Chapter Text
It can get tiresome, scouring the earth to be understood. Books have been written. Opinions have been exchanged. Armin has told their story—Eren's story—countless times, to the point that he almost has it rehearsed. Almost. The rest of the 104th could tell that though the story always starts the same (with Eren’s mother being eaten by a titan) and ends the same (Eren annihilating eighty percent of humanity), there's always a new revelation, a forgotten-now-remembered detail, that surfaces.
Jean knew this; He can never escape Eren’s haunting shadow. Away from Paradis or inside it—there was no use. That blue-eyed suicidal maniac's legacy hung on Jean's back like a crux. Sorry, was it green-eyed?
Yet, he always liked home. He always looked forward to returning to Trost each year after he and the other 104th members finished their diplomatic tour around the earth. But when his mother's peaceful passing came, Jean couldn't let himself come back. No one who loved him was still back home.
But he was drawn here again, after four years.
A modern railway ran parallel to the river, connecting the Paradis ship dock to the former walled city and all its districts. Thanks to the foundation laid by Onyankopon and the other volunteers, Jean didn't need four days by horse, traversing the land to arrive at his destination.
Jean exited the train at Shiganshina station. Without the walls and the titans, the Shiganshina that once was had tripled in size over the past nine years. Stone houses had been built further down the river southeast, and a large portion of the land had been used to expand livestock. Children ran around. Vendors shouted their abundant wares. Happiness scarcely trickled down to the outer districts, but now, happiness or something akin to it filled the air.
But Jean knew better than to think this place had true peace. After all, he was walking to the heart of humanity’s defeat. He stood where a hundred thousand titans were unleashed to cause mass slaughter. He clutched his passport tight. Without Armin and his other ambassador friends, Jean's travel might raise some eyebrows. This was no longer home.
After climbing up the familiar stairs, he knocked on the door of the house that belonged to her. He could call her many things—his comrade, his friend, his confidante, his dream girl. But he never dared to actually think about what it would be like if she were his. The knob started to turn. Jean was afraid of her reaction. He had expected she would look at him with a blank stare, her usual guise. But instead, Mikasa had a faint smile. "So, you are early." She left the door open, letting him in.
He took off his hat. "Sorry." Jean entered timidly and looked around the room. It was still quaint, hardly anything on the walls but decorative plates. "Thanks for inviting me to stay."
Mikasa nodded. "Of course." She gestured for him to place his hat on the hook next to the door before putting her hands on one of Jean's luggage and attempting to carry it.
"N-No, No, I got it!" Jean wanted to swat her hand away, but he stopped himself. Now their fingers are just touching.
They exchanged glances for a while. Her cheeks have gotten fuller. Her eyes a bluer gray. And her hair has gotten longer. But her red scarf—Eren’s red scarf—remained.
He let go. "I got it, Mikasa. Actually, about that, since the others aren't here yet, I can stay at the nearby inn first. I just wanted to drop by and say hi."
"You can stay here." Mikasa turned around and went to the kitchen. "It's only two days before Armin and our friends arrive. You are as welcome here as they are."
The phrasing of her words felt a bit strange and pointed. "Mikasa, I insist—"
"I have guest rooms. You are my guest." Mikasa held up two mugs. "Coffee or tea?"
"Um, coffee, please."
Mikasa grabbed a tiny bag of coffee beans and poured a handful into a pan. "Second door on the right."
Without another protest, Jean carried his luggage to the room. He grunted and sighed as he placed his bags on the lower bunk of the bed. "Shit." Maybe he could have dropped his bags off at the inn first before coming here. It's not like Mikasa would forcibly march down to the inn and transfer his bags from there to here; she can, but she wouldn't. Why would she? Jean wanted to see her, of course. But it just brought back those same old feelings. He sat on the bed, tempted to sink into it.
Mikasa appeared by the doorway, her presence wistful and serene. “I’m sorry about your mother, Jean. When you didn’t return after she died, it didn’t need an explanation.”
“Thank you.” Jean couldn’t bear to look at her. He could hear the water boiling.
“You can share this room with Reiner and Connie once they arrive. And Armin and Annie can share the room next to mine upstairs,” Mikasa said.
Jean shook his head. “Oof, Armin and Annie upstairs. Now we’ve got a real problem.”
Mikasa smiled and huffed.
They sat in silence; in the house next to them, the teens were talking boisterously amongst themselves about their wicked fashion, their weird jokes. Jean’s sheltered teenage years ended the moment he held a gun. And Mikasa, was she ever just a kid?
“Mikasa, I don’t want to overstep. I’ll stay at the inn tonight. You do know why.”
She relinquished control and nodded. The strong scent of coffee hung in the air. "Coffee is done." Mikasa stood up, but before she could exit completely, she whispered loud enough for him to understand, “There are still good things here, Jean.”
These would be the longest two days of his life. Deep within him is the urge to bare it all.