Mikasa

"Just a shot guys," Jean says, passing around the plastic water bottle. "Don't forget we're getting behind the wheel in T-minus two hours. There will be plenty of booze to go around at my place."

We're about thirty minutes late to the dance, but this was cleverly engineered by Jean and Ymir to give us maximum coverage in the school parking lot. The members of our prom group are gathered in a circle by Jean's car, eager for a swig from the bottle.

"Dude, you should've gotten shot cups," Eren comments. "How the fuck are we supposed to eyeball this?"

"No one else seems to be having this problem, Jaeger," Jean shoots back.

"Lemme help a brother out!" Ymir snatches the bottle from Eren's hands and grabs a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back. "Open up! We're gonna waterfall this!"

Levi told me that there was a certain sequence to drinking tequila, something about licking salt and biting into a lime, but this all seems irrelevant now, since everyone's just drinking it straight. When the bottle gets to me, I look down into the pale yellow liquid, taking note of its acrid odor.

"Hey, you don't have to if you don't wanna." Eren has managed to twist himself out of Ymir's playful chokehold. He pauses from combing his fingers through his ruffled hair and gives me a worried look. "That shit's nasty, anyways."

"This is top-grade stuff, thank you very much," Jean retorts. "And Mikasa can do whatever she wants."

Eren ignores him and keeps his eyes locked onto mine. We both know how alcohol has splintered my life. Heineken dissolved every last bit of my father's dignity, and ultimately, he died drunk. But recently, when I think of beer, I think not of our recycling bins overflowing with bottles and cans but instead the clink of Levi's IPA against my chocolate stout. When I think of gin, the first thought that comes to mind is not how I'd sometimes find a bottle of Hendrick's on Dad's nightstand but rather memories of watching Hanji bustle about at her bartending job, preparing what Levi dismisses as a "a gin-flavored tonic water."

Eren's shoulders relax when I smile at him. Ymir and Sasha whoop and holler when I tip the plastic bottle back, and he laughs at me when I reel over, coughing at how ghastly tequila tastes.

For me, drinking beer is like stepping into a bubble bath. You dip a toe into the suds, and slowly, you submerge yourself in the warm water, leaning your head back against the tub. Beer is slow, lazy, mellow. A tequila shot, on the other hand, is like getting zapped by a lightning bolt.

I've never been a dancer. At Ymir's parties, I avoid her basement, where people grind against each other like live sardines in a tin. I've always felt overly self-conscious dancing like that in front of so many witnesses, fretting over whether my arms are doing what they're supposed to be doing, wondering how I'm supposed to move my feet.

But tonight, that bolt of tequila has sizzled away every last trace of self-doubt standing between me and the dance floor. Sasha grabs my hands, swinging me around, and I follow her silly movements, giggling when she almost smacks Connie with a flailing hand. Amid the haze of alcohol, I quickly realize that no one is bound by any particular set of rules when it comes to dancing; even Historia has thrown aside her classical training in ballet to get low with Ymir.

Two arms embrace me from behind, squeezing tightly. "You look so hot!" Jean yells into my ear over the music. Experimentally, I grind my ass against his groin, and his fingers eagerly sink into my hip bones, pulling me closer to him. Earlier, he had to "excuse" himself to the bathroom midway through photos. Levi certainly caught on and had too much fun abusing the camera. As Jean presses his lips against the back of my neck, it appears that his problem has returned.

A couple of feet in front of us, I spot Eren's head bobbing in the crowd. Just as Jean's hand crawls up my torso to cup my breast, a ray of clarity breaks through the tequila clouds, and I wriggle away from him. "Coach Shadis is watching!" I lie, pointing my finger in the general direction behind us. Instantly, there's a foot of space between us.

When the pulsing EDM fades away, a quiet falls over the high school gymnasium. Piano keys tinkle across the calm, and Tony Bennett's rich voice croons out "The Way You Look Tonight." Jean puts his hands on my waist, and I drape my arms across his shoulders. I follow him as we sway back and forth to the slow song.

People start pairing up. Ymir slides into the space between Historia and Reiner (even though Reiner had originally asked Historia to prom). Bertholdt manages to cajole Annie into a dance. Mina's with a friend from another school, and Hannah and Franz are already making out.

Near the center of the gymnasium, there's a bit of commotion. Eren has his arm linked around Connie's elbow, urging him not to leave, while Sasha stands off to the side, pretending to ignore what's happening. Connie pries himself out of Eren's grip, skulking off to the refreshments. "Come on, dude! Everyone knows!" Eren calls after him. Sighing, he gets into a slow dancing position with Sasha, shaking his head in disbelief. "I can't fucking believe you guys."

