YI RI SAN QUI
CHINESE IDIOM; "ONE DAY, THREE AUTUMNS" – INTENSELY MISSING OR LONGING FOR SOMEONE SO THAT ONE SINGLE DAY APART FEELS LIKE THREE YEARS
"and it ain't a mystery you fell for me
we're just two lost souls trying to find our peace
love like ours ain't a masterpiece
it's a good day in the sun
i was born to love you
out where the water is wide
make me your country bride
you'll be my prince of tides
you were born to heal me
under a velvet sky
cattails dancing in the light
we were born to live a long and happy life
a happy life
- Delta Rae A Long and Happy Life
People notice things, they are well aware of that; it is surely spotted how baron often seems to be dozing off when his wife shamelessly winks at other men above her feathery fan, but his dear friend is always the apple of his eye. How baroness herself is terribly fond of said friend's wife and can be rarely seen without her by her side, both of them dazzlingly dashing with their blonde hair and tightly-laced corsets.
How much time the four of them spend together; the sheer close proximity of two couples would be enough to raise rumors, but, in addition to that, they slowly but surely get too lazy to cover their tracks, get tired of masks and lies and deception. Eventually, it's almost like they are not even trying anymore. They always split for vacation, when two women enjoy the thermal waters of Vichy or well-stocked libraries of their respective estates and two men laze around and almost carelessly spend golden mountains of money on wine and blackjack in Monaco (but never women, they would never buy a single woman and the baroness and her lovely lady in waiting never take men. They would all preen or giggle or send a smile or two, charming and daring, but none of them is ever actually caught red-handed. In a way, you could say that they are shockingly faithful to their respective partners – not to mistake with 'spouses'.
That is worth noting too.)
They mix clothes and rely on servants and hotel service not to spill spicy details about any compromising and surprising positions and configurations in which they may be or not be caught; they leave dozens of apartments covered in feathers from ripped pillows, with ruined bed rests, silk ribbons thrown haphazardly all around the floor and love bites on display on the skins of their necks.
They chase after one another through long corridors of castles and mansions, skirts hitched up and cravats untied, hands reaching for wrong hands, lips locked with forbidden lips. Laughing out loud like children, the baron and his friend stroll around, tousled hair and all, glued at the hip, their wives following them, clad in smirks and delicate lace and shamelessness as two cheetahs in bejeweled collars. Frowned-upon desire put proudly on display like an ornate Faberge egg.
Stormy sky blue and soft baby blue irises caught in a shared gaze, sparkling emeralds always meeting opalescent greys.
Done with running and hiding, having only enough decency to use marriage titles, their affairs hidden by the sheer layer of translucent ice. A blind man could see through it easily.
So yes, people notice things and maybe even know things; but for some time, they all somehow get lucky and make it; buy their freedom to love and live with pearls and diamonds and defiance, and enjoy every second they are given.
Live like royalty, like gods among mortals, blinding in their disgusting extravaganza. Their years spent together are endless summers filled with baked swans and tender lobster tails served on silver trays, with sky-high elaborate wigs, with parties and dances and sexual plays, tiny poodles on silk leashes, horses with hooves painted in gold.
It's not gossips that put an end to this wonderland; it's a deadly female.
Madame Guillotine cuts through shining threads of their lives in four clean strikes, but it is all easy to bear as even she cannot sever the bonds that tie them all together.
There's an album full of Eren's baby pictures on Mikasa's lap and a cup of tea in her hand; cinnamon- smelling crumbs scattered on the table in front of her.
Carla is busying herself in the kitchen with dinner, her son helping her out, or attempting to do so; she can hear them bantering and playfully snapping at each other the way only a loving, if slightly overbearing parent and an equally loving, but a little bit irked child can, but they are not loud enough to interrupt her train of thought.
And that is- well.
She's mostly trying to clear her head a bit because there's a lot to take in.
