His mother is overjoyed the next day when Jean tells her they will be staying for a week more. He had insisted to Mikasa that they could stay for even longer if she wished, but she flatly disagreed, stating that she did not want to be a burden and take his mother's hospitality for granted.

He felt like an outsider when he watched Mikasa and his mother. He would come home from work and they would still be out, exploring Trost, doing some more frivolous shopping, or buying presents for their own cottage which his mother likely thrust upon a quiet Mikasa.

He did not mind it. In fact, he preferred it. It kept them busy and they looked happy. Mikasa even seemed to sleep a bit more peacefully, though he did tend to fall asleep before she did. She looked comparatively well rested in the morning. He wished he could observe intimate details about her from when she sleeps, see what she's like when she wakes, but she left no such opportunities for him, her bed neatly made by the time he lazily awoke, ready at the table for breakfast.

His mother was sadly still relentless however, sparing no opportunity to criticise him or nag him into doing some mundane task for the house which usually involved some heavy lifting, like transporting the groceries they had purchased from the nearby store or fixing a lightbulb which his mother was still sceptical about using, perfectly happy with her candles and lanterns. She said these were tasks for the man of the house, and Jean ought to be picking up more of his weight, that she would not let poor Mikasa bear all the burden while they were in her house at least. Mikasa stuck closely by his mother's side. He complained about it jokingly at night to Mikasa, that she, as his dutiful wife, ought to take his side instead, but she just pretends to ignore him, hurting his ego more.

When they finish their late dinner, each retreat to their rooms. Mikasa is particularly tired and he suggests she go to bed. She stretches and yawns, which she shyly covers with her hand. She was still a private person, even with him. She turns away from him and pulls the covers over her head.

Sigh, they were too much like friends.

Which reminds him that there is a long overdue talk with his mother pending. She was enchanted by Mikasa, but surely, she hadn't completely forgotten about her biological son. He very quietly puts out the lights and sneaks out of the room, hoping not to wake Mikasa. He is pleased to find his mother still awake at the table, doing some knitting.

"Mom," he calls out to her as he descends down the stairs.

"Ah, Jean-bo. I was wondering when I would get to talk to you. I've been a bit too taken by Mikasa dear, haven't I?" She chuckles, drawing a chair out for her neglected son.

"That's alright," he takes a seat. "I'm glad for it. I get to go about my business and you womenfolk do whatever you do."

She laughs slightly, her crows feet depressing in the warm light deeper than he remembered. "I like her. She's a keeper. You've made a good choice, for once."

He smiles wistfully. He would have to tone down her expectations out of them as a couple, something he really didn't want to do. A marriage extended to family, and she was the only other family he had left. She deserved the truth. "Yeah, I'm pretty proud of myself." He scratches his nose, trying to form the right words, "But er, it's not as… Ideal as you may think. I don't know how to say it but-"

"I know. You don't need to explain," She smiles at him gently, knowingly.

He is taken aback. "You… know? What exactly?" He narrows his eyes. Here he thought their married couple act was spot on.

"I'm your mother, Jean. We know these things." When he looks unconvinced, she adds, "But also, I would have to be a real fool not to notice that you've had the beds separated since you arrived."

"Fuck!" He facepalms hard enough for the slap to be heard.

"Jean, no swearing!" She chides him and continues in a more soothing tone, "It's okay. You don't need to be embarrassed. These things happen in marriages. But they settle down eventually. You're still getting used to each other."

He can't help but be embarrassed now. Sure, he was close to his mother but most of the closeness was frozen in his childhood. Over the years, they had grown apart but he knew he could always confide in her no matter how long it had been since they had last spoken, especially since his father's passing. "No. We're just not there, and probably never will be," he states defeatedly.

"These things are not so definite. When your father and I just started out, it took us a few months to find our bearings before we consumm-"

"Mom, I really don't need to hear this!" His hand is planted firmly on his forehead, hoping his exasperation was evident.

