He always knew he was different.

From his earliest memory, he knew, deep inside, there was something inside of him that was fundamentally different from everyone he knew or ever came in contact with.

It's the way he'd look at his father and feel regret, perhaps even guilt even when there was nothing to be guilty about. In other times, there would be anger, a lashing out he never meant to aim at him.

It's the way he'd see his half-brother and a wave of complicated emotions crash into him like a tide that rushed in with no warning, the way a strange feeling bubbled in his stomach when they had their disagreements.

It's the way that he'd feel an ache in his heart when he looked at his mother, abrupt tears watering his eyes in inopportune moments that always made his mother worry. He loves her dearly, so why the tears of anguish?

His family knew it too, noticed it in the poor boy who, despite all his troubles, seemed wise beyond his years in some ways. Being a medical professional, his father was the one that suggested he try therapy. It helped a little bit, even though the entire time he was with his therapist for his appointment, he wasn't sure what he wanted to say, what words to explain the cacophony of mixed and sordid emotions that would well up inside of such a young boy.

Then, one night, it all came back to him.

All in one dream.

Horrifying and painful. At times happy, then it all came crashing down.

It came in a dream, but it was all but a figment of his imagination. He had truly lived through it. Once. A long, long time ago. The time in which he wished so deeply to be free, the time he yearned for a chance to live life the way he desired. But he knew he couldn't do so.

For them.

For Paradis.

For Eldia.

For her.

Mikasa.

He awoke with sweat dripping down his forehead, his breath releasing in jagged pants after a scream ripped through the room. A scream his family heard.

His mother rushed in first, followed closely by his father. Then Zeke shortly after. All with worry etched in their brow. And the moment he saw their faces, he wept. He wept all the tears he couldn't weep then. Because, at that moment he realized that they were there. They were there with him. The universe had given them another chance, another life to be a family. A new life in which they were free.

He fell asleep again in his mother's arms that night, tucked in by his father, a pat on the head by his brother.

He was ten then.

The world has changed vastly since.

Armin, his dear friend, had done as he predicted he would. He became the hero, and despite the battle of titans finally coming to an end, the world was far from peace. And so the rest of his life, he fought for it. He and the rest of their group of friends. But in every history book, none mentioned her name. None acknowledged her deeds. Not even a whisper of her existence was printed in history.

He thought it was fitting for her. She never wanted to be martyred, probably didn't want to be paraded around as a hero either. But even knowing that, his heart sank. He wanted to know so badly what happened in her life after his passing. He wanted to know how she was during the reformation of the world. He wanted to know how she lived her life. He wanted to know her after the mess he made.

And, perhaps, if she found another to love. His heart sinks at the thought. Of course, it'd be preposterous to assume she would only love and think of him all her life. She had years ahead of her, and anyone would be lucky to be with her. Yet, selfishly, deep down, he hated the thought. If things were different, he'd have told her how he felt. He'd have kissed her tears away, apologized for all he'd done. He'd have spent the rest of his life with her hidden away in the mountains where it was only them and them alone. But he couldn't. As much as he wanted it, yearned for it, he knew he couldn't have it, and they'd both regret the chaos that would ensue because of their selfishness.

But, now, in this new life, in this new world where, while peace hasn't been wholly achieved, large strides had been made. He thought, maybe, just maybe, this could be their chance. This could be his chance to tell her, to hold her, to kiss her. But that's only if she's there.

He sighs as he stares up at the clouds, the sun peeking through the dark clouds, signalling the end of the drops of rain.

If only.

Even though he's here, who's to say she would be too? Even though his family is by his side, and they are given the chance to act as one without the fear of doom lurking behind them, would the universe be so kind to him to bring her back too? Would the universe permit him the selfishness despite all his sins, despite all he's done? He can only hope so.

He's lived twenty years now, a year older than when he died in his past life, and there was no sign of her. Still, he hopes. Because given this chance, he'd like to be selfish. He'd like to take any opportunity he didn't have then.

