My first *complete* multi-chaptered fic ever. This has been cross-posted from AO3 so I will be adding chapters shortly to catch up. I'm done writing the whole thing - about 10 chapters - so I will be updating very frequently even after. The story revolves almost completely around Jean and Mikasa and their relationship with very little external plot or excitement outside of it.

I hardly see any JeanKasa around here, so I hope this proves to be an interesting read - just wanted to contribute my bit to the fandom! Also, this is a slow burn, and was written for the JeanKasa Week 2021 prompt of Angst and Comfort. Please enjoy!

Life was never just easy. Four long years since Mikasa's only family member had died, leaving destruction for everyone to remember him by for all of eternity. It underlined her belief that the world was cruel. He did not die so much as her hands were coated in his blood. The harshest of soaps could not erase the stains from her guilty hands, nor give her even an ounce of relief from her daily heartache, regret and yearning. More than once, the suffering overwhelmed her, coaxed her to join him. She wondered whether they would even go to the same place. Their sins were great but the world branded his as graver, and Paradis had a target ready for her, the only home she had ever known.

On noticing the specks of dust that had accumulated over the week, she unwinds her beloved scarf, frayed on the edges, to wipe the grave she had engraved herself, the very last act she had put any heart into. These days, she just lives. She is optimistic that her worst days are behind her, occasionally smiling at the birds flying freely in the sky, out of reach, as she spreads out a sheet to sit next to the grave, snacking on a homemade sandwich.

The journey here was tough though.

On a day she was feeling particularly adventurous, her desire to see the sea stronger than it had ever been personally in her youth, the deceptively calm waters had engulfed her. She had thought the peace and quiet in the blue that clouded her vision was salvation. It would have been a fitting, ironic end, and the only time she had truly felt the fire burning in her to be one with the sea. Maybe it was the intense pain in the lungs or her innate Ackerman desire to survive, but her head bobbed up almost instinctively. She bawled then, gasping for breath, producing salty tears of her own, realising that maybe there was more to her life, a life she needed to give a chance to.

She traces the engraving she had lovingly carved out, wondering whether he would have liked what she wrote for him. She reluctantly takes out a dozen unopened letters from her bag, smiling wryly at the backlog she had once again created. The world was moving on and required her attention once again. Grieving in silence would become a luxury soon. She was being asked to move on with the world, no matter how many more years of preparation she believed she would need.

Her chest lightens as she reads the beautifully penned down "Armin Arlert". His letters were always a delight to her. He would describe the sights he would see with such passion that she could practically hear him narrating the words to her in his childlike trance. He asks her how she is and while she is glad that someone cares, she responds only a quarter of the number of times that he writes to her. It would be ungrateful of her not to acknowledge that there was no dearth of the people who cared for her. All her former allies and friends would write to her quite regularly – Connie, Annie, Jean and a couple of times, even the likes of Captain Levi and Reiner. Their tones varied but all of them showed concern and encouraged her to join them.

How could she leave though, when she knew no home but this? All of her grief and joy stemmed from the tree she was sat at, memories drifting through the winds of the newly built Shiganshina that she dared not visit more than necessary.

She feels like a shell of the woman she was before. More realistically, she feels she never knew who she was apart from him anyway. Who was Mikasa Ackerman? Did it matter?

With the Yeagerist faction rising in power, Queen Historia was left to maintain a balance of power and ensure peace within the land, and military preparedness, should the island face any external retaliation. It had come to light within the close circle of her former scout members that she was in fact aware of Eren's plans the entire time. This threatened to leave their relationship in a discord, mended only by Armin for strategic reasons. The Queen, partly out of concern and partly out of strategy has been supportive of the alliance's efforts, helping their families remain secure while on the island, Mikasa included. So much so, that Mikasa spent most of her days either at the orphanage run by the Queen or at her own wooden cabin, near enough from the grave for her to be able to make as many trips to it as she desired.

