This story will have 12 chapters in total. Thank you so much for all the feedback so far!
The receding silhouette of Jean reminded her just how much she felt for the man. She was ashamed of her breakdown; her half-hearted attempt at pushing him away and shifting the blame onto him when she knew very well from their week of silence that it was just her feeling powerless in the face of such strong emotions. She couldn't bear it. It had creeped up on her unassumingly yet seemed sudden. Once she opened her eyes to it, she was in disbelief at the intensity hiding behind her curtain of denial.
Feeling this way for him was not supposed to hurt this much. But every time she thought of him, she would feel her heart squeeze, like something was holding her back and telling her she was not allowed to feel this way. The worst part was that she didn't quite know yet how to free herself from the chains.
Then there was the guilt itself that was with her every step of the way, ranging from not deserving him when she was still mangled, to not being fully able to immerse herself in him, to seeking him out only when she needed to, to not being whole yet, with a part of her still stuck in the past. He deserved better, and at this point, she didn't think she could be that for him. She really should have put more thought into their marriage, and opened herself up to her realities sooner, preventing the tangled mess she had dropped them into, which was surely to hurt him no matter what she did hence.
The venom she had spewed at him, her inner turmoil swirling like a cyclone, made her scared that he would leave her. Every person has a limit and she could have very well pushed him to his brink. She was mortified of the stinging words that left her tongue so effortlessly, of the deep wounds they were likely to create. Her outburst made her question herself even more than she had been while quietly ruminating in her unsettled thoughts.
Her desperation at fixing the situation focused her attention on his form in the distance, feeling an urgency build up, as though he were leaving her in every sense of the word. She did not know how to tame the storm of incompatible feelings whirlpooling inside of her. She was only at the cusp of building herself up again, but if he left, she would definitely not be able to recover, whether it was because of a dependency they had formed or romantic feelings that she harboured for him.
She runs towards him, her irrationality taking over her again and in a moment of fear, wanting to reach him, she puts her arm around his pocketed one, as a throwback to their previous outings where they would be arm in arm, wobbling around the outskirts of the town, tipsy from the drink and company.
He glances at her once in surprise, his familiar smile gracing his lips, making her heart leap out from relief at him not rejecting her in spite of her selfishness which was now out on display. He doesn't remove his hands from his pocket, and she feels seen in that moment; he had learnt over time that she was oft anxious about making or acknowledging their physical contact.
The silence between them is comfortable, in spite of their discomforting thoughts and conclusions. They do not unlink their arms even as they enter their house. They ascend the stairs as a unit, a stiffness now growing between them with each step they took. There is a pause at the landing, as they wordlessly turn towards each other at their narrow corridor, at the cusp of the question of whether they would be separating at this point.
She doesn't need to search his face to know the question on the tip of his tongue, feeling the pressure of it popping inside of herself. Her shoulders droop, as she looks at him sympathetically, and lets out with much willpower, "I can't continue doing this to you. I need to make up my mind about some things and it's not fair to drag you into that."
He purses his lips and forms a solemn, longing expression before humming a "Yeah" under his breath, before they promptly part ways, each leaving their doors open a few inches, hoping for the other to make a bad choice. The doors however, do not move an inch the entire night, each person feeling the weight of the part they had to play.
Mikasa waits for Jean impatiently at the dining table, satisfied with herself for having made them a large breakfast. Being a holiday, he was likely to wake up late. Her nerves would not calm down, with half a mind to go wake him up herself.
In his eerie connection with her, in splendid coincidence, he comes down the stairs lethargically, yawning away with dishevelled hair, a scratchy barely-there beard, low rise shorts with a plain shirt that rose up to reveal the band of his underwear and a bit of skin every time he raised his hands even halfway through. It took Mikasa all her determination to not stare and look neutral, even though she almost jumped out of her seat.
"This is a nice surprise," he sits at the table excitedly. "How are you feeling? You sleep alright?"
"I did. Did you?" She replies, recovering easily from her momentary slip into inappropriateness, feeling embarrassed internally at how her body reacts in such untimely fashion given that the atmosphere between them was still so tense.
"I did. Thanks," He digs into his eggs, his appreciation for the food reflecting in his eyes, earning a small, pleased smile from Mikasa. She needed him in good spirits for the necessary bomb she had planned to drop on him.
"Jean, I'm going over to stay at mother's for a few days," she states, her heart beating fast.
His fork stops in his mushrooms, "Uh, yeah, sure. Just give me a couple of hours to pack a bag-"
"No," she rubs her arm sheepishly, "Just me. I need some time and space to think about what to do."
He dramatically drops his fork into the aforesaid mushrooms, as Mikasa looks away, afraid of seeing the disappointment in his eyes.
He looks up at her, "Oh. That, er, should be fine. Does she know you'll be over?"
"Yes. I called her before you woke," Her voice trembles when she notices how he could barely look at her without the melancholy being evident, which urges her to add, "It- It isn't you. You don't have a reason to worry. I'll be back as soon as possible." She tries to smile, even though her own heart was unreasonably breaking, when only he had the right at feeling that.
"I understand. I hope you find what you're looking for," He offers her a pained smile that she returns, the air around them feeling solemn and sorrowful as though they were being made to do something against their will.
Mikasa promptly left a couple of hours after that, rushing to exit their shared home that was pulling her to stay, warning her she was making another bad decision. She bids Jean a quick goodbye, after he helps her run through all the things she would need, this being the first time she was leaving her home on her own, and leaving it in someone else's care. She complains that he was fussing too much, considering, according to her, she had already completed her packing and was just going to another home. He ignores her gripes and lists down the things she would need anyway, a heart-warming worry lacing his voice.
He leans on the door frame, saying an equally hurried good-bye to her, as she feels his saddened eyes fall on her until she was out of his line of sight.
This was for the best. She could not string him along. She would return to him when she had a clear mind. She cared about him too much to make him a victim of her fickleness.
Mikasa knocks on the door anxiously, not sure what her mother-in-law would react like in seeing her without her son in tow. She sounded understanding on the phone when Mikasa had straight up asked if she could come over, not mentioning Jean at all. Mother had said yes immediately, not asking too many questions, to Mikasa's relief.
Now was the time to face the music.
Her mother-in-law swings open the door with a knowing smile, stepping aside for Mikasa to enter, "Come in. I'm glad you've come home."
She was looking at Mikasa sympathetically, exceedingly kindly, as though she had comprehended the situation long before, not necessitating an awkward explanation from Mikasa.
"You can keep your bags in Jean's room, take a few moments to freshen up. Don't worry about lunch. I'm already cooking," she smiles at Mikasa so warmly that that in itself induces a guilt in her that makes her want to cry. She would eventually open up to her and hope that she doesn't believe her son did anything wrong. She would explain to her how he is so beyond capable of doing her any wrong, and that it was virtually the other way around. Judging by mother's demeanour, she perhaps did not expect anything else.