Feeling eyes on his back, he slowly turns around, looking for the piercing stare aimed at him. His instincts tell him to look at a window on the third floor. No clue as to why, but he does. It's closed, but he can see the pastel curtains.

But he sees no one behind them.

Eren didn't know why his mother suddenly suggested a family trip to Hizuru in the middle of his college semester. Perhaps it was because she missed him and his father, who was swamped with hospital work recently. Zeke had rarely been home because of work too, so perhaps she took it upon herself to get the family together for a rare trip outside Paradis.

They live in Trost now, not Shiganshina. But despite that change, his family are as he thought they would be. His mother still nagged, but in this life, he didn't complain too much about it. His father didn't have to keep secrets now. His brother didn't have to endure the abuse as he did then. They're a family, through and through. He's thankful for that.

But one thing he didn't understand was why they gave him the same name. Perhaps they thought it would be funny to have two children named after the 'villains' of the past. Coincidental and something of a conversation starter too. Imagine the reaction of teachers once they realize a young boy named Eren Yeager was a student in their class, named after the most polarizing figure in history. There were still those who supported him, Yeagerists still part of government circles and citizens in society. Debates on local and the world stage about their existence still occurred, but Eren did his best to avoid them. He knew it would end up as it did anyway.

"You're oddly quiet today, Eren," Zeke remarks.

He returns his gaze from across the table. "Hm?"

"Your brother's right," Carla says, concern lining her brow. "Your plate's still pretty full, too. Is something wrong?"

Feeling all eyes on him, he shakes his head. "No, it's fine. I was just thinking about something…"

"Something?" Grisha nods. "Or is it, maybe, a someone ?"

Zeke laughs. "Oh, really?"

A blush colors his cheeks as he looks away from their now, prying eyes. "No."

"You're not hiding a girlfriend from us, are you, Eren?" Carla leans forward in suspicion.

"No, there's no one."

"Well, damn. Twenty and no girlfriend yet."

"Shut up, Zeke."

Zeke shrugs. "I'm just saying, with how popular you were at high school, one would think-"

"Maybe your brother is just waiting for the right girl."

"Is she right, Eren?"

She is.

But he doesn't know if he'll ever meet her again.

He slouches, his fingers reaching for the red scarf around his neck, relishing in its warmth. "So what if she's right?" He mutters to himself as they all resume eating.

It's colder than it was this morning, Eren thinks as he walks down the street. His parents wanted to head to the hotel for a bit before they all go to the museum later in the afternoon. Zeke had opted to go buy souvenirs for his coworkers in the meantime and that meant Eren is by his lonesome, exploring the city by himself. He didn't mind. He wanted some time to think.

Is it okay for him to be so hung up on the past? On someone he didn't know for sure was there? What if she was never meant to be part of this life, his new life? What if the universe wants him to forget her?

He shakes his head to himself. Even if the universe did intend that, he can't help himself. He wants it, wants her to be there with him, wants to live this life the way he couldn't before. And if that is too selfish, he doesn't care. If he has to wait, then so be it. Yet, the fear of her not being part of his life trickles into his mind every time he does think of her. Is it terrible of him to desire this so desperately?

He looks down at the scarf on his neck. It's not the same one. It's one he's had since the day after he remembered it all. His father came home from work, and, to his shock, returned with the scarf, red and so similar to the one he gifted her then. Was it a sign? Whatever it is, it sparked hope within him. And so years passed, and he's had the scarf with him at all times. When he wasn't wearing it, it was in his backpack to school, used as a belt replacement of some sort, however he could take it with him, he did. People found it unusual, his family included, but it was important to him. It is important to him. It's the one tangible thing that gave him hope that someday, they'd meet again, and when they do, he'd have it with him. He must.

He notices the knot has gone loose, the fabric now just hanging by his neck, and he stops by a sign as cars whoosh past him. He lifts his hands to fix it, but at that moment, a gust of wind appears, cold and strong, whipping it off of him. The cars had stopped, the sign facing him now green, but he couldn't focus on that, for his scarf flies through the air. His hands stretch out as it lands on someone's face, shielding their eyes from the road ahead of her.