In ten minutes since she has entered the Jeager's house, she's been immediately seated in the living room, given a hot drink and a heavy load of Eren-related information. He can knit, apparently, was a star soccer player from primary up until police academy, did wrestling for a while, knows how to make a mean omelette, tried living in a forest for three weeks once, owns a pug (she wonders why he didn't feel the need to tell her this particular thing. Maybe he assumed she's a cat person and decided to keep quiet, which is – just idiotic, to be honest. She's not a heartless monster, for fuck's sake; pugs are adorable. Everyone loves pugs). He's hard-working, ambitious, driven and determined and loyal to a fault. Never surrenders and never gives up; always finishes what he has started. An idiot sometimes, mouth quicker than brain and a troublemaker, but with a heart made out of sheer gold.
Carla, Mikasa thinks, would be an excellent PR specialist, if she ever becomes tired of working as a nurse. She has an urge to interrupt her monologue to assure her that, no, she doesn't really need to advertise her son so fiercely. She's already convinced, sold, bought, whatever.
But Eren's getting more flustered and flustered with every word getting out of his mom's mouth and duh, Mikasa enjoys his struggle way too much to put it to an end so soon.
Absent-mindedly, she turns pages of the album; Eren grows up in front of her eyes, from a wrinkled newborn to an awfully cute toddler, a toothy-grinned first grader, a frowning middle schooler and an awkward teenager, his lanky limbs not knowing how to operate simultaneously.
And then there are photos from his high school graduation, Eren laughing, head thrown back, surrounded by a huge group of friends, all wrapped around each other, young and shining in their capes. Hulking blond guy and a tall dark-haired one; athletic freckled girl with her arms around tiny beauty with sparkling blue eyes, a shorty with military cut spinning around laughing girl with thick ponytail, skinny fair-haired guy, glasses on his nose and the sweetest smile. She makes a mental note to ask him about their names.
And – of course- the last picture is Eren getting his badge, his eyes shining with something that looks suspiciously similar to tears.
Her own heart swells a little with pride and she can hardly fight a small smile that finds its way to her lips. Out of all the people in the world, he is the one she will get to share her life with and she couldn't be happier with the fate's choice.
"Mikasa?" Eren emerges from the kitchen, a blue bowl filled with something smelling of sage and rosemary in his hands and an orange apron hanging loosely around his hips. "You're alright?"
She smiles at him, putting the album on the table and standing up.
"Yeah, everything's fine. You need help?"
He shakes his head and opens his mouth but before he can say anything, Carla's voice rings from the kitchen:
"Actually, sweetheart, can you set the table, please? My son still hasn't mastered this art, despite many years of practice."
„Mom, please, stop." Eren sends her a very apologetic look and storms back into kitchen and Mikasa can do nothing but try to stop the giggle from escaping from her lips. She loves it all so much.
It's not just Eren she's getting. It's this house and Carla, and the pug, and the people from the photographs in Eren's album. It's a whole new world, shiny and bright and ready for her to take and be welcomed in.
And with that thought warming her head-to-toe, she follows Eren to ask Carla where are cutlery and glasses, listening to the mother-son banter quietly, with the cheek-achingly-wide smile painted on her face.
She almost moans in delight, taking yet another piece of chocolate cake into her mouth, savoring the taste on her tongue. She tries to hide that and her cover is good, he'll give her that – but he's no fool; even a complete monster would turn into a saint for just a bite of this heavenly thing that Carla somehow enchants in their old oven.
And he's seen it so many times, this expression of wonder on so many faces, but it still suits hers just best. His mom is beaming from the other side of the table, asking Mikasa questions about her culinary preferences so that she would know what to cook for their next visit. Their old golden retriever quietly patters into the dining room and puts her heavy, warm head on Eren's knees, wordlessly asking for scraps. And so, as he scratches Leia behind her fluffy ears and watches his mom and his soulmate discussing apple pies and lemon meringues…
There's a strange feeling that overcomes his body somehow, sweet and wonderful and very, very old – as if the three of them have already been there and done that before; the shared chores and shared dinner, the laughter, the talk, their voices entwined into one, perfect melody. Mom and Mikasa smiling at each other, him between them, like a bridge.