Mikasa feels better about her decision to have come to her mother-in-law's place, initially feeling it to be too self-centred to take time away from Jean to stay at his mother's house to deliberate on their relationship. Her days here are slow and serene. It gave her more than enough time to process the hurricane of emotions wrecking havoc inside of her and to streamline her priorities.
She would look outside the window of the house, at the bustle of the full-fledged city now, so far removed from their otherwise lonely stead back at Shiganshina. Her mind drifts to the boy immortalised near there - the very reason for taking up a house there - but it seemed like it did not matter where she went because he followed her everywhere.
Thoughts of that light brown-haired man who was the very symbol of comfort and safety floats into her thoughts just as easily. He was the one who had transformed that lonely house into a home without her even realising it or asking for it. She feels the familiar tug in her heart, protesting about the direction her mind was heading, willing her to forget about him in that way. They echo mercilessly about how that life isn't hers, it isn't for someone as empty as her. She would never be whole and he was better off with someone who could give him at least that much.
She was getting so sick of this tug-of-war going on inside her that it made her want to pull her nails out. Maybe this is what is meant by maturing. She was content all this while with living in the past, pretending to be looking to the future, her eyes shut closed, feeling the sensations that came to her, not nurturing any of it.
This indecisive girl wavering in her feelings, hurting people she cared about along the way, depending on them to distract her, could not possibly be the Mikasa that was waiting to be reborn since she died four and a half years ago. If not for anything else, she needed to do better for him. Anything that was for him, was undeniably for her too, and she slips into her circular thoughts once again.
The banging of the door wakes Jean up in the middle of the night. The heavy rain outside made it hard to hear, but thanks to his troubled sleep, he is able to rush down the stairs in wonder of who it was. He had a good guess.
He opens the door to a drenched Mikasa, and his stomach drops.
He moves aside immediately to let her in, chiding her, concerned, "I can't believe Mom let you return at this time of the night. You should have called me from the station. I would have gotten you an umbrella."
"I walked here. She doesn't know I did. It took me much longer than required to get here," she comes in, looking around the dark house. "I'm surprised you were sleeping this early."
"Yeah, I have an early day at work tomorrow," He quickly explains, switching to fussing over her again, "Why would you do that though? It's pretty reckless of you. Wait here. I'll get you a towel."
He races up and gets her a fresh towel, covering her head in its fluffy white. She wipes her hair slowly, disinterestedly, making him restless as her hair is sodding wet even after she is done, resting the towel on her shoulders. He clicks his tongue in frustration, taking the towel from her and covering her hair and face in it again, wiping her hair for her, as she stands there completely still, letting him.
"You need to do it properly, or you'll catch a cold. Winter is almost here. You need to take better care of yourself," he lectures her unabashedly, tackling the horror-inducing realisation that he was behaving much like a mother-hen.
As if she had read his mind, he hears her say amusedly from under the towel he was vigorously moving around in her hair, "You sound like you mother."
"Worth the risk," He answers smoothly, examining his handiwork by taking a few strands of her damp hair between his fingers.
"I'll go change," she says, and he lets her go, watching as she dragged her suitcase and drenched form up the stairs.
His insides had been racing since he opened his door. The week without her had been agony. He had gone over all the possible outcomes of her return, the best case scenarios and worst case scenarios both scaring him. To her credit, the empty home induced him to think about what he wanted do about their relationship as well, something he had been putting off ever since their first kiss, opening himself up to the possibility that all the lingering looks and interest in long conversations through the wee hours of the night meant that there was some reciprocation of feelings.
But it did not feel right to him. The fact that she liked him gave him no joy. It hurt that she couldn't stand her feelings for him. Reciprocation was not worth it if it meant that he would lose Mikasa herself in the process, any day preferring that she smile easier around him than feel anxious about any wifely duties she owed him and was not fulfilling sufficiently.
He had come to his own conclusions, taking into account what was overall the best for them, now anxious about hearing her thoughts on the matter.
"Mikasa," he calls out to her, not being able to quell his unease at being held in suspense.
She turns to look at him from the stairs, as he continues with hesitancy, "I was thinking of making some tea. Would you like some after you're changed?"
"That would be great, thank you," she smiles at him, and he relaxes, preparing himself for their imminent conversation.
They sit below the single light of the kitchen table, a dull yellow glow shrouding them. He searches Mikasa's face for a hint on how she had been doing, paying close attention to the rims of her eyes, the swell of her cheeks, and the line of her lips. He was pleased to find that she looked surprisingly fresh, not finding hints of too many troubled days and long nights on her features. No matter how he looked at her, even with her tousled damp hair and plain nightgown, she looked absolutely lovely to him. He lets himself stare, knowing what was coming sooner or later would permanently put a dampener on that.
"How was your stay? I hope my mother didn't get on your nerves too much," He eases in with small talk, taking a small sip of the tea he had brewed.
"She was lovely. She asked about you," She speaks clearly, seeming better settled than when she had left.
"What did you say?"
"That you were just as sloppy as ever," She teases.
"Great. Looks like I won't be visiting there for a while then," He takes his head in his hands, resting them on the table for dramatic effect.
She lets out a tiny giggle, making his breath catch in his throat from how warmed he was from her refreshed demeanour.
"I'm glad I went. She was really supportive." After a short, lingering pause, she says softer, trailing, with a sad look on her face, "I think she could sense what was going on between us."
Jean switches to his serious façade, ready to broach the elephant in the room to ease the pressure of his heart hammering against his chest. "I want to know what you're thinking, Mikasa."
She puts down her cup, her face descending into an obvious distress. "We can't go on like this, Jean. I'm sorry for treating you the way I have and for being the way I have. I'm afraid I don't have the capacity to be there for you yet. I wish I did, but I don't."
Normally, Jean would have been inconsolable at this point, but he was expecting this, giving him the opportunity to remain calm and imbibe all her words carefully, paying close attention to her body language, knowing whatever they discussed would pave the way for their days to come. "I get it, don't worry."
She looks up at him tentatively, "You're not disappointed then?"
He lets out a breath, "No. I was thinking along the same lines actually. I'm sorry too. I don't think we've been the best we can be to each other."
She lets out a sound of disbelief, resting her elbow on the table to massage her temple, "That was honest. I appreciate it."
He watches her struggle with what she should say next, her awkwardness in social situations showing starkly. He releases her out of her misery, "I've had an idea. I'll be right back."
He goes to his room and joins her back at the table in no time. He promptly gets down on one knee in front of her, with a shiny golden ring in between his fingers held out to her.
"What's this? We're already married, Jean," Mikasa's irises go wild between the ring and him, a rosy hue spreading across her cheeks.
He laughs lightly, "This is my wedding ring. I'm giving it to you. I think this label of us being married is putting too much pressure on us. We can think of this as our commitment to remain just friends and companions. If you ever feel otherwise and want to give us a shot, then you can return it to me then, no questions asked."
She looks flabbergasted, having been taken aback from his suggestion, eyeing the ring he held thoughtfully. He sincerely hoped she would say yes to his new proposition. It was something he had been considering for a while now and it felt like a good, mature decision to him.