It was a curious arrangement, considering she slayed the man the dominant political faction, including the Queen, supported. Mikasa never questioned it too deeply, out of fear for her own safety. She graciously accepted the Queen's offer for shelter and volunteered herself to work at the orphanage. They would not speak much. The Queen seemed a changed person from how she had known her, her eyes determined but hollow, looking through Mikasa. Mikasa had an inkling the Queen despised her and that she was only being extended courtesy because of her former connection to Eren. She dared not question her about what their relationship was or venture too deep into why Eren had decided to confide in the Queen rather than her, who was supposedly family. It stung even more to think that he did not even trust her enough to speak to her. She would have done anything for him, as had the Queen apparently.

So they stayed out of each other's ways for the most part. Sometimes, Historia would give her one of her rehearsed, stately smiles. On particularly good days, she may approach the former scout, asking her if the kids were giving her too much of a hard time or if the physical work was getting too laborious. Mikasa would always nod in the negative. She had chosen to tend to the farm and maintaining the infrastructure of the orphanage rather than actually interacting with the kids. While she liked kids, she related too strongly to their loneliness to want to be around them for too long. Even more occasionally, Historia would unwind in front of her Mikasa, complaining about a mundane piece of household news or some gossip she had heard and couldn't believe.

Mikasa tries to stay away from politics. She tries to stay away from people. Thrice a year since the third, the alliance, her friends, had started visiting her. For a month, she would feel lighter, like her old self was still hidden somewhere inside of her, screaming to be let out. She would feel out of place sometimes, as they would settle in her cabin all together, munching excitedly on foods that they have gathered from a world she had never laid eyes on. Her experiences were a fraction of theirs, the island having been the only place she has lived. They had created a rapport amongst themselves, and sometimes, she would feel like a dark thundercloud peering into a clear blue sky.

Armin would nudge Mikasa slightly, indicating to her that he was worried about her being so out of the loop. He would sense her disengagement and understand that she was yet to find her footing. She was grateful that even without her saying anything, he understood it all. But she would feel guilty for pulling him back into a sorrow that he might have successfully escaped from. When she looks at Annie, and the way Armin gazes at her, she is reminded of her stillness, of her inability and perhaps, effort to move forward, even though that is what Eren would have wanted of her.

When others whom she would expect less support from, like Jean in particular, would whisper to her, asking her if she was fine and needed some fresh air, she would be startled and knocked back to reality. She did not want to be a slave to Eren's memories. She needed to escape. It was just easier not to sometimes. Everything but grieving was foreign territory. It would be uncomfortable. She wanted to remember him, no matter what he had done. So she would nod at Jean and reassure him falsely that she was fine.

She feels Jean's eyes linger on her for an unduly long time. She looks at him questioningly, knowing he probably saw through her façade, that her smile was forced and reflexive, trying to pretend that she was not affected when Reiner brought up an anecdote about Eren. He mouths to her, asking her what's wrong. She mouths back to him without thinking, I'm just tired.

It was not a lie.

She is.

All the time.

Sometimes, even more so than when she was fighting titans or engaging in some gruelling training. This fatigue was ever present and choked her. But she lived with it because she had vowed that her shallow breathing was better than not having any at all.

When Jean tries to confront her again, his fingers reaching for her arm, she abruptly stands and asks her friends whether they would like some tea. It is a sight to watch Armin, Annie, Connie, Jean, Pieck and Reiner all fighting on the same side for world peace.

When Mikasa hurriedly rushes to make tea, averting her eyes from Jean, who somehow always catches her when she is down, Armin follows her. He chats with her casually, his general serious demeanour melting in his dear friend's presence. He gushes about water that falls from a cliff. Mikasa can barely imagine such a thing, but nods enthusiastically anyway, a rare, small smile gracing her lips, brightening at her childhood friend's retelling.

When the rambling stops for a long pause, Mikasa turns around to find her blonde friend seriously examining one of the letters from the stack she had carelessly placed on the kitchen counter.

