Mikasa hated goodbyes. The morning was a blur of her trying not to lose herself in front of a very emotional mother-in-law. Mikasa barely emotes. Recently, it had been getting harder not to. But she had handled herself pretty well, tears only prickling the corners of her eyes, as they got into the carriage and her mom called out behind them, about how Mikasa was free to come and stay over whenever, with or without her son. A grumbling Jean cheers her up, as they leave behind Trost to return to their cottage at the edge of Shiganshina.

It feels strange to be back. Jean trudges into the cottage with their bags, insisting he let her take them upstairs. She sighs and snatches her bags from Jean wordlessly and retires to her room.

Her room.

They did not share.

Why did they not?

Right, that's what she had wanted. Now it felt awfully inconvenient. They would go back to their old routine.

She feels her throat closing up at the thought. This was the life she had wanted, the one she had built with him. Then why did it now feel incomplete, and possibly lonely?

She looks outside her window at the horizon. Visiting Him was overdue as well. The heaviness in her chest heightens.

When she looks in the mirror now, she likes what she sees. It isn't a repulsive ghost of a woman with scraggly hair and translucent skin with prominent dark circles. She is able to step outside of her room with some confidence, and look forward to her day.

But she still needed to visit that grave. How could she leave it behind and pretend that her content life in these four walls with a man who cared for her has always been her life?

They fall back into their routine easily. They eat two meals together. He cooks in the morning and she, in the evening. She attempted some of the new recipes she had learnt and Jean was nice enough not to outrightly complain about the baby food-esque vegetables and the leather shoes she was trying to pass off as meat, teasing her just enough until she got fed up and convinces him to go out for dinner or cook a quick meal instead.

Outings were always fun, but his paranoia about her identity being discovered by some miracle meant that they restricted themselves to hole in the wall restaurants on the outskirts of Shiganshina. When they walk back, he jokingly calls her Mrs. Kirstein, with an intent to wind her up. He offers his arm to hook on to, as an ode to the one other time she drank a bit too much wine and ended up falling into a ditch, threatening passerbyers to move along because Mrs. Kirstein is completely fine. He successfully manages to make steam rise from her ears, but she takes his arm regardless, secretly enjoying this particular form of taunting from him.

The hardest part of her day was probably still the night, after they say their good nights and retreat to their rooms after a long night of teaching, learning and reading. The time of separation seems to advance further into the night each day by about ten minutes. She can never ask him to stay. She inadvertently looks at him longingly, when he announces it is getting late. She agrees with him outwardly of course, incapable of letting the words fall from the lips. As long as she abstained from doing an accurate reading of the shifting atmosphere, she could just take the comparatively easier route of pretending it was not there at all.

He aids her in her efforts, giving her half a smile that never quite reflects in the corner of his eyes. When they read together, or wash the dishes, she is conscious of every single time they even brush elbows, her body running away from her mind. When their eyes meet, and she forgets the world around them momentarily, she looks away and wonders whether he feels it too. Even if he does, he surely does not show it. Their physical distance was increasing every day, and the nights they had spent in his house, curled up in each other, becomes unspoken moments of weakness, buried in some distant corners of their minds.

But she cannot help but recall it every night she is back on her bed, staring into the dark, too tired to fall asleep. Would it be so bad to take comfort in his warmth? He had said they would support one another, and this surely counts. But the other, more rational side of herself dissuades her, chiding her for taking advantage of him.

There was also the side of her that she liked listening to better. It was the one that convinced her it was not an evil thing to share a bed with your lawfully wedded husband, even though she supposed they were not much of a couple. Knowing he was there was enough to make her feel like everything was okay. Maybe it was not so bad to heal with someone else. Maybe he needed to be told that he was not alone in his struggles as well, the struggles that she knew that he was likely hiding away to be strong for her.

On a particularly stormy night, when the clouds were relentlessly dark in the sky, she wakes up in a cold sweat, thankful for the loud thunder, because her cries would have surely woken up Jean.

Jean.

She hugs her knees tightly, hoping that she could be enough of a comfort to herself, rocking back and forth, as she tries to break free of the storm that had a grip on her soul. She could do it alone. She has been doing it alone.

Did she always have to do it alone?

She did not want to.

That is the only thing she is sure about as she drags herself out of her bed, subconsciously adjusting her clothes and hair until she reaches the cold metal of the doorknob. She takes a moment outside Jean's room to quieten herself, summoning all her training of being an elite soldier. She testily swings open his door. She is relieved to see his sleeping form, envious that he had learnt how to fight most of his demons. Maybe he could fight hers too, because she is too tired to do it herself.

He looks carefree, his mouth slightly ajar, with light snores barely audible over the violent storm outside. He is rolled on to his right side, leaving a small nook on his left, more than enough for her to squeeze in. With featherlight steps, she sneaks in beside him, getting under his blanket. She turns so that her back is to him, and edges towards the extreme corner, trying to be as weightless on the bed as possible, not wanting to alert him of her presence.