His heart stops. He can't see her face yet, but he sees her hair. Short and black. Could it be? Or is this just a coincidence? Her fingers reach for the scarf, and as the scarf is removed from her face, he's met with familiar gray eyes.

And he couldn't help but say her name.

"Mikasa."

Is this it? Is it really her?

By the look on her face, one would think she heard him. She couldn't have, but her eyes widen at the sight of him. Does she remember too?

His feet move toward her, crossing the street in a pace that appears as if he's in haste. She doesn't move. She stands still, scarf in hand, watching as he walks up to her and stops a few steps before her on the sidewalk.

The moment he's been longing for and yet, he hasn't the words to speak. What should he say? What can he say?

There's a flicker in her eyes, as if she recognizes him, but does she really? Does she know ?

"This," she starts, sounding a little breathless, extending an arm out, the scarf in her hand. "Is yours, then?"

His eyes don't leave hers, searching for something she can't quite place. Could it be? Does he know her? Has he been having the same peculiar dreams?

It's silence between them for a beat, until the sound engines roaring fills the space, telling them the stoplight has turned green.

"Yes," he responds.

There's an air about him, as if gravity is pulling her towards him, a magnetic force of some kind that's inviting her to take a step closer.

"Sorry about…" he motions to her face.

She blinks, then realizes what he means. "Ah, it's not an issue. Not like you did it on purpose…"

"Still." He reaches for it, a finger grazing her skin, but he stops, noticing her clothes and her slight shiver. She's cold.

She looks at his hand, resting atop the fabric in her open palm. She should say something, yet she doesn't. Instead, she observes him, watching as his brow furrows as if he's pondering something. She lowers her head, matching his gaze, and his brows rise as her face enters his vision.

"Something wrong?"

She tilts her head in question, but he doesn't utter another word as he takes the scarf. For a moment, she feels disappointed. Perhaps she was overthinking this encounter, her errant thoughts messing with the normally collected space in her mind. She looks away, mouth in a line as she collects herself, not noticing his focus on her, a focus he shifts back to the scarf.

There's a warmth that envelopes her and she looks up, seeing that the stranger has moved closer, the scarf now around her neck. Her breath hitches at the suddenness of it, but it isn't just that. It's just like how she dreamt it. Seeing her stiffen, he takes a step back, embarrassment evident in the flush in his skin, the tint on the tip of his ear.

"Sorry, I," he stammers before shifting his gaze to the side, a hand behind his neck. "I thought you just seemed cold."

Not knowing how to reply, she looks down, lips pressing against each other as she stifles an oncoming smile at his flustered state. "Thanks, but…" she looks up at him. "Why give it to a stranger?"

He tries to mask the dejection from appearing on his face but she sees the way his shoulders slump as if he was expecting her to say something else. An indescribable hope sparks within her. Perhaps…

"You need it more than I do right now."

But was that really true? He looks at her and sees questions in her eyes, sees curiosity in her features. What could that possibly entail? Does she know? Does she have an inkling? Her not weirded out by his behavior, his familiarity tells him she might. But to what extent? Should he tread lightly?

"Thank you."

Should he introduce himself? Would that flicker of inquiry appear, glinting in the corner of her eye appear again if he did? Or would she be taken aback by a name like his, the name of a man who the world is told wanted to trample the world beneath him?

Instinctively, he is close to blurting it all out—the surprise, the delight, the apprehension, all clouding every sense he has—but he stops himself. It would be strange to say that. But she isn't just a stranger. It's her. Should he risk it?

The choice doesn't get to be made, though.

"What's this?" A new voice enters their space, one very familiar, one he doesn't feel welcoming to at the moment. He turns to see his brother, bags of souvenirs in one hand, his other hand in his pocket.

"Zeke." His name leaves Eren's lips in a groan, exasperated at the moment he's broken. Is it a moment, though? Can he call it that? Or was it on the precipice to becoming one until his entrance?

"What are you doing? Dad just texted to meet up at the museum." Zeke watches him then moves his attention to the woman behind him, then back to Eren, a knowing brow raised. "Am I interrupting something?"