"Are you taking up Hizuru's offer?" He asks very solemnly, his darting eyes not leaving the beautifully handwritten letter.

"I.. don't know." She answers honestly, her eyes cast downwards, her conflict-ridden face partially concealed by her grown-out bangs.

"The work could keep you sufficiently busy. You could practically become to Hizuru what Historia is to Paradis."

"Are you suggesting I take up the position?"

"No," He places his hands on her shoulders, looking straight at her. "If you are happy as you are now, then no. I just want you to be happy with whatever you are doing, wherever you are. You know you could always come with me. We would all love to have you."

She gives a small smile again, "I will be, but I can't leave from here."

When the alliance's fourth visit to the island is almost at a close, Mikasa starts to fret about the emptiness they will be re-igniting in her. She takes for granted how full her life feels with their company. It's when she is reminded about a crucial trait of hers that she does not pay attention to – she hates being alone. She wants to be loved, to be needed, to be surrounded by family. Her friends, no matter how different from her, made her feel this. They understood her pain owing to their shared experiences. Their laughter would encourage her to come out of herself and laugh with them. They would revel in their off-times and curse the state of the politics all the same. She would get used to their presence and would wish it could last forever. She would brush that thought away just as easily, knowing each of them had their own roles to play and lives to craft. What hers was, was still unknown to her.

As she wipes the tables of their shared cottage on their last day, she hears a knock. She is surprised, expecting everyone to be busy with the Queen, discussing their next courses of action. She opens the door to find Jean, now towering over everyone else, a groomed sparse beard sculpting his defined jawline, dressed in a formal suit and a fedora that seemed to have become his signature.

"Mikasa." He takes off his hat, hoping she would invite him into her cottage again.

Mikasa steps aside, surprised. "Jean? What are you doing here? Are all of you done early?"

He steps inside and Mikasa closes the door behind them. He is a nervous wreck, his generally proud demeanour reduced to uncharacteristic anxiousness, his fingers shaking on the topside of his fedora.

"They're still with Historia and loading the ship. I needed to speak to you." He says in one sudden, confident breath, straightening his posture.

"What is it? Would you like to sit?" She begins to smoothen out her skirt in the back, intending to sit down when he replies a sharp "No" startling her, prompting her to remain standing near the coffee table.

His chest noticeably rises and falls once slowly, his eyes closed. He clears his throat and looks her dead in the eye as he proclaims, much to Mikasa's confusion, "I would like to stay by you and take care of you for the rest of our lives, if you would do me the honour."

She blinks at him blankly, bewildered.

Surely such a sentiment did not require such a formal proclamation. She replies promptly, "Of course, I do expect we will be in touch for a long time. I believe I can take care of myself though but thank you for the offer." She smiles professionally at him, appreciative for voicing out such a sentiment at all. He probably felt like he needed to say it considering she had grown the closest to him out of all their friends over the past year and she did make it awfully obvious that she was feeling the weight of their imminent departure.

She had been surprised to see him one day at the beginning of the previous year, after their friends had already left the island. He had rushed stealthily to the tiny chambers Historia kept at the orphanage premises. They had a hushed conversation until the sun sunk into the horizon. Mikasa never pried. But then she saw him again and again for the next couple of months too, piquing her curiosity, until finally one day, he approached her himself. He had apparently taken up a posting in Paradis with special permission from Queen Historia as a representative of the peace corps as a lower ranked officer in the Yeagerist faction of the military. It was refreshing news and she couldn't deny that she wasn't at least partly pleased to have some occasional company whom she did not have to explain herself to.

They fell into an easy routine where he would visit Historia about twice a month, and afterwards, he would come see Mikasa. They would sometimes nibble on a quick meal during her lunchtime, or he would just drop in to say hi and stay until Mikasa would show her disengagement from the conversation. She did not mind it. It was interesting to hear from him the state of politics and just have some human presence to take her mind off of her struggles.

