jolts a finger towards his chest, practically brimming with pride.
“Luckily, I do. I can give you some pointers,” he insists, chin resting against the crook of his elbow, locks of brown hair spread across the mattress. Mikasa’s hand lowers to rest a palm only a minute inch away from one of his strands.
“Yeah?” She hesitates, slightly awkward when she asks, “Like what?”
“Well…” A pause. “Make sure to be loose. Don’t be all stiff. And don’t purse your lips too much. Like this-” He mimics a terribly tight, pursed line of lips, making him look stupidly laughable before continuing. “It doesn’t feel good. Trust me.”
Mikasa nods, rocking forward slightly into the heel of her palm on the bed. “Okay,” she breathes anxiously.
“And match the speed of the other person. If they’re going slow, don’t go ten miles an hour. Oh, and don’t just stick your tongue in their mouth right away. Take it slow and steady, and-”
“Okay, okay, I get it. That’s enough,” Mikasa grimaces, nose scrunching, face growing hotter and hotter by the second.
“Really? You do?” he prompts doubtfully, an eyebrow quirking further up along his forehead.
“Um… no. Not at all,” she admits reluctantly, brushing a hand through charcoal tresses of hair. They fall around her face, tickling the sides of her neck from where they halt at her collarbones.
“I just don’t get how it actually works. Does that make sense?” Eren barks out a chuckle that has Mikasa wanting to burrow herself into his pillows.
“No, yeah, I do get it. It’s kinda hard to explain. But it’s just one of those things that comes naturally. You’ll be fine,” he drawls. But Mikasa isn’t so sure. What if she just ends up embarrassing herself? What if she makes a fool of herself?
Before Mikasa can respond, Eren says, “You don’t believe me, do you?” Mikasa shakes her head.
“You make it sound so simple. But it doesn’t seem simple at all. What if I do something stupid? What if I suck at it?”
Eren’s laughing again, and Mikasa’s groaning.
“Mikasa, it’s fine. You will be fine. It’s something that you just get when you do it. I can’t explain it to you. You’ll learn how when you do it for the first time,” he tries to reassure her, his smile both amused at her flustered state and consoling at the same time.
“Then teach me.”
Mikasa hears herself before she realizes what it is that she’s just said. The silence that wraps itself between the two is deafening, and suddenly, the gentle breeze blowing in through the open window, mingled with the quiet breaths of the surprised pair, bangs and rattles at her eardrums, going straight through into her head, reverberating against her skull. It pounds. It throbs. It screams at her, Say something. Say anything. Just speak. But before she can do so, Eren speaks first.
“What?”
That’s all he says.
Mikasa blinks down at him, dumbfounded, eyes scanning every arc and line of his face, desperately scavenging for any trace of disgust or disapproval. But she sees none. All she sees is the way the space between his eyes and his eyebrows have grown, how his green irises have rounded, softening into bright jades that drink in the sight of her, flushed and nervous. His pale lips part, drawing in short, shallow little breaths. He’s straightened up completely, leaning away from the bed, leaving indents where his elbows previously rested against the mattress. The poor boy looks like a deer caught in headlights.
“Nevermind. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I-”
“Okay.”
A pause.
Now it’s Mikasa’s turn to gawk, “What?”
Another pause.
“Okay. I’ll teach you.”
An even longer pause.
“Teach…?”
Eren clambers onto the bed, Mikasa eying him warily as he sits across from her. His eyes dart across her face, like they can’t decide what part of her to look at. He sounds like he’s out of breath when he nods and says,
“Yeah.”
Mikasa’s left to stare at him, blinking dumbfoundedly. The way her eyebrows have shot up into her hairline, mouth slightly agape, shifting open, then shut, before opening again, as if words can’t escape her. But really, she isn’t sure what to say; if there’s even anything to say at all. Eren clearly knows this, because the bastard smiles. The smug asshole.