"Is this really okay? How would it even work?" She asks hesitantly, processing the implications of his proposition.
"I can't predict the specifics but I want us to be just Mikasa and Jean from now on, the way we were before - nothing more, and nothing less. Do you think we can do that, Ms. Ackerman?" He smiles at her, hoping to coax her into agreeing, as nervous as he was about the decision.
She looks troubled, however, like there were many questions on her tongue that had left her unconvinced to go along with him so far. "You seem sceptical."
"It's not as easy as just pretending to be something we're not. I mean, I guess we're already friends, but wouldn't we be giving up a lot to do this?"
"Like what?"
"What if I never change my mind, and I never return the ring to you?"
"That's fine. I'm not expecting you to. I think it's only wise to keep the option of returning it open, for the 'just-in-case' scenario."
"What do we say to our friends?"
"Whatever we want to. This is about us, not them," He says with conviction, no waver lacing his voice.
She lets out a breath, like she was preparing herself to switch to game mode. She turns to him in her seat, so that she was directly facing him. "What about the future? Didn't you want a family… kids…" Now she really looked like she was panicking.
He gasps and then nods in understanding. So maybe he had not considered all the possible angles of it. He was short-sighted in that he knew what his goal was; to peacefully live with Mikasa for as long as possible and to finally see her smile without feeling like she doesn't deserve to. As far as his own needs were concerned, they were inextricably linked with hers. It was too difficult to watch her suffering from afar, which made him suffer in turn.
He answers anyway, undeterred, with his eye on the prize, "When the time comes, I'm sure we will figure something out. You work at the orphanage. Maybe we'll want to adopt; who knows what we will be like in the far future."
"This sounds…" She trails, like she was considering whether to utter her next words or not. She decides on saying measuredly, yet with a flicker of emphasis in her voice, "… there are other needs… w- you may have. What will we do then?" She shifts in her seat uncomfortable, flittering between looking at him and at the table.
He did not expect such a question from Mikasa. Not because he didn't believe she didn't have a more needy side to her but because he thought she would single-mindedly be focused on remedying all their emotional problems first. Guess he learnt something new and exciting about her everyday.
"I didn't realise that would be a consideration for you," she seemed to want to put in a word in to protest but decides against it, going back to her unsettled look and closed body language, with her hands set firmly on her thighs. "I'll just jerk off or something, I really don't care."
She widens her eyes, making him instantly want to retract his statement, sheepishly ruffling the back of his hair, "Ugh, sorry, that was too crass, wasn't it?"
"What if you want to be with someone else, or if I-" and she doesn't finish, stilling at the realisation of what she was about to say.
He ponders over her dilemma for a good minute. He did not consider ever seeing beyond her. It was a braindead oversight, however, on his part to not even consider that she may not want to be bound to him, that she might have fancies beyond him like any normal person. What was the right thing to say? He wanted to say "Please don't" but that would be inordinately pathetic. His practical mind had started short-circuiting the moment he tried to imagine her with someone else. One Eren was more than enough.
He decides on being vague, his ready-arsenal of answers not equipped to handle ideas that were revolting to him, "We hear each other out then and try to come up with a solution, I guess." He looks to her with anticipation, hoping he did not blow it with his less than satisfactory answer.
She takes another deep breath and says, "You could be with anyone you wanted. Why would you want to make such drastic sacrifices for the sake of us staying together?"
"It's hard to explain - but I don't see them as sacrifices; more like me getting lucky," He takes a pause, pondering over whether to continue what he really wanted to say, sensing this might be a bad time.
On the other hand, he considers the fact that this was the last time they would be a couple. After this, he would have to hold his silence forever on certain matters, or for however long he could take it anyway. He goes with his gut, "I wouldn't have done any of this if it weren't you. I can't believe we've even come this far."
"But it's forever… do you really think things would be any different from how they were?"
"I can't give you a definitive answer, but I think we can make this fun, Mikasa. For me at least, so far, our journey has been fun everyday, and I'm confident we can continue doing that."
"You're optimistic," She says almost defeatedly, with a tiny smile on her face below her furrowed eyebrows.
"I am. I-," he feels his tongue freezing up from the vulnerability he wanted to show her. He fights through it and manages, "I've truly enjoyed our time together. Ending it prematurely would seem like a loss to me. Has it not been that way for you, even if for small pockets of that time?"
She purses her lips in thought and almost immediately nods a yes, to his delight.
With new found confidence, he asks again, "Starting tomorrow then, are you ready to take this next journey with me, Mikasa? My knees are kind of killing me here."
Her gaze lands on him for moments, drawing out the silence between them.
She finally says, taking the ring in her hands, "I accept your proposal, Jean Kirstein, starting tomorrow. I don't know where we'll end up but, I think… I might be excited to find out too." She gives him a genuine smile that has the corners of his lips lifting, the butterflies in his stomach going wild.
"Phew," he stands up, feeling victorious. "I didn't know which way you were going to go there, for a minute."
She stands up too, clutching on to his newly discarded ring. "You're convincing. I do feel bad that we never really wore our rings though, and that now we won't be needing to."
"I mean, I did, for a grand total of two days, when you said you didn't mind telling people about us."
They head up the stairs in unison, the night having dragged on dangerously close to dawn. "We should have gotten to bed earlier. You have work tomorrow."
"That's alright. I lied. I went to sleep early because I was quite bored without you around," He admits sheepishly. "No more putting my best foot forward, I suppose."
They stop on the corridor before parting ways, looking at each other one final time.
"Well, this is it," He comments with some finality in his tone, wanting to get everything off his chest before they began their new phase of life.
She doesn't look as enthused as he was however, still seeming slightly uneasy like before. "Something wrong? You don't seem too pleased."
"How would we distinguish between what's crossing a line and what isn't? Apart from those… two times, there wasn't anything overtly inappropriate done."
"We use our judgement. You can think about it as, would I or would I not do this if I were Armin, I guess, since he's your closest male friend. That should be a good metric."
"Who will you think of?"
"Sasha, probably. She was my closest female friend, by far. If I had to pick from the living though, ironically, you would be a good option. But that would just be inviting disaster, so maybe Pieck, since we've had to spend so much time together?"
"How is that any better?" She looks cross, her arms folded tightly against her chest. "She's a worse pick than I am for this situation. Try again, Kirstein."
He chuckles, his slip up already proving dear. He really needed to get out of the mushy-brains syndrome he develops whenever he is around Mikasa. "We are starting tomorrow though, so whatever we do today is fair game. Besides, I needed to see a little bit of that jealousy of yours one last time - your face at the bar was priceless," he finds comfort in his flirting.
"Sasha it is then," She declares, diverting the topic away from her more controversial behaviour.
When it seems like they had settled all the terms, he starts moving to make his way to his room, when she stops him by the wrist with a soft, "Wait", giving him a sense of déjà vu of the night when everything had gone wrong.
