A/N: Sorry about taking forever to update this story. I've been focusing on Not Over Yet and lest we mention all the time it took me to complete Drizzle. Anywho, I hope you guys enjoy this new installment. Make sure to leave reviews and share your thoughts!
.: Remember Me :.
.: The First Attempt :.
12:04 PM
It happens on a Tuesday.
His mother offers to take him to the Ackermans' house. She's stopping by, she says. She's helping make preparations for the party, she says. Mikasa's gonna be there, she says. Eren declines, his mother whines, he blows her off until she leaves him alone and it all happens on a Tuesday.
Summer vacation's here, and it's been three weeks since Eren last saw Mikasa. Armin teases him about it, says that he's acquired a three-week-rule or some shit. But Mikasa remembers Armin so Armin can afford to crack jokes because his sky is still blue and hanging over his head while Eren's has burst into a freak show of endless black and thundering gray so his head's always bowed and he's always looking down because it's haunting. School doesn't start again for another two months and he's already bored with his life. Plus, he's got more free time to think about Mikasa and the fact that she doesn't remember him and that her parents are throwing a party today to celebrate her recovery—and how selfish of Eren; he doesn't want to celebrate, he wants to cry.
And he does.
Water pounding on his back, hunching his all-too-tired posture, it washes down his sobbing frame. He presses one hand over his eyes, and the other palm-flat against the tiled walls of his shower. Holding himself up (just barely), and swaddled in steam and heat, he cries because he's only seventeen, and fragile, and confused and scared and lonely. And he hasn't cried since Mikasa kicked him out of her hospital room, since he'd held her hand and stroked her hair and counted all the little cuts on her lips and cheeks and arms and then she'd opened her eyes andretrograde amnesia became the worst fucking thing that could ever happen to him, ever.
He hates it. He hates this. He hates that she's forgotten all the kisses, all the jokes, all the silent I love you's. Eren remembers thinking once that if he could fall in love with her all over again, he would do it. But not like this. What is this? It's all wrong. What's the point in doing anything in life when it can all be wiped out in a second? It's fucking scary and sad and so he cries—for the first time in over a month—freely.
By the time all the soapy water and tears are swirling down the drain, Eren is exhausted. It's Tuesday, and merely noon, and he woke up just a few minutes ago but he's already intent on going back to bed.
Bare-chested and with his sweatpants clinging to his hips, he potters over to his bedroom, closing his eyes and wallowing in the tranquility of his empty home. He towels at his hair, sighing, until a sudden crunch makes his heart jump and his reflexes wind him to a fighting stance.
"Hey," says the source of the noise, raising a blonde eyebrow whilst munching on some chips—Eren's chips.
"Jesus fuck, Armin." He drops his fists with an exasperated huff. His best friend continues to chew calmly without bothering to offer any sort of explanation. So, plopping on his bed with a soft groan, Eren asks him, "What are you doing here?"
"Your mom told me you aren't going to the party."
"I'm not."
"I know that." Crunch. Munch. A gross, audible swallow. "That's why I'm here."
Eren scowls at the ceiling, making out the little clumps of dust that cling to the blades of his ceiling fan. He spots enough to conclude that it needs a thorough cleaning, but then darkness floods his vision and he throws an arm over his eyes.
"Whaddaya want, Armin?"
"To convince you to go with me."
"No."
"Yes."
"Armin…"
"Eren, I'm serious. It's not good for you to be isolating yourself this way. Plus, I heard you crying in the shower."
He bolts, sitting upright on the bed. "Dude!"
Armin simply shrugs a mild shoulder. "I've been sitting here for a long time."
Eren sighs wearily, running a hand down his face. "I don't know, man. What if… What if I show up and she asks me to leave again? I can't take that shit a second time. It would kill me."
"I know, I know. But I have a plan." This makes him perk up. Armin allows himself a satisfied little smirk, quickly concealing it with another chip flung into his mouth. "I've been thinking about what you said. About bringing her memory back."
