Armin and Annie's departure made everything worse for Mikasa again.
She spent her days going about her routine as she did before they had arrived and felt pretty miserable through the day. Some variation of the dream that made her wake up uncomfortably sore played in her mind more than her usual night terrors of regret and guilt. It made her all the more restless because she just did not understand it. And when she tries to make peace with some absurd reasoning like, her adolescence stage has returned in full force, or her body is just lonely, she feels better only to feel much worse when she visits Eren's grave.
She admitted Jean was Jean but the full implication of that was still something she was struggling to come to terms with. Everything felt much more tedious without him. It was not even about her initial assessment of how it's just nice to live with someone or have someone to split the chores with. She knew that they had long since reached the stage where it could not have been anyone else but Jean.
The question was why.
She needed answers. She liked them. It was highly frustrating to not have them.
The best she could do was list down all the things she liked about him and why those were Jean-things. She takes to this while she is sat before the fire on a cool night.
He is:
Nice
Understanding
Respects her space
Takes care of her
Knows her
Is funny
Keeps things interesting
Is easy on the eyes
Okay, no.
She scratches out the last one, a blush creeping up on her cheeks if she even thought about him in that way. She smacks the notebook to her forehead. The adjectives she had come up with did absolutely no justice to him. Connie could fulfil literally all of these, if he tried.
This is stupid, she decides. She just likes his company, wants him around and wants to see him. She was trying too hard to make sense of this and was using the wrong methodology. She would not be able to describe why she is friends with her friends either anyway.
Why should she try to describe why Jean is… Jean, her friend?
She is about to finish the first two weeks without him. Two more are due. She leans forward defeatedly into the cushion, groaning into it at the thought that there were fourteen more days of this unnamed torment. Her mind had been particularly unkind to her, playing and replaying images of Jean with beautiful girls in flowing dresses and girly bows, enchanting him in the parties they never attended together. Is that why they never went together? Was she a hindrance, a reminder that he would have to cast away that aspect of his youth in favour of this frigid wife, and that those were just fleeting moments of escape?
If only she could see him once. If she could see him, she feels she could understand him and everything would be okay again.
That's when an idea strikes her; one that she should have thought of this before, but clearly, only her desperation could lead her to something like this.
Mikasa had made sure everything was perfect before she left her cottage that day. She gets on the train confidently and double-checks the food she had packed for Jean. She dressed effortlessly casual, but couldn't help but adjust her hair continually, protecting it from the wind, and pulling at her clothes even if he wouldn't care once he saw the food in her hand. He was a big-eater and surely, he would appreciate her kind gesture of a home-cooked meal after the horrid food of the mess he was probably being forced to eat.
Yes, this was for him. She was just leaning into her role as a caring wife as a reward for a caring husband-friend.
She marched assertively through the grand buildings, with her chin up, fitting in effortlessly with the dignified crowd. As long as no one adverse recognised her, she would be fine. And anyway, she could take literally anyone on, and there was nothing more innocent than delivering a home-cooked meal to a homesick husband.
He was homesick, though, right? At least a little?
Now was not the time for doubt.
She stares up at the white marble of the building, the name of which Jean had scribbled onto the note he had left for her. As she starts ascending the stairs, she feels more intimidated by Jean's possible reaction at her making a sudden appearance, than the looming threat of getting killed on the spot by the several uniformed Yeagerists who exited and entered the building. Maybe she should have called. On a second look, she stuck out like a thumb in her civilian clothes.
"May I help you, miss?" A uniformed man who reminded her of Floch Forster approaches her, eyeing her suspiciously.
She straightens her back, cautious about not making any wrong moves. "No, that's alright."
"No, please, I insist. You don't work for the military and yet, here you are," he states politely, with a tone of caution in his voice. His eyes seemed to be examining her, until it fell on the bag holding the food. She swings it casually behind her back protectively. "You seem to be looking for someone."
"Yes, I am," she replies equally curtly. "Do you know a Jean Kirstein, by any chance, from the import-export department?"
He eases up, his body untensing. "Why yes, I do. And who might you be? He never mentioned knowing anyone this beautiful. It's quite unfair, really," he says flirtatiously.
She stiffens. She was not good with such conversations. "I'm his wife," She states bluntly.
His jaw drops comically. "His wife?!" He exclaims incredulously. "No, you've got to be joking!"
She narrows her eyes at him. Why was he finding this so hard to believe? She crosses her arms tightly over her chest, displeased at his reaction. "And who are you and how do you know him?"
"I'm his colleague, more like his desk mate: James Nielsen - a pleasure." She recalls the man's name from Jean's stories. He seemed to be somewhat of a friend. He puts out his hand as an invitation for her to extend hers. When Mikasa shows no sign of relenting, he puts it back down. "So, his wife, you say?"
"Yes," she arches an eyebrow questioningly.
"Man, this is hard to believe! He never, ever mentioned having a woman in his life, let alone being married," he guffaws some more.
All irritation she felt earlier is displaced by a rush of hurt.
She loses the motivation to meet him, embarrassed that no one at Jean's workplace apparently knew of her existence, images she had conjured up of feminine figures in his arms circling her mind again. She extends her arm with the bag towards him, her brow creased and her mouth pulled in a straight line, as she says more coldly than she intended, "Could you please ensure this reaches him?"