"Okay, okay! You're such a prude!" She laughs, patting his shoulder. "All I'm saying is, you have to give her a chance. She's the same girl, isn't she, Jean-bo, from when you were younger? I knew it the moment you told me you were courting her."

He nods ruefully. "Firstly, I would barely call that courting. I just visited her sometimes at the orphanage. Secondly, she just doesn't see me like that. And I'm largely okay with it."

Her hands move to her hips, as she argues indignantly, "You're telling me that for that whole year, you did not go out of your way to see her, maybe share a meal?"

"I did, yes."

"Did she ever wait for you, not eat until you came? Talk about mundane things in her life?"

He scratches his head, thinking back to that time, "She did, I think."

"That's courting for sure," she states definitively. "Even if you both didn't call it that."

"That doesn't prove anything."

"The point is, you must trust she had a good reason for agreeing to marry you as well."

"Yeah, we spoke about it. It's got nothing to do with whatever romantic notions you might be thinking of."

"Maybe not right now. She is still hung up on that guy, isn't she?"

He does a double take. "What?"

"Well, she is Mikasa Ackerman, isn't she? The one you said was always into your friend… Eren Yeager?"

He blubbers in shock at how much his mother knows. Did he really say this much to her? Maybe mother's intuition is real. "I-er, ahem, yes. I don't really care. It's okay. We are upfront about it."

"Son, what are you doing?" She shakes her head disapprovingly, pity marring her features. "Yet you still look at her with those pitiful, longing eyes. You're telling me you've already given up and are okay playing second fiddle to a dead guy?"

"That's not how it is…" He grits his teeth, straining to justify himself and preserve what little ego was left. "I'm just being respectful towards her, giving her space. I would never force my opinions on her or make her do something she does not want to do. We are fine the way we are. This was a completely selfish decision of mine."

"Selfish?"

"Yeah. I get to be around her all the time now." He exhales warily. "I did not expect her to say yes though, honestly. I thought she would say no and I could move on for real then. I would have left the Island too. My initial assignment ended months before that."

His mother purses her lips harder, making her disappointment clearer, building his frustration "So you married by accident and now you're stuck in this unrequited situation forever? This is highly irresponsible and stupid of you."

"When you put it like that-" he raises his voice.

"Don't get me wrong, I love Mikasa too. But not at the cost of you."

"So what are you saying?" He says a bit more softly, his hands laced together in front of him, resting his forehead on it. There were several unsavoury truths about his relationship with Mikasa that he had to swallow, but he was tired of hearing them. So long as he kept it inside, and just got to be around her, falling in love with her more every day, observing the tiniest of quirks that only he got the privilege of seeing, it was easy to pretend he was okay with everything remaining as it is forever. But forever is a long time, and he never wanted to end up resenting her or regretting his decision when he was forced to face the choices he had made.

Until now, sure, Connie and Reiner freely voiced their opinions too, uneasy with his drastic declaration of first, formally trying to pursue her and then, marrying her. But hearing disappointment from his mother was different. He felt like a failure, like he was in over his head and had compromised on his own life. It was not as easy to disregard her opinion. It hurt more because she was managing to weaken the desperate voice in his head that convinced him that everything would always be great, that he would always feel the same about her, that he had not wronged her by convincing her into this marriage on a promise he was wavering about.

"You underestimate her and yourself. I am disappointed that my son is such a fool that he really believes that everything will go as he has planned."

He raises his head, looking at her incredulously, "I'm confused now."

"You may not believe me, but unlike you, I actually have a good feeling about this. She isn't as obvious as you, following her around like a love-sick puppy, but I don't think she sees you the way you think she sees you."

"Oh, really?" he raises an eyebrow, close to disregarding her opinion as well because of how ridiculously hopeful she sounds. He prided himself at being a realist. No way he was going to let himself believe things that were not there.

"Why, yes," she folds her arms indignantly at the insinuation that she knew no better. "You're a dunce for sure, but I think in these matters, she is too. Things are already changing. You will see it too."