"…And?"
"I think we can do it."
Eren's eyes nearly bulge out of his face. "Really?!"
"I can try to help you but—" he grunts when an overly-excited Eren explodes out of his place on the bed and throws his arms around him, crushing the bag of chips between them and crying, "I love you! I love you so much!"
"Eren, I can't breathe."
"Sorry, sorry."
"Okay, but you have to listen to me. Listen to me first." His best friend nods enthusiastically, beads of water rolling down the side of his face from his damp hair. "This is, by all means, a terrible idea," Armin reminds him in a warning tone. "It has the potential to end in absolute disaster. If you were to mess up in the slightest, it can get you on her bad side forever. We're talking like, full-blown Mikasa rage here. Grudges, fists thrown at you, cars trying to run you over."
Eren rolls his eyes, but nods in understanding. "Okay."
"There's no erasing her memories again. This is her now. This is her life. Two years have been wiped out of her mind—possibly forever—along with all the people she met during that time period."
"Yes, I know."
"Eren, I need to make sure that you completely understand. Mikasa can't remember you."
"I know."
"You're a total stranger to her, whether you like it or not. We're starting from zero here. Zero."
"Armin, I know all that."
"You have to know how to control yourself, Eren. No losing your temper. No being too forward about your emotions. No shouting. No fighting. No you being… you."
Slightly wounded, his eyes wince. "Then what am I supposed to be?" he huffs. Armin's features are unnaturally serious.
"Gentle."
"I can be gentle."
"Eren..."
"I can! Dude, I can be gentle."
A long, tired sigh flows out of his best friend's mouth. "Right," and he seems very tired all of a sudden. Perhaps he's regretting himself. Perhaps. But Eren bounces to his feet and chippers—before his friend can even think to change his mind:
"So what's the plan?"
—o—
3:39 PM
Armin is, by all means, a genius. It's always been up to him to come up with the ideas, and to shoot down Eren's not-so-genial ones.
So when he proposed that they, for lack of a better word, "crash" the party and simply approach Mikasa, Eren couldn't help but question—for the first time in his life—the practicality of his best friend's plan. (But it's not like he could come up with anything better himself. So he listened, and swore to do exactly as instructed—doubts and all.)
The plan goes as follows: He is to go up to Mikasa and simply talk to her, introduce himself the way a stranger would and then take it from there. According to Armin's calculations, chances of failure are 43%, whereas the remaining 57% is split between absolute success or total lack of procession (a.k.a Mikasa's being indifferent to him, which, if anything, is just as bad as her straight up punching him in the face). So that makes it a 71.5% chance of it all ending up in a cluster fuck, and a 28.5% chance of things actually going well. If you round it up by the nearest one, it becomes a full 29%. Still daunting, but good enough. A man's gotta take what he can get sometimes.
Eren's never been a man of faith, but he clings desperately to that 29% with the hope of a madman. Because one need be mad in order to hope—especially in a situation such as this one.
They take the forsaken trek up to her home. By the time they reach her porch, they're both out of breath but for complete different reasons. Armin, because he's out of shape. And Eren, because his heart's rocketed up to his throat and it beats so furiously he can't even swallow, let alone breathe.
Three weeks ago, he'd stood right here. And there was no music playing quietly, nestled inside the now-foreign walls of a once-familiar home. Three weeks ago, there had been nothing but the faint drizzle of rain, the tears that never came, and the phantom presence of the girl he so direly adores laying idly on the sofa in her living room.
Armin claps a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but it does little to calm his nerves. Every hair on his body is on point, every inhale and exhale and nuance to his posture deliberately measured. He's never been more tense, more anxious, more outright fucking terrified than what he is the moment that front door flies open and his own mother's face brightens up to greet them both.
"Oh!" she exclaims, her brown eyes twinkling in the afternoon light. "So, how much?"