Soon, after a few months, he dropped by regularly every other week, and they had consciously started sharing meals together. She had noticed that he would not drop by Historia's chambers during every such visit, but she said nothing, deciding it's none of her business what he did or did not do with his time. Plus, it was nice to have someone to share the extra food she would accidentally make every week.

Jean lets out a dejected sigh, regretting his choice of words for being too subtle. He rephrases himself after mustering up another wave of courage, this time, much more potent than the last, his legs ready to buckle under him from the weight of his intended words, "No, not like that. I… no, you – would you like to marry me?"

Without waiting for him to finish, Mikasa reflexively questions him out of shock, her usual detached demeanour shattering, "… Marry? You? Where is this…?"

Without losing hope from seeing her less than positive reaction or giving in to the urge to bury himself in deep into the ground, he explains himself, balling his fist tightly to his side in an attempt to calm himself, "This past year, seeing you… I mean, I've travelled the world and seen everything I possibly could, but this is it for me. If you will have me, of course. My assignment on Paradis is about to end, but if you were to say yes, I could extend it indefinitely and stay here with you."

His determined face tells Mikasa that he is not playing a cruel joke on her. She sinks to the chair nearby, trying to make sense of his words. Her mind is all muddled up, so she decides to hear him out, to clear her confusion. "Jean, if that is true, then you must know that I will always-"

"I know. I'm aware. In spite of it." She thinks she sees his teeth grit.

"In spite of it? That.. does not make any sense."

"None of these things ever do, but I mean it when I say that I know all of that. I know all of you, what you've been through, what you've… done." Mikasa winces at the implication. "But that is why. Our experiences, our losses… I know what it's like. I don't know a better person to share it all with. And it's been fun, right, at the orphanage, this past year? Everyday can be like that."

Mikasa would have panicked if she were not so baffled by his proposition. If he was aware of her feelings towards their dearly departed friend and her mental state, then why? Even with her minimal self-respect left, she did not want to be pitied. But the way he looked at her, his quivering lips, his firm gaze and upright posture, did not seem like a proposition made out of pity.

"Why? I don't understand this at all. Why you, why me, why this…" She feels a headache coming on. She supports her temples with her fingers, almost curling into herself.

"If we live through this pain together, I think one day, we can come out of it. I want to live it with you. I want you to rely on me."

"But I can never… give you what others can." Her tone is grave, apologetic. She cannot meet his eyes. She is moved at his conviction to have her despite her. But her heart is already too full. She cannot drag another man down with her, even if he is willing.

"I don't care. We can be whoever we want, live as we want. I will never pressure you to do or be someone you don't want to be, Mikasa. I will never make you regret it."

"That's not…" she trails. She looks up at him, her face dripping in melancholy at the decision she had already made. "I'm sorry Jean, but I don't think this is going to work. I can't marry you like this."

He nods several times, taking in the rejection he knew was coming but hurt deeply nonetheless. He had expected this. He expected this, and yet, when the negative answer came, the dejection hit him twice as hard. But he urged on, according to the script he had rehearsed in his head a million times, in thoughts of the beautiful, broken girl in front of him, whom he just did not want to leave behind in the gloom she confined herself to.

"I understand. Thank you for being so upfront. Just know that I am going to keep the offer open. You can think about it. No pressure. I won't even ask you about it. My time on the island may run out but you could still try me at these numbers." He sets down a piece of paper with an address and phone numbers scribbled down with shaky hands he hopes she doesn't notice. He also leaves behind a velvet box that she doesn't need to open to know its contents.

He nods at her with a smile again, and promptly leaves, in an attempt to respect the space she tries so hard to maintain.

Mikasa is thankful the cottage is empty once again. Unable to help herself, she cries, shaking uncontrollably, hating how it had been more than four years and she is still stuck in the same place. Jean and her were never anything more than comrades, allies and maybe friends. But if she had opened her eyes and her heart, would she have felt differently? Would she have asked him to stay longer and tell him she enjoyed his company whenever he visited her? Would she have viewed him in a romantic, hopeful light too, the way Armin looks at Annie? The thought of moving on sounded to her like forgetting, and she never wanted to forget those blue-green eyes that had haunted her.