"Hey," Jean says, smiling at me. "Having a good time?"

"Yeah," I answer, but I'm still watching Eren. He didn't end up getting the bowtie, opting to go tie-less. I've never seen him dressed formally before, but his prom attire suits him, a credit that most likely should go to his mother, who probably dragged him, kicking and screaming, to the tailor.

"I'm so glad I met you," Jean says. "I love you so much."

Eren and I make eye contact, and he grins at me. Looooovely, never, never change, he lip-syncs over Sasha's shoulder, scrunching his face up theatrically. I smile. He knows how to play this song on the piano, but he hates it with a burning passion. His mother loves Tony Bennett, and she was strict on him when he was learning this piece, forcing him to start over each time he struck a note too harshly. So to spite her, he created a horrifying mash-up of this song with a cacophonous rendition of the Jonas Brothers' "Burnin' Up."

"Mikasa? You okay?" Jean asks.

Because I love you, just the way you look toniiiiight, Eren wrings his hand out in an overly dramatic gesture. "Fucking hate this song," he mouths, and he makes a gagging face.

I want to blame the tequila, but more than an hour has passed since we took those shots in the parking lot. Unable to hold in my laughter, I start cracking up. People start eyeing me, bewildered.

"Mikasa?" Jean stops dancing. "What's up with you?"

Behind him, Eren does a fist-pump, childishly rubbing in the fact that he broke me. I'm about to shake my head and shoot him a grimace, but then Jean leans his head forward and kisses me.

"Better luck next year, Jeanie-boy!" Ymir declares triumphantly, spinning around the parking lot in her gold Prom Queen sash and crown. "You didn't stand a chance, since you're only a junior."

Jean swats her away when she tries to pat his head. "Do I need to remind you that your arch-nemesis Reiner is your king now?" he mutters, unable to smother his disappointment.

"Don't be such a downer," Annie says, pointing her car keys into the air, listening for the beep of her Jeep. "At least you got five bucks for ice cream."

"Well, I got twenty dollars to Chipotle." Ymir dangles her gift card in front of Jean's fuming face.

"I still don't know how I feel about the principle behind giving out gift cards on the basis of popularity," Eren says, shuffling behind us with his hands in his pockets.

"You're just jealous," Jean shoots back, but as we walk together, I feel him swaying against me, his gait unsteady.

"You good to drive, dude?" Eren asks.

I stop walking. Jean had ducked out of the gymnasium after our principal announced the prom court winners. When he came back, he had a lilt in his step, and I could taste tequila when he kissed me.

"Jean," I say. "Give me your keys."

"I'm fine," he insists, but I hold out my open palm. Obediently, Jean hands them over, but before I can unlock his car, Eren grabs my wrist.

"Hey," he says. "Lemme drive."

"I only had a shot. And it was a while ago," I argue. "And don't you have your own car to worry about?"

Ymir descends down on us like a hawk. "Let him drive. You're an inexperienced drinker, so better safe than sorry," she says, wrestling the keys from me and handing them to Eren. "Eren, who did you carpool with?"

"Connie and Sash."

"Oh, perfect. Let Connie drive your soccer mom car, and he and Sasha can talk out their feelings without you third-wheeling," Ymir says. "It's settled then. Jesus, Jean. What a hypocrite. Weren't you all Mr. Responsible before this, being all like 'just one shot, guys'?!"

Eren tosses a red-faced Connie his own set of keys, and we file into Jean's car.

"You better not leave a single dent in this," Jean growls as we strap in our seatbelts.

"Last time I checked, I've never hit a mailbox before," Eren retorts, backing out of the parking spot. "Also, chill out the fuck out, will you? I'm only driving for like five minutes."

"You know what, Eren?" Jean says, slumping against me. "We've never really gotten along, but I gotta thank you."

"For what?"

"Mikasa's the best thing that ever happened to me," Jean says. "And this wouldn't be this great if you didn't ambush me that day with all your knowledge, man."

"What are you talking about?" I say immediately.

"Oh, I didn't tell you?" Jean reaches forward and pats Eren's shoulder. "This dude came up to me one day and told me all these things about you, all your likes and dislikes. I thought it was pretty weird at the time, but I appreciate it now, Eren."

"I thought you reached out to him," I reply, trying to make eye contact with Eren through the rearview mirror, but he's purposely avoiding me. "Eren, that's what you told me, right?"