"I'll let you up. You could give it to him yourself." He waves his hands as refusal to accepting the bag. "Gosh, all those times I took him to the bar and asked him to look for women with me – here I thought he just had no game! This is gold," He goes on ranting, amused.
Mikasa's impatience gets the better of her, as she forces the bag on to a chortling James' chest, his expression quickly changing to one of shock and fear as she reiterates callously, "Give it to him, please," turning away and walking towards the station immediately, distantly hearing him call out to her, "Hey, wait a minute! Could you at least give me a name, so I know you are for real?"
It is not going to be a pleasant ride home.
Jean looks over the hundredth agreement in frustration. His dream of working a desk job for the military police was fulfilled but now, with the words crawling across the impossibly thick stack of papers on his desk, he misses the air on his face while flying majestically on his ODM gear. He yanks on his hair, sighing before putting another signature of approval.
"Jean!"
Jean groans at his annoying colleague's holler. It never bodes well for him. "What is it, James?" He all but sighs out in resignation before the said man even forms the words from his widely grinning mouth.
"Explain this, Kirstein, you absolute traitor," James tosses the bag on Jean's neatly organised stack of papers, making Jean curse under his breath in irritation at the redhead.
"What am I looking at?" Jean examines the bag in exasperation. "Is this new proof that I plan on betraying Paradis?"
"You had a visitor. This was from her," James says with an air of mystery, wiggling his eyebrows.
"A visitor? That's strange," Jean turns in his chair to face his colleague, rubbing his chin in thought.
"Yeah, a pretty girl with black hair."
"Oh, Pieck? I thought she wasn't due to come by until much later."
"Is that her name? She didn't say. A bit cold, that one."
Jean sighs, knowing the nature of his colleague quite well. He turns back to his desk and starts rearranging the papers James had made a mess of, extracting the bag from what was left of the pile. "If you're asking if she's single, I don't kno-"
"Your wife, dude. Your wife came by. How could you keep this from us? I'm actually feeling betrayed," James mock-wiped tears from his eyes.
"…What?" Jean is flabbergasted.
There is no way, no way, that Mikasa would eve – he unzips the bag and finds a lunchbox with his favourite omelette and a bunch of sides he usually ate, his vision blurring at the unbelievable sight in front of him. His mouth wouldn't close.
He jolts to an upright position, and grabs James by his shoulders, shaking him urgently, "Where is she?"
"I don't know, man. She just took off-"
Jean rushes out of the room like his life depended on it.
These two weeks, he had thought about nothing else but getting by just so he could see her face again. He had crossed the telephone area a thousand times probably, all his resolve going into not calling her just to hear her silky voice. He was itching to be close to her again. He knew he would miss her but some days, it felt so unbearable, that he considered asking for a couple of days off to meet her. But it was futile efforts to fulfil his childish desire. Mikasa must have been completely fine without him. Just thinking about it twisted his stomach. He thought she would say something when he said his trip had been extended, but hearing naught from her broke him to the extent that he had to put down the phone in haste to hide his shaking voice.
And now, by some miracle, she had made the effort to come all the way to the Royal Capital, taking extra care to make him all his favourites. He was so happy, he could cry. Joy had taken over his heart, and he feels validated that she at least cared about him.
When he reaches the bottom of the building, he frantically goes in both directions in search of her. But he knew that she is most likely already on a train back. If she wanted to see him, she would have seen him. He pants, catching his breath in front of his building. He wishes he had been downstairs at the time in place of James. But for now, he had nothing to do but savour every bite of the meal that reminded him of a home with her, one that he misses with every fibre of his being.
He returns to his office just to do that, a lingering disappointment at not seeing her still present.
A curious James' face lights up when Jean sits himself back on his chair roughly. "Well?" The redhead questions. "Did you catch her?"
"No. I'll call her later." Jean gives James a professional smile, before turning back to his desk and deciding where to take his lunch to savour it best.
"That all you have to say?"
Jean turns to face James. "Am I supposed to say something else?"
"How about a little something about this estranged wife of yours, for starters?" James bites out sardonically. "When? How? Moreover, why would she marry you, traitor?" He emphasizes dramatically.
"Well, I honestly don't know. I think I just got lucky," he shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly.
"You could have said something earlier! I wasted so many drinks on you, you bastard, convincing you to lay low so I could have all the women."
Jean chuckles deviously, and grins teasingly, "Why would I pass up on free alcohol? It's not like you asked me if I was interested in the women anyway!"
"Forgive me for assuming you're single like the rest of us! Have you seen your mug in the mirror recently? Reminds me of-"
"-A horse?"
"What? No. Was going to say loser Lenny from the city planning department." Jean laughs internally at his instinct for the insult. "Anyway, so, when did you tie the knot? I still can't believe it. Next round of drinks on you to make up for the trauma."
"Mikasa. Just a few months ago," Jean says with a tinge of pride in his voice.
"She's pretty exotic looking, that one." He has a sleazy expression on his face that turns on Jean's violence radar. "I'm going to get you drunk until you spill how you got her. You also have got to tell me how the," he makes an obscene gesture with his index fingers and thumb, "is. I bet it's great."
Jean almost falls off his chair, and he can't tell if it's out of extreme anger for him talking about Mikasa like that or the fact that there was no sex at all in his marriage for him to be able to answer that question. "Fuck off, James. I'm this close to bashing your head into the wall," Jean seethes, deciding his need to protect Mikasa's honour was any day greater than his manly pride.
