"What was it like? Losing your parents."
"It's not so bad, at first. Then the little things kill you… like the first birthday they're not there."
-0-
Armin
He should be excited. He knows he should be. It's his birthday.
Instead of jumping out of bed with a smile the way he usually does, proclaiming his age to anyone who will listen (he's finally turning seven), he curls himself under his blanket and buries his face into his pillow.
The door opens and the shuffling of feet against the floor fills the room. Armin doesn't stir when a gentle hand rests against his shoulder.
"Armin, time to get up," Grandpa murmurs. Armin's only reply is to bury himself deeper into his sheets. There's a heavy sigh that bears the weight of the world. A hand strokes his head before the weight is lifted. "Happy birthday, little one." Then, Grandpa leaves and Armin is left to solitude.
He doesn't know how long he stays there. Long enough that he can hear the busy sounds of Shiganshina waking up from the thin walls of his room. Eventually, he shifts his blanket from his head, blinking in the sudden light. The sunlight is weak; it's winter and the tall walls don't allow a whole lot of light in. It still causes spots to dance in his vision and he rubs his eyes even though Grandpa has told him many times not to.
Slowly, he crawls up to his window and peers out, his breath ghosting across the cool glass and fogging it up. He's slept in later than usual, the streets already bustling with human life despite the weak flurries of snow falling from the sky.
Armin usually loves snow on his birthday. This year, he wishes there was none.
He sees a wrapped present sitting on the floor next to his bed, but he doesn't reach out for it. Instead, his hands grasp the yellowed paper next to it. He holds it in his lap, screwing his face up so he doesn't cry.
Photographs are too expensive, Mom had told him. Armin had wanted one anyway, so he drew it with the set of crayons he had gotten for his fifth birthday. It only had three colours – red, blue and yellow – but he had learned how to combine the colours together to make the colours he didn't have. He had spent hours on it, sitting in the living room and occasionally glancing up at Dad, who had been reading papers, and Grandpa, who had been whittling by the fireplace. For Mom, he had to hunt her down in the kitchen, whining for her to stay still long enough for him to capture her. He didn't have those flashy black boxes, but he thought he had a nice picture by the end of the day.
His fingers trace the happy faces he had drawn on and his vision blurs. He's horrified as a tear drips onto the precious picture and he hurriedly wipes it away, flinging it to the end of the bed so he won't break the fragile paper.
His first instinct is to curl up in a ball; he does. He second instinct is to sob; he does.
The grief is overwhelming. It should be a joyous day, but all he can think is they're not here, it isn't fair.
The door opens once more, this time accompanied by a loud exclamation that can only be his best friend. Armin doesn't turn, only buries his face into his covers and wish for the impossible.
There's a gentle pressure at his back before heat envelopes him. He registers the arms wrapped around him and gulps down air long enough to turn and meet Eren's worried eyes. They turn blue in the winter sunlight and Armin cries because Eren isn't Mom, with her twinkling blue eyes and soothing hands. He cries because Eren isn't Dad, with his awkward laugh and comforting hugs. Eren can't bring back his parents from the dead and that's the only thing he wants in the world.
He cries because he turns seven and his parents aren't alive to wish him happy birthday.
Dani
It's raining.
She should consider herself lucky, of course. She's not like the unfortunate soldiers who are braving the wind and the rain on horseback. Dani doesn't know how wet horse smells like up close, but she imagines it isn't pleasant. She's hidden away in the only sheltered cart, along with medical supplies and spare weaponry – 3D Maneuver Gears, spare blades and canisters of pressurised gas. On a normal day, she'd be eyeing the items curiously, reaching out to examine them more closely only to snatch her fingers away guiltily when she hears either Petra, Gunther or, on a rare occasion, Levi riding up to the cart.
Today isn't a normal day.
She stares out of the slit by the side of the cart that she had taken to using as a window. Water splashes against the side of the cart as it dips into potholes filled with rainwater. The scent of petrichor is strong; it's the first rain in two months. Dani thinks it's fitting.
It's also unfair.
She turns her head to the entrance of the cart at the sound of horse hooves nearing the vehicle. She parts the curtain (soaked with rainwater) to see who it is. She spots ginger hair darkened to brown and waits for Petra to come by.
The Recon Corps soldier's smile falters as she sees the little girl. "Dani-chan," she says quietly, barely heard over the rain, "what's wrong?"
"It's nothing," Dani replies, rubbing her left eye with a fist as her gaze avoids Petra's.
Petra's lips purse in worry. Dani dimly thinks that Petra would make a great mother, only for a pang to shoot through her chest. She clenches her hands into fists so she won't clutch her chest. "Are you sick?"
Of course she would think that, after her fever a few weeks ago. Dani shakes her head slowly, hiding her face in the shadow of her hair. It's stringy from not being washed for two weeks (Levi's been dropping hints via Gunther and Petra that she should have a fucking wash before he drags her to a river and scrubs her down himself; the threat is ineffective) and she grimaces slightly.
"I'm fine," she murmurs.