She lets out what seems like her hundredth deep breath that night, looking him directly into his eyes in spite of the silhouettes they had become in the dark of the house, sounding subdued, a conflict seemingly brewing inside of her, "I don't think it would have worked out with anyone else either. Thank you, Jean."
He smiles at her, feeling touched by her words, reaffirming his convictions for just being able to stand with her like this for as long as they could as a couple, friends, companions, whatever. The joy with her was in the small surprises, her incremental progress, the pride he felt in being beside her.
He realises he had an uphill task in front of him as well – to turn his love for her into something platonic, to sincerely want to be beside her from a non-romantic angle. He had been keeping it to himself all these years pretty well, if he said so himself. Surely he could continue doing so. The thought was not as painful as he would have expected, feeling like he had gotten more than he had bargained for, her short week away from him making it clear to him that he was terrified of losing her more than anything. If this was the price to keep his fears from being realised, then it was certainly worth it. He was not expecting to see his ring back at all.
"May I?" He puts out his hand in ask of hers, a final confidence hammering against his chest, willing him to move.
She offers it to him, and he takes it in his and places a chaste kiss against her knuckles.
He holds on to it, gently saying, "I don't want you to thank me. At least we won't have to do that little dance of will-we-won't-we every time we're here in front of our rooms," he jokes, remembering all the nights they had blurred the lines, laying next to each other, without exploring whether any of it meant more, neither willing to bring up the hard conversations and rocking the steady boat they had docked.
"Do you think we'll ever miss it?" She asks, almost pleadingly, like she was waiting to hear a specific answer from him.
As much as he wanted to run from it, the answer could be nothing short of a resounding yes. Of course he would miss holding her, leaving that little scope of intimacy alive, reaping in its rewards on sporadic, quiet nights. All of that was about to change, and initially, he suspected, pushing down his romantic feelings for her would present itself as a constant ache. His consolation was that it was unlikely to compare to the throbbing anguish of staying away from her all those years, having no reason to see her or hear from her.
"Perhaps," he strains, breathing out his words, getting the distinct feeling from her hooded eyes that she knew the honest answer as well as he did. But she had many bigger battles to fight inside of her. This would just be another burden added on to the mix, a leech that would be easier to salt.
The enthusiastic optimism electrifying the air earlier dissipates slowly, a sorrowful tension clouding the space in between them, their gazes affixed on one another, the connection between them more magnified than the storm raging outside.
"From tomorrow, then," she repeats, nodding in reaffirmation, not missing a beat in meeting his hazel orbs that looked no lighter than hers in the shadows interspersed by the flashes of lightning.
"Yeah, tomorrow," He nods back, sensing the ingenuity in his voice when compared to what they were conveying to one another in secret, hidden away from their conscience that was likely to crack down on them were they to discover the true meaning behind their words.
He can't help himself anymore, the air between them only turning more dense and suffocating with every minute they wasted, an unknown force pulling them together. Every inch he moved towards her, he finds that she mirrors. He raises his hands to cup her cheeks that were burning up under his trembling fingers, a desperation clinging on to him, persuading him to taste her for one final time before a long goodbye.
In perfect sync, she closes in on him as well, their lips meeting in for a slow kiss that conveys their bittersweet emotions of parting, She nips at his lower lip, inviting his tongue into her mouth, as she meets his just as passionately, her arms circling around his neck. Their bodies flush together in a fervent passion that was meant to be put to rest the minute they part, lengthening their passionate sojourn in dread for the promising prospects of tomorrow. His fingers lace through her silky damp hair, his favourite asset of hers, grabbing hold of and pushing lightly at the base of her head, till their kiss deepened. She lets out a moan that has him raging inside, almost tipping him over the edge of sanity.
After long minutes of memorising the taste and feel of one another, they part in mutual consensus, out of breath from the fervour of emotions and the unfortunate awareness of mutual weakness of thought that had creeped in, threatening them to cross the forbidden line they had only minutes ago agreed not to.
"Fuck, we shouldn't have," he curses himself for his poor decision making where he let his panicking want for her overtake him, despite his inspiring words to her.
"It doesn't count. I might have kissed Armin goodbye too, who knows," She deadpans with her pinkened cheeks, earning an amused laugh from him.
"Don't ever change, Mikasa," he pulls her into a hug, cradling the back of her head and wrapping his other arm around her back, suddenly feeling emotional at the hard-hitting reality that he truly would not be seeing the more intimate sides of her again, that it was going to be difficult for him too.
She rests her cheek against his chest, protectively wrapping around her arms around his back too. "Only a little," she murmurs, making him wonder what she meant. He doesn't dwell on it, too busy with his buzzing mind.
They let go of each other after what feels like a fleeting few seconds, bidding each other a sincere goodbye, knowing that the real trial starts with the rising of the morning sun.
Mikasa's eyes flutter open, trying to blink the sleep away. She startles awake, sitting up, not panicking this time.
Today she felt lighter, like a load had been taken off her, not realising how heavy the rings they never wore weighed on her since the first day. But there was also a twinge of pain in her chest that she ought to bury as soon as possible. There is a small fear in her that she pushes down and her mind wanders to the more practical question of whether to make breakfast for Jean and herself or not.
She gets out of bed, deciding she was overthinking it, heading straight to the kitchen. He had a tendency of being late one out of three times if he cooked instead, and surely, caring for a person to that extent was pretty normal.
Jean comes down while she is focused on the fry-ups, calling her attention while sitting down at the table, "I guess making meals for each other is a friend-thing to do."
"It's not a big deal. I would do it for Armin too," She lays down plates of food and sits down opposite him.
"I wouldn't trust that logic from you after yesterday, you know. I don't even want to know what you both actually got up to," He teases, taking in a mouthful of food.
Mikasa fumes, falling for his intentional winding up of her, "Being nice to you is really not worth it somtimes."
He chuckles, resorting to a softer tone, "Happy first day of the rest of our lives, I guess." He raises his orange juice in toast. She reluctantly clinks her glass against his, appreciating his spirit, even if too dramatic for her taste.
"I think we'll eventually get into the rhythm of things," he comments casually, and she nods in agreement, knowing that she would need at least a few days to extinguish her desire for him.
Jean and her had fallen into a pleasantly unpredictable routine, just as he had planned. It seemed that they were finally opening up to one another, speaking more freely, and being themselves. Some things had not changed though; they still had jobs and chores to do, and she had a grave to visit, but weekends and some impromptu weekdays, they had taken to exploring the Island together - some remote parts, some right through the bustling cities.
There was also always the problem that Mikasa was still Mikasa, which means that as usual, not every waking or sleeping moment was peaceful. She found herself watching Jean from afar, more and more, and found that, true to his word, he never looked back. She didn't know which presented itself to be more painful – the fact that he never looked at her the way he used to, or the fact that every time she watched him, there was an internal twang hitting her against her chest, forcing her to look away, as though she were committing a sin.