“I’ll teach you, Mikasa. I can show you.” By now, his voice is so quiet, and his fingertips slide across the bed sheets, pausing just in front of her knees where her hands rest. Like he wants to reach out for them; to entangle her fingertips with his own, and Mikasa entertains the thought in her head for several long moments. His hands. Warm and big around her own, encasing the fragile bones of her fingers, calloused palms pulling her entire being and coaxing her to come closer, closer, closer, until she’s pressed flush against his front, eyes fluttering shut, jaw falling slack as he leans forward and-
“If you want to.” His voice cuts through her daydream, bordering on anxious, and she blinks a couple of times, as if she’s forgotten where she is. And then she remembers. She’s with Eren, on his bed, with his hands nearly against hers and an offer that’s so, so dangerous and enticing all at once, it leaves her breathless even though she’s hardly moved for many minutes now. His offer, laid bare between them. Her heart and whole body stuck in time; rolling the idea over and over in her head, until she swears her brain has twisted itself into knots. And time has begun to move again, and she realizes she can’t stay stuck in her mind forever. She can’t always retreat into her thoughts, shut off the world around her and keep think, think, thinking.
Sometimes, she just has to do.
Stop thinking, Mikasa.
“We don’t have to.”
Oh, but how she wants to.
Mikasa.
Her heartbeat throbs inside her ears.
Stop.
Her palms feel a little sweaty against her thighs.
You’ve given up on this dream; this boy, a long time ago. You can’t wait for him forever.
She feels like she’s short of air. Is she breathing? Oh, no- she’s forgotten how.
You have to move on.
Her eyes dart up from her blanched knuckles to Eren’s eyes.
Don’t get your hopes up.
His big green eyes.
Not again.
His nervous little smile.
Not ever.
Mikasa’s leaning into her hands, rocking forward ever so slightly towards him. Eyes dropping to his mouth. And she notices how his fingers curl and uncurl into the bedsheets, like he’s fighting the urge to reach for her.
“Mikasa?” God, her name in his mouth is so soft, and so unmistakably tender that she thinks she’s going to pass out from the way her heart reacts to the sound.
She can’t keep thinking forever.
She just has to do.
So finally, finally, she replies.
“Okay.”
___
Mikasa’s voice. Barely a whisper.
Okay.
“Wait, really?” Eren breathes, and he feels himself leaning forward too; like a magnet drawn to the sole existence of her entire being. His knuckles creep further along the bed until they tickle her kneecaps, his head lowering to dip to her level. He sees the way she’s shifted closer to him as well, and he suddenly feels much like he’s the inexperienced one. Because everything about her is so utterly hypnotizing, it numbs his senses and makes all trains of thought fly off the rails, until he’s left as a loose, boneless pile of jelly sitting in front of his very pretty best friend who's just agreed to kiss him.
Wait, what?
He’s asked Mikasa to kiss him, and she’s said yes?
He asked her?
Eren? The coward, the fearful, jealous bastard has actually plucked up the courage to ask such a thing of her?
Don’t be an idiot. You’re just helping her out. Like any friend would do.
Another voice sounds in the back of his head.
Friends don’t ask to kiss each other.
The other voice sounds again.
You’re giving her a lesson. She has a date with another guy. She’s nervous. You’re just getting rid of her nerves.
The second voice once more.
Friends don’t agree when you ask to kiss them.
Eren’s going insane. He wills himself to get the hell out of his head. His knuckles whiten, palms pressing into the mattress below. His eyes are big when he takes her in, mirroring the quiet, anxious curiosity of her own dark pools. His chest inflates as he sucks in a deep, calming breath, letting it billow out his nostrils. He lets his shoulders lie flat, the tension contorting his tanned face loosening, softening as they gently blink down at her; pretending like he’s not internally freaking out right now. Pretending like he’s not just about to kiss the girl he’s been in love with for who knows how long-
Wait.
Wait.
What?
Love?
In love with?
The thought momentarily threatens to break him into a sweat before he puts a cap on the voices going haywire in his mind. Again.
“Yes. Yes, really.” Mikasa’s voice is light and breathy, followed by a nervous little chirp of laughter that has Eren smiling, reciprocating the sound.
“Alright. Alright, Mikasa. You’ve got this. I’m gonna help you,” he tries to encourage her as much as himself, and he nearly laughs again at the borderline panicked look across her face. Across her pretty, flushed face.
“Don’t be so scared. You look scared of me,” he teases her, which makes her nose scrunch up and her eyes squint.
“You don’t have to be nervous. Okay? It’s just me.” His words don’t really seem to help though, because he watches her teeth sink into her bottom lip for a moment when he says that.
“I’m not nervous,” she retorts. Eren rolls his eyes, scoffing underneath his breath, muttering an “okay, sure.” He ignores her scowl, instead patting the empty space separating them, just in front of his lap.
