MI CASA
written by A. E. Stover
this version is not edited

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WOW another drabble for SNK I am on a roll WOWw

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It's her birthday, so she orders a grande strawberry crème frap with java chips and a mocha drizzle and dares to snatch the packaged madelines. Who cares how fake these are (besides Eren) — they were soft and sweet and good enough for her.

The guy ringing up her order smiles and asks for her name.

"Mikasa."

The grin that appears on his face makes her want to sigh. "Ooh," he croons like a fool, quickly writing on a new cup. "Like 'mi casa es tu casa,' huh?" He passes the cup along and swipes her gold card for her stars. "We can make that come true if you want. My shift's over in a few." He's leaning over as he returns her card and winks at her.

She stares blankly at him as she takes the card back. Then she turns to the side to wait for her drink amongst the crowd of strangers. A hand comes down on her shoulder, and it makes her skin crawl. She has to remind herself that breaking fingers is not socially acceptable behavior.

"Hey, c'mon, how about it? I can promise you a great time. I'll treat you out to dinner, if you want. I know a real nice spot just around the corner from my place. D'you like Mexican? You do, don't you?"

She walks forward and feels his hand slip off her shoulder. But his voice still buzzes like a mosquito around her.

"Or do you wanna hit closer to home? Chinese? Japanese? Thai?"

She ignores him and approaches the tall man leaning against the counter and furiously scrolling through his phone. She gently touches his elbow and he looks over his shoulder at her. Jean's black frames slip down his nose and he pushed them back up. The glasses hardly hide the dark circles under his eyes; he's in desperate need of sleep and hasn't shaved in what seems like two days now. His hair is messy and out of control and he needs a shower. She smiles at him despite herself.

He turns abruptly to his phone. "Not now, Mikasa. I'm busy."

Her hand returns to her side and she presses the red scarf to her mouth.

"Wow, what a dickbag. Is he your boyfriend?"

The mosquito has returned. Mikasa has a fly swatter in her pocket. She has to remind herself that other people call it a knife. That means she isn't free to use it in a public setting.

"You can do better, c'mon," the mosquito buzzes. "I'll treat you right, like how you want to be treated. I'd never choose a phone over a gorgeous babe like yo—"

Jean's fist reaches over to grab the mosquito before she can. His eyes glint under his dirty hair and through the lenses of his glasses, and he presses his face as close to the mosquito as humanely possible. "Listen here, you little shit," he growls. "My sister's about to give birth any moment now and I need to know precisely when the fuck this is happening. So you need to shut that gaping hole in your face and keep your little cock in your pants or my girl here will snap your head in half with her fist." There's a little chime as a new text flashes on his phone, and Jean shoves the mosquito away and taps furiously on the screen.

Mikasa sees a cup full of thick pink cream being placed onto the counter.

"Mi casa es tu casa?" the girl setting the drink down calls out. "Grande strawberry crème frap with a mocha drizzle and java chips?"

Mikasa blinks and turns to the mosquito who, for some reason, is still hovering by her. She narrows her eyes at him and watches him quickly scurry away. It's satisfying to see him slink off. She takes the drink, squinting distastefully down at the play on her name.

"I told you to use your last name," Jean says absentmindedly as he pulls on her arm. "C'mon, I need to get back. The contractions are getting closer together — I think it'll happen today. Fuck, it better be. I can't take another day of this shit."

Mikasa lets herself be dragged, gripping her drink firmly in one hand and the packaged madelines in the other. She drops her face into her scarf and coughs.

That makes Jean drop her arm immediately. "Are you contagious? Is bronchitis contagious? Shit, I can't get my nephew sick on his first day of life, my sister'll fucking murder me."

"Bronchitis?" They are greeted by Marco as soon as they step out of the store. "Mikasa, you have bronchitis and you're drinking a frap? Jean, you'll get her even more sick."

Mikasa had promised not to talk unless it was absolutely necessary, so she settles for giving Marco a warning glare.

Marco is immune. Or, rather, he's distracted. He's giving one of his glares at Jean. It looks more like a disappointed frown than a glare, but it works wonders on Jean.

Not today, though.

Jean looks like he wants to slap the two of them. "It's her birthday!" he shouts, and his phone suddenly chimes. He looks down at it and the color drains from his face. "Oh my god, it's happening," he whispers in a shaking voice, clutching the phone in his hand. He lurches forward and grabs Marco by the shoulders. "Marco! Drive me to the hospital!"

Marco just wrinkles his nose. "I'm driving you home is what I'm doing," he says, prying one of Jean's hands off his body. "When was the last time you showered?"

Jean's eyes widen. "Marco! Annie's giving birth right now. You have to take me to the hospital!"

"I don't really have to do anything, Jean."

"Marco!"

Mikasa quickly types something on her phone and shoves it in Jean's face. Marco cranes his head around to read too.

[They won't let you in if you smell like horse ass.]

She pulls back her phone to continue.

[Go take a shower. I'll tell Annie why you're running late.]

"Well, that's settled," Marco cheers, taking a firm hold on Jean's wrist. The smile he wears spreads tightly across his face and promises no escape. "Tell Annie I'll be bringing Jean within the hour."

Mikasa nods and promptly turns on her heel. She listens to the fading echo of Jean struggling against Marco. Jean hadn't gotten any sleep in the past two days, so it was going to be difficult to reason with him. Marco might need help. Mikasa considers texting Eren about it as she takes a sip of her frozen drink.

Then she remembers Marco's mother henning and drops any feelings of pity she had. She takes an aggressive slurp of her drink and pockets her phone away.

Strawberry crème fills her mouth and slides pleasantly down her throat.

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