The beginning was harder than anything she had had to face in a while. She wanted to stay true to their vow and push away whatever feelings she had started to develop for Jean. Doing so held the promise of a long life with better mental health apparently. But sometimes, in some rare moments, there was a doubt in her that questioned whether, out of all the complex parts within her that criss-crossed into a dangerous mess, untangling and cutting out this part out of all the other festering ones was the most utilitarian solution.
Jean seemed to have adjusted better than she had to their new, platonic roles. He acted as one of her sole guidelights in convincing her that this was the best possible path to take in order to heal. So she went through every day, sometimes blindly, following in his footsteps and her own conscience that was never a big fan of him ironically, that protested every time her heart fluttered at the mere sight of him. She was an expert at steeling her heart however, and she was giving herself and them a full chance at leading her to a situation where she could finally smile freely, without any guilt prickling her – oh, how she wished for nothing greater.
A couple of weeks into their joint experiment, and a letter had dropped on their front door, which made her wait anxiously for Jean to return. No sooner did he enter the door did she hound him and cut him off in his greeting.
"Did you know – our friends are coming in two days!"
He calmly put his hat and coat down on the sofa, in stark contrast to her jittery self, taking a second before replying, "Yeah, Armin called me. They have some diplomatic work to do at the Capital. The troop was long overdue for a visit."
"But, but all of them!" She continues, panic-stricken.
"Yeah, aren't you excited? It'll be our first reunion since we got married."
"And since we changed the arrangement!"
"What are you worried about, Mikasa?" He asks her gently, using the voice that always calmed her down. "You know you're free to tell them whatever you want to or don't want to. I don't mind either way."
"I don't want to disappoint anyone," she rubs her arm, recalling how happy some of them had been at their wedding. "Last time, Armin for instance, he – he could tell something was up. I don't think he'll like the new development."
"If you're so worried about that, we don't have to tell them anything. I thought I should probably tell Connie and Reiner though on their last day here at least, since, well, they can be quite nosy and I'm a bad liar, but, if you wish, we don't have to yet. It's not like we're not married anymore. We haven't taken a drastic step exactly."
His rationality was sometimes astounding to her. It was in good contrast to her and kept her on her toes. While in the military, she was oft cold and calculating, having her priorities clean and razor sharp, executing commands with merciless excellence. But outside of battle, she was discovering that she was unduly soft and emotional, her feelings running wild, needing to be reigned in to make sense. Jean was born a leader with a decisive air about him, and when alone with her, while he could be brash and impulsive, he was cool-headed like no other, always managing to be the stability that she needed.
"True," She admits, plopping herself on the sofa with the previously offending letter from her dear blonde friend that challenged the bounds of her own mind. "If anyone asks though, I wouldn't want to hide it. It seems ingenuine. What about you?"
"Yeah, pretty much the same for me too. If this is going to be long-term, then it's probably better to get such awkwardness out of the way as soon as possible," He lets himself fall on the sofa beside her, leaning back from the fatigue of the day.
"What about sleeping arrangements though? That would be a dead giveaway."
"We could just do it barracks-style. That should avoid suspicion. I'll bunk with the boys in the hall and you could take the bigger room with the girls. Sound fair?"
"Armin and Annie should take my room. I wouldn't want to separate them."
"That makes sense. You and Pieck then, and maybe Historia, if she decides to stay."
"Right. That should be fun," she comments sarcastically.
He laughs at her expense, giving her no sympathy for her plight. "You better get used to it, Ackerman. You might have a new flame someday and I would have to be okay with it, and hey, if it helps, I'm still dealing with your old one too."
"It's too soon for your distasteful jokes, Kirstein," she bites back, vocally unappreciative at how lightly he took their situation sometimes, as though he wasn't the one who confessed his love for her a mere few weeks ago. Either he was a very good actor who had developed a brilliant defense mechanism, or he had gotten over her completely. The former option seemed more likely, and the latter, somehow, she really did not want to think about even though that was supposedly the ideal to be reached for both sides.
The arrival of their friends had been a breath of fresh air. It was like time was completing a full loop, and she is transported back to this very day that occurred more than a half a year ago, with a man who stuttered an unsure proposal to spend their lives together, and she who had rejected him outright, not having the mental capacity to even consider such a proposition seriously. It was unbelievable the long road they had traversed to reach here in such a short span of time. Despite her words to the contrary in a fit of sorrow, as she watched him welcome their friends in, she realises that she didn't regret sharing her life with him at all, in whatever form.
With each visit, their friends look less war-torn than before, and Mikasa hopes that they feel the same about her; her heart used to thump in anticipation of their visit, fretting over the possibility that they would see her façade of content acceptance slip even in the limited time that they spent together. But now, as she stood beside Jean, greeting their excited faces, that distrust of showing herself to the world had seemingly disappeared, confident of the colour in her cheeks and her well-rested eyes circles, her private, occasional slipups hardly hindering her overall progress in being able to stand shoulder to shoulder with her comrades.
"How come I always get the hall and not the comfy rooms upstairs? I wouldn't expect any better from Jean, but you too, Mikasa?" Connie whines pleadingly at Mikasa.
She exchanges a sneaky look with Jean before smirking playfully, "Marry that girl back on the mainland, and then we can talk." The group cheers encouragingly.
Connie sighs out in defeat, "I swear, married people are the worst; always trying to get us mingling singles to join your clingy cult."
"Speaking of," Reiner clears his throat and asks in an overly polite tone, "when will Historia be coming in?"
"That's Queen for you, you creep," Jean interjects with ire, earning a small uncomfortable laugh from the group.
"And where do you keep your stables again?" Reiner retorts without skipping a beat.
Before Jean can respond, Pieck drags in her bags through the door and puts a word in sarcastically, "To Jean's credit, at least his hair is finally looking passable. I suppose that's because of Mikasa."
"And I can tell you that you look exactly the same, Pieck. Take that as you will," Jean deadpans at Pieck, taking a few seconds to adjust his hair proudly.
Mikasa has a tiny smile plastered on her face the whole time as her friends engage in the friendly banter, enjoying the sight of harmony playing before her eyes. She takes the opportunity to grab Armin's bags, whispering to him, "I'll take these upstairs."
"I'll come with you," he replies, following her up the stairs to Mikasa's room that was prepared for him and Annie.
Mikasa places the bags in the corner, about to exit the room, when Armin stops her, "Too early to talk?"
She smiles at him, having expected this. He likely saw a look and that would have been enough for him to deduce something insightful.
"No, now is fine."
"So, you called me from Jean's mother's house," he trails, getting straight to the point. "You both seem like you've sorted things out, by the looks of it."
"We did," she gives him a tiny reassuring smile, walking towards the window, gazing at the vast plains dotted with sparse trees and the lone hill in the distance.
"You kissed and made up?" He asks nonchalantly, standing next to her, following her faraway gaze.
She frowns at him, a blush creeping up her cheeks, the wording catching her off guard, "We weren't fighting. We changed tactics. We are going to be friends from now on, so there'll be no more kissing involved."
Armin chuckles softly, almost like it was to himself.
"What?"
"Nothing. I'm just glad we can talk about such things openly now. I'm also glad that you ever reached that place with him at all," he says kindly, letting her know that he meant it.
