PLUVIOPHILIA
two | truths
When I was younger, I defined myself with three truths.
I was alone.
I was quiet.
I was strong.
I had a pretty clear idea of who I was and what I was good at. I was familiar with my flaws and my strengths, my likes and dislikes, what made me happy and what didn't. I knew myself, and I accepted what I knew. I was at an equilibrium. If I wasn't happy, I was at least at peace with myself.
Lately, this hasn't been the case.
I think about that fact as I sit in the dark, my skin stinging where the air hits it.
He comes back with a new hoodie, a damp washcloth, and several paper towels. I'm surprised he's even bothered to come back, but he doesn't seem to have even considered the thought of abandoning me. He's one of those mind-blowingly nice people, I decide, though if I were in his shoes, I probably would've done the same thing.
"Hey," he says, "I got you some stuff to clean up with. Are you good?"
I nod, taking the roll of paper towels. "I'm fine, thanks," I say quietly. I realize my face is flushed. I'm embarrassed, as I should be.
As I wipe my chin and shirt disgustedly, he smirks at me (or, at least, I think he does. It's hard to tell in this dim lighting). I raise my eyes to meet his. Again, the amount of life in them startles me. They take everything in so quickly, so effortlessly, like they notice my every move.
They glint with humor now as he, to my discomfort, swipes the washcloth at my jaw. "So if I ask for your name again, are we gonna have to get another roll of paper towels, or are you good?"
I try for a laugh, but it just comes out as a weak little "ha". I'm too tired and too embarrassed to find much funny, I guess.
"I'm Mikasa," I tell him, assuming that's what he was asking me.
"Mikasa, eh?" he repeats. I like how he says it; his voice is so warm.
"Yes," I answer. He wipes my chin. I feel like a child.
"I'm Eren," he says. "Eren Jaeger."
"Eren," I repeat. "Nice to meet you."
"Oh, the pleasure is all mine," he returns with a flourish. He punctuates his words with a smile, a wide one, before wincing. The cloth is removed from my skin, where it leaves icy prints.
"Are you okay?" I ask him. He pulls at his lower lip while making a face.
"Yeah," he says, "just got a busted lip. Hurts like a bitch, but it's whatever."
Though I flinch a little at his language, I find myself filled with concern for him. After all, he's already done so much to try to help me, it would be rude of me not to return the favor in any way I can.
"Do you need some chapstick?" I ask him. "I have some in my purse, if-"
"I don't think chapstick's gonna do me any good with this one," he objects. "I'm pretty banged up, anyway, so, like, what's one more cut? But thanks, anyway."
"Banged up?" I repeat. "Are you okay?"
He shrugs. "Been better, if I'm being honest. But it's all good, I'm fine. Really."
I shake my head and grab my purse, rummaging through it for my phone. I find it and activate its flashlight, pointing it at him.
He squints under its harsh light. I can now see that his left eyebrow is an angry red, swelling just past his temple. His lower lip is, in fact, busted, bloody, red and chapped. A trail of dark, dried blood streams down his upper lip from his nose. Bruises are scattered across his jaw and cheeks. A hand flies to my mouth.
He sighs and turns away. I gape at his silhouette as it escapes the spotlight, my eyebrows tensed in worry.
"What happened?" I ask.
He shrugs. "Got in a fight with some dick. I lost. Came down here to cry like a bitch. Then I found you."
"Well-" I pause, unsure of what to say or do. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he assures me. "I've been better, but I've been worse, too. Still, obviously, you've been through a fuckton tonight, too, and I'm more worried about you than myself. Why were you down here, breathing like that?"
"It's- it's been awhile since I've been around so many people," I answer. "I guess I just panicked."
"Same, if I'm being honest," he says.
I look at him. "Really?"
"Really. That's pretty much why I ended up fighting; when it gets loud like it is in there, I go kinda crazy. I get real angry real fast. Some jackass from my math class- heh, that rhymed- decided to be a punk and talk shit about me to my face, so I lost it."
"Oh," I say. "I'm sorry."
He shrugs, yet again. "Ehh. It happens. It was a fuckin' dumb idea to go here, anyway. I wasn't even gonna come."
"Me, too," I say. "Parties aren't really my thing."
He hums in agreement. "Same, dude. I used to go to them all the time in high school, but lately? They're just, like, overwhelming. I don't know."
"No, I know what you mean," I say. "Everything is just in your face at once. It's the worst."
"Abso-fucking-lutely."
There's a moment of silence between us. He sighs.
"I got your washcloth dirty," he says, standing. "Let me go get a new one."