"Alright then," he stands up from his chair, slapping his hands on the table definitively. "I think we are done for today."

"I'm serious though, Jean-bo!" She stands up too, her eyebrows knitted, concerned at his dismissal of her. "Just keep an open mind. This is just the very beginning. Don't write yourself or her off like that. It isn't fair."

"Right." He waves his hand at her as he ascends the stairs again.

"Just once, notice the way she looks at you - that's not how you look at a friend or just anybody!" He hears her call out as he turns into his room.

No.

He could not let himself believe. It would only set him up for more hurt later and he was done with that. He had made peace with her never looking at him the same way he did. He was content with the little life they had made. It was nice, and it warmed his heart seeing her everyday, doing little things for him like his laundry or putting away his books when he was too tired to. The yearning would go away eventually. He knows, because he has come a long way in not letting images of Sasha or Marco burn a hole in him whenever he hoped to get a good night's sleep. Someday, similarly, he would view Mikasa in exactly the way that suited their platonic domestic lifestyle too.

Someday.

Being in this house in the city, with a mother-in-law and a husband has ignited something inexplicable in Mikasa. She looks forward to her day. Most of her married life has felt like a daze. Surreal events occurred that did not make sense to her. What held the most weight however, was the realisation that she has a family now. She was part of a household. If she went away somewhere, it would matter. It gave her a new lease on life, like a part of the hole in her heart was finally on its way to closing.

It did not mean that everything was okay suddenly, that when she put her head on the pillow, she went to sleep instantly. She still needed her alone time to remind herself of her sins and replay such moments in her head to feel the pain all over again. It was there, but it was manageable. Every living moment did not feel tedious, like an inescapable hell she was being suffocated in.

Jean's mother was so kind to her and took her around like she was her own daughter by blood. She worried at the smallest of things and adored her son whom she still spoke about like he was a problem child of twelve. This woman's life was so utterly normal, that Mikasa envied it, where her only problem was whether the markets had enough reasonably priced produce to cook a nutritious meal. She knows that she is viewing the whole thing with rose tinted glasses, that everyone had their struggles, but she basked in the feeling of being a normal, newly wedded bride trying to get the approval of her mother-in-law, while railing against the man that had brought them together.

Said man though, she was learning more and more about every day too, and it was refreshing. They had a good life in their cottage too but somehow, sharing a room like this, and being forced to actively do things together made her feel like she was seeing the real him, not the gentleman who was unbelievably nice, patient and pleasant to her all the time, to the extent of making her rethink her neutral frown. She liked that version of him too, but that was a version you are probably meant to like.

She liked seeing the sides of him that were completely unintentional, the ones that made her laugh at the incredulousness of it, and the hidden idiosyncrasies that he would be embarrassed about if she were to point it out. It reassured her that it would be okay if she wanted to lay on the couch sloppily, reading a frivolous novel in an angle that is bad for her posture, or to say something politically incorrect without fear of judgement.

She didn't know, for example, that Jean takes longer than she does in the shower. Not only that, that he fancies himself some sort of a professional singer, with no qualms about reaching those high notes, no matter how quickly it could clear out a room. Long after he turns off the shower, he stays in, and she can hear a softer humming. Probably grooming himself, she assumes. He was vainer than he cared to admit, and she would shake her head in disapproval, one, because she could not relate. But two, because he looked just as good when he wakes up in the morning, his hair astray and his stubble scruffier from growth. She blushes at the latter, even if it flows into her mind just as effortlessly as the feeling of hunger.

Which reminds her, that today there was a small local fair being set up in the evening. She was excited to go explore it with Mrs. Kirstein. But Jean was taking unbelievably long in the shower as usual. She clicks her tongue. Maybe the separate rooms and bathrooms arrangement was more practical.

She gets up from her bed, with half a mind to bang on the bathroom door and hurry him so she could have her turn. She does not get a chance, for she hears a high-pitched shriek from the bathroom that sounds unlike Jean, a man with a supposedly deep voice.