Petra's concerned gaze doesn't disappear, but she chooses not to pry. Dani's grateful. Petra holds out a lump of bread, obviously torn off from Petra's own rations. Her stomach protests at the thought of food and she leans back, shaking her head. She's hungry, but has no appetite.
"You need to eat," Petra insists quietly, nudging the now soggy lump into Dani's hand. The girl wants to argue, but doesn't. She knows she'll be hungry later on, so she accepts the rain-soaked bread with a quiet thank you. She doesn't miss the concerned look that Petra shoots her, but she knows the elder doesn't have time to pester her. She supposes it's a good thing as her heart bubbles in her stomach acid.
She sits by the entrance, hidden in the shadows of the curtain as it flaps. Rain splashes onto her face, but she doesn't care. Blank grey eyes stared at the soldiers with their heads bowed to the wind, unable to see her.
Dani looks down at the soggy bread in her hands. I've been through this before, she reminds herself, but it doesn't assuage the hollow ache in her chest. I'm an adult, she thinks as she glances around the cart she technically isn't supposed to be in. I've never felt so alone, she finally admits as a world-weary sigh escapes her lips.
She holds the bread in two hands (she reminds herself that it's the only thing she'll get to eat for hours and squishing it between her hands isn't productive) and closes her eyes; imagines a small cake, large enough for a family of three. It has one candle with nine notches carved in the wax along the shaft, inserted in a cake made with love. It wouldn't be particularly tasty, but it's the best thing in the world because a gentle voice croons out happy birthday in a native tongue (Russian, Dani finally decides after years of contemplation) and a boisterous voice booms, "My little star has grown up!"
She sees soft grey eyes and feels lips against her temple, as well as a callused but gentle hand tousling her hair. Quietly, she sings to herself, her voice cracking on every alternate word.
(She doesn't know it, but a rookie hears and stays clear because they had heard the haunting melody and thought the cart to be haunted.)
"Happy birthday to you… h-happy birthday to you… happy b-birthday, dear Dan-Danika. Happy birthday… to you," she croaks out in Russian, hiding her face in her arms. She can't even pretend to feel warm arms embrace her.
She finally bites into the bread. She can taste flour, rainwater and her own salty tears mixing on her tongue.
She cries because even if she's turning nine a second time, she spends it cold and alone.
Mikasa
She feels cold. It's the first time she's felt cold since That Night and she instinctively reaches for the scarf that has never left her since it was wrapped around her neck (and mouth and nose) all those months ago. She wakes and rubs her eyes sleepily, glancing over at Eren (still asleep). She wraps the scarf around her neck and pulls her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She waits for the cold to recede, but it lingers on the edge of her fingertips.
"Eren," she says, quietly but firmly. The boy stirs, but doesn't wake. She tries again, shoving him lightly and he blinks awake, eyes green in the dim morning light.
"Whazzits," he mumbles sleepily, eyes finding Mikasa easily.
"What's the date?" she asks, frowning.
He groans, turning over to show his back to her, but she prods his back insistently. "I don't know," he cries. "February, I guess."
Mikasa huffs to herself; yes, she knows it's February, but what date? "Eren." Sternly.
Eren whines a little, shoving his pillow over his head so his reply comes out muffled. "Tenth, I think. Now let me go to sleep, 'Kasa."
She isn't listening anymore, already out of her bed and making for the door. She barely remembers to say good morning to Clara before she's breezing past the door. She hears a pot clatter to the ground and imagines it's simply Clara dropping it out of surprise; nowadays, it seems that she's more ghost than child.
She doesn't stroll – her steps are brisk, head bowed and the lower half of her face buried in her scarf as she walks a route she knows by heart. She only lifts her head when she feels the breeze that only comes when there is a large body of water. Silently, she sits by the riverside, the water lapping against the steps below her feet as she watches life pass by with vacant eyes.
This time last year, she was happy. This time last year, she was a little girl. This time last year, her parents were alive.
She buries her face into the scarf once more, eyes dropping to the water below. She shivers as a cold wind blows – last remnants of winter. She doesn't move.
The world is cruel. She knows it and knows it well. If the world weren't cruel, she would be with her parents in the mountains. Her mother would be teaching her embroidery like she had promised while subconsciously caressing the scar she had carved upon Mikasa's skin. Her father would still be making jokes and she would have finally pestered her father for an explanation on how babies are made (she knows now, of course, but it's not the same, having Grisha explaining it to her scientifically along with an admonishment to not think about it until she came of age) and seeing him flounder.
She's content with her life now, but she was happy then. She longs to be happy again.
"Mikasa, there you are!"
Mikasa turns at Eren's exclamation. He's holding something in his hand gingerly, Armin following behind and muttering nervously. Eren shushes him and finally settles down next to Mikasa, Armin on her other side. She regales the item he had placed next to her with an expressionless stare.
"It's a cupcake," she states, forehead creasing.
"With a candle on it," Eren adds on unnecessarily. "Mom lit it!"
