"Fly, Ackerman ..."
Mikasa frowned as stern, low yet rich voice of Rivaille caught up her attention. That middle-height Corporal came up from nowhere, standing behind her back on nearby branch, holding not very still. The soft light of red sun framed all the sharpnesses of his face, the dull blue of his eyes shadowed and gleamed whenever he moved those icy orbs. Mikasa was flattered, standing still upon the branch.
"Rivaille-heichou ..." she whispered, then clamping her feet together to salute him.
"Don't be so formal, it's not the time for that. Call me Rivaille, just Rivaille."
She froze, but nodded in the end. "Yes, Rivaille."
"What are you doing? What makes you hesitate? The high is just perfect and wind blows in supporting knot. Launch your gear and let me see you fly."
She stood still, shivering to grab her metal swords without the willing to draw them. "I can't." she sighed. "I can't do that without you."
Rivalle gazed her, bitterness marked every tension of his gaze towards the prodigy. Wind blew his dark hair as he spoke, "There's nothing to be affraid of, Mikasa. I'm here."
"No, you are not," her voice broke as tears began to fall, streaming down her cheek. "You're dead. You died on me."
Rivaille smirked, it's not annoying nor it made her angry as it affected her, was, long time ago. That was bitter smirk, sorrow and hurt all at once. "I'm dead." his voice floated, flowing along the afternoon summer breeze.
"Yes, you are. You're dead without knowing how much I love you, you irksome shorty."
He smiled. "It's fine, then. I know now. It's silly, the same guilt here I felt about you, My Eren-freak brat. I died leaving you not knowing how much I love you as well."
She sobbed. "It doesn't matter anymore." She gazed him right in the eyes. "We're both stupid, aren't we?"
Rivaille chuckled. "Yeah, we're goddamn stupid. Damn life."
And then, he was gone.
End
I don't own Shingeki no Kyojin, Isayama Hajime does.