A/N: The setting is where the manga currently is (around Chapter 52). For something a bit more angsty, be sure to check out my ongoing story, "For All Who Remain.? Thank you, Anonymous, for the request!

2. Scarf I

"Hey," he hears from behind him, and Mikasa takes a seat to his right on the stoop. "You shouldn't be out here. It's cold."

"I can take care of myself," Eren says without looking at her. And though he wishes it were true, he knows that there's more than enough evidence in existence to disprove his words.

He hears her sigh, and rise to her feet, but not before wrapping something around his neck.

"At least wear this," she says. And then she's gone.

At first he thinks it's her scarf—it's roughly the same color, and around the same size—but it's not nearly as worn as hers. "Where the hell did she get this?" he wonders aloud to himself.

And even though the wind gusts a little bit stronger, even though his teeth chatter and his shoulders shake, Eren throws the scarf to the ground, crossing his arms with a "humph," and reasoning that he'd rather feel cold than like a dependent child.

. . . . .

It's not until the next day, when he bumps into Armin, that anything registers as out of sorts.

"Where'd you get that," Eren says, gesturing to the very loud, orange scarf around Armin's neck.

"Oh, this? Mikasa knit it for me last night," Armin replies.

"Wait, she knit that?

"Yeah."

"So it's handmade?"

"Well, that is what the word 'knit' implies," Armin says.

Eren curses as he runs out the door.

He makes three rounds around the cabin—he even checks the stable—but the scarf isn't anywhere to be found.

His curse startles the horses when he realizes the childishness of the situation.

. . . . .

"So what's so special about this scarf?"

"Please, Sasha, could you just keep an eye out for it?"

"I don't know. It's pretty hard to search on an empty stomach…"

"Fine. You can have half of my lunch for a week—don't look at me like that! That's plenty! All right! I'll throw in dinner too, but that's it. If you find it, I'll make it two weeks."

"Three weeks. Seventy-five percent. Plus breakfast."

"Forget it. Deal's off."

. . . . .

Somewhere in between bargaining with Sasha and nearly getting into another fight with Jean, Eren hits a mental wall: why the hell should he care so much? It's just a stupid scarf! And since when did the maintenance of personal possessions become an indicator of maturity? Hell, if he were a real man, he would never have cared in the first place.

But when he spots Mikasa out of the corner of his eye, he dives straight into a snow bank. And the fear on his mind at that moment is not his own image, not what she'll think of him, but that she'll be upset—that she'll cry. Strangely enough, it's a real fear that she won't be mad with him, that she won't scold him, because, hell, he deserves to be scolded.

It is then that Eren realizes that the preservation of his pride isn't his real worry, and that giving up isn't a real option.

. . . . .

"Maybe if you weren't so damn untidy, you wouldn't be in this mess," Levi says, and even though he's sitting, he's still as intimidating as ever.

"Yes, Sir."

"How dumb can you get? You just left a scarf lying around?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And now you want me to clean up after your mistake?"

"Yes, Sir—wait! No! I mean, no, Sir," Eren stutters. "Well, I guess, sort of, Sir."

"Get the hell out of my sight, Eren."

"Yes, Sir."

. . . . .

"Hey," he hears her voice from behind him, and this time, when he doesn't respond, spite is not his motive.

He really ought to apologize, or, at the very least say something, but before he can, she wraps something around his neck. And he can hardly believe it when he sees it: roughly the same color, around the same size, though not nearly as worn as hers.

Eren gapes at her, incredulous.

"It's cold outside," Mikasa says with a small smile and a shrug.