As soon as she lays her head on the unused pillow and wraps the blanket around her, the faint heat radiating from his body and his scent that she had grown cognizant to is enough to lull her into a restful sleep. She leaves any value judgements aside for the moment, sighing out noiselessly at the soothing feeling she gets from the awareness of his weight on the shared mattress.

Just for a little while, she had decided to admit to herself that he is comfort. Before the sun rises, she would be gone and he would never know of the shifted ground supporting their arrangement.

The sun's first rays hit the horizon. As soon as one streak leaks in through the translucent curtains adorning Jean's room, Mikasa rises with a big-mouthed yawn, a headache and the desire to sleep in longer next to a man she wished would reach out to her and pull her back in.

But she could not let him know. Things would get too complicated. They would need to talk, evaluate and modify their relationship. Mikasa did not want to engage in a discussion where she had no answers. She heaves herself back to her room begrudgingly, giving one last look to an obliviously sleeping Jean.

If he ever found out what she had been doing every night, that would surely lead him to hate her. They could probably have a conversation then.

Having to wake up that early meant that Mikasa made it in time for breakfast every morning with Jean. He always looked as tired as she was, yawning through his bacon.

"You're really not a morning person, are you?" She asks him rhetorically, amused at how hard he tried to blink his sleep away.

"Yeah, but rich coming from you," he manages to gulp down his orange juice.

"What do you mean?" She raises her eyebrow at him.

"You hardly look like a fresh flower either, no offense," he comments playfully with a smirk.

"Did you want to come home for dinner?" She folds her arms against her chest, narrowing her eyes at him.

Well, he was right. All the sneaking around meant she slept perfectly for only about four hours a night, but she thinks her morning lethargy and less than stellar appearance as a result of it is completely worth it.

Jean chuckles. "I shouldn't have let you spend so much time with my mother."

She deepens her frown, not able to help herself from forming her lips into a slight pout, "I'll remember that regret the next time I'm cooking your favourite omelette. I hold grudges for a long time, you know."

He indulges her, mockingly sighing out in defeat, "I suppose it's my time to surrender then." He laughs lightly again as Mikasa lets herself reset to a small smile as well. "Anyway, I better go," he yawns again, covering his mouth with the back of his hand before bidding her a goodbye.

Dawn was the least favourite part of Mikasa's day. When the light softly filters through the curtains, hitting her face, her body clock kicks in, as she gingerly sits on the side of the bed, taking a moment to convince herself to go back to her cold room.

Just as she gets up however, she feels a cold sweat run down her body, her stomach sinking unbearably as she feels warm fingers wrap around her wrist.

"How long have you known?" she rasps out. Her body freezes in the position he had caught her, not turning to look at him.

"Since the beginning, I think. When the night was stormy."

It was a strange position to be in, one that was completely their fault, or perhaps, his, because well, it always was.

The night was long, cold and loud but he slept deeply. Imagine his surprise when his bladder insists he wake up rather than peeing on his bed just to find that he wasn't alone. He almost yelped in shock, but his logical self came to his rescue almost immediately. He panicked quietly for many moments before re-examining the perfectly angelic face of the sleeping body next to him.

He swears he has never seen anyone this beautiful in his life. There was no tension on her face, her hard neutrality having left her, leaving behind a pure Mikasa who was curled up into a foetal position, her long, black hair tousled all over the pillow. He had never seen her like this, and he thanks his heavens that he had not because it was taking him all his strength not to just sit there, stare at her and give her a chaste kiss on her forehead. His chest warmed so much at the sight, that he did not have the heart to tell her how every night after that, he waited for her to sneak in ever so cautiously, going to bed earlier and earlier so she would have more time to sleep.

It was a peculiar behaviour for sure. But he knew that just like he had his reasons not to tell her he knew, she had her reasons to not admit to her nightly adventures. Realising how much of an effort she made to hide her presence discouraged him from making any moves that could prejudice her choice of coming to him every night. If the only cost was his morning fatigue and inner conflict, so be it. He would do it all for their borrowed time without being greedy and trying his hand at getting more from her, just to be shot down twice as hard.

When he anticipates her departure that morning, there is an urgency in him. He doesn't want to let her go. He seizes the opportunity when she stands up, stretching till his fingers are able to wrap around her slim wrist, stopping her in her tracks.

"How long have you known?"

"Since the beginning, I think. When the night was stormy." He admits.

He is scared of her reaction, and half wishes she would look at him. But she is so utterly stiff around his fingers. He sees her slowly relax her muscles, taking two steps backwards, closer to the bed.

"Why did you not say anything earlier?"

"Why didn't you?" He retorts evasively. Not his finest answer but neither had he caught her in her finest moments.

