twelve | faces
"Wait," I whisper, "Marco's in this?"
"Oh, yeah," Eren murmurs back. "I forget you guys know each other. Yeah, he plays Ray."
"Oh," I say. "Who's that playing his wife?"
"A sophomore named Hannah," Eren answers. "She's new to the acting scene, in case you couldn't tell."
He's right about Hannah's acting skills, which are mediocre at best, but I don't say so. Marco himself is no Sasha, although I do notice character choices he's made that, at first glance, mask his own mannerisms, such as the heavy way he walks. The Marco I know walks briskly, attentively; this one saunters, indicating age. It's fascinating to watch.
After a few notes from Nanaba, the scene wraps up. Marco catches my eye first thing, walking in his usual way as he heads toward Eren and me.
"Oh god," Eren mutters, "here he comes."
"I thought you were okay with Marco," I said.
"Okay with him as an actor, sure. I just know that whenever he tries to talk to me, suddenly Jean's in my fucking face again. He's more like a fucking omen than a person."
My eyebrows knit together. "That's pretty rude," I chide, and before Eren can respond, Marco is upon us.
"Mikasa," he greets with a bright smile. "God, I feel like I haven't seen you in forever, except- you know. Class."
"Hey, Marco," I return, smiling back. "I've been busy, I guess."
His eyes trail to Eren, who is trying not to look obvious as he scans the black box for a sign of his nemesis. I watch Marco's smile drop, ever so slightly.
"Jean's not here," he assures him. Eren's eyes dart back to Marco as his ears turn pink. Marco continues, "Don't worry about him. We're….taking a break."
Eren raises an eyebrow, unsure how to respond. I fill in for him.
"I'm sorry to hear that," I say. Eren barely stifles a scoff.
"Don't be," Marco dismisses with a flippant chuckle. "He's got some serious issues to work through. After the incident at the coffee shop, I just...couldn't deal." He looks back at Eren. "I don't know about him, but I really am sorry about it all."
"Thanks," says Eren simply.
Marco, wisely, decides to drop the subject. He turns back to me.
"So, I don't know about you," he says, "but I'm in need of another doughnut date sometime soon. You in?"
As I'm about to answer, Eren cuts in.
"She's taken," he says. There's a strange note in his voice when he says it; I can't tell if he's joking or not.
Marco can't, either, but he tries his best to play it off. "What, Mikasa, you have another gay doughnut partner?" he laughs. "I'm open, but I at least wish you'd told me."
In spite of the odd energy Eren is emanating at the moment, the corners of my mouth twitch.
"Of course not," I say back. "We'll have to get together and figure something out."
"And I'm sure Eren's in need of a G.D.P.," Marco offers.
Eren softens a bit, allowing himself a smile. "What," he says, "a God Damn Penis?"
Marco laughs heartily at this; I feel a tiny pang of nausea, but shove it down. I think Eren realizes, because his demeanor changes, and he looks at me with concern. I shake my head quietly, smiling, trying my best to tell him it's fine.
"So you guys are already at Telepathy Status," Marco notes, observing our silent exchange. "That's adorable."
"Hey, Coffee Master," Sasha says, butting in.
Eren looks up at her. "Thank you for acknowledging my rank," he says, an odd lack of inflection in his tone. "Speak, child."
Sasha looks as though she wants to make a witty comeback to his addressing of her, but she decides against it, instead saying, "I'm trying out a new cookie pie recipe today, and I thought it'd be fun for all of us to hang at my place to celebrate being halfway done with production."
Eren squints at her. "Isn't that why you guys have the cast dinner? To celebrate…...after? Isn't a mid-way celebration premature, and like, almost jinxing the whole thing? What if the show turns out to be, y'know. A shit show?"
"He's got a point," Marco agrees.
Sasha rolls her eyes. "You guys are really going to turn down my baking?"
"I never said that," Eren objects, dropping his doubts. Covertly, he links his pinky with mine before addressing me. "What do you say, Miks?"
"If you want to go, then sure," I say.
"I just realized," says Sasha, beaming at me, "you've never had my baking! Oh my god, I'm so excited."
"I guess I am, too," I say.
"Am I invited?" Marco asks. Slowly, Sasha turns her head towards him, blinking pointedly.