She turns back to the window, "It's not an achievement. It's just how it was. It's not going to work though."
"Probably not. Not like this," He sighs, as they focus on the tree on the hill in the distance. "I hope it's something you both can truly do. I don't want you to harm each other in the process."
"You think that's a possibility?"
"It always is, isn't it, when you put yourselves out there? This time though, I think you both know what you're getting into with your eyes open. What the both of you have wanted from life was aligned from the start. I think you'll be fine as long as you're together."
"That's a lot of faith, Armin. I'm surprised."
"Hm," He hums, "I'm the head of the peace corps in a world where eighty percent was destroyed by the minority. I wouldn't be able to be me if I didn't have hope."
"Hardly an apt analogy though. There was never any war between Jean and I. I was just not ready."
"You still aren't, are you?"
"No. I don't know if I'll ever develop the capacity to. I don't want to be so half-baked with Jean," She says with her heart on her sleeve, making clear her immense disappointment in herself.
Armin puts his arm on her shoulder, comforting her, "You don't need to feel bad about that. I'm sure Jean agrees. You have your whole lives ahead of you and you can mould yourself into whoever you want to be with him."
There is a silence between them for a couple of minutes, before he turns to her, "I think the best thing you can do for yourself and him is to recognise what your battle is, and to keep fighting it."
"What is this battle supposed to be?"
"You'll know. You already know, don't you?" He smiles at her knowingly, plunging her into a deep, conflicted thought that has her chest hurting again.
When friends are over, there is a change of pace that takes Mikasa some time to get used to, not accustomed to the hustle and bustle and lack of privacy. It's the only time her house feels small. Over the years, however, it served as the event to look forward to, even if she rarely contributed to conversation, unable to be as open as some of the others were. Her sub-par social skills used to make her anxious. Without the distractions of imminent war, they had to judge each other merely by their personality, for who they are. There was a nagging fear in her that they will realise that she lacked substance or was not as interesting as they'd expect, and that they'll eventually tire of her and leave.
This time around, however, she feels like she was closer to coming into her skin. She is able to smile and laugh at the jokes tossed around more easily, not feeling the stiffness in her jaw from having maintained it continuously in a downturned form for weeks and months. When an inside joke or comment is lost on her, being the outsider for all these years, she is grateful for Jean who whispers in the context to her so that the next time the topic is brought up, she is able to join in as though she never missed anything at all. She is grateful that she has him at all. They feel like a team, the way she was a part of one in her childhood, someone to have her back no matter what. On days like these, it felt like life was truly worth living, and she can't imagine the fact that she ever considered otherwise, and that too, almost exactly the last time they had come around.
Their arrival day passes quickly, as they flitter in and out of the house, sorting out the work they had on the Island in turns, and return fairly late at night all together once the first phase of the tediously long negotiations are finally over. He comes in before the others to help prepare the house with Mikasa in true partnership. She was a hard hitter and knew how to whip Jean away from his laziness into developing an eye for detail. He had taken to elegantly plating the simple food she had made to impress upon her his improvement.
"You pass," she barely bites out, too occupied with bringing the mattresses down for the night, smirking when Jean childishly whines that Mikasa is overly harsh to him when he was trying his best. She decides to be generous and looks more closely at his decorated plating, adding that she "wouldn't have done a better job herself" which has him promptly beaming as she intended. He was too easy to please sometimes.
Their friends groan for drinks on entering, shamelessly stuffing themselves with food after Armin describes how the atmosphere during the negotiations' banquet was so suffocating that it seemed like a sin to dig into the delicious ham served to them. Much to Mikasa's chagrin, Connie paws around and stumbles upon Jean's stash of unopened alcohol, along with shot glasses and taller tumblers. They comment on how Mikasa had trained him well, earning them all a bone-chilling glare from her. They shouldn't have a reminder of her poor capacity and Jean certainly need not encourage it.
Annie discovers the infamous game she and Jean had played in their early days that had led them to a steamy moment in the kitchen after the drinks made them lose their inhibitions. Jean and Mikasa exchange knowing, nervous glances with one another. While she hardly wanted a repeat of another accident when they were progressing so well, the fact that she had someone else have her back, who tried to steer away the others' attention from the game, warmed her heart.
"It's okay," she mouths to him with a reassuring smile, seated on the opposite side.
"The game is for six people though, and there are seven of us," Reiner remarks.
"Easy. Two people team up," Pieck chimes in.
"I vote for the newest couple. They need to learn how to be a team," Connie says sagely. "See, they're not even sitting together."
Mikasa shifts uncomfortably in her seat. "Fine," she says abruptly, interrupting Jean who sounded like he was going to argue against it. She gets up and claims a seat next to him on the sofa that they had shared many nights on.
Jean leans in and whispers to her. "You sure? I can almost guarantee they'll put us in some awkward situation after a few drinks."
"This way, I get to drink less since we can alternate. It's better for us. You will probably have to be in control to handle Connie and Reiner later in the night," she replies to his satisfaction. Just because they had lost control once, did not mean they would again. The point was to keep testing themselves and moving forward. She was confident in her abilities, trusting Jean even more than herself to keep the boundaries intact.
The night zooms on with zealous screams and squeals from the occupants of the cottage, making Mikasa thankful for the fact that they had no neighbours to complain about the noise that was scraping away at her eardrums. They quickly went through their drinks as predicted, which meant that Jean and her were only halfway through comparatively, completely in control. Her bad luck however, seems to have pervaded into their team, for this time, he was on the losing side with her, which he made sure to grumble about at each turn, their friends joining in to taunt them in their competitive spirit that waned with every millilitre of the intoxicated substance arranged on the board.
In a most inaccurate description of their life and achievements, Jean and Mikasa reached the marriage tile in the game much after all of them, embarrassed at how poor their luck was.
"Took you both a while," Annie comments when they land on the tile after long last, Jean celebrating with a swig of the drink.
"Yeah, you both are really dragging the game," Pieck drawls.
"This is literally a game of chance. We have no control over the dice rolls," Jean bites back with Mikasa vigorously nodding in tow for support.
"Look where we are, and you are! I think this calls for a dare," Connie says determinedly.
"We aren't playing truth or dare," Mikasa remarks casually, holding out the dice for the next in turn to roll it.
"Funny you say that since each of us were made to enact at least one unrelated action already on reaching other landmarks. I'm sure Reiner has his gripes," Annie says challengingly.
"It wasn't fun," Reiner shakes his head disapprovingly at the memory of the task he was made to do.
"I know! This is a no-brainer, but I say they should kiss! How about it?" Connie suggests excitedly, looking around the room for approval from the others. "They didn't even kiss in their real wedding!"
All the tranquility Mikasa was feeling earlier shatters in dramatic effect, the gears in her brain spinning wildly to come up with a good retort to veto the idea. Wasn't Connie supposed to be Jean's friend? Why was he making this so difficult?