No missing pieces in this puzzle; there's a rightness in this scene that has never been there before.
Carla's smiling at them, as she ushers them out of the doors, mischief in her eyes when she says:
„Go, go, take your time together." and the sheer implication rings inher voice so clear that he feels his face turning beetroot red. He quietly wonders how many times he has already blushed tonight and even quieter laments at this count, but Mikasa just laughs.
That's all she's been doing the whole evening, actually. Laughing and beaming, her face transforming with happiness; the apples of her cheeks and the tip of her nose dusted with pink. For a few hours gone was the stoic, poised girl, still a bit unsure how to handle the situation; for a few hours she was dancing around his house from kitchen to dining room, dishes in her arms and smears of chocolate on her chin.
And he's curious about that, but he doesn't really know what question he could possibly ask her to understand.
He grabs her hand instead and they move forward. The pavement is covered by the thin layer of ice and the heels of her shoes glide against it, making a high-pitched sound.
„Your mom is lovely," she says quietly, grabbing onto his arm for better balance. „And your house too. Thank you-" she raises her head to lock eyes with him, the shadow of a smile still remaining on her mouth, " – for taking me to meet her."
He lowers his own head so that he can press a kiss to her forehead; he can't believe she is the one to thank him.
„Honestly, the pleasure's all mine. But I have to admit, I didn't expect you to click together so … well."
Mikasa chuckles, nodding to herself; a hint of her amusement makes its way into his system, light as champagne bubbles.
„You know, when I was a kid, I wanted to be just like her."
He almost trips on his own feet; stumbles and stops for a second as Mikasa steadies his form.
„Wha- what do you mean?"
She shrugs and tries to seem nonchalant, and he might have believed her if not for the way she buries her face in the folds of his scarf and grips his arm a little more forcefully.
"Well. My mom is an academic professor, she was always busy when I was a kid. But on weekends, whenever she had time, we would drive out of the city and she would just spend whole days in the garden. Had the most beautiful sunflowers in all the county. Still does, actually."
The snow is not falling anymore and the street lights shine clear; Mikasa's eyes reflect it even brighter as she stares into the distance, deep down on the memory lane.
"We have this house in the country, kind of a little farm, I guess. I loved it so much then. There was only us and a dozen of chickens and dad would sometimes take me to the river at dawn to try fishing. We would just sit for hours on the pier, not even speaking, just- taking in the view. And my mom would always wait for us with an apple pie ready. She taught me gardening, embroidery, and cooking. All I ever wanted when I was a kid was to be like my mom; to have a little house by the forest, a husband to kiss me when he comes from work and a bunch of kids to run around. To live a long and happy life."
She's looking down at her feet now, stopping speaking abruptly as if she just realized the words that came from her mouth. But he says nothing, just squeezes her hand gently and so she lets out a deep sigh, a little bit embarrassed when she states:
"Your mom is so warm, so big-hearted. This is the kind of woman I've always wanted to be."
Eren studies her form, the grace in her posture even when she is hunched, strands of black hair framing her beautiful face. Mikasa is not a woman she had just described; she is not the sunflower shining for everyone, she is not the summer sun warming all people equally. She will never be loved by everyone or love everyone. But those that she loves, those that she trusts-
He thinks about how she acts around him when there's only two of them and their heartbeats. He thinks how easily she shed her dignified demeanor while she was washing dishes, giggling with his mom.
And he envisions her childhood dream; a log cabin at the edge of the wood, a river humming nearby, picnic table covered in red-and-white checked tablecloth. Mikasa hanging sheets in the backyard, her long braid falling down her back and black-haired, green-eyed children playing hide and seek around her legs.
Coming home to see just that.
Fondness swells in his heart. This is a fantasy that doesn't belong to the world they live in and the one that, at first glance, doesn't particularly suit a woman as independent and put together as Mikasa… but a beautiful, beautiful dream regardless. The picture that he knows he will never manage to abandon.