She gets into an attacking stance out of instinct, wary that there might be an intruder or some sort of danger that she needed to rescue Jean from. Before she could get to the door, a tall blur bursts out of the bathroom, steam obstructing her view. "Mikasa!" He yelps, and runs to hide behind her, grabbing on to her shoulders from behind.

She is very aware even in the short time she caught sight of him that he is in a white towel that was wrapped around his lower half, and that beads of water dripped down from his slicked back hair, forming rivulets sensually all over his hard, sculpted abdomen. Her mind is as hazy as the room, as she tries to bring herself out of her contaminated mind that was freely fantasizing about a very naked Jean who was very close to a burning up Mikasa.

When she hears him whimper from behind her, she snaps out of her stupor, gulping painfully to stop herself from reacting inappropriately, stiffly but urgently asking him, "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"No, you won't believe it but there's a spider in there the size of my hand!" He cries out.

A beat. Then two. "…A spider?"

"A spider." He reaffirms, moving to stand in front of her, looking at her with a comically straight face.

His ridiculousness takes away all his earlier charm, and Mikasa concentrates on his face, dumbfounded, trying to reconcile how this large man who had bravely fought and survived wars was apparently afraid of a critter from nature that likely scurried away as soon as it saw the comparatively mammoth human being in front of her. "A spider, Jean, the insect?"

"Of course, the insect. You have to help me, Mikasa!" He runs his fingers through his hair and she is distracted for a moment, wondering what his hair feels like.

She shakes her head again and orders impassively, "Alright. Show me where."

He creeps behind her again and points in the general direction of the shower area, "In the corner, there."

As described, there indeed was a spider as big as his hand. It was an unsightly creature that Mikasa herself was grossed out by. But seeing this man who towered even over her cower from it, gives her the strength to not be afraid. She had too much ego to back out now and admit that she did not want to voluntarily be near it either. But she sucks it up, grabs a bowl from downstairs and traps it by placing the bowl over it and a paper below it. She runs to the window, and releases the creature outside, glad when it just as quickly gets away from her.

"Phew, you saved my life," he wipes his forehead. "Thank you."

She raises her eyebrows at him, looking at him judgmentally, her arms folded across her chest tightly.

He takes the hint and says, while returning to the bathroom, raising his arms in surrender. "Don't blame me. I could have slipped on the floor and died, trying to dodge that ugly thing."

He closes the door behind him. Mikasa bursts out laughing, half out of the chain of ludicrous events that had unfolded, and half out of fondness for the coward she had apparently married.

She stops short only once she realises how easily she laughed around him, and that for the three years without him, she probably never had laughed once.

Mikasa is tired when she returns home from the fair. She is happy to retreat to bed, surprised to see Jean was not in yet, even though it was way past dinner time. He returns two hours after she does, entering cautiously, probably assuming she might be asleep. "Hi. You're up."

"Hi," she greets in return from her bed near the window.

"Where were you?"

"Didn't I mention I would be out for dinner with some colleagues?" He reaches into the cupboard and picks his nightclothes out and enters the bathroom to change.

When he tucks himself into his bed, letting out a tired groan, she promptly asks him, curious about the life he lead without her, "You're getting along with your colleagues these days?"

"Er, yeah. They're not that bad even though their beliefs are a bit questionable, I suppose. But then again, I'm working for the same government, so I can't really judge them for it."

"I'm glad," she supplies, before getting back to her book.

"What are you reading? I thought I was off-duty until we return home," he teases.

"It's a biography of the great leader, Eren Yeager. I got it at the fair today."

He lets out a gasp of surprise, and turns in his bed towards her. "For real? Is it accurate?"

"It does mention one Mikasa Ackerman, his protective, adoptive sister. Her current whereabouts are currently unknown, but rumours state that she is leading a secluded, retired life on the Island, honouring the memory of her dearly, departed brother," she recites sourly, and looks to a wide-eyed, concerned Jean.