“Come closer. I won’t bite,” he eases, watching as she crawls a couple paces closer to him, heart stopping for a second when her sweater is hanging low around her neck, enough for him to get a small glimpse of the black bra she’s wearing underneath, and he wants to punch himself for even letting his eyes and mind wander there.
“Is this enough?” she asks, hands knotted into a tangled heap on top of her lap. Eren responds by reaching forward to cover it with his own, hoping Mikasa doesn’t notice the tremor in his fingertips. He nods.
“Yeah.” He takes her in. Her short black hair that’s so close he can smell the scent of her floral shampoo. Her big, dark eyes and impossibly long eyelashes that fall over her hooded gaze. He swears her eyelids must always feel heavy from how long and thick they are. Up close, he can count them all one by one if he wanted to.
And damn, he really does want to.
But most daunting are her lips.
Slicked in a pale, subtle rosy gloss that’s faded as the day’s gone by, leaving nothing but a thin shimmer across her mouth. Eren has a hard time looking away from that and back up towards her eyes.
“Right. Okay. So. Touch me,” he blurts.
“Huh?”
“You have options. Hair, face, cheeks, the sides of the neck, shoulders, chest, etcetera. Just make sure not to keep your hands in one place for too long. That’s what I say, anyways. It makes it boring,” he starts lecturing, thumbs running back and forth across the backs of her hands. Wow, holy shit, she has the softest hands he’s ever felt in his life.
Eren slowly and cautiously takes her bundled hands off her lap, pulling them towards him to rest on both sides of his neck; where his shoulders meet the lines of his collarbones. His palms hold her firmly in place, and there’s barely an inch of space between their two torsos.
“Is this okay?” he asks, and Mikasa nods, chewing on the inside of her cheek.
Eren fights the urge to reach towards her right away; to run his palms along her ribs, her shoulders, tangling into her hair and touching everywhere he can reach; everywhere she’ll let him. So his fingers drop down to wrap around her wrists, his grip loosening when he says,
“Can I touch you?”
Mikasa’s so quick to nod, her hair bounces up a little, tickling the bottom of his chin. He’s so, so painfully slow and tentative when he reaches out a hand to swipe straying strands of charcoal black hair out of her face, tucking them behind her ears. He notices she’s wearing little silver-lined diamond studs. He sees her wearing those ones a lot. His fingertips linger against her jawline, gently pushing her face upwards to meet his gaze. His palms move to her cheeks, and he chuckles when he feels her tensing up against him, all stiff and rigid as he presses his front flush to her own.
“Mikasa. Relax, holy shit. You’re like a damn robot,” he remarks playfully, to which he feels her roll her shoulders back, softening her body to better mold against his. She’s frowning up at him, fingers twitching against the glimpse of collarbone poking out above the collar of his t-shirt, less than pleased by his critiquing.
“Shut up. I thought you said being nervous was normal,” she argues, and Eren’s running his thumbs back and forth across her cheeks in a futile attempt to apologize, voice lowering to a whisper.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I’m kidding.” He assumes Mikasa forgives him, because she flashes a sheepish, anxious and expectant little smile up at him. He opens his mouth to speak, but he realizes that at this point, with flushed chests and hands against skin, that there’s not much else he can explain. All that’s left to do is to actually kiss her.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. I’m fine,” she responds, a little unconvincingly.
“Just relax, okay? Kissing is meant to be enjoyable. Not nerve wracking. So just… follow my lead. I’ll guide you through this.” His eyelids have grown quite a bit heavier, falling from those big gaping eyes of hers to settle on her lips. He can feel her chest rising and falling against his own, her slightly labored breathing matching his. And he can feel her heartbeat. It’s fast. Really fast.
He hears her hum out a nervous laugh, which nearly turns him to puddy. His head lowers, forehead tickling hers. His nose brushes hers, and slowly, carefully, and inexplicably softly, he presses the shell of his lips to hers, so light, so fragile and barely there upon initial arrival, like he’s afraid of shattering her.
His mouth is gentle when it moves against hers, setting a slow, steady rhythm that he encourages her to follow. She’s slow at first, and her uncertainty and anxiety is so evident it has Eren fighting back the urge to smile against her.
But Mikasa’s clever. She’s a quick-learner.