"No, I'm fine, now," I insist. "I don't think you should go back inside."
He waves a dismissive hand. "Pssht," he snorts. "Did it once, didn't I? Besides, I could go for a drink. You want anything while I'm gone?"
I shake my head. "I don't drink," I tell him. Never have, never really plan to. Besides, I'm still underage. And, from the looks of things, so is he.
"Well, what about snacks?" he presses. "You're not hungry?"
I shake my head again, though I am actually hungry. I don't want to trouble him.
He gives me a doubtful look. "'Kay, then," he says. "Be back in a jiff."
Then he leaves, and I remember that I don't want him to, but he's gone before I can get a word out.
I am alone.
Now, I guess, I'm not. I've found someone besides Armin who understands me. I have someone else on my team, on my side. One less person in the world to be afraid of.
This truth falls at my feet, dead.
The other two wonder if they should be concerned.
When he returns, his arms are loaded with food. He balances a folded sheet on his head, and another damp cloth is draped over his forearm. To my surprise, my coat is draped over the opposite arm.
"My coat?" I say, phrasing it like a question. "How did you find it?"
He bends his head toward me so that the sheet falls into my lap.
"Spread that out on the ground," he tells me. "And Sasha gave it to me. She was worried about you, asked me if I'd seen you around. I told her you were down here with me, and she was like, 'Oh, okay, is she okay?' And I said, 'Yeah, she's fine. I'm just getting her some food,' and she goes, 'Then take as much as you want, and give her this.' And so yeah. I got your jacket."
"Coat," I correct him.
He snorts. "Jacket, coat. Whatever floats your boat."
Then he laughs because it rhymes, and though I've never really found wordplay all that funny, I laugh, too. His emotions are kind of infectious, I realize. I decide that this isn't a bad thing at all.
After pulling on my coat, I spread the sheet across an old tarp in the furthest corner from the open yard, where the ground is dry. As I do it, it occurs to me that Eren may just be trying to make a move on me. My neck growing hot, I steal a glance at him.
He's squinting at his phone, making a horrendously disgusted face.
"What the fuckity fucking fuck," he murmurs. His stomach growls. His chin sinks into his neck in despair as he clutches at it, and he looks hilariously upset.
I decide that he probably doesn't have any ulterior motives, turning back to my business. Soon, he comes to help me out, and then sets the food on the blanket. I take a seat in the corner; he sits on the other side of the food.
"You sure you don't want a beer?" he asks me, popping one open himself. He sips at the foam. "These are pretty good."
I feel myself make a face. "No, thank you," I say.
"Suit yourself," he says. "But anyway, I got us a whole bag of chips, and, like, a half-full thing of cookies, so dig in."
I glance at the cookies suspiciously. "What kind?" I ask.
He gives me a funny look. "Uh, chocolate chip? Duh."
For some reason, I smile. "Sorry," I say mock - defensively, "I've been tricked before."
He pauses. Then asks, cautiously, "...weed?"
I snort so hard my throat hurts. "No," I assure him, "no. Oatmeal raisin."
"Oh." Then he laughs again. "Oh. Oh, my god." he begins to giggle, nearly choking on his drink. "We lead very different lives, don't we?"
"I guess so," I answer uncertainly. "Why, have you been tricked with….drugged cookies?"
"You betcher ass," he says, raising his eyebrows.
I gape at him. "Really?"
He then bursts into laughter at my worried expression. "I'm joking, totally joking," he says. "No, I've only ever done that shit voluntarily. That's what I meant. You just seem so….innocent. Clean-cut."
I shrug and reach for a cookie. "I guess I am," I say.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He takes another swig of his drink, making a face as he swallows it. I watch him curiously.
"Doesn't it taste bad?" I ask.
He nods. "Tastes like shit," he says. "But it's worth it if I can, like, not be here, y'know? Forget about shit."
"Forgetting," I sigh. "That sounds nice."
He raises an eyebrow. "You sure you don't want some?"
I shake my head, refusing him yet again. "I've done just fine without any," I say. "But thanks."
He chuckles. After I give him a suspicious look, he says, "God, you're just so clean. I don't know how you do it, man, but wow. I'm honestly impressed."
I take another cookie. The taste of vomit begins to fade as I eat it, to my relief.
"Thanks, I guess," I say. "It's not all that impressive, though. I just follow the rules."
"Do you, now?" he asks. The tone in his voice irritates me a little, but I don't show it. I'm sure he just said it to be funny.
"Yeah," I answer. "I'm guessing you don't like rules?"