"Long and happy life, you say?" he hums in appreciation, sending her a dazzling smile and, through their bond, a kiss to her soul, sweet and tender. "I think we can manage that."
The evening slowly turns into the night and as they prepare for bed and lay down under the covers, Mikasa can feel the storm coming.
He's about to say something and she will not like it; she knows this before he even opens up his mouth to speak.
He fiddles with his shirt and tugs gently on her hair, licks his lips, scratches the back of his neck. It's like a low-current running through her body, electricity buzzing in her ears constantly and still, nothing can prepare her for the moment when the shoe drops.
"So, uh, my shift starts tomorrow at 8.00, but I think I can finish off a little earlier, like… 16? And we can grab something to eat then, how about that?"
There's ringing in her ears and her breath catches and she wants to slap herself because, jesus Mikasa, overreacting as hell right now. He's got work, he has to go to work, nobody, and especially not her uncle will excuse his absence. But as she turns her face away from him, although she does her very best to get a hold on herself, there's a tremble in her voice.
"Oh. Okay."
I'm about to cry, she realizes, horrified. What's wrong with me?
His arms wrap around her middle and, as he hides her face in her shoulder, she cannot stop the small hiccup of a sob that escapes her lips.
"Mika, hey, Mika. I know- I know, alright?" His hands lock around her." I know, I understand."
Panic is a cold wave that crashes over her, chill runs through his veins, through their bones.
''Maybe I'll call and-"
"No, no." She shakes her head, slipping from his arms; distancing herself from him leaves her aching all over but she does it anyway. It's unhealthy, even for soulmates to be so wrapped up in each other, but they got careless, they got too needy. "You should go, we-we can't act like nothing even matters anymore."
His brow furrows and he gulps and she knows which words he swallowed.
(only you matter now, only this.)
She wants to reach out, god knows she does. Wants to take his hands in hers and kiss him; nuzzle her face against his neck, curl inside his ribcage, lock herself in his heart. Let him hold her until she melts into him and they'll never be apart.
But it's not good for them and it's not possible anyway, so she takes a deep breath and says:
"Chinese tomorrow for dinner, what do you think about this idea?"
The morning comes too soon.
She didn't manage to doze off even for a few hours; laid with her eyes closed and breath even, emotions ripping her insides to shreds. She didn't let him hug her and thought that will make her body numb, that if she gets used to not touching him when he Is beside her, seeing him leave will be easier.
It's not; it hurts, physically hurts and she digs her fingernails into the flesh of her palms not to reach out to him, roots her feet in the floor not to run after him. He kisses her so gently that it's more like a shadow of a kiss than a real thing; maps her cheekbones with the tips of his fingers and walks backward through door to look at her as long as he can.
She swallows to get rid of the bitter taste in her mouth and manages a grimace resembling somewhat a smile:
"I'll be here when you come back."
He nods but he doesn't seem to believe her at all.
"Mikasa-"
"Go." –she waves her hand goodbye, praying not to tear up, praying for him to leave before she tears up. "Go, don't be late. Levi-"
"Hates that, I know." He's still standing in the corridor, still looking at her and he's so anxious that it spills over. So she breaks herself a little inside and coaxes her body to cooperate; slows down her heartbeat, lets her hands hang loosely by her side, raises her head higher.
And so he relaxes too; even manages to send her his trademark boyish grin before stealing one more kiss – this one a little more proper, not just a paintbrush stroke- and turns away rapidly, running down the stairs fast as if he was afraid that as soon as he slows down he'll come back running to her.
Oh, she wishes he did. So bad.
Hours pass so lazily, she's almost afraid that clocks have all stopped working. And she's absolutely restless.