Her mouth molds to his in such a natural manner that it’s as if Eren’s lips were made to precisely fit the shape of her bottom lip in between. Any remaining vestiges of stiffness melt out her limbs, and her hands stray from their place next to his neck, running to plant against his shoulders, pulling him closer to her, which makes his breath stifle a little in surprise, but he’s quick to oblige, his hands on her cheeks gently caressing there before his arms move to snake around her slender frame, planting his palms across her ribs, then slowly enveloping her from the back, and he can’t fight back the appreciative hum that rolls out his throat when he hears a hint of a sigh leaving her lips. When he tilts his head deeper to one side to give her more access, she’s quick to reciprocate.
They’ve found their groove, and Eren has to admit; he doesn’t know why the hell Mikasa was so anxious in the first place. Hell, if he hadn’t known, he never would have guessed this was her first time kissing someone.
Because it feels so natural.
Her kissing him.
Him kissing her.
Them.
They feel so natural.
Eren isn’t entirely aware of his own actions, as if he’s somewhat out of his own body when he feels the tip of his tongue begin to slide past his lips, slowly dipping into her own mouth.
He’s snapped back into his own body when she suddenly jerks her head back, hands loosening around his shoulders.
“Mikasa?”
He’s panicking. He’s terrified.
“Are- Are you okay?”
Too much too soon? Did he go too far? Did she not like it? Does she want to stop?
“Yeah, I’m fi-”
“I’m sorry. Was that too much? It probably was, wasn’t it? I’m sorr-”
“Wait, Eren, no- it’s just that- uh- I don’t know. I got nervous.”
“The tongue? Too much?”
Mikasa pauses. Hesitates.
“I don’t know why I did that. I just panicked and pulled away. I didn’t mean to. I’m s-”
“Don’t apologize,” Eren interrupts. His hands on her back have loosened their grip, giving her enough space to lean back when she blinks up at him through wide eyes.
It’s silent between them. She’s looking at him. He’s looking at her. She’s thinking. He’s thinking. And he’d die to know what’s going on in that pretty head of hers.
“Do you wanna stop?” he asks her. He’s quiet, and it’s not hard to detect the trace of disappointment that rolls off his tongue.
But Eren’s pleasantly surprised when Mikasa’s leaning forward again, hands creeping towards his face from the sides of his neck when she shakes her head and breathes an almost inaudible “no,” which makes Eren audibly sigh out of relief.
Eren clings onto her, palms rubbing up and down her back in an attempt to comfort her. The pink glow of her cheeks blooms across her pale, milky features, staining the tip of her nose. He laughs at that. Laughs at her embarrassment; how cute she looks when she feels this way.
This makes her blink up at him, bewildered when she mumbles a flustered, “What? What are you laughing at?” And he can only shake his head, snickering a little more to himself under hushed breaths, and Mikasa responds by lightly shaking him by the shoulders, eyebrows etched with a stubborn tightness, a notch etching itself between them.
“Stop laughing!” she grumbles, to which Eren places his hands over hers on his shoulders to get her to stop shaking him, hanging his head low while little bubbles of amusement fizzle out his throat.
“Sorry. You just look funny.” Funny, with her eyes dilated to a scale that makes them appear so much larger, with bright rosy cheeks and parted lips that huff out nervous little wisps of breaths every time her chest rises and falls. Eren’s chewing on the inside of his cheek through a bashful grin trying not to add, “And cute,” to his teasing sentiment.
“Funny?” she demands, groans even, glancing away from him to wipe the back of her hand across her mouth, rubbing away some of the smudged lip gloss that Eren wants to smirk at, because he’s smug and he knows that was his doing.
And yes, Eren’s finding this all very funny. He’s giving his best friend her very first kiss, which is unarguably something he’s thought- practically dreamed of doing for who the hell knows how long, but it’s merely to send her off with another guy that isn’t him. Like he’s laughing at that cute little expression of embarrassment written across her face, he wants to laugh at the irony of the situation. Because the only way he’s able to have her against his mouth like he’s yearned for countless ages is all part of his excuse, perhaps even a selfish ploy to be the first to steal her lips, to seal the title of being her first before anyone else can. Eren, the coward he is, masks this selfish desire with the disguise of “wanting to help,” of “giving a friend a lesson.”
Eren jumps at the first excuse to kiss her, lying about the true selfish reason behind it because he’s a fearful asshole who can’t just use his goddamn words and tell her he wants her.
God, he wants her so badly.