"Jean's drunk," Eren manages, but his ears are turning incriminatingly red. He quickly brings up their upcoming soccer match with our rival school, and Jean babbles about how their defense players are like a brick wall.

I keep my eyes trained on that rearview mirror, silently urging Eren to look up. When we park at Jean's house, I try to intercept him, but Connie beats me to the punch, looking ashen-faced as he bangs on the driver's side window, blubbering about how he fucked something up. He pulls Eren away, and they take a walk in the neighborhood, while I sullenly follow Jean into his house.

Jean's mother is going to flay him alive.

Not two hours into the party, at least five cups of alcoholic beverages have spilled onto the living room carpet, and almost three fragile objects have been shattered. I say "almost" because Ymir manages to catch a vase in an outstretched hand before it hits the ground.

"Jean Kirstein, what a fuckin' amateur," she remarks to me, gingerly putting the vase in a cupboard. "The first rule to hosting a rager is to teenager-proof the whole place. Like, seriously? That's rookies' stuff."

It's disconcerting to see all the girls pairing elegant prom hairdos with crop tops and short jean skirts—attire better suited for the debauchery of an after-party. Ditching our heels, we've treated our aching feet for the comfort of Adidas slides. The guys, however, failed to think ahead, and Jean managed to get an ugly, yellow tequila stain on his white shirt—yet another reason why his mother will certainly ground him when she gets back on Monday.

I try to pass him a glass of water, but he chooses to throw back another shot instead. His sentences are slurred to the point of being totally unintelligible, and he's supported by a slightly less wasted Marco. I loop Jean's other arm around my shoulders, and I help Marco walk him to a living room chair. Jean curls up into a ball and mumbles something about wanting to sleep together.

"How many drinks has he had?" I ask Marco.

"We just did a shot ladder," he says.

"A what?"

"So we started with vodka, then tequila, then Fireball, then whiskey, and you're supposed to end with Absinthe, but he only made it to the whiskey."

"So how many shots is that?"

"Like eight or nine."

"Jesus."

"Shit, I'm feeling sick—" Marco bolts towards the kitchen, and he manages to make it to the sink, where he starts throwing up. I tear my gaze away from the sight because a surge of nausea rises through me, and I force myself to take small sips of water.

Since arriving, my total for tonight has been somewhere around five drinks—so far. The first was a vodka jelly shot that went down surprisingly easily, but when I took my sip of Smirnoff, I had to gulp down an entire cup of orange juice to extinguish the burning sensation it left in my throat. We toasted to everything that could possibly deserve a toast. The first was to the graduating seniors. Then, the lacrosse girls huddled up, and we did another toast for our team. We drank to Reiner and Ymir, the prom king and queen. Then a shot just for the sake of taking a shot. In a surprising act of friendliness, Annie lumbered towards me with a bottle of whiskey. "When you become captain next year, don't do anything I wouldn't do," she said, passing the torch to me. I wished her all the best at college, and we drank together.

I don't know if it's because I'm drunk or if it's because it's prom, but the atmosphere around me feels charged with a crazed energy, at least three notches more chaotic than a typical weekend party at Ymir's.

Jean's hand reaches out and limply pats my head. "Go have fun," he slurs, closing his eyes contentedly. "Go play Truth or Dare, or beer pong... or flip cup or whatever. Just have fun. Fun is fun."

I drape a blanket over him. My head is throbbing, so I cross over into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of ice-cold water from the fridge dispenser. Was it five drinks I had or did I just stop keeping count after that point? I need a breath of fresh air, so I stagger to the front door, almost tripping over the welcome mat on the porch. To my surprise, Sasha is sitting on the front step with her knees huddled together.

"What's up?" I pull lightly on her ponytail as I sit down next to her. Her hair still holds the loose curls we worked so hard to create earlier today.

"I'm drunk," she answers. "And sad."

"Why, Sasha?"

"Why am I drunk?"

"No, the second thing you said. Why are you sad?"

"Oh. I dunno," she says, shrugging. "Connie's being stupid."

"What happened?" I ask.

"He says we should just date because everyone knows about what's going on between us already, but I don't know, Mikasa!" she exclaims, a confessional torrent rushing out from her. "We're best friends, but you're not supposed to date your best friend—they're your best friend, not your boyfriend! So I'm just so freaking confuzzled right now because I don't want things to be weird, and I don't want to not be best friends anymore, you know, if we end up yelling at each other for whatever couples like to yell at each other about, so I wanna play it safe, but Connie wants to just go for it, but I think that's just so dumb, like if it ain't broke don't fix it, right?!"

