1. Acceptance – Armin, Mikasa, and Eren
It'd been three years and four months.
Armin only knew that because he counted each and every day like he was crossing out boxes on the calendar hanging in his room. He might as well have been doing so with how dedicatedly he kept track, except it'd been three years and four months since he last did so, gliding his favorite red marker on that smooth paper to remind him that another day of his life had gone by. July 15 of the previous year was the last time he reminded himself. It was the last time for everything.
Armin sighed sitting atop the small hill of dead grass and watched the cars go by, their engines rumbling to make a smooth entrance into the freeway. He'd grown to love the sounds of the engines, both smooth and roaring, from critically observing with his eyes and intently listening with his ears for what felt like an eternity. It was like he memorized the rolls and rushes that came after them, even if it was a waste of time. But he didn't care. For a year and four months, he had all the time in the world. All of eternity.
There were no more responsibilities. There were no more obligations to fulfill for family, no more grades to maintain to work towards the future, and no more need for the sentimental, emotional, and human things. Armin quickly learned those facts the moment he found himself up on that small hill, staring down at his own bloodied body on the road three years and four months ago.
At first, it was like a dream where time immediately stopped the second the metal crashed into his flesh. It didn't feel real, and he asked himself how could it have been? Something like this wasn't supposed to happen to someone like him. He was just an ordinary person crossing the road, that's all. He never imagined that everything could end in one single split-second, taken and gone so quickly that Armin hardly remembered the pain and was instead left perplexed at just why it happened so suddenly. However, over time, he'd felt the confusion slowly dissipate as he continued to watch the cars go by. Having no worry to eat or need to sleep kept his mind unfading, always observing and always listening.
Some days Armin would walk over to the top of the hill in the night when there were fewer cars on the road. He'd pay a visit to the park that was blocked off from the edge of the hill by a fence that he'd have no trouble passing through. He'd see teenagers trespassing the poorly lit park on multiple occasions, smoking, drinking, and sometimes even going inside the play structures for intimate privacy. It was an interesting place to be in the late hour when his usual spot was uneventful.
Still, Armin had to be honest with himself. He'd only started to go up to the park in some of the evenings when he heard uncontrollable sobbing one night. It'd been only about three months after his death, but the sound so pained that he couldn't ignore it. After cautiously making his way up the hill for the first time, he'd found something peculiar.
It was the boy that killed him. At first, Armin didn't know he was the one, and he only sympathized with the violent sobs that distorted the silence. The boy kept coming back, sometimes two days in a row or sometimes once or twice every week, and it was only on the fourth visit that Armin learned that the young man who came to cry and find escape in that park was the one who killed him that day. And it was the ninth visit that Armin learned that the young man's name was Eren.
"Eren," that particular night a girl with a red scarf had accompanied him, "You can't keep doing this. You're only hurting yourself."
Eren had forcefully stopped his tears much to Armin's relief. He felt no abhorrence or hostile attitude towards the boy and instead sympathized with him, so the suspended tears were almost comforting.
"I know," Eren replied to the girl. His voice started to rise and the tears began to well up in his eyes again, "But this isn't just something you can shake off. I killed someone. Even if it was an accident, I fucking killed someone. I can't ever-"
And the sobs started again.
Days and nights went by, and the visits became less frequent over the months. Still, every time Eren did come back, that same girl would always be with him, speaking with him to calm the guilt, wrapping her arms around him to ease the grief, and silently humming a melody to drown the cries. They were inseparable as Armin assumed from his observations from afar.
"I'm so sorry, Mikasa," Eren said one night, a year after the accident, "You've been helping me through this for so long when you've got your own problems to deal with."
"Don't," the girl said, folding her arms, "You already know that I'm always here whenever you need me to be. It doesn't matter what I'm going through myself."
"But," Eren interjected, his voice cracking, "Your diagno-"
"I said don't," Mikasa had said firmly, "We're not out here to fight my battles. We're out here to fight yours."
After that night, the visits became even less and less frequent, Armin finding himself in the company of more and more juvenile teenagers instead. It was interesting, but the lack of Eren and Mikasa's visits slightly saddened him. And one day, after two years of the accident, they just stopped coming.
More months went by, and Armin went back to merely observing cars going by and occasionally spending evenings at the park. It was lonely, he grew to learn, but it oddly kept him placid. There was nothing attached to him- no material things, no responsibilities, no emotions. Everything was just gone and that was it.
And here he was in the present, sitting atop the side of the hill observing and listening. It was the third year, fourth month, and seventh day. There weren't many cars that Sunday twilight, but Armin didn't feel like moving from his seat. The setting sun was just too beautiful to pass up this time.