"Five," Armin drones beside him. Eren raises a puzzled brow.
"Ten," his mother retorts. What the shit are they talking about?
His best friend gives a drawn-out sigh, and paws at his jean pockets for his wallet. Taking out a ten dollar bill, he groans in defeat and hands the money over to his mother, who's quick to flash a grin and pluck it out of his hands with a little laugh.
Eren's jaw goes slack, astounded.
"You two bet on me coming?!"
"There was a high chance you wouldn't comply, honey," Carla says, slipping the folded bill inside her bra. Gross. "It was nice doing business with you, Armin. Sorry 'bout your loss."
"A slice of your apple pie should be able to make up for it, Mrs. Jaeger."
She winks at him. "You got it, hun."
"I am going. To fucking. Puke." Eren screws his eyes shut, grimacing at their little exchange. Both Carla and Armin bark out a laugh, and then his hand's seized by his mother and she pulls him into the house.
Immediately, he smells it: food, and candles, and air freshener, and just the overall cleanliness that's as much of a constant occupant as Mikasa's stay-at-home mom. His eyes instinctively shoot around to gaze at everything, to search every nook and cranny for a trace of Mikasa but he finds none. Dejected, Eren swallows down a mighty clump of air and puts on his most enthusiastic face, smiling brightly at the sight of her parents.
"Eren," Mrs. Ackerman chirps, curling her lanky arms around him in an embrace. "It's so good to see you."
He pats her back with a light hand. "You too," and he could burst into tears at her faint smell, at how soft and warm she feels and how he hasn't held her like this in over a month and suddenly, Eren realizes how much he's missed the Ackermans.
Mr. Ackerman is the second to wrap him up in an embrace, squeezing his strong arms around him so tightly Eren lets out an involuntary grunt.
"Eren!" he laughs, lifting him off the ground a few centimeters. "I've missed you, bud!"
"I've missed you too," he wheezes, wriggling awkwardly in his hold. Armin and Carla laugh quietly beside them. A few of the party guests have fixed their gazes on them. Great.
"We were so worried you wouldn't come," he says after setting him back down and releasing him. "We all took a bet on whether you'd show up or not. Looks like Armin did a good job of convincing you—and is now ten bucks poorer, too."
"Don't remind me," his blonde friend sighs. Eren gapes as Mikasa's mom slyly hands a ten dollar bill over to her husband.
"You too?!" he squeals. Laughter drowns out his moan of exasperation.
"Don't sweat it, kiddo," Mr. Ackerman smiles. "It's really great to see you. We're all just happy that you came."
"Where's Mikasa?" Carla asks. Eren tenses at the sound of her name.
"Upstairs," her mother says, swiping a finger over a pert eyebrow. The motion must be code for something, because Eren's mother pecks him on the cheek and promises to return, disappearing up the stairs and leaving him behind to mingle with all the gawking faces.
Today is going to be a very long day. He can feel it.
—o—
4:08 PM
It's a whole thirty minutes of mingling and chatting and munching mindlessly on snacks before Eren hears the tired whines of old floors complaining under footsteps.
Mikasa's house is pretty ancient, so whenever someone walks around upstairs you can hear the hardwood floors creaking from a mile away. Nobody else seems to notice, but Eren's ears are attuned to every noise and indication of Mikasa's presence, so he tenses at he first squeak, looks over at Armin at the second, and by the third, his mother materializes at the top of the stairs and clears her throat loud enough for them to hear.
All heads turn her way.
The noise of copious chatter dwindles to a muted breath.
"Sorry for the wait, everyone," she smiles. Eren can see the happy glimmer of her pearly teeth all the way from where he stands. "Alright, sweetie," she whispers to someone over her shoulder. "It's okay. I'll be right here beside you. You look great, I promise."
The wait that follows is unbearable.