She runs to the sink and throws up. She looks at the mirror and frowns in disgust, pushing down the urge to shatter the glass. She could not understand for the life of her what he saw in this husk, with dark circles rivalling the night sky, bloodshot, swollen eyes, hollow cheeks that emphasised her poor eating habits, the hair that was now long due to disregard and muscles that had loosened slightly over time from lack of training. The man with a whole life ahead of him had chosen her. He was probably stupider than she was.

Mikasa distractedly helped her friends board their ship, consciously avoiding Jean, who had attempted to engage in conversation with her to lighten the atmosphere he had created between them. She stood in the circle of her friends, trying to laugh with them, her body stiff as a board as he happened to stand next to her, with an expression that was starting to match her gloom.

Armin pulls her aside, for one last talk, after he surprises her with the news that he knew what happened between her and Jean. "Don't force yourself into anything, okay? Choose whoever and whatever you want to be, whether it be Mikasa - the Hizurian princess, Mikasa Kirstein, Mikasa Ackerman or just Mikasa. It's what Eren would have wanted for you too," he finishes with hope, the last name earning him a hitch of her breath. "I'll see you soon. Do something for yourself."

A long embrace from Armin cheers Mikasa up. She waves goodbye to her friends, who decide it's too formal considering they had been through war together and hug her in spite of the lack of reaction from her. Annie, Connie and even Pieck and Reiner take their turn. Connie pats Jean on the back, as they watch Mikasa leave.

Mikasa does not leave her room for days once her friends leave. She does not bother with meals unless her stomach absolutely protests. The girl's sorrow permeates though the empty house. Mikasa hated the loneliness that would spread through her chest and throat until she could not breathe in the days immediately following the departure of her friends. It was a reminder that nothing was permanent, taking her back to the grave and the person lying there. She would let herself indulge in her grief for those days, rationalising to herself that if she let it out, she would feel the excruciation less.

After a long week that felt like an eternity, she somehow escapes out of the dark cloud she had been entrapped in. In her haze, she returns to the orphanage. It would distract her. The children would force her to concentrate. It worked, until she spots the man with the distinct ash brown hair, who had proposed to her not so long ago out of the blue. She tries to look away, feeling a warmth flood her, remembering the scene that had unfolded.

Her mind singles in on him. He is a man who probably understood her sacrifices, having lived through them with her. She bites her lip, knowing that while he had implied he would wait forever, it was her duty to contemplate on it. No, not just duty, but her want.

In her dark week in that room, the epiphany hit her as always, that she hated being alone. She was by nature dependent. She needed someone or the other to lean on. The Yeager family, Eren, Armin and the scouts – each of them played their role in her life, giving her some meaning. It was not the right way to live. Armin was right. She needed to do something for herself. She had to choose who she wanted to be – but be alone, she did not want. The ugly truth was that she held no hope of carrying on the spirit of Eren and Armin about moving on. She has been going around in circles, only the circle becoming somewhat larger. Would it be so bad if she chose selfishly, and took someone's help to get her out of the circle? For someone else to be her Mikasa, bailing her out of trouble, standing by her no matter what? - A tempting offer.

Jean was always kind to her, thought about her, was considerate towards her feelings. He was observant by nature and had a born talent with people and sacrificing himself for them, making him naturally suited for leadership roles. If he was offering a pragmatic way out of her endless strife, would it be so bad to trust him with herself, to take him for his word?

"You have really beautiful black hair."

An awkward compliment from a long time ago surfaces. She subconsciously touches her ponytail, wondering when was the last time she or anyone else bothered with her appearance. Was it even important? Had Eren ever done that?

Just like that, the small break she had gotten from her anguish reappeared, wrapping her up just as her cherished scarf did.