"...yes," she says, over-enunciating the word.
"Why would you ask when you could just go uninvited and get free food?" Eren asks incredulously.
"Because some people have manners," Sasha retorts. "Now. Let's get going."
"Oh, you meant, like, now now."
"Yes, now now," Sasha confirms. "Let's go! Food awaits!"
Before we enter the house, Sasha asks me, Eren, and Marco to stay outside for a moment.
"In this weather?" Eren questions. A chill of a breeze sweeps across our faces.
"Just for a moment," Sasha promises. "The living room's a mess. Just give me a second to tidy up a bit."
She closes the door behind her. The three of us suffer in silence for a moment. And then, true to his nature, Eren blurts, "Fuck this. She doesn't know the meaning of 'mess'." And he storms inside, towing me behind him.
"SURPRISE!"
I nearly leap out of my skin. Eren just about does.
Familiar faces have popped out from behind the furniture in the (decidedly clean) den, waving their hands. Almost all of them are drama students.
Then, unfortunately, they all begin to sing:
"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Mikasa…."
They pause for just a tad too long. Sasha enters, grinning with pride, carrying a huge cookie pie studded with a frightening amount of candles.
" …...happy birthday to you!"
As they finish the song, the guests clap, whooping and cheering, and when Sasha places the cookie pie in front of me on the coffee table, they shout for me to blow out the candles. I do.
"What'd you wish for?" Sasha asks excitedly.
"Probably to have some normal-ass friends," Eren drones. "Why weren't Marco and I in on this?"
"Oh, I was so in on it," Marco laughs.
"Okay, so-"
"Eren," Sasha chides. "You can't keep a secret to save your life."
"She's got a point," I tell him. His jaw drops as he raises his eyebrows at me tragically.
"Et tu, Mikasa?" he gasps.
I shrug. "Just being honest."
"Give it up for the birthday girl!" Sasha cheers. Everyone claps again, moving toward me to offer their individual greetings.
As they approach me, I finally process the guests present: Ymir, Historia, Hitch, Connie, Marco, and-
"Annie?" I murmur. From her spot in the corner across the room, she catches my eye and waves meekly. It's always odd, seeing her anywhere but Armin's place, but she seems especially off-kilter now, somehow. I wave back.
One by one, they all say hello with a hug (as in Historia's case), a pat on the shoulder (as Connie does), or some awkward gesture in between those levels of familiarity (as Hitch opts to do). A small, panicked feeling begins to rise into my throat, but Eren's hand slips back into mine and squeezes it, grounding me, reminding me to breathe deeply.
"Hey," he says, loudly enough for everyone to hear, "let's give her some space, guys."
Respectfully, they all drift away, lining up for a slice of the pie. Sasha serves mine first, and then moves on to everyone else. I squeeze Eren's hand back.
Thank you, I mouth. He winks in return.; I can't help but smile.
Ymir takes a seat on the couch next to Eren, her plate in one hand, a beer in the other. "Well," she inquires, "were you surprised?"
"I didn't even realize it was my birthday," I admit. "How did you all know?"
"Annie blabbed," Sasha answers, serving the last slice to Connie. She covers the pie with a plaid cloth after getting herself a plate. I look back to where I last saw Annie; she's somehow managed to slip away without any of us noticing.
"I see," I say.
Eren shakes his head. "Damn. Now I look like an asshole, huh?"
"Not at all," I say.
"Oh you so do," Ymir argues with a simper. She quirks an eyebrow at me. "Make sure he makes it up to you."
"You guys are so mean to Eren," Historia says, cutting in. She has a canned cocktail in her hand, which she sips between sentences. "He's never done anything to you."
"But if we don't make fun of Eren, then we have to turn to Connie to be our punching bag," Ymir reasons. She pats her lap.; Historia sits on it, her girlfriend's arm hooked around her waist.
"Connie's way too sensitive to be the butt of the joke," Sasha adds.
"'Ey," Connie barks, "fuck you guys."
"See?" Sasha gestures towards her best friend, and then says, "Sorry, Conn. Making fun of Eren is just easier on all of us."
"Oh, I have zero issue with clowning on Eren," says Connie.
Eren glares at Connie, and then everyone else. "Okay, so I'm you guys' punching bag because….why again?"