"That's fair. Some of us weren't even invited for it," Reiner continues in his desolate tone, looking convincingly hurt.
"Yeah, that wasn't cool," Pieck says, patting Reiner on his shoulder to console him.
"You guys are the worst. There is no way in hell we are doing that," Jean declares definitively, only for everyone to raise their unified voices in protest. Mikasa squeezes Jean's hand in gratitude, glad that they were still very much a team.
"What's the big deal anyway. It's just a kiss. Horse face here I know for a fact is not shy, and Mikasa has been uncharacteristically chirpy since we came, which has me convinced she's not as chaste as she projects herself to be," Annie pitches in. Mikasa is flabbergasted, heat suddenly rushing through her cheeks from the insinuation. Mikasa gives Annie a weak glare, quickly switching to Armin with puppy dog eyes, pleading for help.
In true best friend form, Armin speaks up, panicked, "Annie and I – we can kiss instead! How about it?"
Annie's head snaps towards Armin with a look of betrayal, her mouth wide open.
Mikasa almost lets out her breath when she feels the crowd may get swayed by the proposition, but to her disappointment, Connie says instead, "Nah. You both have been together forever. You're basically like our parents now."
"Hey!" Annie protests, now seeming more enthusiastic to go along with Armin's suggestion and rip Connie's head off.
"No offense, Annie, Armin, but I concur with Connie," Reiner adds. "We are with the both of you constantly and even attended your wedding, but these two are so secretive about their marriage, you'd think they're just pretending."
Mikasa's eyes widen, her ears going hot in embarrassment. As expected, people do have opinions. Not that she cared, but somehow, it mattered to her that someone else was calling their marriage a pretence, no matter how close to the truth it struck.
Jean speaks out in loud exasperation, "Seriously, Reiner, do you get off on watching people kiss now? Go play out your fantasies with some other couple. Maybe Historia and her husband, yeah?"
"That's just cruel," Reiner responds solemnly.
"Jean, let's do it," Mikasa says in a low voice to him, while the others are distracted in their passionate arguing. He is positively taken aback, physically leaning away from her in shock.
He composes himself and whispers back to her, "No, that's crazy. That'll just make things weird."
"Is it that crazy though? It's not like we haven't before. And Reiner seems genuinely upset he wasn't invited."
"Don't worry about that. We don't have to give them a show just because they asked," he says dismissively, that somehow draws out her indignation and disappointment.
Okay, so maybe the prospect of kissing Jean again seemed exciting …and everyone else's emotions were important too, of course. Jean and her should respect it. It's just a game anyway. What were they so afraid of? If they were truly platonic, whatever they did shouldn't affect them.
She sits back, pouting to herself, sighing a million times at her, once again, very impulsive decision, proud of herself only slightly for at least voicing her opinion out rather than keeping it in and pretending she didn't care.
By some miracle, Jean turns to look at her, and their eyes are locked in that mysterious way that made her insides turn to mush. She clears her throat to distract her mind away from such frivolous, harmful feelings but her heart gets stuck in her throat instead when he lets out of his lips smoothly, "We could, if you want. Maybe it isn't so crazy after all."
He looks away from her aloofly, but he was such a bad actor, that the obvious reddening across his face was glowing in the light, making her stomach flip.
She squeezes his arm again in assent and he jumps at the opportunity to announce authoritatively to the bickering group, "Fine, we'll do it. But nothing after this."
There is a loud cheering from the group which acts as a cue for their performance. Mikasa's heart thumps loudly as she turns to meet his serious façade that belied heavy nervousness mirroring her own. She lets him take the lead, still awkward and inexperienced in such matters.
He grabs either side of her head, and leans in, pressing down his lips on hers. Before she could let herself indulge in the sweetness of their union, desire running strong from her heart to her nether regions, to her tongue that fancied his taste, he pulls away, and sets himself back to his position on the sofa like nothing happened.
Their friends holler, and all she wants to do is sink into the sofa from the heat she felt from their brief tryst and the disappointment from the realisation that it was just a peck and that she still wanted more. It takes her all her effort to ignore the steam rising from her ears, as she turns to him to find him overcompensating with an overly solemn face and flittering eyes that refused to look at her. It gives her some solace that it wasn't just her that was still struggling to shed the remnants of feelings and memories of their passionate past.
They knew their night had come to an end when Annie was the first to reach the last tile of the game, the alcohol making her shout out in enthusiasm to everyone, looking pointedly at Connie and Reiner, "You can all suck it because I just won the game and Armin and I are far from being a boring couple", grabbing hold of a very embarrassed and shell-shocked Armin who let himself be dragged sheepishly by his shirt by a raging Annie to their room. Everyone agreed it was time to retire lest they had any desire of hearing anything they did not want to.
Mikasa walks beside Pieck, showing her to their room, offering to help her up the stairs.
"You can relax, Mikasa. I'm completely fine. I have good capacity," She yawns open-mouthed, plopping herself on to the large bed. "Mmm, this is nice."
Mikasa gets into bed next to her, tossing a separate blanket to Pieck so she could use the regular one spread out on the bed. It smelled nicer, familiar.
There is an awkward silence pervading the air, and Mikasa is turned around on her side, her back facing Pieck, as she tries to fall asleep next to this virtual stranger.
"We haven't really gotten a chance to really speak, have we? I've always thought we would get along, since we have so much in common," Pieck ruminates out loud, piquing Mikasa's attention, who turns onto her back till both the women were staring at the ceiling.
"How so?"
"You know; being Eldian, troubled childhood, war, same friends, you're good against Titans and I was a Titan, we're both strong women, black hair… and now, well, we have a man in common."
She should have known this was coming. Did she really want to speak with her about this, bond over it with this woman who came before she did and got a chance to be with her man in ways she would never? Well, maybe if she didn't respond, this woman who did share some features with her would just disappear.
"I see," Mikasa responds blandly.
Undeterred by her companion's unenthusiastic response, Pieck continues, "I had a suspicion it was you. But then again, if I had put in even five percent more thought, it would have been obvious."
Mikasa turns to face her, confused by what it is that the other woman was talking about, "What is this in reference to?"
"You and Jean, of course! He seems quite different from those three years now. He seems much more settled. I guess we all had our ghosts to tackle, and you seemed to have been a big one. It all makes sense now."
She did not want to admit it, but there was not much she was getting from the conversation. Jean was with Pieck at some point and had a colourful life with a bunch of faceless, nameless women. It sounded pretty luxurious and foreign to her. She couldn't fathom him being unhappy in any sense of the word.
"How was he different?"
"Well, from what I could tell, the first year was not easy on him, or any of us. He had his own way of coping, like we all did. He was pretty quiet, would stay holed up in his room. By the second year, I suppose he started recovering, finding different ways of coping and that's when he started… becoming more outgoing, overly social, if that's what you'd call it. The third year was much the same until we were finally allowed back on Paradis. I would say that's when Jean started changing again, becoming a bit restless."