"This is a bit scary, isn't it? Them being aware of your existence? But I guess them assuming you're his only living family, puts you at an oddly safe position, so long as they ignore that you fought with the alliance… pretty confusing situation."

"I'm not worried. I trust Historia. She would have similar reasons to provide me protection – being Eren's family," her tone is even, and she is proud of herself for being able to speak about him so casually, without her voice shaking, or her eyes welling up.

"They have your name though. Was it really okay for you to go around the city? Ackerman is a very recognisable name, seeing that you're only one of two people in the world with that surname. Mikasa is also uncommon, except for in Hizuru probably."

"I have that covered. Your moth- er, I mean, er, mom, said that I could be Mikasa Kirstein while I'm here," She blubbers out, folding into herself, very clearly embarrassed for stating at least two things that would rouse some kind of a reaction from Jean. She sneaks a peak at him. He is staring at her, mouth opening, blinking furiously. He must hate it.

"That's," he clears his throat, "er, a good idea. Yeah, good strategy." He nods approvingly, index finger on his chain. "Did she, er, ask you to call her that though?"

She replies instantly, "Yes."

"Right. Yeah. Good thinking."

"Yeah." She bites her lip, and goes back to her book, her ears and face feeling hot, hoping he would stop looking at her and making her more self-conscious.

She felt silly considering it was accurate. She was technically Mrs. Mikasa Kirstein. She never even considered changing official records from her maiden name. It felt strange. She thought she would eventually be Mikasa Yeager, one way or another, but that chapter had officially closed. Ackerman held historical value and was a marker of her abilities. She never had any particular affection to it though, since her family died so long ago. It just became her name, and part of a bloody history that only made her sad. She should probably never change it but hearing her name merged with Kirstein reinforced the feeling of belonging. It was nice. So nice that it almost felt undeserved.

She was glad that Jean's mother, er, her mother – mom, as she had requested – suggested she temporarily use the name, should anyone ask, and that Jean, the whole reason she was put in this situation, also said nothing. In fact, when she watched him from the corner of her eye, she thinks she sees the ghost of a smile on his lips and she wishes that he is smiling for the same reason that she is.

She looks to him fully then, her heart still thudding against her chest from their small, but revealing conversation, and asks him, "Hey, Jean?"

"Yeah?" He turns to her, putting his own book now.

"We are going to the movies day after tomorrow. Would you like to come? I've never been. We can go in the evening after your work is done."

"Sure, yes. I'll try my best to make it," there's a big smile on his face that she can't help but return after he gets back to his book.

"Mikasa dear, why don't you get us some popcorn? The movie is still about fifteen minutes away from starting. If Jean is coming, you could probably usher him inside. Here, take his ticket," Mikasa's mother-in-law hands her the said ticket.

"Sure," Mikasa exits the movie theatre, excited at the prospect of watching moving pictures on a screen for the very first time. In these last few days, she had witnessed the true extent of the development Paradis had gone through. She was beyond impressed, feeling like an ignorant country belle in the midst of the shining new technological advances and strange foods she had never heard of. Popcorn is apparently a popular movie-time snack.

She waits in front of the kiosk as the vendor freshly prepares the buttery popped corn. Mikasa looks around her, wondering whether Jean would make it. It would technically be their first outing together outside of Shiganshina and she thinks it would be nice to experience this jointly. She ponders suggesting to him that they go out more often. She adored their simple life in the cottage but something about doing things together, she thinks, is exhilarating.

She is mildly crestfallen as she sees no sign of him, impatiently checking the clock in front of her. She searches around her again, even as the vendor hands her the two packets of popcorn. She catches the eye of a group of men her age, who grin at her sleazily, dressed in what she hears is the latest fashion – jeans.