"Happy birthday, Mikasa," Armin says quietly, shyly. He's curled up in himself, as if afraid to touch her, but his small smile is warm and his blue eyes only hold kindness. He's really more Eren's friend than hers, but she wouldn't mind making friends outside of Eren.
Eren throws his arms around her. If Mikasa were weaker (if it had been a year ago), they would have collided into Armin. Thankfully, she's not. She's mildly surprised, but used to the sudden embrace. "Yeah, happy birthday, 'Kasa!" He held up the cupcake in front of her, the flame dangerously close to her nose. "Make a wish," he sings.
She eyes the flickering flame. The first wish that flits through her mind is I want my parents. It vanishes quickly. She looks at Eren; a dear friend who's slowly becoming someone important in her life. She can feel Armin's warmth as he looks over her shoulder expectantly; a boy with a kind heart who she hopes will accept her friendship.
"The first one is always the hardest," Armin says quietly, practically murmuring it into her ear. She turns, half an ear still politely listening to Eren's rant on… something or other. She meets his kind blue eyes, seeing the lingering sadness and remembers: he had lost his parents too and at a younger age than herself. Not as violently, true, but it had its own brand of harshness as well. His smile widens incrementally. "It gets better, I promise."
She closes her eyes and purses her lips, blowing the flame out.
I wish to be happy again.
Eren
He wakens slowly and for once, he's aware of the tears that are drying on his cheek. He's also aware that Mikasa is watching over him. He wants to roll over so she can't see his shining cheeks, but that would make it obvious that he's awake. He doesn't quite want to see Mikasa just yet.
It's the thirtieth of March.
There's an ache in his chest that's mirrored by a sympathetic ache in his hands, although the wounds had long healed.
Mom would always wake me up by singing happy birthday, he thinks and his heart aches for his mom. He sees it again – the Titan bringing her up to its grotesque mouth spread wide before the jaws clamped together, Mom's broken body further snapped in half.
He turns onto his side, ignoring the fact that Mikasa would immediately know he's awake. Fuck that. He just wanted to be alone. He hears her shift, but then there's the quiet call of Mikasa's name and the steady warmth Mikasa emitted was gone. He wants to open his eyes and see why she would leave him alone, but decides against it. He had wanted solitude after all.
He finally realises what a dangerous affair that is. All he can see is his mother's death replaying on a loop behind his closed eyelids. Anger wells up in his chest; at the Titans, at his father for abandoning them, at Hannes for being scared, at himself for being such a weakling…
He hadn't realised he had been clutching his hair until a gentle hand coaxes his fingers to loosen their grip; Mikasa. He opens his eyes to look up at Mikasa's gentle eyes, black in the dim of the food reserves. There's an almost smile on her face.
"Eren," she says quietly, her voice as gentle as a summer breeze. "We have a surprise for you."
We? Eren sits up, wiping away at the tears staining his cheeks vigorously. He blinks at the sight of Armin holding out a bread roll with… a candle stuck through it. "What's this?" he asks suspiciously.
"We couldn't find a birthday cake, so we substituted," Dani pipes up. He turns to her, his eyes widening at the state of her; clothes dirtied, a bruise near her left eye and a split lip. He looks at Armin and realises the blonde is beat up as well, although in a better shape than Dani; he only has a single bruise high on his cheekbone.
"What happened?" he exclaims, eyes darting between the two best friends. A small smile quirked the corner of Dani's lips as she shared a look with Armin that spoke volumes.
"Candles aren't easy to get," Armin explains slowly, fingers tracing the bruise gingerly.
"I'm also really clumsy," Dani adds, somewhat cheekily. It fits her really – twinkling grey eyes alight with mischief and red hair that's as out-of-control as the girl herself. They're friends, but he realises that she's the one making the effort. Even Mikasa's making a bigger effort than he is and it makes him feel like crap; Mikasa's the one who usually takes longer to warm up to new people, not him.
"Happy birthday," Mikasa whispers, clasping his hand as she takes the bread-birthday cake and sets it in his hand. "You should blow out the candle before the wax drips."
He starts crying again
It's embarrassing, but Armin and Mikasa won't make fun of him and neither will Dani, he's sure of it. There's an ache in his chest that he'll never hear his mother wake him up gently only to finally pull his ear to wake him up or see her smile as she wishes him happy birthday in German or taste the cake she always lovingly makes for birthdays (his, Mikasa's and Armin's), but he figures that even if the bread roll is only a bread roll (his day ration, really) and two of his best friends (yes, two) got beat up for a stupid candle, he can be content with this. It's not so bad, really. His parents aren't here and that will always hurt.
"The first one is always the worse, but it'll get better," Mikasa promises, holding his hand that isn't holding the bread-birthday cake. He sees Armin's eyes dart to her as they widen and figures that was what Armin had whispered to her when he thought Eren wasn't looking.
Looking around at his best friends – at Dani fussing over Armin's bruise even when she fares worse, at Mikasa who treats him like a brother and cares for him like a mother – he can easily believe her. This birthday is tough because his parents aren't around to celebrate, but he's extremely lucky to have friends like these.
He closes his eyes and blows the flame out.
I wish we'll always stay like this.