Goes out for a run, hoping to tire herself, but finds herself looking for his face in the crowd of unfamiliar ones. Tries to answer messages that accumulated on her phone and social media during the weekend and realizes that she has no idea what to tell all those people. Writes a short message to her coach to assure her that yes, she'll be back in training on Wednesday. Curls on the armchair for a minute or two only to jump up at the slightest of sounds, as easily spooked as Madeline. Picks up a book just to stare at the same page for half an hour.
By 2 P.M. she's equally anxious, frustrated with herself and dead tired.
So she picks up the phone and does the only thing she can think of.
"Annie? Hi, sorry for radio silence. I had a reason though."
Annie's usual blank voice is somehow less disinterested than normal.
"Better a good one, Ackerman."
Mikasa almost smiles. You have no idea, girl.
Eren is pretty much sure that is the worst day of his entire life, but he doesn't really register anything that's happening around him so it might not be true.
His longing takes a form; it's a ball of pain in his chest, covered in thorns and making his lungs and heart bleed whenever he takes a breath. Usually he'd be sulking for being assigned to paperwork for the whole day, but today he thanks, all of the gods he knows for it; there's a white mist obscuring his vision so that even the easiest forms transform into a herculean tasks of bureaucracy, so he's scared to even think how his work in the field would present. It takes so much effort for him not to say fuck it all and run back to Mikasa like a stray dog begging for a little warmth that by lunch he is downright exhausted.
Four-fifths of his new team send him worried glances above their respective meals and the one fifth, his boss, the living legend, the man he admires more than probably anyone else in his life looks so disgusted with his current state that Eren is truly surprised he manages not to spontaneously combust under his burning glare.
All he thinks, all he feels, all he pretty much is is –
Mikasa, Mikasa, Mikasa, Mikasa.
His mind plays tricks on him, plasters her face on any girl that enters the office, forces his eyes to look for her even though the mind knows her location all too well. His knee is constantly twitching, bumping the cheap wood imitation of his desk and making his keyboard jump up and down. He has dark circles underneath his eyes that he's sure weren't there before. She's haunting him and he is, to put it bluntly, a mess.
And yet, he cannot manage to care, not when yet another torturous hour passes and he gets closer and closer to breaking free.
After he glances at the clock for the fifth time in two minutes and it's still 15:24, Petra – who seemed to gravitate more and more towards his desk as the day progressed- taps his shoulder and asks him, very slowly and kindly, is there any way she could help him, really?
He tears his gaze away from the digital numbers of the clock to look at her; amber eyes are wide open, concern written all over her face.
All that's ringing in his head is that he wishes he could look at another woman.
"I-I don't think so." He mumbles, looking down at his still twitching knee. "Or maybe- Petra, I'm sorry, could I drop out early today? Please?"
The desperation in his voice is so clear that even he grimaces a little. Petra bites her lip and opens her mouth and he just knows she's about to say that she's sorry but-
"Let him go."
Levi is standing back to them, seemingly deeply engrossed into the act of scribbling some notes on the whiteboard, but he is speaking so loudly and clearly that everyone in the office just drops their work for a second, exchanging surprised glances.
Levi is not exactly known for cutting his officers slack.
"Let him go, Rall, he's useless anyway."
Petra gapes at the back of Levi's head, mouth opened as a fish gasping for breath before shaking her head and patting Eren on the back gently.
"Go." She whispers softly and Eren can almost see the ghost of the smile on her lips. "Go, you idiot, before he changes his mind."
He doesn't need to be told twice; he's so happy he could kiss her, but there is another mouth belonging to another girl and waiting for him at home.
The only thing he does is ring the bell and suddenly she's all over him.
Arms wrapped around his neck, legs wrapped around his waist; she opens the door so violently that the sound echoes in the empty staircase and jumps into his waiting arms. And he's been running all the way there, driven by the fear that he somehow forgot the way (how could he forget the way, now that he knows it?) and so he's a little than more winded but, honestly, who cares about breathing anymore.
She kisses him with wild abandon nobody would suspect her of, almost livid in her raw desire. She's a mess of emotions, a tangled pile of electric cords in his hands; she sends nerves live-wiring beneath his skin.