James throws back his head and laughs, raising his hands in surrender, "Woah, calm down there. I suppose we are a bit too sober for this conversation. And I'd be careful if I were you. A comment like that could put you on the next boat to what's left of Marley." He rolls his chair closer to a glaring Jean, eyeing the box of food, "So, are you going to share some of that or what? It'd be a shame if it got too cold."
The day feels longer than usual for an anxious Jean who could only dwell on why his wife left without even seeing him. His stomach lurched every time he pictured her having heard or experienced something unsavoury on her way to see him. He had interrogated James several times already to get to the bottom of the matter. His new friend or colleague – he was not sure what to call him yet – had a habit of speaking before thinking. He was a bit like Connie in that sense, but more brash and likely to say something offensive.
At the end of his gruelling day, he finds the telephone nook in the corner of the decently priced lodgings he was being put up at, itching to finally clear things up with Mikasa. The phone rings once, twice and as usual, she seems to be near the phone, picking it up in no time.
"Hello?"
"Hi."
A bit cold, but he will take it. "You came by today. The food was just out of this world! Really cheered me up from the dull excuse for food being served here. Thank you so much!"
"It's no bother. I had leftovers."
Unlikely that is the whole truth, but she has always known how to make his work cut out for him.
"Regardless, I really appreciate the gesture. You made the time to come all the way when you didn't have to."
"Doing chores for one person, as you said, is much easier and faster."
Okay, now she was just being gruff intentionally. He could practically see her with her blank stare, with narrowed eyes, holding back a pout. He should be taking her seriously, but he couldn't help but chuckle at her cuteness.
"That I did. Two weeks from now, exactly on Friday though, expect someone else to make dinner for you. Maybe you'll remember that two is better than one," he flirts. When there is pause from the other side, he immediately regrets his lame attempts at wooing his own wife, who was clearly unimpressed with him.
"… If that is so, then why are you still single?"
And there it was, in full dramatic effect, as Jean almost bites his tongue. "Mikasa, you know I would tell everyone if I could. And I'm sorry about James. He can be a bit rough around the edges. But, our situation here is not great, and… plus…"
"What?"
He gulps. "I was not sure if you were ready to acknowledge that we're married."
Another pause. "Fine. Assuming I gave you the impression that I am not okay with it, what exactly was your plan? That I would spend the rest of my life in the middle of nowhere, hidden away, while you enjoyed your life exploring the pleasures of Paradis and the world? Or did you assume I would ask for a divorce eventually?" She says in one breath, and he is terrified at how enraged she sounded.
"An annulment. We would need an annulment," He corrects her unthinkingly.
"Excuse me? That is the track you were on, then?!" She intones angrily, and understandably so. He could feel himself breaking down the building, brick by brick. He needed to unscramble his mind and not recede to the idiot he becomes around her.
"I'm sorry, this is all coming out wrong, that's not what I wanted to say!" He says frantically, with as much heart as he could. "I should have spoken to you and we should have decided together how we wanted to deal with this. If I knew you were fine with me referring to you as my wife, nothing would have made me happier."
"I am fine with it." She emphasizes, and he curses at his false assumption. "There is no point denying our marriage. Quite some time has passed. Moreover, I've been in Paradis for more than four years now and I don't think people are actively looking for me. I'm quite sure Historia already laid down the rules on how to deal with alliance members right after the War. You can stop worrying all the time."
"I was being an idiot."
"Yes."
"We have a lot to talk about once I return, don't we? I really am sorry. I blew it and I blew the chance to see you too."
"Maybe."
"I can't ask you to come again."
"Unlikely."
"I guess I deserve this."
He was moping now, swearing at himself again and again internally. This girl of his knew how to hold grudges. He was in the doghouse, and it would take a while to come out of it. Why did he second guess how little she thought of their relationship? Even after all those nights of holding each other, it was hard for him to believe, always justifying it to himself as her need to be comforted by anything, by anyone. It was so unlike his former self who believed he could be and do anything. In front of her, he always felt like he was never good enough.
Because he wasn't.
Until Eren died.
And now he was this unflattering, underconfident mess when it came to his relationship with the love of his life. But he could not carry on this way. This is not him.
He continues, "Mikasa, maybe this isn't the right time to bring this up, but I really would have loved to see you. I know that won't be happening again, but could I at least call you maybe?" His heart hammers against his chest, resolving that his directness was always the right way to go, rather than hiding behind the wall of insecurity he had subconsciously built up.
"Alright. But I can't assure you that I will pick up."
He smiles at the tiny pay-off. This was probably the better way from the start, baring the whole of him and letting her decide for herself if she liked or didn't like what he was offering her.
Jean was a groaning, grumbling mess the whole day after his telephone conversation with Mikasa. He hated upsetting her, and always tried extra hard not to disappoint her in anyway. While she had graciously acceded to talking to him on the phone, he knew it was just a generous concession by her.
The fact that he had called home today and she did not pick up the phone, only made it all the more clear to him that she needed more time to stew. This made him uneasy and restless, to the ire of James, who had unknowingly been the cause of and gotten caught up in their marital strife. So much so that he was very happy abandoning Jean at the officer's party they were at after he got sick of Jean's moping in the face of, he was told, very hot, eligible women.