Eren fights the urge to run for his life. Every miniscule, microscopic atom in his being wails with anxiety. His muscles on his back and shoulders ache from how tight he's winded them. His head spins. His heart gallops. His soul trembles and his bones rattle and Eren has never known fear such as this. He wants to run. He needs to run. This was a mistake—he's gotta get out of here!
But then, a squeak.
Two.
Three.
And Mikasa stands before them. At the top of the stairs. With her cast on her arm and her feet laced up in a pair of heels and a pink summer dress clinging to her frame, flowing out around her waist and ending just above her kneecaps. Her gaze is cast low, away from everybody. And still Eren sees how her lashes flit softly and imagines every individual preen, all the tears they have collected in the span of the last few weeks without him there to catch them. Her lips part, and he yearns for the sound of her voice, the sound of her breathing. And then she looks up. And her eyes meet his. And his eyes meet hers. And suddenly, Eren doesn't want to run anymore.
Her expression is unreadable.
For a breath, he wonders if she recognizes him. He hopes. Like a madman, he hopes.
But then she looks away from him, and his heart wilts, and she smiles at all those she can recognize and says, "Thank you for coming, everyone." Jean whistles loudly somewhere in the crowd, and Mikasa's eyes roll as she makes her way down the stairs, sliding a tentative hand over the railing to keep from tripping over her heels.
She doesn't recognize him.
She can't.
She has no idea that he cried today, how much courage it took him to show up at her party, how fucking horrible yet incredible he feels because she's here and his eyes have longed for the sight of her for so long—it's like they're gasping in relief at how she looks today.
Armin places a hand on his shoulder. "Be strong," he tells him. Like always, his best friend's somehow managed to read his thoughts.
"I'm fine," Eren lies, knocking back a swig of his fruit punch. "Just fucking peachy." In his friend's blue eyes, something sad clouds his enthusiasm.
Eren pretends he doesn't notice it.
—o—
4:25 PM
"And then I was like, 'bro, what the fuck? Do you even lift?' and then he was like—"
"Reiner Braun, if you talk for one more second, I am going to rip your balls off and fling them across the room."
"Damn, Ymir. Chill."
"No, seriously. I think I'm with her in this one. Shut up already."
"Shut up, Sasha."
"Connie, shut up."
"You shut up!"
"Guys, please! Can't we all just be supportive of Eren here and pick another day to bicker over absolutely nothing? Please?"
"Shit. You're right. Sorry, Eren."
"Yeah, dude. You must be feeling like shit right now."
"I feel great."
"The first stage of grief: denial. Ow!"
"Keep being an inconsiderate butthole and it'll be your face I punch next."
"Fine, okay. Jeez."
"Where's Armout?"
"Over there talking to Mikasa and Jean."
"Hey, Eren. You wanna go join them?"
"No, thanks."
"You gotta go up to her sooner or later, man."
"Not yet."
"Okie dokie."
"Okay, but, I mean, I'm just saying. You should probably be quick and try to remind her that you're the one that popped her cherry before Jean tries to take that away from you, 'cause—"
"Okay, that's it. I'm beating the shit out of you."
"Ymir, no!"
"Get him!"
"Stop!"
"Not the face, not the face!"
"Guys! We're gonna get kicked out if you don't—"
"Ymir, oh my god. Ymir!"
"I'm sorry, Eren. You deserve more decent friends."
"Yup. I do."
—o—
4:40 PM
"I really think, sweetheart," Mrs. Ackerman croons over a glass of wine. "That you should simply go to her and tell her who you are."
"That's the plan," he says, taking a sip of his own wine. He's underage, but Mikasa's mother let him sneak a plastic cup filled halfway with Chardenet for "good measure—but please don't tell your mom." It tastes like shit, but it's worth the liquid courage.
"I only suggest," she hiccups, apologizing with a startled, embarrassed gasp that reminds him so much of Mikasa it actually puts a smile on his face. "Sorry. Anyway, my only suggestion is that you don't mention anything too forward. We've tried to help her recollect a few snippets of her life from the past two years, but her mind's still very foggy. She knows that you two were friends once. At least that much she has come to accept."