Their tones are evenly matched; solemn, soft, hesitant.

He sees her partial profile, "Why now, then?"

"I have an assignment in the Royal Capital. I'll be gone for two weeks. I didn't want to just leave you a note and disappear."

"Oh."

He loosens his grip on her when he sees her shoulders slump. She moves and sits back down, her back still turned to him. He sits up too, pursing his lips, hoping she was as bothered as he was about going away. "Why do you need to stay there? What assignment?"

"Some important delegates from the continent are visiting. We are trying to forge a free trade agreement with them and they are extremely paranoid about coming to Paradis. Everyone assigned to liaise with them have been strictly confined to the Royal Capital, where they will be staying, to restrict movement and contact with outsiders."

"You have a place to stay there?"

"Yeah. It's a bit last minute. They phoned me last night with the details. Each of us have been given proper lodgings. It all sounds troublesome, but I guess it's a good sign for me personally. It means that they've started trusting me."

"Right."

There is a silence in the air that unsettles Jean, and he looks down at his hands, frightened to look up and find that she had decided to return to her room. Suddenly, it hits him how unprepared he is to leave her, wishing he could reach out to her and pull her back against him.

He is surprised when she reconfirms in her usual flat voice, "Two weeks then."

"That's right." He panics again at their conversation ending prematurely and starts rambling, even if she doesn't ask anything further, "It's not that long, if you think about. You could probably use this room. It's much bigger and nicer and the attached bathroom is pretty luxurious. I won't be there to, er, disturb you and there will be lesser to cook, lesser groceries to drag back. It'll be like you have your old life back and you'll probably hate it once I return," he lets out a wry laugh, feeling bad hearing back his own words in his head.

"Yes," she deadpans.

It is frustratingly difficult to read her like this, but maybe it was for the best that she does not see his downcast expression. It would probably upset him to see that she did not share the sentiment anyway.

He continues saying whatever was on his mind, just wanting her to stay a bit longer, even at the risk of boring her, "I'm just a phone call away though, if you face any problems. I promise to pay the electricity bill on time! I'll leave you my new number and address too, so you don't have to worry." He shakes his head, cringing at himself. Mikasa would not worry. He was the one who would. He backtracks, "I mean, not that you would worry. It's just two weeks."

No, he did not want to be this dishonest, "… without you," he finishes darkly.

Fuck it. He was leaving anyway.

He grits his teeth and shuts his eyes, like he was preparing for battle, and suggests softly, "It's early yet. I don't have to be there till much later today. Did you… want to sleep in for longer?" His heart hammers against his chest, his ears ringing.

He opens his eyes slightly, ready to face her form again, his eyes widening by the millisecond as he notices her nodding imperceptibly, straining, "Now that you mention it, I am quite tired." His mouth hangs open, watching her tuck herself into what had become her side of the bed, still turned away from him.

"Alright then," he smiles and lies down too, facing her back.

Dawn had only just kissed the horizon, and he is thankful for the extended lease on time he had with her.

He is brought out of his thoughts when he sees her hand feel around the mattress behind her, in the space between them. "What's wrong?" He asks her, letting his fingers touch her cool ones. She stops her exploring and grabs a hold of his digits, tugging at them.

She wriggles herself backwards, across the mattress, and states blankly, "Like this." She guides his arm around her waist.

Jean does not move for several seconds. When she does not let go of his fingers, and tightens his arm's hold around her, he feels a rush of electricity and reacts to it. His body moves on its own, mimicking a memory that now felt distant. He outstretches the arm that is under him towards Mikasa, lightly tousling her hair to signal to her his want and uses the arm she was still holding onto, to pull her slowly, timidly towards him, gauging her reaction with his most discerning gaze. If her muscle so much as twitched or flinched in a manner that indicated a dislike towards what was happening, he was ready to withdraw immediately.

Like a seamless track of dominoes, she maneuvers herself on to his outstretched arm and he moves in, closing the distance between them until her back is flush against his body and his other arm wrapped around her perfectly toned waist. He tilts his neck down and nuzzles her sleek hair. The flyaway strands tickle his nose, smelling of a rainy day filled with sunshine, which was so like her. He lets his lips graze the back of her head gently, unable to hold himself back, burning with desire and yearning that was hanging on a balance of disarray. When she arches against him, and feels her press against his heat, he feels like he has left this world.

How is he expected to control himself like this?

He lays back his head on his own pillow, the rational side of him forcing him to control himself, resetting their positions to its previous, more innocent position.

Oh, is he going to miss her.

He regrets not telling earlier that he knew that she had been sleeping beside him every night. And now he had to part ways from her right when he is torturously close to her. He could not comprehend her side of it. All these days, he had rationalised it as her following a routine that she had fallen into from when they had to share a room in his house at Trost. And then he justified it as her seeking his comfort when she had a particularly bad time. That's what he technically was there for: to share in her burdens.

