He tiptoes around the beating of his heart. The silent questioning of a simple antagonizing glare.
The words slip out of his mouth tasting like bitter metallic blood, "No, it's not like that. Me and Mikasa. No,". The phony anger filled accusations, he says she clings too much, that he can do things on his own. She gives him that space he never endingly requests, like a desert begging for rain, he begged for independence. The nights turn into long confusion, the whispers across the hall seem so clear in nights like those. Every word was emphasized, with the absence of him she had forced herself to converse with others, leading her to become accustomed to Jean.
They spoke quite often now, and their rooms were left in a silent hum that seemed like sirens in his ears, they laid down speaking of nothing; they enjoyed the silence, the contentment of having company yet not having to speak any words. Their silence spoke for them. He stayed awake clinging onto every word they spoke, studying her breathing patterns, and wondering if she had forgotten about him. I didn't mean to push you away he whispers, hoping somehow she will hear him and walk into his room, absorbing him in all her attention. They sneak away during the calm days, whispering in eachothers ears, her laughing; he'd never seen her laugh like that.
His scarf eventually vanishes from her neck, replaced with a necklace Jean bought her in Karane. Their conversations are limited to simple hellos and how are you doings. He internally pleads she will ask him more, like how has it been dealing with his new titan form abilities, to go somewhere and sit in silence, he begins to want what Jean is recieving, but she has given a part of herself to him now. A part that used to belong to Eren. She smiles so brightly he almost wants to scold her for being so euphoric when he has lost himself, she pulls him to the side one day and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear; a child like grin on her face, he kissed her for the first time, Jean was her first kiss and she whispers too lowly for the average person to hear that she thinks she likes him a lot. Long sips of anonymous liquor burns his throat, reminding him of the feeling in his nostrils as she declared her love for him. It should be him, those lips, the pale skin on her neck, the first kiss she recieved; it should have been him earning those things. No now she was someone elses, she let him go like he begged for and she fell in love with Jean. A part of him knows it's what is right, he could not give her what she deserved, his life would not last forever and she deserves to be loved in her lifetime. She deserves to experience the things a women long ago would feel, he pictures a home out in a land where no monsters exist, Mikasa and Jean playing with a little child running around being free. A part of him will always wish that it was him in that picture, but it was always Jean. They were destined before they had even met, and he was gald that they met because of him. He's giving her the best gift he can, by letting her go to. It all started with that red scarf, and he knew somewhere in time she held that scarf and smelt it; inhaling the smell of fresh grass, remembering the first time they met, and like a movie the scenes of their small little lives play and she smiles, thanking him for letting her have this. It was always Jean, but she was his girl first, and he'd never forget that, not in a million years.