Requested by awwyeaheremika: Modern AU, and Mikasa works as a prostitute in the red light district, and Eren is a journalist of some sort.

A/N: Of course, I in no way condone human trafficking, child prostitution, or prostitutional exploitation, and one of my biggest concerns and challenges about this prompt was portraying legal prostitution, and the legal sex industry as a whole, in all of its complexity. I urge you all to check out the blog behindtheredlightdistrict at tumblr or blogspot to hear from a woman who actually works in the Red Light district in Amsterdam. Coming into this prompt, I had a very different perception of sex workers and the sex industry than the reality of at least this portion of it. This little fic of mine only scratches the surface of it all, and I'm still not certain on my opinions and thoughts of this all, which is why I think it imperative that you do your own research and learn a bit for yourself. Thanks to awwyeaheremika for providing the website!

Modern AU.


49. Profession

Eren tries to remain inconspicuous about examining the girl across the table. She's not what he expects her to be: wide eyes with only a touch of mascara, clad in a navy, collared dress that falls to her knees, with modest, black heels to match. His first thought is how she reminds him of a manic pixie dream girl straight out of an indie flick with that doe-eyed look and tattered copy of a small collection of poems sticking out of her carpet bag purse, the sort of girl who frequents cozy coffee shops and flea markets. Second, Eren remembers how that's not the narrative his editor wants to hear, how that's not victimizing enough, not condemning enough, doesn't make a villain of the sex industry. And they need a villain.

"I'm not in costume, right now," she says with a knowing smile. "I actually just finished with class for the day."

"You're a student?"

She nods her head. "A double major in Biology and Classics over at the city university."

"Oh," is all he says, which, as he realizes the very moment he says it, is a very stupid response to such a surprising piece of information for anyone, let alone a journalist. This is his profession for god's sake. Steeping in his own incompetence, Eren concentrates on the distance between his cup of coffee, and her mug of tea, jotting this insignificant little detail down on his pad of paper just to appear as if he's doing something. Eren clears his throat. "Shall we get started?" he asks.

Her eyebrows fly up, disappearing behind her bangs. "We haven't already?"

He pulls himself together rather quickly, forcing himself to engage in what he hopes comes off as a fluid conversation. But his apprehension quickly dissipates. She excels in making conversation—an asset she developed with the job, she assures him, apparently sex work really builds communication skills—carries it effortlessly, almost artfully. She tells him how sex work earns a paycheck that pays the bills and then some, how she'll be able to finance grad school almost entirely on her own. She explains how she only really sleeps with a handful of her clients, how the majority of them come in either failing to perform, or out of curiosity and then only to chat, or for smaller—though sometimes stranger—less taxing sexual favors, explains how sex, to her, has never really been an emotionally intimate act.

Ironically, she comes off incredibly normal—charming, even. His editor won't like that. And yet, Eren doesn't care. He doesn't care that this girl isn't the trashy whore the paper wants, doesn't care that she completely refutes the societal expectation. She's real, completely genuine. When did the papers sever their ties with the truth?

"Well you see, that's the thing," she replies when he asks her about the risks and dangers of her employment, the terrible narratives about the murdered call-girls, the brutal beatings and abuse, "while that unfortunately does occur in areas, with the relatively recent legalization of prostitution in the past decade, our job has actually gotten increasingly safer. We receive police protection down in the red light district, and we also have the liberty of turning away certain clients or requests. It's much safer than standing on street corners and reporting back to a pimp."

Eren scribbles notes down furiously, thankful for the recorder set in the center of the table. On his pad of paper he records how she resonates an intellectual aura, how she's really just a girl like any other, and how she's nothing like he thought she'd be at all. But then, at one point, when he asks her what she was most surprised by in this line of work, she replies after a thoughtful moment, "How easy it is to read people," she says. She gives him a look he hasn't seen yet today. "I can usually tell what people like and want not long after talking with them." Eren gulps, and he feels her eyes following the slow bob of his Adam's apple. And he remembers that though she appears before him one way—unassuming and unsuspecting—she still is a woman incredibly capable and experienced in her line of work.

When they finish, Eren walks her to her car.

"Hey, listen," he starts, scratching the back of his neck, "I know this is unprofessional of me, but do you want to get together some time?"

It lasts just a fraction of a second, but her expression falls, turns downcast for an instant. "Oh," she says, "I only make appointments during working hours. Call my manager then to set up a time-"

"No, I mean, I didn't mean like that—I meant, like, you know, for coffee or something. And me, not as a journalist bombarding you with questions, and you, not as...as…"

"It's okay to say prostitute. I don't mind. That's what I am."

"Yeah," Eren feels himself flush bright red, "that."

She smiles to herself. "I'd like that," and she jots down her number on the corner of his notes. "My real name's Mikasa, by the way," she calls out just before driving away. "My real name."

"Mikasa," Eren repeats it to himself. "I'll call you!" he says, gesturing to her number. She gives one quick wave and another smile before driving off.

Mikasa. When his editor scolds him, threatens him for not getting a name later that day, Eren holds his tongue. This piece of truth is his to keep hidden.