They bump into furniture on the way to the bedroom and some small part of his brain registers it, sighs to itself about bruises that will inenviably bloom on his skin tomorrow. But he's got a handful of her and as he lowers his head down to press his lips to her neck and sucks on her pulse point she straight-up moans; this sound escapes her lips like a dirty secret and he swears he's gonna keep it… after he hears it again and again and again.
He nips on her collarbone, feeling her body shivering against his own, and she tugs on his shirt desperately, pulling him behind her until they both collapse on the mattress. His mouth curls into a smirk as he puts his weight on her, but then she spreads her legs, raises up her hips-
And before he can even notice, he's the one laying pinned underneath her and she's the one hanging above him; her breasts brushing his chest, heavy breaths rocking her body. Mikasa has her cheeks stained pink, there's saliva smeared on her chin and bite marks on her neck; he slowly raises his hand up and loops a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His palms cup her cheek face and her eyelids shut close.
Desire doesn't go away, neither does arousal; but as he looks at her – god. God bless.
It's like everything suddenly glows. There's unexplainable sweetness that didn't use to be there before; the strawberry red summer sun warming him up.
It's like somebody reached out and covered all of his emotions in gold, made them better, more complete. Kissing has never felt like this before. Making out has never felt like this before. He could've as well never touched a girl before.
So new, so fresh, like the air after the storm and still so familiar. She's his first time and the last time; the only one he'll ever want, the one he will never get enough of.
You woke me up, baby.
His other hand sneaks underneath her shirt, trails the line of her spine, caresses her back which arches under his touch.
"Eren." She still has her eyes closed, humming his name like a melody. "Eren."
She nuzzles her cheek against his hand, turns her head a bit for her lips to reach his skin and kiss him.
I adore you. They think simultaneously, think with all of them. I was so lonely without you.
He briefly wonders what it will feel like, to tug her top up and her bra down, to put his mouth on her breasts and make her moan again. To let her pull on his hair as he blows raspberries on her inner thights. He wants it all so badly, desires her body and her heart and her mind and her soul.
You already have it, she thinks to him and it sounds breathless even in his head.
His hands on her back press her down and she lets him; she leans and lets him kiss the remaining sense out of her until everything spins in front of her eyes and she forgets she's supposed to breathe.
Her fingers tangle in his hair, pulling on them greedily and moving down and then her nails digging lightly into the nape of his neck-
Red, it's all red everywhere, that's all he sees. Red, sticky and stinking of metal; the stifling hotness which coats his skin in sweat and makes his eyes water.
"Eren!" she cries out, her hands reaching for him and he's running, running, blood buzzing in his ears and breath knocked out of his lungs at the fear twisting her features because Mikasa is brave, Mikasa has never been afraid of anything, Mikasa is untouchable, impossible to kill, stronger than all of them combined and yet-
And yet.
"Eren!"
She's so far.
So far away.
Something crunches underneath the soles of his boots, but he doesn't stop to check on whose corpse he stepped on.
Red is oozing from the cuts on her face; it looks as if she was crying blood. And he is stricken with the terrifying familiarity of this scene; of his mother's figure held by the gigantic hand and raised from the earth's surface. The sound of her spine splitting in half. Her blood falling down like a rain.
And him, helpless again.
He sinks his teeth into the palm of his hand again and again, and yet the lightning doesn't strike. There's no magic this time, no transformation; and there's no spark of impossible in Mikasa either, just a small, broken, tired girl who exhausted herself to the point of almost passing out, her blades shattered, her wings torn from her back.
"Mikasa!"
Their eyes lock and her expression softens; the hand she held outstretched for him falls loose. To his horror, she looks at him with this bashful fondness … and that' when he realizes she has given up.
Her lips move, forming words which he cannot decipher because he's still so fucking, goddamn far away and he's screaming, still screaming for her, when her figure disappears in the gaping, dark hole of the titan's mouth.