Eren’s not stupid. He’s seen the way she gets around him; hears it in her voice when she softens up around him, putting her protective guard she so efficiently erects around herself down when she’s with him. He’s felt it in the way her cold palm touches him; reaches out to him to place a hand on his shoulder, his back, his arm when his mind has grown too loud and heavy for his skull to manage, and she’s so quick to come to his side, to be a silent consoling figure who says nothing but is always so effective when it comes to putting him at ease.
Mikasa’s been in his life for so long. It’s practically eaten at his entire brain how much he wants to break down the barriers barricading them from addressing the undeniably present tension between them, because he doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if things ended badly, and he ended up losing her.
Eren’s so reckless. Mikasa always scolds him for being that way. He’s impulsive, charging head-first into risky bits if there’s even the slightest chance things could end in his favor. It’s exhilarating. Scary, but in a good way.
But when it comes to Mikasa?
No. No way.
He’d never risk even the slimmest possibility of ever losing her.
Now, he thinks, some part of him must regret his decision. Because now, Eren’s lost his chance.
He’s waited too long. He’s been too scared for too many years. And now she’s gone off and left him for someone else, which isn’t a difficult feat, given how many eyes Eren’s seen lingering on her whenever she cluelessly waltzes by ogling boys.
This time, it’s Mikasa’s turn to laugh, her bitter frown replaced by the curve of an amused smile as she laughs, albeit awkwardly. Her frame trembles against him when she does so, and Eren isn’t sure if it’s because something is funny, or she’s feeling nervous, or maybe a bit awkward, or all of it mingled together into a train of chuckles that has Eren laughing along with her, hands at her arms, clutching her against him because he just can’t help but to pull her a little closer, and cackle almost self-deprecatingly because Mikasa Ackerman is right here, in his arms and on his bed, with smudged lip gloss, messy hair and a rumpled sweater, taking a break in between kisses because she “got nervous” the first time.
One day, the girl will kill him. This is a vow Eren makes to himself, and he finds he doesn’t mind it very much at all.
“Sorry, Eren. It’s just… this… you and I, doing this, it’s-”
So natural? So right? Amazing?
“Kinda weird, right?” is what Eren says instead. Mikasa nods, humming.
“Well, I can’t let my skills go to waste. Sharing is caring after all.” The cheeky boy raises his eyebrows, and Mikasa lightly whacks him against the chest, hissing a “shut it.”
Seconds pass, and Eren’s cocky little grin fades, as does Mikasa’s nervous laughter. She suddenly feels much closer to Eren than before, and the floral scent of her familiar perfume is so undeniably strong that it nearly has Eren choking; choking over her smell, her presence, her proximity. But he doesn’t let this show. He pushes his shoulders back, lets his mouth fall open to emit a hot breath on her lips, and asks her,
“Ready?”
Mikasa’s dark eyes are hardly open, her heavy veils of eyelashes casting shadows across her cheeks. Eren’s hands creep down her arms to settle against her waist. He feels how she loosens, her hips filling his palms as she leans forward, drinking in the sight of his lips as her focus falls to them.
“Mhm.”
This time, Mikasa’s the one to close the gap between them, and she’s practically in his lap by now, having risen to her knees, leaning her torso against his, over his legs, which nearly makes his heart lodge itself in his throat. He contemplates pulling her to sit against him, but he decides against it, not trusting the way his own body may respond to that. He’s already on the verge of freaking out as it is. No need to make matters any worse.
Time moves so slow, yet far too quickly all the same.
Right now, Eren doesn’t think about how Mikasa is seeing another guy the following day. He doesn’t think about how he’s preparing her to kiss someone else.
Because when she uncertainly, yet almost eagerly (and slightly clumsily) pushes her tongue into his mouth, all he can think about is how he’s the one who has her all to himself; even if just for a fleeting moment. Even if it’s just for these briefest of times, right now, although it’s selfish to claim this, she’s his. Even though he has to shove the rest of reality out of his head to believe it, right now, Mikasa is his.
And if Eren ever sees Jean with an arm wrapped around her waist, head lolling down to whisper something he can’t decipher into her ear, saying something that may make her giggle, at least he’ll know in his heart and mind that he was there first. That he was the one who held her like this first; kissed her like this before him. And before anyone else.
God, he’s such a dick. Eren knows he is.
But he can’t help himself. Really, he can’t. The poor boy is helpless.