Yes.

Mikasa watches his retreating back, a hand pushing the man, Zeke, forward, doing what he can to prevent him from turning his head. And disappointment invades her. Was that all it was? Was that all she'll see of him? She can't help but think there's something more. Her dreams, her reaction to him, and…

The scarf.

She wants answers, and somehow, she knows he can answer them.

But that isn't all.

It's him. The pull she feels towards him. The way her heart reacted to just the sight of him. There has to be something he knows. And in the way his eyes followed her, the quiet words communicated through them. What is it he wanted to convey? And why does she want to know so badly?

The dreams, yes.

The curiosity enveloping her, yes.

But mostly…

She curls her fingers into the red fabric and inhales.

Him.

"Well, don't you look flustered."

Zeke's amusement is evident in his voice, his words laced with teasing intent. It only annoys his younger brother more.

"Shut up, Zeke."

"So, who is she?"

"No—" He stops himself before he could finish. No, she isn't no one. He can't bring himself to say that. "None of your business."

There. That's better.

"Funny because it looked like she had your sweaty old scarf."

"She was cold."

"Huh."

"What?"

"We're not home. You give a stranger your beloved scarf. You're never getting that back."

"Just spit out what you wanna say." Eren sighs.

The man shakes his head, letting his feet come to a halt. "I'm saying I'll tell dad and Carla you're out doing—" he pauses, head cocking to the direction from whence they came. "—Whatever it is you were already planning to do."

"Oddly generous of you," Eren mutters under his breath, only to let a big laugh escape his brother.

"You don't have to act all indifferent. I may not know what you're up to, but I can tell it means a lot to you." He glances at his brother, his glasses glinting from the rays of the sun. "Though, I can't help but wonder why."

She doesn't know what compels her to stay. The light has turned green once again, and people walk past her to get across the street and yet, there she is, still by the sign. The scarf still under her nose, his scent still overwhelming her thoughts and her senses.

His voice.

His face.

It's him.

It's him, and she isn't sure what to make of it.

Should she have asked him to stay a few more minutes? Indulge her seemingly ceaseless thoughts and questions with answers he may bear? Does he bear any answers, though? Was she merely hoping that the flickers of familiarity and life that sparked in his eyes when they met with hers meant something?

She shakes her head. Enough of this. He's a stranger, a kind one that noticed the chill she felt. But it felt too surreal. Him, the red scarf with a scent so comforting and nostalgic, the vibrant green eyes that held so much and yet looked more at peace.

"Waiting for someone?"

Mikasa looks up and sees the curious eyes of the woman, the tour guide from earlier. There's a smile gracing her lips, polite but knowing. She's hit with the same odd sensation she felt earlier in the museum, as if she was aware of something Mikasa wasn't, and she didn't know whether it felt more off putting than not.

But more importantly, how would she answer that question? "No," she opts to say.

She looks unconvinced, head cocking to the side. "Oh."

"Oh?"

"Sorry," she says, her expression turning sheepish. "I just assumed maybe you were waiting because you haven't moved from this spot since I walked into that store over there." The woman points to a clothing store just a few feet away. "I'm pretty observant."

She's rather chatty for someone who'd just met her a few hours ago when she was on the job.

"Speaking of observant, nice scarf. Just bought it?"

"N—" She stops herself. Technically it isn't a lie to say no, but instinctively her hand tightened around the red fabric. "No. It's not mine."

"It isn't?"

"Someone… gave it to me."

That reply somehow makes the woman's smile widen, her eyes glistening with happiness, as if overcome with relief. "Really?"

Why did it matter to her anyway? Biting the bullet, Mikasa decides to ask. "You seem pretty interested in it. Why?"

Her smile falters only for a beat, but it doesn't fade. "Would it be weird to say it brings back memories? You remind me of someone I knew." She laughs to lighten the atmosphere. "Red scarf and all."

"I see." Mikasa didn't buy it. Her words felt true, but she's hiding something, and she can't shake the feeling away.

