Sunshine and Rainbows

by Jigglywigglypuff

College AU set in the year 1999. Mikasa met Eren the first week of junior year, and it seemed like love at first sight. However, the intensity of their fast romance would be their downfall as Eren's childhood trauma comes to light and threatens their relationship. A story of love, heartbreak, and friendship while attending university in the late 90's.

5. Blame It On the Weatherman

Mikasa could no longer ignore his intense stare.

As she spoke through her intended choreography, describing her vision in detail and light demonstration, Connie just stood there, arms folded across his chest with narrowed and peculiar eyes. His head tilted, nodding slightly, and she really did attempt to disregard his posture. Yet, when she showed him a combination she planned on using in their dance, he continued to just stand there and observe her meticulously.

He had walked into their jazz class that morning with a fresh buzz cut. She hadn't even recognized him at first, approaching her as she sat with spread legs, stretching forward between them. When he joined her in the stretch, she had glanced at him for a moment before doing a double take. The frosted tips were no more, replaced by the fade of his natural hairline, a muted black, almost grey hue.

All she had to do was raise her brows towards him in alarm and confusion, before he grunted and spread his legs open in front of her in an identical stretch.

"Natalie called my mom, can you fucking believe it?"

He kept his joggers on, this class more lenient on their dress code, as he slipped on a pair of jazz shoes, and Mikasa carefully touched the top of his head, feeling the prickly buds of hair tickle her fingers.

"So I said, fuck it, and just shaved it off. God she is such a nosy bitch."

And then when he looked at Mikasa as she stood, giving her one good, squinted eye look, that was when the weird glares towards her began. Throughout the whole class, and then now, later in the afternoon, during their scheduled practice for the competition.

She tried to figure it out. Was it her outfit? Could he see her underwear through her leggings? Were her nipples hard or something? She had performed some pretty good turns in her heels, much better than the previous week. And still he said nothing.

Until finally she looked at him, standing a few inches taller, tightening the grip of her high ponytail before boldly declaring, "What?"

And then he said, "Are you just going to keep acting like you don't have a giant hickey on your neck?"

She stiffened immediately at his words, her palm shooting up towards her naked flesh. She hadn't paid much attention to herself that morning, her reflection mundane as thoughts of the previous night danced in her head. And she had failed to noticed what she could have only imagined to be an ample dark bruise against her pale skin.

So she said the only thing she could think of saying, "It's not a hickey."

"It's not a hickey?" he repeated. She nodded.

"Nope."

She was purposely avoiding his gaze now, uncomfortably rubbing at her neck, her eyes wandering the vicinity of the studio. The lights were horribly bright, a stark contrast to the smooth blackness of the floor. And she could hear the clicks of her stilettos against the ground, echoing in the awkward silence.

"So," he began again, peering towards her with a smirk. "Who gave it to you?"

He tried to look over her shoulder at the mark in question but she remained concealing it, a tinge of pink blushing her cheeks. "I told you, it's not a hickey."

His hands found haven at his hips, the peculiar expression still imprinted on him. "Then what is it, hmm?"

She faltered. "It's the other obvious thing. Obviously."

There was a brief pause before he replied, "You got choked during sex?"

Mikasa felt the broadening of her eyes, taking over the majority of her face. And there she dropped her palm, the bruise revealed once more in all its glory, shimmering violet under the studio lights. She sighed.

"Fine. It's a hickey."

Connie then snapped his fingers triumphantly, and she cringed at his celebratory smirk. She watched him uncomfortably as he placed a hand on her shoulder, peering down at the mark. There was an interested gleam in his eyes.

"He really went to town."

Mikasa shrugged him off of her, a grunt fleeing her throat. "Quit being a creep, Connie."

But he was not finished, following her around the room. "Is that the only one?"

"Connie."