He was too anxious about asking her and getting a definitive answer though. It seemed too final. Like this, he got to live in a fleeting fantasy. Being the practical, logical person that he is, he finds that he effortlessly returns to reality just as soon as the stimulus of his deepest longings is taken away from him.

So for now, he lets himself hold her like a lover, drawing on the blinds of his fantasies for as long as possible, praying that she would forgive and forget, or rather, not notice his minor indiscretions, like in the past. And maybe, just maybe, she would miss him too.

They lay in each other's arms wordlessly until the sun is bright in the sky. He begrudgingly untangles himself from Mikasa when it's time to leave. He keeps the noise to a minimum as he does some last-minute packing. He smiles at her sleeping form wistfully, still not able to see her face properly, buried deep into her pillow. At least she managed to sleep. This image would keep him warm for the days to come.

He makes breakfast for Mikasa as usual, taking special care to scramble the eggs for just the perfect amount of time, and toast the bread just so it was slightly brown, the way she liked it.

As he had told her, he leaves a note with his phone number and addresses, leaving it beside the telephone she has never touched, reconsidering whether there was any point in leaving his details behind. He is a vain, self-confident person but when it comes to her, he does not feel like much. He leaves the note behind anyway, with a simple, "I'll be here if you need me". He picks up his bags, with one last look at the house, and exits the door.

The sun is blazing even as the trees have started turning orange. He covers a small distance from his house, and abruptly halts.

No, he did not want to go like this.

He could second guess what she was feeling but not all of it could have been his imagination. There is something there. If nothing else, he had made some mark in her life.

He drops his bag and rushes back into the house, pausing a moment before unlocking and swinging open the door. He holds onto his hat from the gust of wind the cross-ventilation produces. He is surprised to see a puffy-faced Mikasa standing there, her eyes slightly red, probably from their interrupted sleep. Her eyebrows are knitted, mouth slightly parted – she looks unusually troubled.

He bites his lip as they look at each other, the distance between them gaping.

In a rush of emotion that he cares not to rationalise, he takes three steps towards Mikasa, who stands with her hands by her side, not averting her gaze from him even a second, until he surmounts the distance between them completely. He bends to match her height and wraps his arms around her ribs and back desperately, engulfing her in a crushing embrace, his head tucked into the nook where her neck meets her shoulders.

He tries to memorise every part of her – the way she feels against him, the way she smells, the way her breathing sounds. He gulps hard, as he feels her hands gingerly come up to his back. He is relieved that she does not push him away. The way they fit against one another so perfectly cannot be just in his head. It's too real. How could he possibly convince himself out of this, that she did not feel at least an inch of what he is feeling in the moment?

After a few heady moments, even as the concept of time is lost on him, he pulls away with all the strength he can muster. Mikasa's lips tremble for a fraction of a second, which he would have missed had he blinked, before going back to a neutral, straight line. He caresses her smooth cheek in a featherlight motion for a second too long, and manages a small smile, "I'll see you soon."

She simply nods and that is enough for him before he does an about turn and walks away from her without looking back even once, his fingers shaking.

Jean is such an idiot. How could he just lay such news on her and take off, all in the span of a few hours?

Her mind reels at the information that he is going to be gone for two weeks, petrified of being all alone again. If she looks at him, she is sure she would burst out in tears. To be in such a weakened state was always undesirable. The wave of desire and emotions struck her in an astonishing speed, compelling her to take all she could from him to be able to sustain herself for the next couple of weeks.

She knew what to do. She needed him to hold her. She needed him to not see the obstinate tears that streamed down into the pillow. She needed to remember what it is like to have someone's mere presence itself bring you solace, like she had covertly, and apparently, not so covertly, experienced night after night.

But was it really him that she needed or was he just a representative of her not being alone?

She hates it when he leaves the room without even bothering to tell her that their final moments were up. It should not matter to her, but it does. When the door suddenly swings open again, and he hugs her as tightly as she had wanted him to, she leans in wholeheartedly, feeling like spring had arrived after a long winter. His fingers across her cheek has her almost flutter her eyes close in response, but she is a trained military woman. She does not relent easily.

With him gone, she shakes her head, finding herself to be overdramatic. What was she even doing? Wanting a hug here and there meant nothing. She has just been starved of human touch for years, and Jean just happened to be there. He just happened to have a large frame that perfectly enveloped hers, like any man should. He just happened to smell good. He just happened to be understanding and respectful of her needs. He just happened to be it all without making it seem like being around her is effort.

She sighs loudly, feeling the familiar ache in her chest.

When she notices the breakfast packed as usual on the table, the weight on her chest feels overbearing. She falls into a sob on the chair, her hands smothering her damp face.

That is the last time she cries in five days.