"You can say she taught me a very valuable lesson way back then." Her eyes drift away, far off into a distant memory that so obviously held her dear. Her smile ebbs into a faint one, and regret trickles into her brown eyes. "She woke me up, you can say…"

"Woke you up from what?"

She exhales through her nose, a sigh filled with remorse. "Something terrible."

Her story really shouldn't interest her in the slightest. Normally, she'd shy away from small talk from strangers, but there was something about this woman, something that captured her interest in a way not too different from the man that had leant her his scarf.

"But enough from this crazy woman, you might be thinking." The woman laughs again. "Whoever you're waiting for, I hope he's worth it. You've been out here for a bit."

"I said I wasn't waiting for anyone."

Her smile tells her she doesn't believe a word she's saying. "Tell Eren I said hi."

Mikasa's gray eyes widen in disbelief. "Eren?" How could she have possibly known a part of her wanted him to turn back, wanted to stay and wait until he did? Is the woman a psychic?

Eren.

The name felt so heavy in her heart, struck something in the recesses of her mind into awakening so many complex emotions, painful and beautiful, heart wrenching and peaceful.

She winks before lifting a finger and pointing to something behind her. But Mikasa doesn't have to turn around to look. She knows. She's always known, deep down, buried in the abyss of her memories.

"Why are you crying?"

A dear friend.

"Throw the scarf out once I'm dead."

A selfless soul.

"Be free."

A burdened hero.

"I've always hated you."

A sacrificial villain.

"I'll wrap that scarf around you…"

A traumatized boy.

"As many times as you want."

A pained young man.

"Now and forever, as much as you want!"

The man she loves.

Eren can't believe what he's seeing. Mikasa's still there, but the sign where he last saw her. She stayed. But instead of the relief and joy he does feel, his feet come to a halt at seeing who's in front of her.

She's older than he is now, not the child he'd seen suffer. She's not in tattered clothes but in a well pressed pantsuit. Her eyes aren't shielded from view or haunted by what the world had done to her but bright and optimistic. Her hair isn't as long, and her demeanor is completely different. But even with all the changes, he knows it's her.

Ymir Fritz.

She winks at Mikasa before pointing his direction, saying something he can't quite hear. Mikasa doesn't turn, though. She stays still, her shoulders stiffening for a moment before relaxing.

No one makes a move. To Eren, the moment is too surreal, something he never imagined would happen. It's shocking to see Mikasa in this life, but to see Ymir, the tortured soul, the wounded child, alive and living a life not held back by the sins she bore and the past that weighed her down, is bizarre and something he never prepared for.

Ymir begins to walk his way, leaving Mikasa standing on the same spot. Eren doesn't move, doesn't walk toward her nor walk away. He simply waits. But Ymir doesn't stop, she continues walking, not meeting his eyes. And when she passes him, she hears her voice. "Be free."

And just like that, she's gone, walks away without a second glance.

Be free.

She didn't need to tell him that.

He's already decided that.

A smile passes his lips, the moment brief but still impactful. Freedom. This life is his freedom, and he's going to grab it with both hands and never let go.

His feet lead him to her, stopping behind her, tapping her shoulder, and when she turns, his breath is stolen. A lone tear glides down her pale cheeks, her eyes heavy with emotions, her lips quivering. And her one hand gripping on his scarf. Yet even with her tears, she's still beautiful.

"Why are you crying?" He asks, his voice soft, barely above a whisper as he caresses her cheek, wiping the tear away with the back of his hand. He didn't really have to ask, he has a good guess as to why, but the words are so familiar, so fitting.

She doesn't say a word. Instead, she lifts her free hand to his hand on her cheek, lacing her fingers with his and holds it tight. His heart soars, his chest tightens, and his throat closes as he tries to suppress his own emotions. He's missed her so much.

"Eren." His name on her lips is music to his ears, a soft melody that drifts into his subconscious and eventually floods all of his senses.

"Mikasa." He can't help the grin on his face. "I told you, didn't I? I'd wrap that scarf around you as much as you want."

She lets out a brief laugh. "You did."

Their foreheads touch.

He promised.

He promises.

Now and forever.