He shakes his head. "Ehh, not really, no. I don't believe in them. But I'm not gonna get pissy if you do, y'know? To each their own and all that. Besides, I have major respect for someone as hardcore as you seem to be."
"Hardcore," I repeat, snorting again. I take the bag of chips and reach inside to grab one. As soon as I put it into my mouth, I feel better about a lot of things.
"What?" Eren asks, amused at my expression. I can't help but do a little dance of joy; he giggles at my antics.
"These are salt and vinegar," I say excitedly.
He makes a face. "Ew."
"These are my favorite kind of chips," I sing. "But I can never find them in the store, for some reason. How'd you guess?"
"Honestly, I just grabbed the fullest-looking bag. Glad you like 'em, though."
I eat another chip. Oh god, they taste so good.
I close my eyes at I chew, humming in ecstasy. Eren laughs at me, but I don't care. I'm eating salt and vinegar chips. Nothing can make me enjoy this moment any less.
"You've got a nice smile," he says suddenly. I jump a little at the compliment, snapping my eyes to his.
"Hmm?" I ask in shock, making sure I heard him right.
"You've got a nice smile," he repeats, his mouth shaping one of his own. "It's pretty. Makes me happy."
I feel my face flush, and I shrink under his gaze, chip crumbs and all.
"No," I say quietly. "But thank you, anyway."
His eyebrows scrunch over his eyes. "What the hell do you mean, 'no'? It's pretty."
I wave a dismissive hand and shake my head. "I'm not- I'm...I'm not- that."
"Pretty?"
"Yeah."
"Liar."
I look back at him. He's making a kind of annoyingly incredulous face, but I choose to take it as a compliment- which actually doesn't make me feel any better.
"You're only saying that because it's dark," I say.
I think he rolls his eyes. "I can tell the difference," he assures me. "Don't tell me you don't see it."
"I can't if there's nothing to see."
"Bullshit. You're beautiful."
"You're drinking."
"I haven't even finished my first can. I know what I'm saying, here."
"I'm creepy-looking."
"Lies."
"I'm a mess right now."
"Lies!"
"And I'm just- I'm not...I'm not pretty. At all."
"You're pants are on fucking fire!"
"Quiet, someone'll hear you!"
He grins at me when I say this. I frown back.
"You just yelled," he says.
I blink at him.
"What?"
He points at me and sings, "I got you to yell."
I scoff and turn away. He pokes me jokingly. I fight the urge to smack his hand.
Then he stops, to my relief, and his voice turns warm again.
"Your voice is nice when it's loud."
Again with the false compliments. I pretend not to hear him, instead taking another chip.
It tastes great.
I find myself smiling.
2. I am quiet.
I just yelled, loud enough for someone to hear me. I don't yell, but I just did, without even meaning to. And he heard me.
This truth dies, too, resting next to the first one.
That leaves one left.
We sit in silence for a little bit. He stares out past the stairs we sit under, his eyes focused on nothing in particular, and I eat salt and vinegar chips until my mouth is sore.
His breathing is slow, rhythmic, and soothing. I listen intently to it over the thrum of the music and the occasional loud guest overhead, blinking at the damp wooden beams above us as I think absently.
Then, suddenly, Eren blinks and snaps out of his trance. His hands rub together, as if he's finally realizing how cold it is out here. I watch him shiver in discomfort, and immediately I want him to be warm.
Without much thought, I remove my muffler and hand it to him. He turns to me, his expression telling me he forgot I was here. I give him a half-hearted smile in return.
Then he's jarred back into reality. He inhales sharply, and shakes his head.
"I can't take that," he says. "You'll get cold."
"You're already cold," I tell him. As if to prove my point, his hands rub over his arms. I wrap the muffler around him myself, without any hesitation. He eagerly covers his nose, as I thought he might.
"Thanks," he mutters.
"No trouble," I tell him.
He takes a cookie, putting the whole thing in his mouth before chewing. I snort at him. He gives me a questioning look, all eyes, no mouth to twist in confusion.
"Why'd you do that?" I ask.
"Do what?" His voice is muffled; I have to fight the urge to laugh.
"Shove the whole cookie in your mouth?"
"I didn't wanna get crumbs on your muffler."
"There are already crumbs on it."
"Doesn't mean I need to add any."
I can't help it; I laugh at him, and he turns away, looking very much like a pouting four-year-old.
"Just trying to be polite," he mutters. I can't tell if his sullenness is fake or real. I start to get worried it's real.
"No, it's okay," I assure him. "Really. I just thought it was...sweet of you. It was sweet of you to be worried about it."