I don't understand how Levi enjoys poking around matters of the heart because when Sasha takes a moment to catch her breath, I'm scrambling for some kind of intelligent response. "Well," I begin, fighting to think clearly through my headache. "I'm really no expert in these kinds of things, Sasha, but aren't things already weird?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you guys are already fooling around. And you guys spend so much time together, let alone you guys run a weed business together—"

"Exactly. If we date and things get messy, it's gonna put that whole thing at risk."

"I think that's a less important point."

"Mikasa," Sasha gives me a dead-serious look. "You don't want to know how much money we make. If this crashes and burns, it's thousands—but don't tell anyone I told you that."

I don't know what to say to that, so I let her lean her head against my shoulder. We watch cars pass back and forth along the street. There's been no sign of Eren or Connie at the party since they went off to have their heart-to-heart talk.

"Can I ask you something?" Sasha murmurs.

"Yeah."

"Why haven't you and Eren dated?"

I stiffen at the question. "Why do you ask that?" I counter, trying to buy myself more time to come up with an answer.

She lifts her head from my shoulder and peers at me with her large, brown eyes. "Mikasa, he was looking at you the whole time at prom. Obviously, he likes you. As in really, really likes you. Aw, look at you! You're smiling right now when I say it!"

She's not wrong. I bury my head between my knees.

"Why are you dating Jean?" she asks me.

"You should tell Connie how you feel about him," I mumble.

"Only if you tell Eren how you feel about him."

"What happened to 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it'?"

"You're so frustrating, Mikasa!" Sasha whines.

"Speak for yourself."

"You know what? I changed my mind. You look so silly right now, Mikasa! And that probably means I look silly because I'm also into my best friend!" She grips both of my hands firmly. "Let's stop being scared!"

It's my turn to rest my head against her shoulder. In the distance, two shadows pass under a light. Eren and Connie turn into the neighborhood. Connie looks relaxed, no longer consumed by the panic that afflicted him earlier today, and they're pushing and shoving each other, their laughter echoing down the street.

"We should go back inside," I tell Sasha, but she's already one step ahead, holding the door open for me. So much for not being scared.

When we head down to Jean's basement, whoever hasn't passed out just yet is seated around a bottle. Ymir furiously waves us over. "So nice of you two to finally join us," she calls, pointing a beer bottle at us in an accusatory manner. "We're playing Truth-or-Dare, bitches, and we're taking no prisoners tonight."

"What she means is: challenge by choice!" Historia chimes in.

We squeeze ourselves into the circle. Ymir is about to spin the bottle when Eren and Connie make their way downstairs with red Solo cups in hand. "Sit your asses down!" she cries out. "For fuck's sake, can we just start the game already?"

The game floats past me. Most people choose the truth option and end up telling humiliating stories, but all I can focus on is Eren, who sits across from me in the circle, making this face after each sip. It's a wince—he wrinkles his nose and creases form under his eyes—but it's a fleeting expression, suppressed just as quickly as it appears, as if he's toughing out the terrible taste of alcohol. He holds the cup by the rim, and he still has his habit of sheepishly running a hand through his hair.

When he notices me watching him, his cup is raised midway to his mouth. He puts it down, gives me a faint smile, but an apology swims in his eyes. I give him an "I can't believe you, Eren" look, narrowing my eyes in mock irritation. He looks stunned at first, but then his face brightens, and he tries to hide a smirk by sipping from his drink. I raise an eyebrow, motioning my chin in Connie's direction. Eren rolls his eyes, pointing a finger gun to his own temple. He tilts his head in Sasha's direction, shooting me a quizzical look.

Before I can shrug in reply, Ymir throws a tortilla chip in my direction. "Wakey, wakey, Mikasa!"

"Sorry, what?" I stammer.

"Were you not paying attention? Sasha's asking you a question."

Sasha has just spun the bottle, and its neck is pointing right at me. "Truth or dare?" she asks, and I suddenly feel uneasy. Her expression is mischievous, as if there's a plot churning in the back of her mind.

"Dare," I answer, after a moment's hesitation.

She seems like she's taking a final moment to mull over her answer, and my heart pounds in my chest when she looks me directly in the eye. "Sorry not sorry, Mikasa. But..." she says, pausing to grin at me. "Kiss Eren."

The room explodes into hysterical pandemonium. Ymir is rolling on her back, cackling, and a wasted Annie is hollering, "You fuckin' bitch, Sasha! You're burning in hell for this!"

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" Connie starts chanting, and the rest of Jean's teammates join in, stomping their feet.