"But she still remembers nothing about me? Nothing at all?"
"I'm sorry, love. But no. It simply… doesn't work that way."
Eren stares at his wine for a long time. It swirls in his cup; a crimson twist he wishes would somehow drown him.
"I guess I'm just hoping for a miracle," he breathes, feeling the first few buzzes of intoxication.
Mrs. Ackerman sighs sadly. "Aren't we all?"
—o—
5:00 PM
"Okay, Ar. It's time. I'm going."
"You got this, Eren. She remembers your parents—and is super close with your mom. She's gotta be nice to you."
"Yeah, okay. Bye."
"Be gentle."
"Bye."
"Please, Eren."
"I will!"
"Swear."
"I swear on my life: I'll be gentle with her."
"Okay. I just don't want things to end up badly. Neither of you can afford—"
"It'll work out. Trust me."
"God, I hope you're right."
—o—
5:01PM
"Hey, uh… hi."
Mikasa's shoulders are squared. Two twisted locks of her hair are held back by a dainty little hairpin. She stands erect; poised as ever. The whole damn room spins. Eren, dizzy from the wine and the ceaseless screaming of his heart, clears his throat and speaks again.
"Mikasa?"
It's like reviving an old ghost, uttering her name again.
"Yes?" and he's been into fights, he's been knocked out unconscious, he's broken bones and worn casts and split lips and yet nothing can compare to the pain of seeing her face again at such close proximity. She's right there. She's so far away. He should flee. He should touch her. This is stupid, this is pointless, he should give up. He should fight for her. He should run. He should stay. He shouldn't be looking at her the way he is right now.
All the cuts he'd counted on her face weeks before are healed, save for a long, thin gash below her right eye. For a moment, it steals his concentration. Swallowing hard, Eren fights the images from his mind: Mikasa's broken body, her twisted arm, her oozing head, the words she—they—left unspoken.
"Eren."
It's like reviving an old ghost, uttering his name like that.
"Yeah," he manages a smile. "It's me. Eren."
"Yes," she nods her head once, smoothing down the skirt of her dress. "My mother's mentioned you. You were there at the hospital when I woke up."
I was. And you kicked me out 'cause you didn't remember me and you broke my heart into a billion tiny pieces, you know that?
"I was."
"I'm…" her bottom lip slips in between her teeth. She chews on it for a moment before heaving a long sigh. "I'm sorry for how I treated you. It was wrong of me. I've reflected on my actions and I've realized that you meant no harm. After all, you were the one that found me."
I was. And I thought I felt you die in my arms and it was the scariest fucking feeling in the entire universe. Being trampled by a hundred elephants doesn't compare to the pain of losing you like that.
"Yes."
"Can I ask you something?" she says, her voice lowering an octave.
He's caught off guard by her question, blinking his eyes profusely as if in a daze. Quick to recompose himself, and staring into her deep, dark eyes, he braves, "Sure, yeah. Go ahead."
"When did we meet?"
Shit. Okay. Eren doesn't think he's supposed to be answering questions like that.
But her eyes are so big, and imploring. There's a slight furrow to her brows, a particular quirk on her lips that suggests total vulnerability.
"Two years ago," he says, "after I moved into town."
"And what were we?"
Fuck. Okay. He's definitely not allowed to be answering questions like that.
But he's talking to her. To Mikasa. And a primal, fundamental yearning in him aches to keep her by his side.
"What do you mean?"
"Before the accident. What were we?"
"We were friends."
"And that's it?"
"Yes," he lies. He doesn't know what he'd been expecting, because Mikasa sees right through him. She always does. She always has.