Jean was right. Ugh, he is almost always right. Her life had reset to the normal it was before he had moved in. She did chores for one, cooked food for one, worked at the orphanage until it was almost dark, visited Eren's grave every couple of days and reclaimed her bigger bed. But it seemed like Jean had ruined her life beyond repair somehow. There is no magic reset button that takes her back to her previous self.

She wakes up too early, too grumpy, too dishevelled. Her food is too bland on her tongue and predictable as she skimps on effort. Dinner is too quiet and more of a habit that she lets herself occasionally forego. She religiously visits Eren's grave with her scarf tightly on, but can't be bothered by the friendly bird that often comes and sits on the headstone. Her work at the orphanage is just as fulfilling, but she finds herself looking around the vast farm for an adult figure that used to be a nice break from her mundane toil.

Her nights are too uneventful, the words on her books dancing around the page from her inattention, distracted by the vacancy of the sofa and the quiet of the air. Her old bed is too large and smells like him, but maybe, she could let that slide, crossing over to the side of the bed that was not hers, too often. The dark unsettles her too much, leading to her pacing around and randomly working out at odd hours just to tire herself out enough to fall asleep. Laundry for one person however, was brilliant. She could wash the bedsheets to make them smell like soap, as they should, but er, lesser the laundry, the better for her.

Okay, so her days were insipid.

She roamed around like a zombie in mind and in body and the vacancy in her chest only expanded day by day. What's new. This was Mikasa Ackerman for as long as it mattered anyway.

She had developed this bad habit where she would curl up on the single seater sofa next to the window below which the telephone was kept, staring at it with her chin on her propped knees. She was so bored that a telephone call would be nice.

Maybe she could go visit Mrs. Kirstein.

Or Mr. Kirstein.

Mr. Kirstein never minds anything she does.

No, but Mr. Kirstein is probably busy with his fancy diplomatic work… clearly, she was also super unproductive and complained in her head to herself childishly.

The ringing of the phone makes her almost fall off her chair as she zooms to the phone.

"Hel-"

"Jean?" She says too hopefully and impulsively.

"Mikasa! I'm glad you picked up. Everything okay? You sound a bit breathless."

"Oh yes, everything is fine." She clears her throat. "I was just doing some laundry." She lies. It doesn't sound great to say she was waiting around for the phone to ring.

"Listen, I don't have much time to talk but I have some good news for you."

You're coming back, she wanted to ask, but pushed that thought away, settling for, "What?"

"Armin is coming to Paradis! I offered him our house. They're not comfortable enough to let the leader of the peace corps stay at the Royal Capital, so he'll be commuting every day."

"Oh!" Mikasa exclaims, genuinely happy at the news. "When is he coming? For how long?"

"If there are no delays, he could probably be here as early as tomorrow, for a couple of days or so. I'm sure you could convince him to stay longer. Annie will probably accompany him too."

"This is really good news."

"Yeah, it would be fun to have a nice little reunion. I don't think we have seen anyone since we… er... for a while."

"Will you be coming too?"

"Possibly. I'm trying to get out of the Capital for a bit, maybe the weekend. They've just been a bit of a pain, dumping all the paperwork on me, and-"

She hears someone shout gruffly in the background, "Get off the phone, Kirstein! Don't you see the number of people waiting?"

"Will you shut up? I've hardly been here for two minutes!" She hears Jean reply equally roughly, amused to hear this side of him.

"Hello? Jean?"

There is some more shuffling around in the background until she hears Jean's hurried voice, "Sorry Mikasa, it sounds like I need to go. I'm being called. Take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will-"

"Bye!"

"B-" The engaged tone already hit her ears. That was too short. But at least, now she had something to look forward to. She hasn't been this excited in a while.

Armin is at her doorstep the next morning itself, with his wife, Annie in tow, bags in hand. Armin launches himself at her, and she returns it, just as overjoyed.

She ushers them in, "I'm so glad the both of you could make it."

"Yeah, nice to see you too, Mikasa." Annie follows behind an ecstatic Armin, standing at the base of the staircase.

Mikasa grins ear to ear, "I've set up my room for the both of you. Let me show you to it," she takes one of the bags from Annie and starts heading up the stairs.

Armin places a hand on her shoulder to stop her, "That's really not necessary. Just because Jean isn't here, we wouldn't want to displace you from the master bedroom like that."

"My room is not the master," Mikasa states matter-of-factly, now realising their arrangement might sound strange to an outsider.

"Looks like we have a lot to talk about…" She hears Armin declare sheepishly from behind her.

"The outside world does sound pretty amazing," Mikasa comments, as she places three cups of tea down on the coffee table after the guest couple freshened up. She settles down on the sofa as well, giving a quick glance to the window.

"Sometimes, I wish you came with us. Paradis is nice, but there's so many places to see!" Armin's eyes glitter at the memories.