He’s helpless when he feels himself starting to tense up, his hands on her hips tightening around her bones. His breath grows ragged, deepening when she tangles her fingers through his hair, pushing his head further towards her, pulling his mouth deeper into hers. Her hands are cold against his scalp, her entire body warm and supple as it shifts to move closer to him, her tongue all hot and soft when it swirls around his own.
The two are a bundle of stuttering heartbeats, deep breaths and curious hands that wander and roam the planes of one another’s bodies; though not venturing into places that stray too far from the main path. They’re slow but eager, gradually gaining layers of certainty and confidence that are reflected in the form of loosening muscles and satisfied sighs that nearly makes Eren’s mouth water.
How much time has passed?
Seconds? Minutes? Hours?
When the two have finally emptied their tanks of depleting oxygen, two sets of saliva-slicked lips depart, and fingers lose their tension from where they pressed so desperately against the others’ skin. Slowly, slowly, they melt off of one another like goo, separating like repulsing magnets. Distance grows, labored breathing stills. Eyes flit away from one another.
Eren’s eyes flit to the clock hanging on the wall above his desk.
Minutes have passed. Several of them. No; a dozen. Maybe even a couple dozen.
Several very short minutes.
Several very long minutes.
Eren zeroes in on the sight of a silent Mikasa running her palms down the front of her sweater before pushing tousled locks of messy black hair behind her ears, bangs sticking stubbornly to her forehead. He watches the way her lips move, parting as they suck in shallow little breaths. He sees the way her chest slightly heaves, fighting to regain the consistent liberty he sucked out of her. He notices how the gloss coating her lips has been wiped away, replaced by the dark flush of an unfamiliar pink that he knows was because of the subtle piercings of his teeth.
He thinks, maybe, he got carried away. Just a little.
Eren’s tongue darts out to swipe across the damp skin of his mouth. He tastes vanilla lip gloss and feels how it sticks to him, almost as if to mark him. To make a trophy of him. To make a trophy of his pitiful state, with messy cocoa tresses that fall like waterfalls across his cheeks, a rumpled t-shirt, bunched up and indented with evidence of her clinging onto the fabric. Crowned with a pair of puffy, glossy lips that was most definitely not of his own doing.
He thinks, maybe, Mikasa got carried away too.
The two exchange awkward glances and terse nods. They sit. They stare. They wait. They wait for the other to speak. Their silence is fatal, but so is the cacophony of unspoken thoughts that shriek into both their skulls. They wait, until Eren’s skull shatters. His voice is quiet, speaking in an undertone as if the air between them were to fracture as well.
And what he says is a proposal. A promise that waits for her approval.
Mikasa nods. Mikasa speaks.
“Right. Nothing happened tonight.”
___
The last part of their frequent routine. The part where Eren walks Mikasa home.
Normally, the walk feels painfully short. It’s a bitter goodbye laced with underlying tones of disappointment and smiles that border on sorrowful grins.
Today, it feels painfully long.
No disappointed farewells or dropping smiles tonight. Mikasa just needs to get the hell away from Eren as soon as possible. The thought of departure brings her relief on a night like this.
After their journey of somewhat awkward conversation, nearly overwhelmed in volume by the hissing of tree leaves and the clomp of footsteps, the spacious canyon that separates the two grows when Mikasa takes several strides away from him, towards her front door. He hangs back, letting her distance herself. His hands are in his pockets, his arms clenched so firmly against his sides it seems they’d snap if he withdrew them.
“See you later, Eren. Good luck at your game tomorrow,” Mikasa speaks, a slight knot clenching her gut in guilt.
“I wish you could come.” Eren’s voice is low and earnest, and he’s no longer smiling, which scares Mikasa a little. Her hand curls into a tighter fist around her doorknob.
“Hey, I’ll come to the next one. Promise.” She tries for a smile, but the offer isn’t reciprocated. The single lamp hanging overhead from her doorway illuminates the shadows pooling around his tan, chiseled features. They’re cold. Hardened into frozen stone.
“I want you to come to this one.”
Mikasa falters. Her mouth hangs open, but nothing comes out for a couple moments.
Eren almost looks mad.
“You know I can’t. I’m sorry. I really am,” she insists, her palm growing uncomfortably hot against the door’s handle. She laughs awkwardly, spitting out words before he can respond.
“I’ll see you around.”