"Guys, she has a boyfriend!" Historia tries to be a voice of reason, but her appeals are drowned out by the chanting.

Sasha and Ymir are pulling me forward, while Reiner shoves Eren towards me. Before we know it, it's just me and him, standing speechless in the center of a circle of our drunk, hooting friends. Eren looks horrified. He's avoiding eye contact with me, keeping his shell-shocked expression pinned to a carpet stain between us.

"GUYS!" Historia yells, stepping forward. "You really don't have to do this. Everyone's being really unnecessarily mean right now!"

But Jean's voice from earlier echoes in my head. He gave me his blessing to have fun tonight, even explicitly urging me to go play Truth or Dare. "Just have fun," he said, verbatim. "Fun is fun." I take one step forward, but before I can put my hands on Eren's cheekbones, he sidesteps past me, making his way towards Sasha.

"Hey, Sash," he says darkly. "You've got five seconds to run. Five."

"It's just a joke, Eren!" Sasha retorts.

"Four."

"Fuck, he's pissed. He's really pissed," Ymir jeers.

"Three."

Sasha flies up the stairs, and Eren lets out a deep breath before sprinting after her, in hot pursuit.

Eren

Sasha's fast—but I'm faster. She makes it no further than the kitchen when I have her cornered between the fridge and microwave.

"Why did you do that?" I demand. "That was so shitty, Sash. Like incredibly shitty! She can't kiss me! Isn't it kind of obvious that she's in a relationship right now?" I kick an abandoned red Solo cup by my feet, sending it flying into the sink.

Sasha gives me a thumb's up. "Nice shot—"

"Why did you do it?" I cut her off.

"We don't wanna be scared anymore!" she squeaks.

"Of what?!"

"Our feelings! So I'm giving her a push!"

"What are you even talking about?" She's about to hit me with another bullshit answer when I just can't take it anymore. "Quit beating around the bush with Connie. He doesn't deserve to be treated this way!" I snap at her before turning on my heel, storming towards the front door. I pass a knocked-out Jean on the couch and resist the urge to Sharpie a dick on his cheek or, better yet, dump the remaining contents of my cup over his greasy, overly-gelled-up head.

I fumble through my pockets for my car keys, but I yell out a "fuck!" into the street when I realize that Connie still has them on him. I can't drive anyways, since I just had a quarter cup of vodka and coke. A part of me considers the idea of calling Mom for a ride home, but she's probably asleep by now, and she'll kill me when she smells the alcohol on me. Plus, I had told her that I was crashing the night in Jean's basement. Jean and Ymir had arranged it this way so that we could go hard tonight without worrying about getting behind the wheel.

But here I am, only one or two drinks in, not having a good time, whatsoever. Connie was freaking out, so I had to give him an amateur therapy session for almost two full hours. Not to mention that our resident dumbass Jean just had to blow my cover with Mikasa, even though I made him swear on his mother's grave to keep that conversation between us.

I chug the rest of my vodka and coke and chuck the plastic cup onto the sidewalk. It cracks in half. I want to be drunker, but going back to that party is the last thing I want to do right now.

Connie forgot to lock my station wagon, so I unlatch the trunk door and climb into the back. Annie and I used to hook up back here, and afterwards, we'd open the door and look at the stars while playing some music. It would've been romantic, except for the fact that Annie refused to cuddle after sex. She said she didn't want to get "attached," so we'd just lay there with a foot of space between us, talking about sports. And eventually, we'd talk about how weird things were between me and Mikasa—well, mostly it was me talking, and Annie would either listen or doze off.

"Are things still weird between me and Mikasa?" I wonder out loud. I can't put on the stereo because I can't crank up the ignition without my keys, so I play "True Love Waits" on my phone and close my eyes. I showed her this song after I ran into her at Walgreens, and she seemed to really like it.

God, she looked so fucking pretty tonight. Everyone's heads turned when she walked into prom in that red dress. She was struggling to dance in her shoes. Hell, she was struggling to dance in general—it's never been her thing—yet she still managed to look incredibly sexy doing it. And when I made her lose it with my lip-syncing, making her giggle uncontrollably, she looked so ridiculously cute. Pretty, sexy, and cute—only Mikasa Ackerman can strike a perfect balance between those three qualities.

Armin constantly reminds me that I've been crushing on her since we were kids, but in the past, it's just been a bubbly feeling in my gut—something fun and light. Now, it feels like a lead cannonball wedged in between my ribs, and it's an aching, cumbersome feeling that sometimes makes me sick to my stomach.