"Armin here is painting you quite a rosy picture," Annie adds, taking a sip of the tea. "We are sadly on a boat most of the time. Between the peace negotiations and obtaining permission for asylum, there isn't much time to explore. Jean got out at a good time."

Armin sighs deeply. "I can't deny that. Being an ambassador of peace is hard work. Nations still understandably look at us with suspicion. We are long overdue for a vacation and apparently, a honeymoon." He smiles to Annie, who returns it.

"Honeymoon?" Mikasa asks.

"Yeah, it's apparently this concept in most countries where couples take a long vacation right after they're married and hotels give you discounts and things like that for it. But Annie and I have hardly gotten the time to travel anywhere other than for work," Armin laments, the silver of his wedding band glinting in the sunlight. "You could consider one too, Mikasa. You're the most newly-wed out of us all."

Mikasa almost chokes on her tea. "We're fine." She states brusquely.

They talk for a couple of hours. Armin explains how precarious the situation between Paradis and the other nations is, and how the internal situation of Paradis itself was not ideal. He often went on a tangent about this exotic place he had discovered or this beautiful landscape he had seen. Mikasa smiled fondly throughout, being transported to her childhood where times were simpler, with just them and Eren, sitting by the river, discussing the endless possibilities.

"Alright then," Annie slaps her thighs and stands up, announcing, "I think I'm going to go rest inside for a bit. I could use a breather from Armin," She jokes, earning a whine from her husband. Mikasa smiles at the married couple's dynamic, vaguely wondering if this is what she and Jean looked like from the outside as well. It would be nice if they looked as natural.

"It's just us now," Armin smiles at Mikasa, picking up his second cup of tea. "All good in paradise? What is with the room situation? Did you have a fight?"

"No, nothing like that. This is just our arrangement."

"Really? Since you've been married, it's been like this?" Armin asks incredulously.

"Yes, pretty much," Mikasa replies coolly, warming her fingers against her cup.

Armin takes a pause, his face pulled into an analysing frown. "I know I said I would support any decision you make, but, what did you think marriage was going to be?"

"I thought it would be nice to always have someone in the house. This place does seem too big just for one person, especially right after all of you used to leave the cottage after visiting Paradis," she explains calmly, the memory of an empty house bringing in a twinge of sadness. Armin's curious look does not diminish.

"Right, so, marrying and then living with Jean is basically a friends' thing?" He interrogates.

"You could say that. He is respectful of my space, we talk from time to time, look out for each other."

"Interesting," Armin suddenly smiles at her. "So while he is gone, I guess it's pretty convenient that I'm here to take his role!"

Logically, yes, Armin was fulfilling the exact role Mikasa had described for Jean. The assessment feels ingenuine though, somehow.

"I suppose it is. I am really glad you're here." She smiles at him.

"Sadly, we'll be gone in a couple of days though." He makes a sad face and then it lights up again. "Maybe Connie, Reiner or even Pieck could take over! They are due to come sometime too. They fit the bill too, right? They'll respect your space, happily take the other room, occasionally talk to you and definitely even look out for you. They're good as friends too!"

"I don't know Pieck too well, but the others should do…" Mikasa trails, this line of reasoning unsettling her.

"Say, wasn't Jean supposed to come by?" The phone suddenly rings. "Ah, speak of the devi-"

Mikasa has already rushed to the phone by the first ring, her ear to receiver, "Jean?"

"Hey, Mikasa. I heard Armin and Annie are already here?"

"Yes. Armin's right in front of me, in fact. When are you coming?" There is an unintended urgency in her voice.

"That's why I called, actually. I'm sorry, I won't be able to make it." His voice starts fading and she subconsciously twirls the telephone wire around her fingers. "They're not letting me go unfortunately. Good that you have Armin and Annie for company though."

"Yeah. Thanks." She responds curtly, gritting her teeth behind her lips lightly.

"The bad news doesn't end there either." Mikasa feels her heart quicken. "My trip has been extended for two more weeks. I'm in a bit of a hurry right now, so I won't be able to explain in full, but I'll try to call you sometime later, okay? You take care and have fun. Bye!"

"Bye," She puts down the phone, smoothens her skirt and takes a seat back on the sofa again, her expression severe, "Jean won't be coming."

If Armin sees the obvious disappointment on her face, he doesn't comment, taking a sip of his tea contemplatively instead, mumbling a "That's a shame."

Mikasa feels like she is being observed by Armin and decides she doesn't like it. "What?" She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously.

"Nothing. I was just thinking about something," he replies musically.

"Which is?"

"Since you and Jean are just friends and barely spend any time together from the sound of it – and I may be overstepping here but – have you discussed what to do about the more intimate needs either of you might have?"

"I don't get what you mean," Mikasa says as neutrally as possibly, trying to supress her discomfort at the possible direction their conversation was heading. She was aware she was still very much that socially awkward girl who barely let herself ponder on more frivolous baser instincts that was not violence.