"Dumb," Ymir says.
"Funny-looking."
"Angry."
"Durable!"
"Gay-"
"Okay, jesus, sorry I asked," Eren interrupts.
Ymir nods at me. "Not to rag on your boyfriend, Mikasa. No offense."
"None taken," I say.
Eren frowns at Sasha. "Don't you drama geeks have party games that don't include harassing me and the guest of honor?"
"Okay, okay," Sasha concedes. She then yells, "Who's up for a game of Yee-haw?!"
Just about everyone in the room, save for Eren and I, jumps up, abandoning their drinks and plates, quickly forming a circle.
"Want to play?" Sasha asks me.
"Say no," Eren urges.
"What are the rules?" I ask. I immediately regret this.
Five minutes, a headache, and an extremely confusing demonstrative round later, I change my answer.
"I'm alright," I say. "Maybe next time."
"Okay then, Eren has to play."
He rises dramatically, placing a protective hand on my shoulder.
"To protect my love," he declares, "I will make this sacrifice."
Applause fills the room as he strides forward, giving me another wink before joining the circle.
Sasha raises her arm. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND-"
The line of "yee-haw"s begins, moving rapidly. Eren swings his arm with gusto when his turn comes, swinging it just as fast in the opposite direction when Sasha says, "Hobar!"
It is a very confusing game, and somewhat tiring to watch. I go to the kitchen to see what non-alcoholic options Sasha has to drink.
Annie is there, seated at the tiny dining table in a chair that would be too small for just about anyone else. She looks up at me and curls her lips into a half-hearted smile.
"Hey," she says.
"Hey," I say.
"They've got mineral water in the fridge," she tells me. With a grateful nod, I go get one. Something compels me, afterward, to join her at the table. She seems surprised, but not unhappy, with this decision.
"You told them?" I ask, popping open my bottle.
She shrugs away my intrigue, sipping her own drink. "Only a total bitch would knowingly let you spend your birthday alone," she says.
I frown. "You…..know about Armin?"
At this, icy blues flick to me. She holds my gaze for a long moment, steadfast, even as I consider looking away myself.
"...he wasn't happy about Eren," she finally says after some time. "He ranted about it all the time. And then, after I left him, I saw the two of you together, like, 24/7. Didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what probably happened."
"You know, Annie…" I finally find the courage to return the intensity of her gaze. She falters, unsure how to interpret my newfound energy. I say, "You're actually a really nice person, aren't you?"
Her entire face, in some ways paler than my own, turns a shade of pink that makes her hair look white. She speaks through her fingers when she says, "Don't compliment me when I don't deserve it. I'm not a 'nice' anything. I'm just…...a bitch. One who's trying really, really hard not to be a bitch anymore."
"Well," I say, "you're clearly making progress."
She hums in dissent. "Not enough," she sighs. "At least, not enough yet."
"What do you mean?"
She fixes her stare at the scratched wood of the table, biting her lip, before answering. "Well," she says, "I guess I have to be at least honest with you, if no one else."
I raise an eyebrow. She exhales and flips her bangs away from her face, speaking again.
"I-" she pauses briefly, frowning. "After our talk, I….kind of came to this realization. Because the next morning, you were gone, and Armin was worried, and- I don't know. He looked at me, and he didn't say anything, but I knew, I just knew, he thought I'd done something to make you leave. It was probably his first thought. And instead of getting all pissy about it like I normally would, I just felt…..embarrassed. Like, ashamed. I mean, what kind of girlfriend does that make me? The one person in the whole world who's ever loved me and had something to show for it, and I pay him back by being so fucking impossible and toxic that he's worried I'll ruin a friendship like yours." She takes another sip of her beer. "And it happened again the day you didn't come back to the flat- he didn't say a word, just glanced at me with his huge, sad eyes- and I decided that I just needed to go. Leave. And refuse to come back, until I was someone he'd never look at with those eyes again. Until I was someone who deserved the love he's always given me." She takes another sip, swallows it. "So, step one's probably making it up to you, right?"
"I can't say I have the answer to that," I tell her.
The corners of her mouth turn upwards. "Then cheers, Miss Perfect," she says, raising her bottle. "To knowing nothing. To having no answers."