"There's more, isn't there?" she queries, the furrow on her brows passing down to her lips. Something tells him that nobody has bothered to tell her a sliver of the truth. How much does she know? How much have they told her? And why won't they offer her the clarity she's so obviously—and desperately—seeking?
"There is," he breathes. Mikasa's features harden, her expression turning terribly austere.
"Tell me."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"It's— I can't do that."
"You know, I've examined myself. My parents have done a fine job of clearing my home of things that may be triggering, but my own body is a trigger in itself." What does she mean? Eren scrunches his brows in thought, trying to decode the cryptic look she's giving him. But then, she leans in close, and his heart gasps because now he can smell her familiar scent and even the sweetness in her breath when she tells him, "Did you know I'm not a virgin?"
"What?" Eren sputters, surprised. He almost wants to laugh, but Mikasa is completely serious, frowning at something in the distance and whispering:
"I can't remember ever having sex. And with whom? It's sickening to me, not recalling something as important to a woman as her first time. But I checked, and the doctor agrees. I'm not a virgin."
He can't think of what to say to her. Rubbing an awkward hand at the back of his neck, he sighs, "I'm sorry."
Her eyes pierce knives into his own.
"Was it you? Was it you who took it?"
"Wait, wha—?"
"My virginity. It was you, wasn't it? I knew it when I saw the look on your face back in the hospital. It's in your eyes. There's just something about them. They're far too familiar to belong to a complete stranger or even a mere friend."
"I—"
"What were you to me? What did we do? How did we do it? When?"
Eren actually laughs out loud, huffing out a chuckle in disbelief. Mikasa seems irked by this, even more so when he groans, "Why are you asking these questions?"
"You know me, but I have no idea who you are." Yes, thank you for reminding him. "And it's only two years that have been erased—heck, there's people who forget decades of their lives and are ruined forever. I'm fortunate, I really am. But I feel an empty void inside me, like there's something vital missing and I need to know what once was there. Please, help me find it. If you know anything, tell me. Please. Nobody's being honest with me and it's starting to drive me mad. I'm not crazy or incompetent. I can function. I just need to know the truth!"
A thousand thoughts whirl in his head, a thousand voices whisper all the things that burn to be said. Armin said he should be careful. He can't be too forward, he can't be too blunt—even her own mother warned him not to be too honest but the cold, hard truth is banging on his teeth and ripping his lips apart and Eren's mouth feels like it's about to burst with everything he wants to tell her.
I love you.
You don't know me but I love you.
I've loved you for the past two years of my life, Mikasa. I love you, I love you, I love you!
Then, he cracks.
He tells her everything.
The words are gushing out before he can think to control them, spilling freely into the air and into her ears and her expression is unreadable as he confesses their love, what they went through, how he found her, how long they dated, how she was his first love and he was hers and she will probably never recall any of those things again but he's set in making her remember, in recollecting the last few gems of their lives together and engraving them into the sky so that they shine like stars that she can always look up to and remember who she is and that she may not be herself right now but that's okay because he's going to help her figure it all out, he's got a plan, he's got a purpose.
When he's done talking, they both are out of breath. Mikasa stares vacantly at a point in space, folding her arms at her front and absorbing all the new information. The second he notices the far-off look in her eyes, he regrets himself immediately. He's about to open his mouth to take it all back, to somehow cram his mistake back into himself and erase it from existence but what has been done cannot be undone, and it's a cruel reminder when she—whose life has been undone by a large chunk—blinks up at him and asks, "So… it was you that I had sex with?"
To be honest, that it the last thing Eren expected her to ask. But he may as well just keep being honest with her. He may as well just confess:
"Yes."
"Just once?"
"Um… no?"
"More than once?"
"I mean, yeah."
"How many times?"
"I sort of… lost count?"
"You lost count."
"Yup."
"Of the times."
"And the places."
The last things Eren sees is a hefty fist swinging to the side of his head at full-force, and the frantic scramble of feet racing to his limp body on the floor before a swallowing darkness consumes everything.