Armin pulls a more serious façade, dropping the earlier act he had put on, that Mikasa suspected was done solely to get some sort of a reaction out of her. "I don't know how much you've talked about this, but there have been others for him, just like for you. He's a good guy, so I don't think he would ever do anything to disrespect-"

"-What others?" Her ears heat up from the dread of the new information.

"Three years of travelling as miserable adults; surely you didn't think Jean – at least decent looking to put it mildly, a revered guy – wouldn't explore the field a little bit."

He searches Mikasa's face for a reaction, but when she freezes, unable to form any words from a revelation that should hardly have been shocking, Armin continues, declaring decisively, leaning back into the sofa, "Oh, you didn't think about it at all."

Mikasa looks away, feeling caught in a trap.

He was right.

Her mind had never even gone in that direction. She just saw Jean as Jean – a comrade, friend and now, a convenient companion her feelings were getting all muddled up for. She lived absolutely alone for three years before he started visiting her regularly. With Eren gone, considerations of relationships and dating, much less even pondering over such topics in relation to her friends was never in the picture. Now she felt stupid because Armin was right; the others had moved on with their lives like normal adults are expected to. She was the one far removed from adjustment. The realisation made her stomach churn.

"I didn't." She admits candidly, hanging her head low.

"That's alright. It doesn't matter who he has been with or hasn't. What matters is that he is here with you now, I guess," he reaches out and places his hand on her shoulder comfortingly.

They say nothing, as he waits for her to clear her thoughts that wouldn't stop buzzing uncharacteristically. In the urge to calm down her racing mind, she whispers quietly, unsurely, slowly raising her head, "Were there many? D-did he.. what did he… what was he like?"

Armin looks at her almost regretfully. "I can't lie. There seemed to be... enough that we couldn't really keep track. One that you even know. Maybe it was his way of coping? I don't know. But now I feel like I shouldn't have said anything. You should probably speak to him directly, if you think it's important."

A conflict brews up inside of Mikasa, just as it did of late whenever it came to Jean. Or was it when it came to Eren?

Whatever Jean had in the past should be none of her concern. They did not share a relationship that was remotely physical – their occasional physical contact on the bed did not count, did it? - especially given that they both knew that it was not him, but Eren that haunted every corner of her mind. But this wasn't really solely about the mind, was it? It was just about being one with another person, in every way. She hasn't been with anyone like that, but Jean had, and Mikasa was his compromise now in that aspect.

She was his compromise.

But why and for what?

She was more ready than ever to tear her tangled brain out.

"No, it's not important."

Armin smiles through pursed lips, reiterating, "Yeah, it's probably not. Especially given what you both are. Or, are not, rather."

She breathes out heavily once, deciding the upturned state Armin's words had plunged her into would be unpacked at another time. "Would you like some more tea?" She swiftly changes the topic, hoping to quell the brewing storm inside of her.

"I would," He goes with her suggestion just as she expected her support system would.

"Did you really need to wind her up like that, Armin? Poor girl looked distressed as it is at the mention of the rooms bit," Annie softly chides Armin as they prepare the bed to sleep. "It's really not our business what she does… or does not do with Jean."

"I can't help it though, watching her in denial like this!" Armin's hands go to his hair, tugging on it.

"What denial? She's not interested in Jean. He just got super lucky that she literally spoke to no other guy in three years and he just happened to be someone she knew - he is an okay talker, a stand-up guy and patient with her."

"Maybe that's how it started but it's so obvious that things have changed. Mikasa just doesn't want to admit it yet or something and it's pretty frustrating to watch."

"How can you tell?" She fluffs up the pillows and sits down with her legs stretched out, head back against the headboard.

Armin joins her. "She would not stop glancing at the window or phone all throughout our conversation. And you should have seen her when he called and said he couldn't make it. She was distraught."

Annie snorts. "Okay, maybe there is something there, but don't you think she should be able to speak for herself? I mean, they're clearly not even close enough to talk about his past relationships. Doesn't really seem like she cares about him beyond a platonic sense."

"If I'm being honest, while Mikasa is a very sharp girl, she can be a bit… lost when it comes to such matters. I just want to give her a little bit of a push. And you know how she has some… unresolved issues. I think that's definitely at play here."

"Always with the strategies, Arlert," Annie sighs mockingly.

"A little support would be nice!" Armin chuckles. "I don't know. I just have a good feeling about this. She looks so much better than how she was when we used to visit her. I think Jean is good for her. I just want her to have what we have. I was always confident that she would. I even told Eren as much," He looks to her softly. She looks away with a small blush.

She tosses and turns in the bed that feels too large now. More than once, she sits up and stares into the dark nothingness outside the window, hoping either the boredom or the fatigue would take over so she could sleep. Every time she shut her eyes, she is back with hundreds of thousands of chilling screams piercing the air. She had taken to steering away from the terrors by transporting herself to a happy place as a remedy.