Without giving it much thought, I let our drinks collide with a clink, joining her in her toast. We both take a drink.
"Well," she says afterwards, "you probably shouldn't spend all of your birthday party talking to me. We both know these guys are notorious attention whores."
"Actually, how do you know everyone here?"
"Same as Eren," she says. "We all got sent to the same stupid group therapy for kids on drugs. Armin forced me to go. It didn't help anything, but I mean, I met Historia. And Eren. So it wasn't a total loss."
"It's so odd, how we all knew each other from the start, and didn't realize it," I remark.
"What's odd is how there's a fucking cult in Sasha's living room, probably summoning a cowboy demon, gathered in your honor, and you aren't participating."
I frown. "They're playing Yee-haw."
"I know what Yee-haw is. I've seen it. I've played it. I'm no less convinced there's Satanism involved. Now go join them."
Annie then does something incredibly strange.
Her brow relaxes; her eyes soften. Her lips stretch into a genuine smile, causing her to look like an entirely different person, as she gestures toward the other guests. I can see a hint of white between her pink lips. I notice, for the first time, that Annie is actually quite pretty.
"Quit staring at my weird-ass smile and go," she urges. Giving her a grin of my own, I wave good-bye, leaving my drink as I head over to brave my very first Theatre Game. There's an excessive amount of cheering and celebrating when I join. I am the first person to lose the new round.
The party tapers off into a sleepover as Annie heads out and Ymir, Hitch, and Connie all drink themselves into a slumber. They are piled on the couch, which Sasha has pulled out into a bed, when a seemingly buzzed Eren asks, "Marco?"
"Polo," Marco answers factually. The faint flush of his cheeks emboldens the array of freckles that define his face.
"What the fuck is up with your boyfriend?"
"Eren," I scold, but Marco shakes his head flippantly, scrunching up his mouth.
"Oh, Jean," he sighs. "Love of my life, bane of my existence."
"You're telling me," Eren mutters.
"He's not all bad. He really isn't." Though I'm sure he shouldn't, Marco pours himself another round of whiskey, grimacing as it goes down. I try not to blanch at the sight.
"Jean?" scoffs Sasha, who lies between Eren and Marco in terms of sobriety, perched on the arm of the pull-out. "I know he means well, but Marco. Honey. Look at the guy."
"I mean, we all have our own levels of dysfunction," Historia argues. "Before I met Ymir, I was so full of pent-up rage, I probably would have fist-fought Eren, too."
"Yeah, exactly," Marco agrees. "I'd say none of us are angels. Our flaws just don't come bleeding out all the time."
"Unless you're me," Eren cuts in. Marco shrugs.
"And look. You and Mikasa are doing good, yeah? You look like it."
Eren pointedly kisses my cheek.
"I'd say so," he agrees with a contented grin.
"Yeah," Marco says. "Like, we all have baggage, but that doesn't mean we're not entitled to happiness. It doesn't mean we can be assholes, hence me and Jean taking a break, but us being assholes doesn't necessarily mean that we don't deserve to be happy."
"Okay, backtrack," says Eren. "Let me rephrase. Why the fuck does your boyfriend hate me?"
Marco exhales, trilling through limp lips. "Normally I'd keep my mouth shut," he says, "but after everything, you deserve to know." We all lean in intently as he continues, "I don't know if you guys remember, but Jean was in the same drug abuse therapy group as Eren and Tori."
"Of course I remember," says Historia.
"No fucking way," says Eren, his mouth agape. "I thought I recognized him when we first met! Holy shit, did I say something to him?"
"No, it totally wasn't you." Marco takes another shot and lets it settle. His speech is gradually growing looser, I realize, his face growing more flushed. "You, like. Shared whatever about your mom because they forced you guys to tell everyone your trauma, right?"
Both Historia and Eren grow stiff, glancing at one another before turning back to Marco.
"What th- he told you?!"
"Not all of it," Marco says. "Just that he never wanted to go back to the group if you were in it."
Sasha frowns. "Okay, am I missing something? Jean hates Eren for having baggage? Like, what? I don't get it."
"His mom's….dying," Marco clarifies. There is a collective pause, the words lingering between the five of us.