Jean's other colleagues had somehow managed to drag him to the nearby bar instead, all sharing the sentiment of the party being too stuffy for their taste, the women too stuck up and the alcohol too fancy to get drunk on. He was aware that he was far from being the life of the party, sitting with his colleagues with his face in his laced hands, images of his distraught wife prickling his conscience. He was seriously considering taking the last train home for the night, but the important meeting the next morning meant that his neck would be on the chopping block if he happened to miss the first train back.
He feels his annoying colleague rudely shove at him, blaring in his ear, "Look, look, a hottie just entered the bar! I think she's looking this way!"
Ah, when things were simple.
All he used to have to do was catch the eye of a woman, sweet talk her for a bit, spend a few bucks on some drinks and maybe food, and then call it a night with her willingly in his arms. Now, that life seemed distant and unappealing. It was difficult for him to even imagine it anymore. He would any day take his complicated life with his one true love over a one-night tryst that left him hollow right after.
"Seriously dude, snap out of it. She's definitely trying to catch our eye and I'd rather you not bungle this for our sake."
A twinge of curiosity compels Jean to raise his despairing face out of his hands.
His breath is caught painfully in his throat, his mouth falls open.
Mikasa.
It was as though the whole bar went dark, the light shining only upon her.
He was so tongue tied that he could not fathom any words even as she sat with the most discerning expression opposite him, her mouth pulled into a straight line just as he would expect her to look – she was definitely still mad at him. He could vaguely hear the lively chattering and flirtatious performance of his half a dozen colleagues begin, as he lets out in a stutter, trying to catch up to his pounding heart, "What are you-"
"I'm Mikasa," she introduces herself so politely to the men around her, that it comes off as her being deliberately cold to him.
He straightens his posture, trying to process her presence, that it truly was her… that she truly was somehow pretending that they didn't know each other.
"Mikasa, I-" he begins again.
"Are you here alone, Mikasa?"
"I am."
So it was not in his head. This was a taste of his own medicine and it was the most bitter thing he had ever tasted.
He feels gutted as she nonchalantly continues engaging in conversation with his colleagues, or rather, as they talk at her, excited that someone so above their league was taking an interest in their group, each trying their hand at charming her.
It boiled his blood. He irrationally developed the urge smash all their heads in, and just take Mikasa away from their lustful gazes. He could hardly blame them. She put every person in the bar to shame, she put every person he had ever seen to shame. He couldn't convince himself otherwise for a decade and counting. Her revenge was certainly served cold because he was freezing in her pretence of being strangers. He just wanted to take her away and return home.
She occasionally glances at him, and just as he thinks he could hold it, she looks away, and continues feigning interest in everyone but him. When it comes to Mikasa, he is a weakling. He can't bear the weight of the atmosphere between them. He was not entirely sure what to do, what she expected him to say to her, even as he keeps trying to put in a word to her between the constant background chatter.
He gets up and decides to cool down with a drink, wondering whether she would even care about his momentary departure, her not meeting his gaze even once, very pointedly. Jealousy was not a good look on him, especially not when he should be more focused on making it up to her, who had come all this way to probably see what he had in store to make things right. Nothing a drink couldn't solve. Maybe.
All of Mikasa's training in being discreet and apathetic flies out the window once Jean gets up from his seat in the booth to head to the bar, her eyes following him so intently that the men attempting to please her became furniture too.
The truth was that while she was still hurt and angry, irrationally so, at Jean for not acknowledging their relationship in public, there were other, stronger feelings that had overtaken her until she could not sit still in the house anymore. While she had made peace with the fact that Jean was not just a replaceable someone anymore, Armin's words about his past had arisen a phobia of her being the replaceable someone of Jean's life. Once she realised that he very much had a life beyond her, before her and with her, it made her question what she meant to him.
The naivete of being completely secure in their status quo had made her conceited, had made her take him for granted. Being without Jean for the past fortnight made her see some things she had refused to see. Most of all, it was the fact that if he were to go away somewhere for real, or if Jean were not Jean, or if she weren't… his in any sense of the word, other than being ordinary friends, she doesn't think she could stand it, watching them rewind back to their previous state.
This meant that since the time she boarded the train back, she felt like she was running on fire. She was not used to such intensity of emotions that was not depression or hopelessness. By the time she got home, she was burning up with so much worry that she didn't know what to do with herself. She deeply regretted not getting to see Jean and hastily running away like a coward. She could barely recognise herself as the once-famed Titan-killer.
A few hours of working in the orphanage in such a frenzy that it scared the children, and she was sent home on sick leave to her mortification, making her come to the decision that it was best to face the source of all her fears: the husband she was refusing to acknowledge all this time, on whom it was easy to put all the blame on, when in reality, she had never offered him anything but this home that she had cleaned for the third time that day from the anxiousness beating at her chest.
She took the first train she could manage after making a hasty call to an embarrassed yet secretly grateful Historia, whom Mikasa had interrupted in the middle of a mind-numbingly important diplomatic meeting in the search for Jean's likely whereabouts. She put on a dress that she would never have bothered with otherwise for the sheer fact that her translucent skin would be drowned out in its stark white, but the mirror had been telling her for a while that the colour in her cheeks had returned stronger than ever, giving her the confidence to adorn herself like she would have liked to. She was proud of herself when she invaded the officer's party without blinking, even speaking to the infamous James again, thankful when he revealed promptly that Jean had gone onto the bar next door.