Life in Stohess is not easy. He runs around the whole day, doing whatever task, no matter how little for the Yeagerists. It hurts his ego, but he knows this is a mercy by them. They could have had him executed along with his friends but thanks to Queen Historia, they were spared. If he ever wanted to live in Paradis, he had to curry favour with them, as much as he hated it. They were not and are not on the same side, but he would be, because his priorities dictated he remain on the island one way or another.

On a particularly hard day of copying thick manuscripts by hand, he hears a colleague call out his name. "Jean, phone call for you."

He climbs down two sets of stairs to the only telephone in this section of the building, an invention that amazed him beyond words for its convenience.

"Hello?"

"Jean." A familiar, blank voice rings on the other side. It has jumping out of his skin, his heart thumping so loudly, he worries she may hear it.

"Mikasa!"

"Listen, um, I'm going to keep this short." His cold sweat accumulates fast, his fingers barely able to keep the receiver against his ear as his stomach lurches in dread. "I trust you. I'll marry you. We can discuss the details at my cottage later today."

"What-"

"I'll have to go now. Bye."

The engaged tone rang through his ears loudly. He stands there, absolutely still, his jaw dropping in shock. He hasn't cried openly in a while, even through all the grief he had witnessed but he was sure he would now. His legs take him to the nearest field, his colleagues berate him on the way for rushing past him. He screams out, "Yes!" loudly several times, into the field, startling the grazing cows. He can barely contain himself, not bothering about why she decided to say yes when he had absolutely no hope of it. He dashes to his house to tell his mother how this amazing woman he has loved forever decided to have him. He thinks on his sprint there that he would be fine being branded as a Yeagerist if it meant he gets to give the life he dreams of giving to Mikasa, as fate would have it, his fiance.

Mikasa is grateful that Jean is polite to her. He takes off his hat whenever he greets her, assuring her how well he is going to take care of her. He smiles at her, and she sees the grin he is trying to suppress when he meets her for the first time after her affirmative answer.

She will never understand it.

With an awkward twitch of his body that disappears as soon as he manifests it, Mikasa guesses that perhaps he wanted to give her a hug. But her body language is stiff, and unwelcoming. He does not slip up for even a moment before smiling anyway, patting her head and stepping inside the cottage. She tells him she will join him soon, returning the smile to him the best she can.

She stares at the distance in the direction she knows he lies. Her vision threatens to blur, her eyes becoming glassy, but she holds it in. She has taken a wholly selfish decision that reminds her of the boy she yearns for. Her mind keeps telling her to undo the damage, to spare Jean's life, to run and let him run, but she is tired of staring into the distance all the time alone, hoping for the man who can never return, to cross the hill and take her away.

As long as she makes it clear that she only wants someone to help her take her pain away, to help her live a normal life for at least a few moments, then maybe it would all turn out okay. In the long run, maybe he will find some companionship in the self of her that has been rediscovered and rebuilt. She hopes so, for his sake and her own sake.

Oh, how she sincerely hopes so.

The barely there makeup, the white flowers in her hair, and the simple full-length, long-sleeved dress do not suit her, Mikasa believes. She flinches each time Annie or Historia touch her hair to knot it intricately or dab a brush on her face to blend the powdery colours. She has practiced the smile expected of her dozens of times, enough to get her through the day. Except, she did not expect the cold dread that would form in her stomach, travelling up to her ears. She is advised to sip champagne, a rare celebratory drink she is told, to calm down what she learns are "cold feet".

It was not that, but she decided against arguing. Historia, Annie and Armin were more excited about the event than she was, being the insistent orchestrators of it. She would not go breaking their hearts now.

She did not need nor want this ceremony at all. She had dreamt of it in a different context when she was much younger, when dreaming was still possible. But now, she did it for her insistent friends and for her fiancé – the one thing she could give him before draining his life away. She knew that's how it would be. The champagne kept her pessimism at bay temporarily.