She has attempted to dress pretty as well. Her mother-in-law doesn't shy away from a single opportunity at flattering her, calling her some variation of lovely or gorgeous throughout the day. Her first time at the movies had her enthused. She took the liberty of wearing a nice white blouse with a bow and a skirt that reaches her calves, heeled shoes and open hair. She even applied the lightest of rouge on her lips, on the insistence of said doting mother-in-law.

Now she just had to temper the butterflies in her stomach in anticipation of Jean.

Jean, who she lives with.

It sounded absurd. She never cared about other peoples' opinions, especially on her appearance, but suddenly, his opinion even on frivolous matters felt like a priority.

When it was almost time for the movie to begin, and she readies herself to head back to the entry gates disappointed, she feels a hand on the small of her back and a familiar heat that has her perk up instantly.

"Jean?" He has a flustered, annoyed look on his face as he hurriedly grabs the popcorn from the counter with one hand and grasps her hand with the other. The hair on the back of her neck immediately stands up as she feels the callouses on his palm and fingers, brushing against her now clammy palms.

"Let's go?" He gives her a quick smile, before he descends into a frown again, and she feels him pull her in the direction of the entry way. She wants to ask him what's wrong but she is too focused on their joined hands, feeling the blood rush to her face.

She somehow clears her throat and asks him, this behaviour too out of the ordinary for her to just accept and go along with, no matter how fuzzy it made her feel inside, "What's with the hand holding?"

"Just wanted to hold my wife's hand. That's all," he deadpans. There is an urgency in his steps that makes her look around, sensing there must be more to it.

Then she sees it. The guys she had seen earlier, still looking at her, some of them hooting.

This was him being protective then.

Of her, of Mikasa Ackerman; one of the strongest of humanity, body count unknown.

It would have been insulting, but no, it was sweet. She could always handle herself, but she felt cared for that there was someone else looking out for her, despite it. Maybe this is what is meant by being a wife or just a normal girl?

Yes, Jean is very sweet and considerate and she savoured it. He does what he thinks is right in the moment, and went far to help his loved ones, at the cost of himself.

"You look exceptional today," he says to her with a straight face, his eyes concentrated on the rushing crowds in front of them, engaged in leading them through seamlessly.

"Thank you," she whispers uncharacteristically meekly, red-faced.

This was not her. What was she doing? They were holding hands. They've literally done more in their time as scouts.

In a bold move, she laces their fingers together, and he only gives her a quick smile, taking the ticket from her and leading them to their seats, huffing out a big sigh of relief when they reach their seats.

"Jean, Mikasa, just in time!" Her mother-in-law exclaims, as she takes one packet of popcorn from Jean, who was slumped next to Mikasa, still holding on to her hand, the other, adjusting his fedora. "You took your time," She says a little softer to Mikasa, who was seated beside her. She smiles at her knowingly, looking at their interlinked hands. Mikasa blushes brightly, smiling back at her sheepishly, thankful for the dark. She wonders when she would have the heart and the want to pull back her hand. Jean takes the decision for her and unlinks their hands as though he had read her mind. She immediately laments the loss of the warmth.

She hears him mumble to her, "Sorry about that. Those guys…"

"I know." She directs her attention back to the screen, pretending it was not a big deal at all, clasping her hands tightly on her lap.

Tomorrow is the last day they would spend at the Kirstein house. Jean had warned Mikasa that his mother tended to be overdramatic and that she may want to avoid her. Mikasa brushed him off immediately, comprehending their dynamics to be as amusing and unsettled as that between a cat and mouse. The cat always won over, of course, and the mouse was ultimately powerless.

Jean was not incorrect when he warned her against his mother turning overly emotional, but she did not mind it. It was a great contrast to what Mikasa was able to outwardly express, even though her heart was wrenching just as much at the thought of leaving behind this lady whom she had come to care for dearly in such a short amount of time. She had not felt so loved and adored in so long, that she embraced it wholeheartedly, agreeing to her mother-in-law's request of spending some quality time at night.