Which brought her here – in this bustling, dingy bar where she found herself quite speechless on actually confronting the man she had travelled all the way from the end of the Island to see. It was easier for her to be her cold, comfortable self instead.
She found the façade she had put on cracking quite easily when she spots him at the bar, a beautiful woman who showed more skin than she would ever dare to, attempting to chat her man up – legally her man only, of course. She watched them nonchalantly as the curvaceous blonde woman casually nudged Jean who mumbled something to her in return with a serious expression, inadvertently ignoring the background noise of Jean's colleagues who were trying to steer her attention away from the sight she had set her eyes very keenly on.
Jealousy. Possessiveness. What disgusting feelings she thought she would never feel again – one of the few good riddances.
But here it was again, as she easily crushed a wooden coaster in between her fingers, her face still pleasantly plastered with serene apathy, the gasps of her company faintly reaching her ears which were straining to hear the conversation between her man and the busty woman who was out of bounds. She stands up gracefully, discounting the even louder gasps from the background, making her way with her chin up to the bar.
She stands so confidently next to Jean that the woman on the other side of him scuttles away at the hint of the scowl on Mikasa's face, "I thought you were going to buy me a drink."
He smirks, not looking at her, leaning on the bar, "I wouldn't want to risk my success rate."
"I had pegged you to be more of a risk taker than that, Kirstein," she mimics his stance, a smirk easily forming on her face too, feeling a rush of heat to her cheeks that had her adrenaline running.
"There's no winning against you, Ackerman," he trails off distantly, before turning to her with a wider upturn of his lips, "I'm always at a loss around you."
A pink stains her cheek but she asks undeterred, "What does that mean?"
"I've just been thinking about how much I-" He suddenly purses his lips, like he was restraining himself, taking a moment to gather his thoughts, "-I need to do better."
The playful atmosphere dismisses just as easily as it had formed around them, submerging Mikasa in more mystery about this man she had thought she had figured out all this while, where she was the enigma for him to try and piece together.
"Why are you here, Mikasa?" He breaks her out of her speeding calculations. "Surely it isn't to spend time with those idiots," he gestures with a jerk of his head towards his colleagues who were gawking pitiably at them. "Two shots please," he orders the barman.
"I… was in the area," Mikasa curses herself internally for not thinking of the simple details she was willing to give. With guilt, she immediately backtracks, "Okay, sort of," she sighs out, earning herself a questioning look from Jean, who wouldn't have guessed such an answer.
Two glasses of a clear liquid are placed in front of them.
"You didn't have to come all this way to prove-"
"No, it's not that. I know you meant what you said on the phone. I just… wanted.. to see things for myself," she rubs her arm, looking away from him.
"See… what? Me in my natural habitat?" He says in jest.
"I should have stayed yesterday. It was rude. And, plus, we don't come out like this."
"I would never want to bring you here, honestly," he says sheepishly.
"Why not?" She furrows her eyebrows even though she knows he probably meant that in a good way, images of all the bodacious girls she would never know flowing through her head.
"Have you looked at yourself? You don't belong here – you're way out of this place's league!" Her cheeks stain a darker red from offense and a stubborn warm feeling in her chest. "Tell you what, now that we've settled that it's okay to come out, why don't we go somewhere nicer?"
"I'm fine here," she states obstinately, putting the tiny glass to her mouth and jerking her head back to swallow the contents in one smooth motion, even concealing her disgust at the extreme bitter taste, earning a worried gasp from her companion.
"I guess I've underestimated you again," He chuckles lightly, draining the contents of the liquid into his mouth too. "Are you hungry?"
"No."
"Have you eaten already?"
"Yes."
"Do you want to go back and meet my colleagues for real this time?"
"No."
"Er…" He looks at the clock on the wall. "You only have about an hour till the last train to get back. What can we do…" he ponders out loud.
Ask me to stay. Why isn't he asking me to stay?
She gulps, letting her curiosity take over her, "What would you have done if I were not here?"- If it were not me here.
He is taken aback. "Probably retire to the room in a bit honestly."
Take me with you.
She gingerly lifts up her hand towards his arm, feeling a surge of boldness arising from a desire that had been building up from her chest to her –
"Perhaps you would let me have a dance?" He offers his upturned hand to her, the picture of a gentleman.
She lets her hand fall to her side in lightning speed, confused, "This is a bar."
"It is," he smiles at her coaxingly.
She stares at him incredulously for a further explanation of his absurd suggestion.
"Don't look at me like that!" He outstretches his hand closer towards her. "How about it?"
"I.. I don't know about this…" she replies distressed, warily wrapping her fingers around his.
No sooner did she put her hand in his than he led her through lively groups of people crowding the bar. She watches as he tunes up the jukebox, chickening out of what is expected of her; social situations like this, or just having her hand grasped in his, was too far out of her comfort zone. When an upbeat tune she obviously did not know started played, Jean turns around with a grin that would have ordinarily been reassuring but made her all the more unsure instead.