But her measly attempt is futile. When she turns her back to him, she hears footsteps clambering up the stone steps, pausing just behind her. She hears his breath billow out his mouth, staining the cold air in plumes of white clouds. She hears his voice. It’s quiet and unreadable. But she thinks she detects a desperate plea hidden in his pursed vowels and shaky consonants.
“Mikasa.”
“Don’t go with Jean.”
His words leave Mikasa in something much like a stunned state. Where she feels as though all her weight has dropped into the soles of her feet, color and heat draining from her face completely before returning moments later like a heated punch, leaving her swaying on wobbly knees. Very, very slowly, she turns around.
Her expression has fallen completely flat, despite the ache in her ribs that comes from her fleeting heartbeat.
“What?”
She’s quiet. Quieter than usual. Much like how the winds begin to subside just before the brewings of a storm, until they pick up again once the rain and thunder has ceased to keep waiting.
“Don’t go out with him tomorrow.”
She can’t read him. She stares up at the face of a boy she’s known her whole life, yet right now, he looks no different than any stranger.
“What do you m-”
“You heard me.” His voice pierces sharply through her hushed sentence.
“Please. Just don’t do it.”
The solidity of Eren’s stone-cold facade wavers. He sounds almost desperate, his words a pathetic plea.
“Eren. What are you saying?”
His crumbled walls are pieced back together in an instant.
“You know exactly what I’m saying, Mikasa.”
“What? Eren-”
“Why are you going out with a guy you don’t even like?”
She feels her hand slip off the doorknob, burrowing itself into a fist so tight it almost trembles inside her pockets, burning fire through her pants.
“What are you talking about? Of course I like him!” Her words are stubborn but lack conviction. They don’t convince Eren, much less herself.
“You don’t. Trust me, I know you don’t.”
“No. No, Eren, you don’t know. You can’t tell me how I’m feeling.”
Eren laughs, his tongue rolling against his cheek as he shakes his head, appearing almost amused with her.
“Then who will tell you? When are you gonna stop lying to yourself?”
Mikasa gapes at him incredulously, chest bloating to twice its size when she snaps. Because he’s right. She knows he is. And he knows it too.
“You’re talking crazy. You’re not making any sense.”
He’s making perfect sense. His words are clear as day in her foggy mind.
“Mikasa.”
He pauses. He hesitates. He speaks.
“What happened back there, we can’t just-”
“You’re the one who asked me to promise we’d never bring it up again. Am I wrong?”
Eren’s head droops, momentarily averting from her exasperated glare.
“No. You’re not wrong. But that was stupid, okay? I wasn’t thinking clearly. But I am now. I’m thinking clearly now. And it’s clear that we can’t keep ignoring whatever this… this thing is between us.”
Mikasa is silent when she blinks up at him. His eyes are narrow, heated and reluctant all at once. Like he’s letting everything he’s been letting simmer finally boil over the rim.
“Eren.”
She inhales. It’s a whisper that quivers like a threat into the quiet night.
“Don’t do this to me.”
Something inside her wrenches at the pit of her stomach with a rough, shaky grasp that makes her want to wretch out her own heart, twisted inside out, onto the pavement for him to see so she doesn't have to speak anymore. The ache in her chest would be evident by the open-ended, fraying heartstrings and twisted arteries that make blood seep into the lines of the cement, as the pounding of the jumbled mass of muscle slows, dwindles, and disappears into a fatal stillness. Maybe then, he’d finally understand what he’d done to her. What he’s been doing to her over the course of many years now.
“Don’t do what?” he snaps. “Be honest with you? Tell you the truth?” he laughs in disbelief.
“Exactly!” she rebukes, choking on her thoughts and throwing up her words in a cacophony of strangled fury and self-deprecation. “Why now, Eren? Why now, when I’m just starting to become happy with someone else?”
“Mikasa, you don’t even like him-”
“I’m not talking about Jean right now! I’m talking about you. You, and your audacity, Eren.”
Eren’s palm flies to smack against his chest, his fingers curling in towards his shirt to clench at the fabric, as though finding something, anything, to hold onto to ground him before he flies off the rails.
“My audacity? What the hell are you talking about?”
Mikasa’s feet move before she can command them to stay in place. They whisk right by him, down the stone steps of her doorway and out into the freezing breeze whipping at her hair.
“Your audacity!” she repeats, louder over the sound of the wind, like just repeating the mere word will make him understand.