"I've been wanting to share something with you before you left. I don't know how you will take it, but please don't tell my Jean-bo that I showed this to you. He gets very mad at the mention of such things. You know how he is – silly and short-tempered," No, Mikasa did not know him in that way. Her curiosity was piqued as her mother-in-law retrieved a crumpled piece of paper from below the coffee table and started unfolding it.

"I'm not sure about the exact time he drew this," she spreads the paper in between them, to reveal a charcoal drawing of a girl who looked uncannily like Mikasa, "but I had caught him drawing this once. I think it was before he joined the training corps. When I saw you, I got the distinct feeling I had seen you somewhere before, and then I remembered this." She hands the drawing to a stunned Mikasa. She brought it closer to her face, trying to process how he had managed to get her so accurately on paper.

When she returns to the room, she tucks the paper secretly into her bag and gets into bed. Jean acknowledges her and gets back to his reading, giving her her space like he knew she liked.

She warily picks up the book about Eren, wondering whether it was worth continuing this book that described sides of him that she was getting more confident about never having known. It confused her. She should be able to distinguish between fact and fiction, considering, even as mentioned in the book, she was one of the people he was closest to. But anything about Eren magnified even the miniscule self-doubt she had. She wonders till date whether she knew him at all or not, whether all she saw was all she wanted to see, and it drives up her guilt quotient until she is back to that first day when she cradles his head in her arms.

Eren Yeager. The saviour of Paradis. Her biggest kill. Her biggest failing.

She knows, she knows that the book is only a glorification of a leader of the Paradisians, but she feels so distant from his legacy, reading the exaggerated claims of his abilities, that it makes her regret not attempting to dive deeper into the real him when he was with her. She was pathetic. She had no right to cry over him now when she could have done things a hundred different ways. At least one of those actions would have led to a situation where he could still be here, where he could have probably written this book himself.

It's all she wanted. It's all she wants… right? She looks to her left, and Jean is asleep.

She switches off her light, resigning herself to the fact that perhaps, she had punished herself enough and was allowed to rest. She had already followed her routine of taking one step forward and two steps back for the night.

Sleep for her always came as a fifty-fifty game of chance. She had fared considerably better this week, having achieved a sixty percent success rate instead. It is directly proportional to how her day goes and how much she dwelled on her past. This week had kept her mind sufficiently occupied and content. It was stupid of her to read that novel again, when it had already brought on two days of continuous night terrors. If she were to close her eyes now, she would be forced to face similar demons, of the rumbling beneath her feet and her own blade pointed upwards, the neck of her beloved stuck to its edge like a popsicle.

The images made her physically sick. She never wanted to go there. The fear made her toss and turn in bed, her eyes wide open at the ceiling. Her dark thoughts are only interrupted by incoherent muttering from her left side. "No… please… not Sasha..Marco, no…"

She turns to look at Jean. In her course of sharing a room with him, she was able to confirm that she was not the only victim of night terrors. He probably slept uninterrupted eighty percent of the time. It was an obvious indication of the fact that he was better adjusted than she is.

She laments how he is always there for her somehow, and she actively avoids being there for him. This was the second time this week that he had sunk into the state of talking in his sleep. Even in the dark, she could discern his distress and the way his body trembled. Soon, his forehead would be dripping with sweat and shortly after, he would likely sit up to a rude awakening from his unconscious.

Her heart went out to him. She could comfort him. When she had felt him wake the first time, she had turned to the other side and pretended to be asleep. Forget being a good wife, she was not even a decent friend. But tonight, their nightmare calendars had aligned.

She has a choice in front of her.

Ignoring used to come so easy to her. But now, in such proximity, just the thought that he was going down a similar rabbit hole to the one she so strongly dreaded, brought tears to her own eyes. Maybe her heart was thawing, and she was able to think beyond herself now. Or maybe, she remembers how cared for he makes her feel, staying up nights to teach her a language she would never need, or the firewood that he attempted to drag into the house like some macho man in spite of his fatigue coursing through his nerves from a particularly hard day at work. Not to mention how he decided to sacrifice meeting his mother because he unwisely assumed Mikasa would be uncomfortable playing house.