Historia and Eren both share another glance. Sasha's eyebrows are raised as she stares at the carpet, hands folded. Marco fixes his gaze on the bottle of whiskey, considering another shot.
"...fuck," Eren eventually whispers, his throat tight around his words.
"How long has she been…..?" Historia trails off.
"Two years," Marco answers. "Ovarian cancer. Stage three. It was stage two when they caught it."
"Jesus," Sasha exhales through her teeth. She wipes her palms on her jeans.
Marco closes his eyes, turning away from the bottle. "His anger is totally misplaced," he says, "but that's why. And once you get past that, once you can cut through the stress and anger and bullcrap, you can get through to him, Jean, and you see all of the warmth and generosity he has to offer, and you realize that if his life hadn't turned out the way it did, he'd be a really decent guy."
"But that's part of it," Historia objects. "Not to put down Jean, but there's a point where you have to cut through all of your own bullshit and save everyone else the pain of doing it, because your baggage is your own. No one else can carry it for you."
"I think I more or less realized that," says Marco. "I want to believe so badly that he can do that, if he just stops hiding in our relationship. I guess we'll see if I'm right."
After a brief pause, there's a sniffle. We all turn toward it.
Eren's lips are curled in on themselves as he holds back whimpers, tears coating his cheeks. His shaking has worsened. Without a thought, I wrap my arms around his shoulders, applying pressure to his chest as I cradle him.
"Oh, my god," he gasps. "Fuck. Fuck. Here I am again, fucking crying. God, I'm-"
Sasha and Historia rise, leaving to get tissues and water. I see Marco make an effort, but he quickly falls back into the recliner. The whiskey is starting to kick in, it seems, tacking onto the effects of the alcohol he's already drunk tonight.
Eren's skin is hot. When Sasha returns, she strokes his hair soothingly, and then stops to feel his forehead. She looks at me with concern.
"He's really warm," she says. "Historia-"
"On it." Historia disappears, and then returns swiftly with a plastic thermometer.
When they slide it between his lips, asking him to hold it beneath his tongue, Sasha asks, "Eren, when's the last time you….." A quick glance at me, and then a wordless decision as she finishes, "...used?"
"He says he's been clean for a month," I tell her. Her tension lessons, but doesn't dissipate. "Aside from the alcohol tonight," I add. "That could be it."
Historia gapes at me, her already large eyes widening. "He didn't drink tonight," she says breathlessly. "He asked me to watch him. Not a drop."
I feel the color drain from my face. "Is- can you get sick from withdrawal?"
"Very," Historia answers, nodding gravely. She shakes her head. "Damn it. He probably thought he could go cold-turkey."
I pull away from him, removing my arms. Historia notices, and takes my hand, holding my gaze intensely. Something about the way she does it makes me understand with sudden, utter clarity why she and Eren are friends.
"This. Is not. You."
Her eyes burn into mine. I am at a loss for words. The thermometer beeps. Sasha removes it.
"100.2," she reports. She turns to Historia. "You know more about this than me. Do we keep him here?"
"I'm not an expert," Historia admits, "but that'd probably be best. At least until the morning, after he gets some rest. He shouldn't be outside right now."
"I'm fucking fine," Eren whispers, catching his breath. "Me and Mikasa can go back to the dorms."
"Yeah, over my dead body," snaps Historia, still holding my hand. I never imagined a face so beautifully docile could ever become so severe. "You know better than this, Eren. In what world do you just stop everything? No Perc, no Adderall, no lean, nothing? Do you understand how you've probably fucked up your brain chemistry?"
"I can't use again," he respires desperately. His face twists, seizing the insides of my chest with a sharp pain, as his breaths accelerate. "I don't give a fuck if I get a fever, Historia, don't make me go back. I've come so far."
"No one's making you go back," Historia assures him. Her voice has smoothed over as she's forced it back to its usual tone. "That'd be stupid. Just…...rest, okay?"
"We can help you over to Connie's bed," Sasha says. Eren's eyes land on me.
"Stay with me," he pleads, sniffling. Trembling fingers slide over the back of my hand. There's no shine in his irises right now. They are hushed, drowned in tears behind puffy lids, and yet I know I am still seeing Eren. He's just different. No agency, just helplessness. I am looking into the destitute eyes of a child.