She lets him drag her once again from the way they came until he finds a spot for them that was comparatively sparse. He takes her other hand in his as well, and starts tapping to the beat, guiding her through simple movements she had seen others do; releasing one hand, rhythmically tapping a foot then, joining together, separating again, turning her around –
"Jean, I don't dance!" She cries out over the music as her body starts being moved in his rhythm, and she notices the crowd they were attracting, cheering for the attractive young couple that has her blazing red.
"But you're doing it right now!" He lets go off her hand again but with a little more momentum till the distance between them maximised, and jerks her until she finds herself twirling around in his arms, still feeling like a stray wooden plank being beaten against the wind, her breath catching painfully in her throat when he makes her lean backwards while in his arms, finding herself looking up at the ceiling and a Jean who was leaning over her.
She covers her face with her free arm from the embarrassment that had creeped up all over her neck from being watched by the hooting crowd and his intense hazel gaze that seemed to be getting closer and closer, like a magnet to iron, her body being more in his control than her own in the midst of his expert manoeuvres. While they're in this novel horizontal position that has her steaming from her ears, he says in to her ear in an attempt to speak over the music, "I didn't know you're this shy – it's cute!"
He pulls her up to her relief and she feels her legs ready to give up, cursing her fluttering dress, understanding what he meant by her not belonging here; uniformed men and women had bounded them in an organised, encouraging circle, using them as an example to join in with their own couples. She feels the urge to cover her face some more, as she hears his musical laugh, enrapturing her for a tiny moment, before he leads her into some simpler moves where her stiffness was passable.
"Just bury me in the ground now," she groans to him candidly.
He chuckles at her expense, closing the distance between them so they could communicate easier. "Do you really hate it? We could stop if you want."
"I'm fine," she mumbles, not wanting to openly admit that she was slowly but surely moulting from her protective shell, feeling the music that was always novel to her ears, enjoying his gentle but confident motions that made her move in tandem with him effortlessly even as she stepped on his toes several times, the way he looked sharply at her, making the adoring crowd sink into an adoring blob that enhanced her dopamine levels; she was on a high from the multitude of fresh experiences she was getting to imbibe all at once, that pulled her lips into a wide smile akin to when she had first tasted ice-cream.
"That smile looks good on you. I guess I'm out of hot waters now," he pulls her close and twirls her around, her ponytail whipping his face.
"Don't get cocky," she nudges him playfully, attempting to lessen the breadth of her smile but failing miserably.
When the music falls to a tempo that even someone as musically challenged as her knew wouldn't match their quick four-beat steps, her smile falters noticing the couples around her reduce the distance between one another.
He had let go of her hands, likely when he saw her look around her in a flurry. She glances at Jean, who seemed to be fighting a battle of his own in his head, his lips twitching through the line that it was in.
"I could show you how, if you want," he suggests to her softly, and she just nods, the slow music enchanting her, making something stir inside her.
He gently takes her hand and places it on his shoulder and takes her other one in between his thumb and index finger. "This should do for now," she gulps when she feels his other hand trail to her back, making the hair on her neck stand. Outwardly, she shows nothing, not daring to make eye contact with him, though she was close enough to his shoulder to kiss it - not that she was thinking of that.
They sway from side to side, and somehow, the music seems even slower than she had anticipated, their movements and closeness being in the foreground to the background the music had receded to, getting virtually ignored from the noise her frenzied blood vessels were creating.
She observes the other couples from above his shoulder, seeing how the sparks seemed to be flying from some of them, the moments seeming too intimate for the public eye. She blushes and looks away when she spots two heads coming together beyond the utility of their dance move, inadvertently making her hide her face in his shoulder.
"Are you okay?" She hears the rumble of his voice through his chest, making her knees go weak.
Instinctively, she looks up only to find she had made a grave error by doing so.
He was looking down at her with that intense gaze of his she did not know what to do with these days. It made her conscious. But beyond that, it captivated her until she could not look away either, her eyelids feeling heavy from the weight of the atmosphere created by their shared stares. He makes it even worse when he brushes off a stray strand of hair from her face oh so smoothly, making her swoon like those princesses would in those Marleyan books she had read on meeting the charming prince for the very first time.
The tension makes her hand feel unduly clammy, so she unthinkingly mimics the position of the couple beside them, lacing her arms around his neck. Before she has time to consider the consequences of her actions, she feels his hands shift too until they are around her waist, their bodies flushed together like it did on her weakest nights when she sought out his warmth.
She can't bear to look anymore, her face too hot, her neck too hot, her whole body on fire, so she takes to burying her face in his shoulder again, sheltering herself from the electrifying intense heat that put colossal titans to shame. This made her hyper-aware of his larger, harder frame against hers, creating a friction that made her ache for him, ache to be even closer, more and more, until there was no space left. His distinct scent that she had tried to locate on his bed heightened her senses. Maybe just once it would be okay if she -
She feels his soothing hand land on the back of her head, his chin perfectly positioned to nuzzle the top of her hair. She thinks she is going to burst when she feels a solid mass graze against her thigh momentarily, the heat rising through her own body at an unprecedented speed. She shuts her eyes in an attempt to cool herself down, processing the fact that her body was crying out for her to act in a way she had never dared to let herself think about in real terms, the sound of his quickened heartbeat only making it harder to reign herself in.
With one painful gulp, she gathers the guts to look up at him one final time, forming the words on her lips, hoping she would be able to say it out loud, "Jean, I-"
The loud ding of the clock tower drowns out her feeble voice that had taken her all her strength to let out, her heart matching its trill on the realisation of what she was planning to do, a cold sweat washing through her overheated body.