This happy place, as defined by her traitorous sleeping brain, however, terrified her even more than her endless horrors.

She could see him again, the sunlight reflecting off of his luscious light brown hair, smiling at her softly as he fried up some more of her favourite sausage. He is just in a tshirt and shorts, perfect for their lazy Sunday brunch, and she can't help but admire every angle of his profile and every gorge of his muscles, lines and curves meeting together in ways that reminded her of the fairytale princes she had practiced her Marleyen reading skills on. He suggests they go for a walk later when the sun settles down and go to that new watering hole they had discovered on their last getaway. She smiles brightly at his suggestion as usual, always wanting to go wherever he went.

She thanks him for taking the lead in the cooking this time and goes to rinse her plate. He surprises her from behind, her skin melting at his touch as his larger body melds into hers sensually, his hands sweeping over hers, and settling around her hips. His lips leave a hot trail of kisses against her shoulder. When she arches her neck in pleasured response, he seizes the opportunity she craved for him to, and teases her exposed neck with a brush of his lips. Her fingers go up to touch his face, feeling his prominent jaw and his light stubble that was not as voluminous in reality as his pride over it, hoping to encourage him to relieve her of her aching.

He builds up the ache as he expertly manoeuvres her until she has her back against the kitchen wall. She becomes his willing captive. The intensity of his amber meeting her metallic grey is almost too much for her. She tries to turn away shyly, feeling too seen. But he always insists on admiring her blatantly - beyond her comprehension - and drags her face back to his line of vision with a hand cupping her reddened cheek. His breath has her reeling, her own becoming shallow in anticipation, as he is centimetres away from her. The ache in her heat is so strong, that she does not think she can take his slow seduction any longer, begging him to mesh his lips against hers roughly, needily; for his hand to go lower than her waist, unabashedly feeling for her every nook and cranny, pleasuring her in ways only he knew how.

She almost tastes his lips, as he angles his face to perfectly accommodate hers. Her eyelids feel too heavy against her lust for him. They flutter closed, and she positions her lips in the way she remembers from their thousand kisses before. He is so close.

So close.

The softness of his lips grazes hers and she is so close to feeling him, for him to transport her to their private place where no one and nothing can ever intrude. So close, so close until…

She wakes up from the dream, her clothes and pillow slightly drenched from the intensity of the images that had occupied her mind. She swears at the lucid dream, the memory of it so vivid. She played it repeatedly every night since he had gone. How did her brain even know to think it up?

She knows the answer to that, which makes everything all the more frustrating. It was a combination of everything they did, everything she felt and everything she saw. She could pretend it was all nothing, that it did not affect her, but who would tell that to the organ that was positively and very annoyingly pulsating at the thought of that beautiful man she shared her bed with?

Innocent, confused Mikasa was so much easier to deal with. What the heck was this new phase? At least she knew what the nightmares were, what they meant, why she saw them. But this - this she did not even want to explore, too afraid to uncover a truth that would make her spiral all over again. With Armin's unintentional exploration into the deep untouched corners of their relationship and the revelation that she was not the first to possibly share his bed, an unknown insecurity had gripped her, that started marring even her happy place. It underlined the fact that her fantasies with Jean truly were her happy place after all, before being botched by this new information.

It was too much to process at once. So instead, she had taken to showering at night. A nice, uncharacteristically cold shower until she found a cure for this ailment she was better off not having discovered at all. When she goes back to bed after, the bed feels unbearably cold and empty.

Armin and Annie have busy days. They flitter in and out of the house. Mikasa falls into a nice routine by the third day, adjusting her day in such a way that she maximised her time with them.

It's a Sunday afternoon, their last day in Paradis. Armin makes sure there is no pall cast by their imminent departure. He cooks a large meal that he was still practising to impress a grumpy Annie with, who had stepped out to buy some pie after waking up incredibly late. Mikasa helps him a lot, and by that, it means that he reads out a line from the recipe and she executes a solid seventy percent of it. She thinks he will be fine when they reach the stewing phase that requires only a little stirring from time to time.

She watches from the kitchen table with a soft smile at her struggling friend who had achieved everything he had set out to do and more, given the cruel hand they had been dealt. When the afternoon sun blazes into the kitchen, Armin's blonde hair disappearing in the light, there is a nostalgia for a moment that had never occurred in reality, and a tear prickles her eye.

"You know, Armin; I've been thinking and," she takes a pause hesitantly to make sure she could come out with her next words. Armin turns his head to give her a curious look, and she continues, "I've been thinking and, I don't think Connie or Reiner or, er, even you, would do. Jean is just Jean. Always has been." She ends definitively, riding the wave of the sudden urge to spill out something from the very depth of her guts.

"I know," Armin replies softly, before getting back to stirring the pot. "I'm glad."