I push myself to go back inside. This is prom. I'm supposed to get trashed and make memories—and that's not going to happen if I'm laying in the trunk of my car, alone with my thoughts.

I go into the kitchen, in search of alcohol, and I skid to a stop when I come face-to-face with Mikasa. She's walking around with a huge black garbage bag, tidying after our prom group.

"What's up?" I manage.

"Hey," she says back. She and the other lax girls changed into normal party clothes, but her hair is still done up in a fancy prom style.

"What are you doing?"

"Jean's never going to clean this up by himself tomorrow. Thought I'd give him a hand."

"Let me help."

We don't say much as we wipe up spilled liquids from the floor and toss plastic cups. I steel myself when I hose down someone's vomit from the sink, and she hands me a squirt bottle filled with cleaning disinfectant. We throw blankets over people passed out on the couches, and we patrol the rooms for obvious signs of chaos, keeping an eye out for broken bottles, overturned furniture, and slices of pizza plastered against the walls.

When we circle back to the kitchen, Mikasa sighs, and she looks at me, exhausted. "Thanks," she says.

"Don't mention it."

"Do you want a beer?" she asks.

"I would love a beer."

She cracks open two bottles and hands me one. "I still have a headache from all those shots," she says, rubbing her temples. "But Levi says having a 'cleansing beer' at the end of the night can help with hangovers."

"Hate to break it to you, Mikasa, but I'm pretty sure that's a load of crap," I say.

She shrugs. "What should we drink to?" she asks, raising her bottle.

"To Sasha," I answer. "For making things really fucking awkward."

She smiles her pretty smile. "Cheers."

I tap my beer against hers, and we drink.

"Are you spending the night?" she asks.

"Looks like I might have to," I grumble.

"Levi's picking me up in five if you want a lift home."

"I'd totally sign up for that, but I don't want my mom to know that I'm wasted."

"I mean, you could sober up at my house for a bit before heading back." She takes a step towards me when she says this, shrinking the foot of space between us, and my heart is racing. "We can watch a movie, if you want," she says. I can smell her light, flowery perfume and her apple-scented shampoo. Her prom makeup makes her eyes look like dark, inky pools. There's a hypnotic vibe to them, and I just can't look away, even though my gut instinct is pounding its fist against my skull, reminding me that her boyfriend is passed out on a couch not three feet away.

But still, I follow her outside and across the street, where Levi is parked. In one hand, she swings around a grocery tote containing her heels, and in her other hand, she carries her dress on a coat hanger. A night breeze makes it flutter—like a red flag. But I still climb into their car.

"How shitfaced are you guys?" Levi asks when we start heading back to our neighborhood.

Mikasa tells him about how she took his "cleansing beer" advice, but Levi's too cranky from the late hours for conversation, so they start bickering about something. I've tuned them out. I shouldn't be doing this. Not after seeing how Mom spiraled after Dad took those trips to Chicago, using work as an excuse. I can tell when she's been crying at night because her eyes get puffy in the mornings. And if she doesn't get up early enough to make herself a cup of coffee, breakfast can quickly turn into a yelling match between us. We cool off when we split ways for the day, so by dinnertime, she apologizes, which makes me apologize, and we hug it out and spend the rest of the night watching soccer games on TV.

But every so often, Mikasa turns around in the shotgun seat, and she smiles at me. And that lead cannonball in my chest turns feathery, and I feel like I'm floating over the clouds. When we get to her place, she and Levi exchange a final round of verbal blows before Levi announces that he's finally conking out. Before he leaves us, he turns around and stares at me, as if he has access to all the thoughts spinning in my head. It's a weird stare, like he's neither accusing me of anything nor is he rooting for me.

I crash onto their living room couch, flipping through our Netflix options, while Mikasa pulls bobby pins out of her hair, hoping to relieve her headache. And when she joins me, she sits with her body nestled up against mine. If I figure out how to relax, we'd basically be cuddling. Her black hair is wavy from the up-do, and she's wearing a top that shows her midriff and her cleavage. Her pretty legs are lazily sprawled across the coffee table.

When I put an arm around her shoulders, she snuggles even closer to me, resting her head against me. "You're quiet," she says. She reaches to take the remote from me, and her fingertips brush against the back of my hand. Something about this sends shivers up my spine.

"I'm exhausted," I say.

"How drunk are you right now?"

"Still tipsy, but on the comedown. What about you?"

"I don't know." Her fingers are running along the outside of my thigh.