"-Mikasa, you need to go," Jean parts from her and says with grave urgency.
Her mind was buzzing from the overwhelming sensations from before, not being able to process efficiently the tight grip he suddenly had on her hand, and the new rhythm of running he had plunged them into. The stuffy air of the bar is now the crisp outside, as they run against the wind, hand in hand, already out of breath from a moment that felt more intensive despite its comparative stillness, passing sparsely populated parks, cobbled stone paths, and shuttered buildings.
As she finds her speed and matches his, her legs overcoming the jelly-like state they were in, she tries to piece together why, when they were just about to do something unspeakable, they were once again running instead, just like that time in their kitchen. She finds her strength, and brings them to a halt, that has Jean jerking backwards towards where she had rooted herself, "What's the hurry? Where are we going?" She says with clear exasperation, now annoyed because she felt like she had been forced to take a cold shower suddenly.
"Your train – you're going to miss it at this rate! We should hurry," He attempts to tug her along as he begins running again, expecting her to follow but she stays fixed to her spot.
"It's alright, we can take it easy. We still have some time," she explains sourly as he looks back at her bewildered. "You worry too much." Or, you could ask me to stay and we wouldn't have to rush like this.
He huffs out in defeat, matching her pace of strolling instead, "Fine. As I said, I'm powerless against you."
His fingers loosen as though he were trying to free their hands, but she squeezes them instead, feigning admiring the moonlit scenery around them, not noticing their interlinked fingers. She sees a ghost of a smile grace his perfectly shaped lips, spreading like a contagion to her as well, the cool air forming a calming atmosphere around them that made her feel at one with him as she did on the dance floor – a joy she had probably never experienced, or long forgotten.
"I had fun today. Thank you," there is a glint in her eye as she looks at him with a pure smile. Since when had she been able to smile and laugh this easily?
He smiles at her, but ruins the fantasy, "We should continue moving though. I don't want you to be stranded. We're almost there. You can take my pass."
They say nothing for minutes, walking as a true couple under the starry sky with interlinked hands and steady breathing. Jean hums the tune of the slower song from before, plunging Mikasa into the strange mood that made her feel gooey inside from the awareness of his presence.
But she hadn't come all this way for an impromptu moment that would long shine in her memory or a peaceful stroll that would have seemed romantic to any bystander. "Do you miss it, all the travelling, meeting new people?" She asks sincerely, wearing her heart on her sleeve for once, irrationally scared to hear his answer.
"Not particularly," she sighs out in relief. "It was different, but I'm done with that phase of life."
"What made you change your mind and come back? The destruction and devastation got too much? Desire to spend more time with your mother?"
She spots a distant look in his eye. "It was all of that, I would say. It got a lot and I wanted to settle down, finally start my life. Brokering peace was never my dream. I think I've done enough." He hesitates for a moment, before adding, turning towards her, "I know there's no such thing as enough but, I just wanted to stop, as selfish as it is. Armin and Annie had decided on a home, Reiner, Pieck and Connie wanted to spend some time with their families, so I thought it was time I made a move too."
"You didn't think about starting over somewhere outside? Captain Levi seems to be well adjusted in his new home, and Connie I hear, decided to move out of the Island with his mother, since Ragako was never going to be Ragako again anyway. He also met some girl apparently?"
"Hm, yeah, he did," He nods and Mikasa finds it strange not to hear any concrete response from the otherwise chatty Jean on her previous question concerning him.
She reframes the question, straining herself to make conversation, "What about you? Did you decide Shiganshina was the place for you? Your mother lives in Trost…"
He falters in his step. "Shiganshina is a nice place to stay in, don't you think?"
It was her turn to nod, knowing for a fact that Jean has never intended to live in the barely developed rural Shiganshina. Her heart beats fast in anticipation of her next question which she thinks she does not have the right to ask anyway, "You didn't… consider settling down with any of the girls from the mainland?"
He jerks to a halt. Mikasa walks a few strides ahead of him, only to walk back to face him when she feels the tension from their linked hands. "Heh. You spoke to Armin," He runs his hand through his hair. "What did he say?"
"Nothing. Just that there were others," she says coolly, hiding her anxiousness effectively from his view.
He takes a deep breath, "Yes, there were. What do you want to know?"
She shrugs her shoulders, not expecting his honest admission, a hundred questions running at the speed of light through her head. He starts taking steps forward, and she joins in his slow pace, taking a moment to gather her thoughts to condense it into only the most pressing questions. "Were there many of them?"
"Quite a few. I honestly didn't keep track."
She feels a jab in her chest. "They couldn't hold your interest for long enough?"
"They weren't meant to."
"Someone I know too apparently?"
He looks at her wistfully, like he didn't want to say it, before looking away solemnly, "Pieck, I suppose."
Her image crops up in her mind which subconsciously starts comparing Pieck to herself, and she feels confused. She seemed attractive enough to Mikasa and distinguished in her own right. Maybe it was difficult to digest that she was on the enemy side, which was understandable. She hardly had to confront such things ever since the war. "She seems nice. And pretty, I guess. Why didn't it work out?" She feels nosy as she lets the question leave her lips.