All of that aside, tonight, she also could not sleep. She sits up on her bed, and watches him, saddened as he grits his teeth from an unknown agony and twists his body, desperate to find some solace from his outside world to calm his hellish mind down. She inhales, stilling herself to dig out the justification from her brain to push her to do what she knew she wanted to do deep down.

She testily and as quietly as possible, gets down on her feet and shifts her bed from each side until it joins with his in the middle. She crawls onto her side and observes him still convulsing sporadically. Agony was painted on his features with his eyes crinkled shut and his teeth grazing against one another harshly. She purses her lips, feeling herself shaking from nervousness.

She stirs him lightly and takes his arm that is closer to her form and spreads it across. This breaks his sleep, as he snaps open his eyes, and blearily manages to speak out through his startle, "Wha… Mi…kasa?" Rubbing his eyes with his other hand, trying to register what was happening.

She looks him straight in his half-open eyes, with a serious expression. "Don't say anything please."

She lies down on the arm of his she had outstretched, controlling her shaking until she is able to bury her face into his chest and curl up against his side, her hands clasped tightly at her chest and her eyes shut tight. Her heart beats so wildly that she prays it is not as loud in his ears as it is in hers. Her thoughts are racing as fast as her pulse, going crazy concocting his thoughts on her random, probably selfish act. But he smells oh so good, of soap and light sweat, that she has her almost not bothered about what he thinks, as her stomach does the hundredth flip.

She feels him wrap his other arm around her and the one that she is on, closes in so that he was holding her head, stroking her hair. She relaxes at his acquiescence, even if she was still burning up, and her breathing was shallow from the sheer overwhelming feeling of their bodies exchanging heat. She takes a few moments to settle into him further, getting used to being so close to him, subconsciously nuzzling into him.

He interrupts her blissful thoughts, asking very cautiously and quietly, "You okay?"

She nods against him, feeling the hotness of her cheeks, not daring to look up and face him. His chin rests on her head, and he had pulled her so close that they were not using her side of the bed at all. He had even replaced her blanket until they were only using his, wrapped in a comfortable burrito she regretted not indulging in earlier.

"Jean?" She asks in barely a whisper after a few more moments, checking whether he had dozed off or not.

"Hmm?" She feels her body vibrate soothingly with every sound he produces.

"I saw your drawing of that girl."

"What drawing?" She can't see him, but she can picture how his eyebrows furrow and his forehead creases, his lips sticking out in puzzlement.

"The one that looks like me?"

He cusses under his breath, followed by a silence where she can almost hear the wheels in his head turning. "Would you believe me if I said it was just a coincidence?"

"You drew it before you met me?"

"There is a longer pause this time before he answers. "Er, yeah. I was drawing a vision of my ideal girl and…" he sighs, "and it just happened to be you."

She stills. She hears the gentle rumble of his heart beating fast in his chest.

His ideal girl.

She never imagined that she, the slaughterer of thousands, including of her own beloved, the cold, distant she, could ever be anyone's ideal. It made her head hurt but also made her heart want to jump out of her chest and hold him tighter, if that were possible.

"Sorry, I suppose that was an awkward thing to say. My mother shouldn't have told you. I was a weird kid," he mumbles his obvious attempt at backtracking from his previous revelation.

They were hovering on a surface, none of them wanting to acknowledge what's below. That was it, right? There is possibly more to them; she sought his warmth in the darkest of times and he quietly acceded to her actions. It scared the life out of her, even more than her haunted dreams.

She mumbles back an, "It's okay" through a rare yawn, pleased that the feeling of him comforted her enough to convince her that even she could drift into a peaceful oblivion just for a few hours, like anyone else. She inhales him once more as she feels him give her a squeeze before they both give into the quiet of the night, holding each other protectively.