"I think you're definitely still sloshed," I say, swallowing uneasily. My brain is shooting off flares, SOS signals—or are they fireworks? My thumb rubs against her bare arm, and my fingers curl around her elbow.

"I have a question," she says.

"Yeah?"

"Why did you tell Jean all those things about me?" she asks. She laces her fingers with mine. "Only you know those things."

I sit up, and I retract my arm, pulling my hand out from under hers. "I just want you to be happy," I say, pretending to stretch. "Sorry if that was weird."

"You care so much." Her hand has migrated to the inner part of my thigh. I sink back into the couch cushions, and I'm getting hard at her teasing touch. "About me being happy."

"Well, duh," I stammer.

"Why, though?" It's her turn to sit up, and she twists around until her legs are straddling my lap. She drapes her arms around my shoulders, and my line of sight is just centimeters from the dip of her cleavage. She rocks her groin against mine. I let out a gasp. When she grinds against me the second time, I give her ass a squeeze, and she lets out a breathy sigh in my ear. "Hey, Eren…"

"Yeah, Mikasa?"

"Truth or dare?" she asks me.

"Truth," I breathe.

"Did you want me to kiss you? When Sasha dared me to do it?" She guides both of my hands under her top.

"Yes." I caress her breasts over her bra. She cranes her head back, exposing her creamy neck.

When she looks at me, her lashes are hanging low over her half-lidded eyes. She pulls her top up over her head, revealing a lacy black bra. "Your turn."

"Truth or dare, Mikasa."

"Dare."

I take a deep breath. The rush of oxygen clears the haze for just a split second, but it's all I need to stop myself from letting this request fly out of the gate. I shake my head. I try to withdraw myself from her chest, but her hands clamp down on mine, and she pushes our fingers under the wiring of her bra, pushing the cups further up, and my palms slide across her pert nipples. Her breathing hitches when I do this—a weak spot. Together, we knead her bare breasts, and her eyes burn into mine as we do this, urging me to say it.

"Tell me," she murmurs.

"It's a terrible idea."

"Say it." She grinds against me again.

I struggle to keep my breathing steady. "I shouldn't."

"You should." She moves in closer, until our foreheads are just barely touching.

"Mikasa," I whisper, almost pleading with her. "We're drunk. We really shouldn't." But instead of pulling away, she leans into me, and the tips of our noses make contact.

"But you want to," she says, tracing her fingers down my jawline. "And I want to."

"Mikasa, you're with J—"

"Tell me what you want, Eren."

"Kiss me."

And she does it. She runs a hand through my hair, and she mashes her lips against mine in a kiss that's by no means gentle. Instead, it's hungry and impatient, and I kiss her back just as eagerly, kicking to the curb my sense of self-restraint. She claws at my shirt, and I tear it off, not giving a shit about a button that bounced and rolled along the floor. I yank at her hook of her bra, and the whole article of clothing goes flying once I manage to unclasp it. Her breasts spill out, looking so fucking glorious. And soon, I have her throwing her head back, her mouth open wide, as I tease her nipples with the edge of my teeth and the tip of my tongue.

At some point, she pushes me onto my back, and she's kissing my neck while my hands move up and down her back, feeling her shoulder blades, running down her tight curves. She leaves a trail of kisses down my chest, down my abdomen, and she strokes me between my legs, over my pants, causing me to groan. She pulls down my zipper, and her nails graze against my hip bones when she does away with my pants and boxers in one go.

And she's stroking me up and down, leaving me speechless and powerless. We know basically everything about each other—favorite songs, pet peeves, unique quirks, annoying habits—but this is all uncharted waters. I tell her to go faster, but she smirks and goes slower, and it's a struggle watching her like this, towering over me, all topless and irresistible.

"Is this you want?" she asks me in her airy whisper. I'm seeing stars shooting across the ceiling of her living room when her tongue glides up me, tracing circles at my tip. "Do you like that, Eren?"

I can hardly speak, so I nod, gritting my teeth. Her hair tickles the inside of my thighs as she lowers her neck to take my length into her mouth, and it's an amazing feeling that has me groaning when her hand works in concert at my base.

"Wait," I manage to croak out, right as that mounting feeling hits me, signalling that I'm going to come soon. "Mikasa, one sec."

She slumps back against the couch, and I position myself in front of her with my knees on the hardwood floor. I put my hand on her thigh, spreading her legs apart, and I move my fingers up her skirt, slipping past the seam of her underwear. She's so fucking wet right now. She looks down at me, and I look back up, and I'm astounded by how beautiful she looks, even with messy hair and smudged makeup. I tug her skirt off, flinging it somewhere away from us, and I crane my neck forward to press my lips against hers while I stroke circles against that spot that makes girls go crazy.