I see the ends of his cheeks bunch up at this. His head bows, and his shoulders shake. I think he might be laughing.
"You think I'm sweet."
He says it like he doesn't take the idea seriously.
"Well, yeah," I say. "I think you're very sweet."
He turns back to me. "Would you get mad if I told you I wasn't?"
I frown. "I'd be confused," I tell him.
"Why?"
"Because you're so nice."
"Nice," he repeats. He smiles at me. "I think you're the nice one."
"Really."
"Yeah."
There's another moment of silence, but this one's a lot more uncomfortable than the last few have been. He stares at me with this indescribable kind of emotion in his eyes, and I stare back, trying my hardest to understand what he's trying to say.
Then he goes, "You're beautiful."
And I ask, "Are you flirting with me?"
He shakes his head. "No," he says, "I just feel like I should let you know. And I don't even mean, like, outward beauty, though there's that. You're just a beautiful person, Mikasa."
"You just met me," I say.
"Yeah, sure, but my gut's telling me you're a gem," he says. "And my gut happens to never be wrong."
"Your gut?"
"Yeah, my gut. My intuition. My instincts. They're pretty sharp, you know."
"Is that so?"
"Abso-fucking-lutely."
We stare at each other again, and despite his jokes, I begin to grow unsettled. It feels like he's trying to tell me something, something important, but for the life of me I can't figure out what.
It also feels like I'm trying to say something to myself. And I'm still just as lost.
Then, all of a sudden, there's this feeling in my chest, throat, and head, like something's crumbling. Something's coming down. The longer Eren and I hold each other's gaze, the more intense that feeling gets. It turns into an aching, a pain, rooted deep in my breathing, warm enough that I start to forget the cold pinching at my face and hands, and heavy enough that I feel my face start to crumple, ever so slightly. I don't know what this emotion is, or what Eren is doing to cause it, or even if I think it's a good thing, and part of me begins to panic about it. It's unfamiliar, but so deep and recognizable, I can't stand it. I don't know what to do. I don't know what's happening. I don't know why I'm responding to it so strongly, or even what "it" is.
And then Eren takes my hand, unflinchingly, and squeezes it, holding my gaze the entire time. He's making this face, and it says, so clearly, I understand.
I don't know how, but some unreachable part of me must finally get what he's saying, because I start to cry.
The words "oh god" fall from my mouth in a sob, and I finally know what got to me.
He called me beautiful.
He called me a beautiful person, and he meant it. Without doubt, uncertainty, or ulterior motives.
I still don't think I believe him, but the fact that he would think so somehow breaks down a dam I've built in my mind.
One less person to face in the world. One more person on my side.
3. I am strong.
I'm not. I'm not strong.
I'm weak, vulnerable, and fragile. I shattered with a touch. I'm crying in front of this boy I just met, because he gave me a look and a hand squeeze. I'm kind of pathetic, and I'm definitely not strong.
This truth falls like old rubble from a building, completing the desecration of everything I built myself on years ago.
I've been shaken up for so long; it's not surprising it took this little to break me down.
Without a word, Eren pulls me into a hug and lets me cry into his chest.
He's so unbelievably warm.
I sob against the worn fabric of his hoodie for some time, muttering apologies as I do, because I'm crazy and ridiculously emotional. He shushes me, saying it's okay. He says he knows how I'm feeling, and that he's been in my shoes, so he understands.
It feels so good to know that.
Eventually, I stop crying. I pull away, embarrassed of myself despite his reassurances, and fix my eyes on my hands as they rest in my lap.
Then someone- it sounds like Connie- shouts, "Thirty seconds!"
"Till what?" Eren asks, confused.
"The new year, I think," I say. My voice is still a little thick; I swallow in hopes of returning it back to normal.
"Ah," he says. "Yeah. New beginnings and all that. I think the hype has died down since sophomore year."
"You think so?" I ask, and I make the mistake of looking at him again.
We both freeze.
He doesn't answer my question.
The countdown starts.
"TEN! NINE! EIGHT!"
His hand rises to my cheek.
"SEVEN! SIX! FIVE! FOUR!"
He leans in.
Three.
I am weak.
Two.
I am heard.
One.
He kisses me as the guests above us cheer, the taste of beer and cookies on his broken, bloody lips, and I am not alone.
AN: And there we go, chapter two!
Thank you all so much for reading, as usual. A special thanks to rosehipsandcherrydips, for all of her support in all of my writing! Love you, girl! 3
Please, again, don't forget to review/ reblog (if you're on tumblr)! Until next time!