I release Historia's hand and take hold of his, nodding wordlessly.
He closes his worn eyes, relief beginning to soothe him. Sasha lifts his head upright from the backrest of the couch, and she and Historia work together to help him swallow a couple of mild painkillers to reduce his fever. They help him up and guide him down the hall, to what I assume is Connie's bedroom. I glance back at the guests in the den, including a now-unconscious Marco on the recliner, before following.
Moonlight washes over Connie's dark blue comforter, across the shape of Eren's body. I have been trying to fall asleep for the past two hours, to no avail. Eren's skin has cooled considerably under my fingers. His hair is damp with sweat.
At some point, silently, his eyes drift open, crystal clear where the window lights his irises. He swallows dryly and whispers, "Sorry I ruined your birthday."
"You didn't," I tell him. "I had a great time."
"I ruin everything."
"Don't."
"I'm a hurricane."
I slide a hand down his shoulder, rubbing it soothingly.
"You know what?"
"...what?"
A smile softens my face. "Hurricanes bring-"
"- destruction?"
"- rain," I say. "And rain brings life, Eren."
"You can have the rain without the storm."
"That's not true," I argue. "There's always a storm. Hot and cold air fight one another, making wind, pushing clouds that collect water, and you get it. Rain. Just because we can't see the storm doesn't mean it's not there."
"That's a weird way of looking at it."
"It's the fundamental way of looking at it. And anyway, the storm is the best part," I say.
He scoffs incredulously. "Now you're just talking nonsense," he says. "People die from that shit, Mikasa. Cities are fucking destroyed."
"Yes," I agree, "but when you look at a storm's basic nature, what is it?"
"Fucking terrifying."
"It's being alive. It's feeling the pain that ruins you."
As the ensuing silence grows between us, I watch his torso expand...deflate…. expand… deflate….
"Sometimes," I say, "I feel like I'd give anything to be destroyed like that."
Expand…..deflate…...expand…...deflate…..
He says, "I don't get it."
Ebb….flow….ebb….flow…..
"Sometimes it feels like I was born in that room in my cousin's house," I say. "So small. One window, just high enough that I couldn't reach it. Hours and hours spent, listening to terrible men talk about girls like me, my cousin staying quiet because they brought in the money. I couldn't breathe too loudly, or they'd hear me, find me, and sell me. At least, that's what Levi said."
Ebb….flow….ebb…..flow….
"Fucking christ," he says.
Wax…...wane…...wax…..wane…..
"What I would have given," I say, and the words hardly feel like mine, "for some storm to come along and destroy it all. For the walls to burst open, and for the rain and wind to just blow me away."
Wax….wane….wax…..wane….
"I got Armin instead. First in my head, keeping me sane. And then, after they all disappeared, leaving me alone in that house, that room, he finally found me. And took me away."
"I'm sorry about-"
"Don't be. He left me. He had to."
"Because of me."
"Because he'd given too much. All you did was help him realize that."
Rising and falling; rising and falling; rising and falling.
"What about your birthday?"
"What about it?"
"Wasn't he the one that helped you celebrate? Until, y'know. Now?"
"Yes." Pangs of guilt and loss awaken me from my stupor. Images of Armin and his grandfather, cake, candles, flowers, and gifts, cross my mind. They are sour. I sink into the comforter.
"Tell you what," Eren says, turning over so that he lies on his back. He threads his fingers through my bangs, pushing them away from my forehead. "You can have my birthday." When I smile incredulously at this, he says, raising his eyebrows pointedly, "I'm serious, Mikasa. March 30th. All about you. No dumb parties or drunk theatre kids; it's going to be all about you. Okay?"
I shake my head, still smiling. "Okay," I say, for lack of a reasonable alternative. "March the 30th."
As I finally, finally drift into the comfortable waves of sleep, the sensation ebbing, flowing, I see behind my eyelids an expensive bundt cake, aglow with candles, and a family of two behind it. The cake is dark chocolate-flavored. I sleep in a real bed.
AN: Thank you again to Kar (spoiler-arlert) and Nati (dialectus) for betaing this chapter! Check out the NOY re-upload and HTCE if you still haven't, and don't forget to comment! Thank you guys. :)