She squirms under me, and she parts her legs wider, inviting me to rub with more pressure. I watch her tip her chin back as I insert a finger into her, followed by a second, then a third. Fuck, she's so wet. I pull her underwear off, and I run my tongue along her opening. Her nails scrape along the roots of my hair. I kiss her clit while my fingers pump into her, and this makes her arch her back, letting out moans that turn me on even more.

"Eren," she gasps, and I pause what I'm doing. Her cheeks are pink, and her lips are rosy. She leans forward to cradle my face in her hands, and she gives a long, slow kiss. "I have condoms upstairs."

We don't bother picking up after our clothes, and she takes my hand and leads me up to her room. As we crash onto her bed, making out, my head spins, as if my brain wants to take a time-out to digest whatever the fuck is going on, but my hormones are telling my thoughts to go to hell. Her hair is spread out across her pillows, and her legs are wide open for me once I have the Trojan on.

"Is this okay?" I ask her. I'm hovering inches from her face, ready to call everything off if I even see a twitch of hesitation.

"Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

She kisses me, and we both gasp when I enter her. I start off slow and gentle, but she urges for the opposite of that, pushing me to fuck her harder by sinking her nails into my lower back. She claims my neck and bites my shoulder, which makes me grab her by the hips so that I can thrust more deeply into her. She's done away with the soft whispers from the living room. She doesn't give a damn if her moans might wake up Levi.

I wrap my arms around her back and lift her up until she's sitting in my lap, and as I buck into her, I bury my face into her tits, sucking on one nipple while I stroke the other one with the underside of my palm. I push myself to get her to moan louder. "Do you like that?" I say into her ear. "You're sensitive here, aren't you?" And I lightly bite her sensitive bud, scoring a home run when she cries out my name.

At one point, she has me pinned on my back, and she's on top of me, and I'm just taken aback by this view. Her mouth is twisted up in pleasure, her eyes are hazy with lust, and her beautiful breasts bounce as she rides me—hard. I want to come into her right now, but she's not there yet, so I clench her sheet, goading myself to keep going, to let her call the shots.

She's close.

Her cries ratchet up in pitch and in volume, and I flip her onto her back again. Her legs wrap around my back, and her fingernails sear against my shoulder blades. The bedsprings creak, and the headboard shakes, and a small part of me is just waiting for a furious Levi to kick the door open with a tube of toothpaste in his fist, but I shake the thought out of my head, and I focus on her.

She's so fucking close.

I kiss her, and her breath is hot against my neck as I move faster inside of her, thrusting harder, deeper. And then her cries hit fever pitch. The nails in my back let go, her tense legs relax, and her mouth is wide open as she comes. I follow suit shortly after and collapse next to her, panting to catch my breath.

There's so much to say right now, but neither of us can come up with the words, so we lay there with each other, tangled up in each other's arms and legs. And I just kiss her—not in the hungry, desperate way like before—but softly. I kiss her lips, her nose, nibble her ear. I plant one last one on her forehead, and she nestles her head in the crook of my neck.

Within minutes, she's asleep in my arms, snoring softly, and I rub my thumb across along her clavicle. For more than an hour, I lay there, wide awake, dreading the morning because that's when I'll have to swing by Jean's place to pick up my station wagon. And, while I'm at it, that's when I'll have to own up to everything that happened tonight.

A/N: There we have it. This chapter has consumed like all of my waking thoughts this week. In theory, I should be studying for an LSAT and writing my undergraduate thesis and worrying about job security, but my mind just kept wandering to WUARD. I wonder if that's a weird mental block thing, especially since the times are so bizarre nowadays, and internally, I'm craving those blissful, naive days of high school, and WUARD is a way for me to whisk back in time.

But yeah, here it is. Guys, thanks so much for the incredibly kind messages, be it Twitter DM, Tumblr inbox, reviews, or whatever medium floats your boat! I feel like I'm still behind on responding, but *shakes fist* I'll get on that ASAP! Seriously, I'm marveling at the detail and thought y'all put into these responses, and really, when I open these, I get a rush of excitement and joy. It's like a fanfic writer's personal Christmas Day, and I feel like a kid bolting downstairs to see what's appeared under the tree. So thank you for the time, the thought, and the consideration. UGH, y'all rock!

Next chapter, we're pinging back over to Levi's POV. Should be a shorter one, but I've got quite a bit planned.

Much love,

Karsyn