The curiosity in Mikasa was bubbling. They hardly spoke about those three years except cursorily, or in terms of what he had seen there as part of his job as a peace ambassador. There was a thirst ignited in her to learn about him, the way he was, and what actually brought them here to this unusual circumstance of sharing a life together.
"Why didn't… you and him work out?" She asks hesitantly, aware that she might be overstepping or asking the wrong person such questions.
"I just don't think we were meant to be. Even if for a short time, I considered maybe it was going somewhere, I quickly saw the falsity in that."
Mikasa did not know this woman at all. War had forcibly brought them together, and she had garnered no desire to keep in touch or forge a semblance of a bond with anyone after it. It was strange how their lives inter-connected. When she really thought about it, it felt even stranger to her that there was a high possibility that their roles could have been reversed; Mikasa could have been the one looking in, watching Jean and Pieck from the outside. Objectively, Pieck seemed more put together than she was. How Mikasa turned out to be the present, when she couldn't even fathom what brought Jean and her together, was a mystery to her.
"Why did you not think it could go forward? I-" She stops herself short. If she said anymore, her insecurity would surely show.
"He was always a certain way, like his mind wasn't going to be in it. Everyone knew it. We'd make fun of him and his sleazy adventures even if we understood the truth behind it. He was upfront about what he wanted in the most respectable way possible. It isn't like he didn't try to create meaningful relationships. He did. He just failed. A lot."
Mikasa couldn't imagine Jean not putting his heart into a relationship, or failing in them completely. He was pretty much perfect, and no, there was probably no other way she could describe him even if she tried, feeling embarrassed at her own description.
"That's not the Jean I know at all. What changed? Did you..." She couldn't complete her sentence, irrationally afraid of hearing the possible truth of Pieck having influenced him so much.
"Of course you wouldn't," Mikasa could practically hear Pieck roll her eyes.
She continues, "He always made it seem like he had some unfinished business that he wouldn't be able to sort out while he was with me or anyone else. In hindsight, sometimes it felt like we were together only because it was easy. We were good friends, but both of us had other things and people on our minds. I mean, I caught him writing to you a couple of times through the years - didn't really think much of it since the others did that too - but yeah, you used to do this weird thing where you would reply only to Armin with a paragraph for each person who wrote to you. It was amusing to see him obsess over that one paragraph the way Reiner obsessed over Historia's handwriting," the former Titan-shifter lets out a little laugh.
"But, after we docked at Paradis, I think I understood what was happening. We saw less and less of him and he had taken up that assignment from the Queen that literally no one wanted. He mentioned something about seeing you. Before we knew it, he married you. So now you tell me what changed."
Mikasa feels her face getting hot again, as well as a strange sensation course through her body from hearing the tale. She can feel the tentacles of a hollow melancholy grip her from viewing his entire journey like a spectator. Them getting together was not chance at all, in one sense. It seemed that for three years at the very least, if you ignore all their years before, there was something pulling him towards her, like he could hear her cries from across the ocean. She wasn't really much of a believer in fairy-tales, but this was surely starting to sound like one, making her shift uncomfortably under her blanket.
"There was nothing like that," Mikasa says meekly. "It just happened."
"Yeah, I get that," Pieck says in a softer tone, dropping her playfulness. "You come across this kind of love only once in your lifetime, I believe. Only if you're really lucky, do you have the privilege of experiencing it twice," she sees Pieck turn her head towards her, giving her a distant smile that seemed sorrowful, almost like she was in her own memory of someone.
It made Mikasa's heart ache. She was a strong believer in there being only one big love per lifetime, and this possibility that there could be two made her heart swell unpleasantly, like it was yearning to accept such a possibility. She had never even considered it before, but maybe -
"What is your story though? Jean is super private about it," Pieck turns to face Mikasa, who was lost in thought. "Love at first sight?"
Mikasa's stomach drops, a twinge of shame creeping into her since she had no such story to tell to match her bed-mate's exposition. The only love story she ever thought she would have, is buried six feet under.
"No, we've known each other for over a decade now." She ponders how best to couch their relationship, none of the yarns she spun in her head seeming to justify what they actually shared all these months, in spite of their apparent platonic relationship. She gives up with a heavy heart, knowing this was perhaps Jean's specialty and not hers, "We just came together. There's no big story."
Pieck unabashedly eggs her on, "C'mon, no need to be shy! I don't think anyone else can relate to your stories about him better than I can. In fact, I feel like I need to clarify that we are long since history, so you don't need to worry about that at all."
She could feel the sincerity in Pieck's voice, accepting it as the truth, feeling a bit silly for her weak moments of jealousy when only one of them rightfully had the whole of the person in question.
"Okay, I can see where Jean learnt this new habit of being tight-lipped from. You're a quiet one, aren't you? Judging by both of your silences, I can only assume that your story isn't all that innocent."
Mikasa frowns, her companion's truth seemingly floating away further from the truth. "What does that even mean?"
"It was a friends-with-benefits-turned-lovers sort of a thing, wasn't it?" Pieck asks coyly, suggestively wiggling her eyebrows, making Mikasa almost choke on her spit from the mistaken deduction. "Yeah, I mean, I know how he can be; and especially when he's horny - which is honestly all the time - he really goes in there like his life depends on -"
"-Pieck!" Mikasa blurts out in utter embarrassment to stop her speech, the imagery bursting open the floodgates of lustful images she had put under tight wraps in the darkest corner of her mind, having discarded any such inappropriate thoughts even before they had forged their pact to be platonic.
The wavy-haired woman laughs out loud, remarking, "Oh, you really are shy! I thought it would be okay to talk about such things, since you know, shared experiences and all of that. I'm even more positive now that you both just couldn't keep your hands off of each other; and seeing how he was with women who he wasn't even all that interested in, with you, phew, I don't even want to imagine how he is!"
She continues chortling, much to Mikasa's mortified chagrin, interjecting coldly, "I would rather not discuss such details on our marital bed, thank you."
"You're right, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" She manages to breathe out in between her winding down laughter, the last of it punctuating the awkward silence that was returning between them after the realisation strikes in different ways that yes, they had both apparently been with the same man and that they were indeed on the bed of said man.
The situation would have been amusing to Mikasa had it not been for the fact that calling it their marital bed was basically a lie; too many almosts and nothings having conspired between them for it to classify as marital. It stings her when she realises that it was not jealousy that she felt for this woman beside her, but envy; an envy she couldn't voice out even to Jean, borne out of the fact that Pieck had had the opportunity to experience things with Jean that she never would be able to. If once that door had been kept open, now it had been closed forever, having only stories about what he was like informing her of what he could have been like if she had chosen differently.
There was an urge germinating inside her to ask the woman next to her all of what she had had the privilege of seeing in him, with him, all of what Mikasa was missing out on - but to admit to her of her curiosity would be admitting that someone who was not his wife held more of him in some ways than such wife had. But this was ultimately their decision, and if nothing else, she had to satisfy herself with the fact that she apparently held the entirety of his mind and heart, something he had never given to anyone else.
And if only she could say the same, then perhaps, this conversation would have gone very differently.