Annie can't stop talking about how thrilled Armin has been. Mikasa had invited Armin from her side, who decidedly brought Annie, and Historia, because she had ensured her peace on the island. Jean, she was told, had invited his mother and Connie. It made no sense to her why the exhibition was necessary, but the decision was collectively made somehow with everyone else whining about "what a special day it is" and how "nothing interesting ever happens on Paradis."

Mikasa looks through the window one last time, squinting at the horizon, almost praying for a sign telling her that she shouldn't go through with this. The only sign she would accept would be from Him, of course. The girls pull her away promptly, teasing her once again about how Jean was going to be such a lucky man, to which Mikasa couldn't help but let out a sardonic, desperate laugh. Historia and Annie exchange looks, but keep up their teasing regardless, because it was meant to be a happy day and left to them, they would pretend it is until it became a reality for their black-haired friend.

Armin was blubbering beside Mikasa as he led her down the aisle. Mikasa is exasperated but starts panicking when she sees Jean dressed in a black tuxedo, and slicked back hair, panic alternating with a grin, that she tries her very best to reciprocate but only partially succeeds to the best of her abilities.

The ceremony was very short and simple, with loud sobs from Connie alleviating the pressure on the bride and the groom. Mikasa did not know much about weddings, but she knew what came after the rings. That's what scared her the most; he had promised her a long companionship, where they could rely on one another as friends, who trusted each other with their lives. She shuts her eyes in anticipation once they slip the rings on to each other's fingers, biting her lip furiously for what was to come.

"Congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Kirstein"

But it never came.

Her eyes snap open as Jean gently takes her hand in his and nods at her with a reassuring smile. She genuinely smiles back at him this time, relief washing over her, knowing he had already passed stage one of proving his loyalty to his vow.

Bottles of champagne pour out easily, as the small gathering revels in the joy of the unexpected union. Mikasa is anxious when she meets Jean's mother, it hardly registering in her brain that she technically had a mother now. She tries to accept it as a reality but is discomforted at the thought that she did not even consider the implications of this arrangement on the lady before her, who could barely control herself from spilling out tears of happiness. Her gut was constricting, her throat closing up. How would she feel if she knew the kind of marriage her son was getting into? Did she already know? Judging by the unadulterated bliss painting her face, she did not.

Jean saves his bride, taking his mother away promptly, mouthing an apology to Mikasa after the short, awkward interaction she had with his mother for a mere ten minutes.

As soon as Mikasa crosses the threshold to the cottage she was now expected to share with Jean, her hands inch towards the simple flowers placed in her hair, as she rips off its delicate petals and stems, pulling out tendrils of her hair from the intricate hairstyle her friends had fashioned for her.

"Hey, you didn't need to do that. Are you okay?" Jean asks, concern lacing his voice.

"It was annoying me," she lies, the fabric of her dress feeling even more confining and fake than the innocent flowers that gave her an air of delicateness and innocence. She could not wait to strip out of it, feeling her breath leaving her fast.

Mikasa heads upstairs in a hurry, eager to separate herself from this farce of purity.

Jean follows close at her heel, overtaking her at the head of the stairs. "Which room do you usually use? I'll take the other."

If she was rushing earlier, she stops abruptly, processing the implications of his words. She looks at him curiously, confirming whether she had heard right.

"I'm okay with either. I can take the right, if you want the left," he repeats coolly, expecting her to answer.

Mikasa composes herself, suddenly ashamed that she could not wait to take the outfit off. It was a kind gesture, true to his words, offering to take separate bedrooms. She felt even worse that he assumed she would want a separate room, and that she truly did after he offered. He was rubbing the back of his head, ruffling his tightly combed hair, not meeting her eyes. He was disappointed, that had to be it. She was not however, a bigger person, so she replies, "I'm fine with the left." She swings the door open and hears him open the door to his room as well, before she quickly adds, "Thank you, Jean. I really appreciate it. I'll be out soon."