He looks ahead contemplatively again, and now she knows for sure that there were things he was leaving unsaid which roused a misplaced impatience in her, "I… couldn't give her what I should have maybe. It was never going to work out."
"Hm," she inflates her cheeks with air, pursing her lips.
"You seem dissatisfied by my answer," He pauses to stand in front of her.
She looks up at him with a troubled look, "I don't have any experience in such things so, bear with me please: I just don't get it. It sounds like there were many of them and it seems strange that it didn't work out and you just came here and settled. Take Pieck for example, why do you think it didn't work out? And when it didn't, didn't you want to continue your search, find The One or whatever?"
He sighs out loud, sounding tired almost, "No, not really."
"Why not? It seems uncharacteristic of you to just give that up and settle-" She presses on.
"-They weren't you, Mikasa," he bites out. "They wouldn't do," he murmurs guiltily, his eyes downcast.
She pauses, and then smirks, "Oh, you don't have to say things for the sake of pleasing me. I'm unfortunately already married to you so I'm stuck in this anyway."
He clicks his tongue, "Don't say things like that. I'm being serious." His genuine ire bewilders her, the thoughts in her head re-scrambling to find the right way to put the puzzle of her feelings and intentions back together, trying to find the place for his words in her muddled up mind.
He takes her other hand in his, and gazes at her so intently that has her in goosebumps. "What did you really want to know Mikasa?"
They weren't you, Mikasa.
There was no relevance to that statement. It wasn't why they got married. It wasn't why she had travelled all the way here.
"Let me ask you again," he attempts gently, as she remains silent, ruminating in her thoughts, "Why did you come all this way today?"
She searches his face for an answer, at the man she had come to depend on. But he betrayed none. No, because she had come here on her own accord. There was nothing he could tell her about it.
"I.. I don't know," She shakes her head, unsure of her own intentions now.
None of his admissions should have held any weight. If it were any other friend telling her of their past dating life – if you could call it that – then she would just take it as a piece of information, a good-to-know. But none of what he said seemed impersonal in relation to her. It affected her, and that bothered her.
"Hey, it's okay," he offers her a soft smile and grazes her cheek in a featherlight motion with his cold fingers, that has her heartbeat quickening again. "You don't have to say. I'm just glad you came."
She looks up at him, her eyes glinting like a lightbulb just switched on inside of her head:
I had come to see you
- A simple truth she would never be able to utter, feeling a pain in her chest that made it feel like those words were being physically held back by her consciousness for a reason unknown to her.
With all her strength, she is able to break free partially, as a chilly wind picks up around them, fluttering her hair just as his fingers were fluttering her insides, "I'm glad I came too."
She feels him recede his hand, mumbling something in the background about being sorry for invading her personal space, but she doesn't care about any of that.
Her feet take two paces forward towards Jean, until she is able to comfortably lace her arms around his neck again, the way she had when they moved together inside the dingy bar that had transcended the space that they were in. She is pleased when he reacts similarly, placing his hands on the side of her waist unsurely, reminiscent of the way he had on the dance floor, replicating the cause of the swooning sensation she had felt.
The nip in the air heightens her senses, the smell of concrete and smoke being overpowered by his fragrance that swirled in her a trance-like confidence, even as he looks at her confused, questioningly.
"What are you… what do you…" His breath fans her face from his whisper, making her own breath hitch before she stands on her tip toes to raise herself up to his level, her eyes fluttering shut on their own accord.
A million fireworks go off, pooling in her stomach and spreading to every extremity of her body when she leans in until her lips meets Jean's after an eternity of playing it out in her head, on every lonely night without him. She is unsure what to do when she finds her lips over his, the sensation so surreal, she feels like she is going to tip over from the overwhelm of his taste that she already knows she would be dissatisfied with just playing make-believe with anymore.
He is slow in his response, moving along with her until their lips alternated between each others', creating a bone-deep intimacy that Mikasa didn't know was possible.
A blinding light flashes on them and a deafening siren and sound of working engines surfaces that she could be least bothered about, the primitive act of her lips on his having already transported her to above the clouds where no one could reach them, as she tightens her hold around him almost desperately, her only anchor to sanity.
Jean pulls away so achingly slowly, that the widening distance and the air that was not his felt almost painful to take in, as he murmurs breathily, connecting their foreheads, "That's your train."
She only has the strength to nod, unsure whether she had even heard him, too caught up in the warm aftereffects of their kiss – her first real kiss.
He loosens his hold around her, which is her first call to reality. She follows suit, regaining her composure bit by bit, as she shyly opens her eyes to him, unsure of whether she would have the courage to face him even though it wasn't like they had done anything wrong. He smiles at her, which snaps her back to awareness, and she blushes brightly enough to put a tomato to shame. Like an adolescent teenager, she just nods again at him and quickens her pace out of his hold, to scramble awkwardly to the first door of the train she could make it to.
She hears him shout out, "I'll call you!" waving to her frantically, trying to keep pace with the train that had left the station.
She makes it to a window seat, catching a quick glance at him, which he surely missed.
Once the train is in full gear, Mikasa lets out a deep breath, her mind now going over and over a whole new set of images to unpack over the week until she saw him again, a feeling of his response being comparatively lukewarm to her initiation nagging at her. It was going to be a long week, and she wonders what the cause of the lengthening will be this time, hoping that giving into her yearning for once was alright even if not well-reasoned.