“You know how long I waited for you. I never said anything because you never did either. But I know you knew. And you never did anything about it. And now, it’s too late. It’s too late for you to waltz in and tell me who I can and can’t see, because all the time I waited for you, you were silent.”
Now, Eren really is silent. Even when he turns on his heel, hovering over the edge of the step to stare down at Mikasa, he has nothing to say. He stands there, waiting like a speechless idiot with his mouth agape. So she takes it as her cue to continue. Now that she's begun, she can’t stop. And honestly, she doesn’t really want to.
“Eren. You didn’t care enough back then to say anything. Clearly. Clearly you didn’t care. About me. About us and what we could have been. What you’ve known I wanted us to be. It’s too late for you to care now. Not when I’ve finally stopped waiting for you and looked to someone else for the thing you never gave me.”
She stops, glancing down at her feet to realize she’s been pacing back and forth.
“Your feelings. Your honesty.”
Mikasa holds his dumbfounded gaze with a challenging glare of her own. He swallows down a lump lodged in his throat, willing himself to respond.
“Mikasa, god, it’s not that I didn’t care, it’s just-”
“It doesn’t matter what it was or wasn’t. Now, I’m seeing someone else. I’m going out with Jean, Eren.”
“Don’t fucking lie to yourself to get over me-”
“What? You think I’m doing this for you?”
Eren huffs, glancing side to side like he’s looking for shared shock among spectators that aren’t there.
“Who else would it be?”
“Myself.”
“Bullshit.”
“Stop it, Eren.” Her fists quiver at her sides. From the cold of the air or the heat scorching her palms or the fury staining her ears red, she isn’t sure. “You don’t get to keep me waiting like this anymore. I’m done. I’m so tired of waiting and getting my hopes up, only for you to shut yourself away and leave me hopeless all over again. You’ve no right to come tell me anything now when you’ve had all this time before.”
Eren runs a hand over his face, his flashing green eyes disappearing behind his knuckles.
“The only thing I’m telling you is that you’re being stupid for lying to yourself like this. You’re pretending. Playing into this little role even when you know it’s not right. It’s pathetic, Mikasa. Really. Wake up. Don’t go out with a guy you don’t even like.”
“I have woken up. Woken up and finally started to move on from you.” She goes quiet, the flames illuminating her dark irises extinguishing when she wrings her hands together by her front. “So just… please. Please just leave me alone. You shouldn’t get a say in who I decide to be with.”
He shouldn’t get a say.
But for some reason, Mikasa suddenly feels a lot more reluctant for her date tomorrow.
Eren’s head cocks back to suck in a shaky gulp of air. His eyes dart away from her.
“Fine,” he spits, and the word is bitter. “Keep pretending. Keep fucking lying to yourself. Just know…”
He throttles down the last step leading up to her house to stand beside her, stare settled solely on the path ahead, not even sparing a single glance at her as she turns her head to drink in the frazzled sight of a furious Eren.
“That it’s pathetic. This whole bit you’re playing.” Eren takes himself down the pathway leading into her home, back onto the street. When he walks by her, his shoulder nearly brushing up against her own, the scent of his crisp, yet homey cologne mingled with the mint shampoo wafting from his hair stings her nostrils and scorches her throat.
It’s freezing out, but Mikasa’s skin feels awfully hot. Her cheeks burn, and her tongue feels as though it’s been run through flames. She doesn’t let her gaze linger on Eren for any longer than it has to. She doesn’t watch as he makes his way away from her, disappearing out into the street. She only listens to the sound of his footsteps, heavy but hasty, as he slinks away.
She saunters towards her front door. She toggles the doorknob, and it slides open. All is still, and the only indicator that she isn’t alone is the remaining smells of dinner, still fresh, wafting in the air as she closes the door.
But her family must be upstairs. Because no one sees the way the flower wilts, soft petals fraying into blackened crisps as Mikasa’s knees buckle, her bottom roughly hitting the ground. The pain echoes through her, sending a punch to her gut and a wince to her flat expression.
Her thorny hands find her face, pricking at her eyes when she buries them into her palms. They draw blood in rivulets of salt that stream down her cheeks. The flower’s stem decays, and it falls, falls, falls against the grass beneath, curled into a dull corpse, crunchy petals littering the floor surrounding it.
Mikasa’s stem has weakened. Her petals have fallen.
Mikasa wilts.
The girl wilts, and wilts, and wilts.