The tiny, optimistic side of Jean was hoping that Mikasa would say they could share a room, that they could act like the married couple she had agreed to be a part of. He felt his nose prickle when she quite nonchalantly picked a room, away from him. The soft mattress plunges down with his weight when he sits on the edge of it, in what he thought would be their shared master bedroom, appreciative of at least the fact that she gave him the room with the attached bathroom. He gazes at the fine liquor kept on the dresser near the door – a wedding cum house-warming gift for the newly wed from the Queen, wondering whether his wife would want to celebrate and share it with him.

His wife.

The word sounds like a misfit in his head. No matter the method, somehow, his foolish fantasies were coming true and his heart would not stop thumping. He takes deep breaths, patting himself on the back for the job well done at concealing the pure mirth he felt earlier in the day, when he saw the most beautiful woman in the world walk towards him. He was honoured to have her in a way no one else could. No matter what happens, how their life turns out, he had sworn to never regret it.

Connie had expressed that Jean was being uncharacteristically selfless and more of a doormat than he remembered him ever being. But Jean has explained over and over to him and his other friends on their many voyages since he first popped the question to Mikasa that his ask is wholly selfish.

He cannot bear to see her waste away her life. He does not know whether it is out of love, care or a childhood habit too hard to knock out. He wants her to lean on him, to trust him, confide in him, share her burdens with him. He wants to do it all if it means she does not have to go through it alone, cursing the cruelness of the life bestowed upon her. Maybe it is the knight in shining armour complex, or maybe it is too painful to be so far away from her and hear about her misery, or, not hear about her at all and wonder about her constantly. He has this instinct that he has to do this, or he would regret it all his life.

Watching her from afar and having casual conversations once in a while was not enough. Whatever the convoluted justification may be, no matter how it crushes him to hear her despair over another man's name, he is unable to keep in the overflowing joy from reflecting on his lips, still in disbelief that from today onwards, he is the luckiest man in the world.

A soft knock interrupts his thoughts.

He startles, not expecting Mikasa to actually return, given her disgust for the clothing she was draped in, or rather, the meaning it held. He tried not to think about it, succeeding at it like a bitter pill you ought to swallow. She is devoid of makeup, and is in a full sleeved grey nightdress, past her knees. She looks lost, like she entered his room by mistake. Jean still shakes with disbelief, because she still looks like the most beautiful woman he has ever laid eyes on.

She does not look at him, scanning the space instead. "Would you like a drink? I think Historia is trying to bribe us into keeping our mouths shut about our presence," Jean chuckles, hoping to lessen whatever pressure Mikasa was feeling.

She considers the bottle and nods imperceptibly. She is quick to down her glass. She is not much of a drinker. Her fidgeting tells him that she felt obliged to share a drink with him. She sits on the bed carefully, smoothening out her nightdress, tugging at its neckline to align it better with her shoulders. She says measuredly, betraying no emotion, as Jean puts the golden liquid to his mouth, "Jean, I know what is expected of the night. I am ready."

Jean almost chokes on his drink, stopping himself just short and gulping extra hard instead. Without pausing, he says to her with some exasperation, berating himself as to how he could have led her to think this is what he wanted out of her. "That's not what this is about! Mikasa, we are not going to be doing anything tonight that you don't really want to."

She considers him, wavering in her conviction further, her voice belying her solemnly calm demeanour, "But, this is what people do-"

"We don't have to be people." He states firmly, locking their eyes for her to see how he meant his words. He sighs out, before adding, "Mikasa, I told you, I'm not expecting anything from you. We can just be companions. I don't need you to do anything else." He musters a small smile for her.

She twiddles her fingers in her lap, her hair splaying over her face, obstructing his vision of her. "Okay," she mutters softly. Her hand finds his slowly, and she gives his digits a quick squeeze, and withdraws, mumbling a "Thank you" that he barely hears. His heart is warmed nonetheless, the coldness of her fingers etching itself into his memory.

She wastes no time after, removing herself from his new room just as soon as she entered, supplying with some jest before exiting, "At least you got my room - the bigger one with the attached bathroom."