He was absorbed in the sight so much that he didn't immediately notice that someone had sat beside him a few feet away. Armin almost thought his mind and eyes were playing tricks on him, but no, there she was. There was no mistake. Mikasa, the girl who had continuously accompanied Eren on countless nights, was sitting there, gazing at the same sun he was.
He was utterly confused.
"H-hello?" he hesitantly said. It felt weird to speak out loud. He didn't even know if she could see him or not.
Mikasa didn't look at him and only stared at the sun, making him wonder even more of why in the world she was there.
"Why are you still here?" she suddenly asked. Armin immediately pulled back like he'd been touched by an electrical shock.
"A-are you talking to me?" he stammered. She looked at him from the corner of her eye, her expression dull and stoic as he'd always noticed it every time she was at the park.
"I've seen you," she said, "I've been seeing you sitting here everyday for a long time."
Armin suddenly grew even more cautious, and found the curious questions hard to utter.
"Who are you?" he finally said, and that was all he could manage.
"Mikasa," she mumbled, wrapping her red scarf tighter around her neck, "A good friend of the boy that killed you in that accident."
He already knew that. Why did he even ask?
"So, I've answered your question," she said, now turning her head to face him. Her expression remained unchanged, "Now, answer mine. Why are you still here?"
Armin didn't know what to say. After almost three years of no interaction in his limbo, it was still difficult to comprehend right there and then that someone was speaking to him. But what was he supposed to say? He honestly hadn't thought about that question… he was always just there.
"I don't know," Armin said, and he meant it.
"I don't know, either," Mikasa said, looking down at the road again, "Death's an odd thing, but when it happens, it happens. There's not much you can do about it."
"Mm," Armin hummed in understanding. He knew that well, but he still didn't understand how and why this girl was here beside him.
"Eren's moved on," she continued, her voice a little lighter, "It was hard and the guilt was outrageous, but he moved on."
Armin felt a small pang of anger, a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time, but the emotion disappeared as fast as it came. He didn't see the reason in being angry, because yes, Mikasa was right. In death, there's nothing you can do to reverse it. You're left powerless, only given the choice to accept the fact or not. He was dead, anyway, he knew that. And ultimately, it was an accident. There was no use in being indignant.
"Has he?" Armin said, "That's good to hear."
"But there wasn't a day that he couldn't stop thinking about it," Mikasa voiced, "He still can't stop thinking about it. It's not something anyone can completely forget."
"Of course, I'd imagine not being able to ever fully move on if I was in his position," he said truthfully.
"Do you hate him?" she inquired.
"No, I don't," Armin said, "I mean, you're right. There's nothing I can do even if I hated him. After realizing and accepting my death, there's no point in hating anyone."
"Have you really accepted that fact?" Mikasa suddenly asked, her tone laced with doubt, "The fact that you're no longer alive, I mean."
Armin opened his mouth to answer, but instantly closed it when he understood that he genuinely didn't know the answer.
"You've been here for a very long time," she said, her voice softer, "Have you ever asked yourself that question and really found the answer?"
He was left speechless, his calculating mind trying to find and put together the pieces of thoughts that had been left neglected. Indeed, he was still here lingering. He was still here watching cars go by, watching teenagers living out their adolescent lives… just listening and observing. Everything else- every emotion, every desire, every thought- had been pushed to the deepest crevice of his mind, put away and hidden by denial.
"You're as dead as the grass you're sitting on," Mikasa said in a low hum, "but by just sitting here struggling to accept your passing, you'll never know yourself if the other side is greener."
Armin's eyes widened, and he ironically felt like his breath was being sucked away. His consciousness dawned on him. For three years and four months, he believed that his lingering was already his afterlife. He sat and perceived, but didn't see that this perpetual limbo he endured was to mask the repudiation of his end.
Acceptance was all he needed.
"I understand," he breathed.
"Do you?" she mused, clutching her red scarf, "I'll leave you with that thought, then. It's your decision. It was nice chatting with you, Armin."
He didn't say anything back as Mikasa stood and began to walk up the hill to the other side.
"Wait," Armin called out, getting up from the grass, "How is it that you can see me? No one's ever noticed me before. I'm dead, aren't I?"
A small smile, almost invisible, came to Mikasa's lips, but she turned around and continued walking. She raised a light hand in farewell, the rays of the setting sun and the creeping shadow of dusk making her appear to be fading into the cold air.
"I'll see you on the other side," she said.
If you have any one worded prompts you'd like me to write about, please drop them in a review as well as criticism. That'd be most appreciated! Thanks for reading~