He hesitated at her fatal glare, that he could see the grey in her eyes darken into a threatening black, blending with her pupil. A soft chuckle left him and he waved his palms to calm her down. "Relax, I'm just curious. I don't think I've ever heard about you with a guy before."

Her blush reddened, a visible transition from pink to crimson, and he pressed further.

"So, who was it?"

She looked away from him, shrugging her shoulder toward her guilty neck. "None of your business."

"Was it Armin?"

She could feel his meddling stare from her back, and she turned to him then, clutching at her chest, her expression morphed into one of horror. "No," she said sternly.

"Armin's roommate?"

"No!"

She saw the perverted smile that curved his mouth, while he gently nudged her in the ribs, the smell of his douchey cologne sinking into her nose. "Sasha?"

Immediately she pushed him off of her, her fingers naturally forming into a fist, though she refrained from striking him. "Connie, quit it! We are supposed to be practicing!"

"You're the one who walked in here with that giant love bite. I'm just curious."

Knowing he would not cease to pester her unless she disclosed a slither of information, she took in a deep breath, her fingers absentmindedly caressing her neck. "You don't know him."

But it only sparked his intrigue further. "Do you like him?"

She sighed. "Yes. Obviously."

"Name?"

"Eren."

"…Like Aaron Carter?"

"No…" she was shaking her head now, flustered. "No, he's not twelve. He goes here. Can we drop the subject now?"

He sucked in his lips as he nodded, stroking his chin. She knew he still had more questions, but she was unwilling to further indulge him. Instead, she took a dancer's pose, her posture elegant yet relaxed, a delicate tilt of her middle fingers.

"Are you ready now?" she asked him with a lifted brow, and he nodded.

"Yea sure. Show me what you have for the Backstreet's back part."

She should have been relieved that he joined her, poised and prepared, beside her, however she only grunted in frustration, the sound bouncing throughout the room, giving him a delicate shove.

"That is not the song we're using!"

~oOo~

Their second date was that evening, and they had gone to a local fair.

Mikasa was able to avoid another ride on his motorcycle, though beneath her relief was a sense of longing to be that close to him again, to feel the press of his back against her chest, her palms grasping at his stomach and feeling the sharp divots of muscle. Even the thrill of his speed, the wind shooting at them from the impact. It was horrifying, yet she had begun to crave it since yesterday.

He had walked her to her dorm, and they stood in front of the building for a while, trapped in a hug while kissing beneath the moonlight. It was nauseatingly sweet, that if she had seen Sasha like this with her boyfriend, she would have rolled her eyes and gagged on reflex. But there was something about the feel of his lips, their softness and pucker repeatedly kissing her own, that she could not pull away from him, unable to resist his scent, his heat, how the skin of his hands warmed hers as he held them. Finger connected, caressing, hers so small compared to his.

And she found it interesting that he really hadn't tried to touch her elsewhere, that despite the twitch of thirst in his fingers, the calidity that radiated off his palms, even the thick breath from his nostrils, he kept their encounter quite chaste, the only hint of passion pouring from his mouth and feeding into hers.

He had stopped kissing her, his lips a breadth from her own, when he asked her, "Can I see you again tomorrow?"

He was so close that she could feel the movement of his lips as he spoke, the flutter of his lashes batting against her forehead. And her breath caught in her chest, her eyes ample and trembling as she peered towards him nervously.

"You want to?" she asked quietly, stupidly.

A gentle smile passed him however, as he kissed her lips slowly, briefly, and she found herself murmuring unspoken words, her lids feeling heavy.

"Of course," he hummed, and their conversation seemed to have been forgotten as he continued to kiss her, taking in the entirety of her mouth. She took his jacket, rubbing the leather against her fingers, wanting to pull him closer but holding herself back. He was warmth against the cool, thick breeze, bleeding heat onto her. She could kiss him forever, she thought. And she could not imagine a sweeter curse than to be eternally bound to that soft, slick mouth.

She made a noise resembling a light gasp when he pulled away from her again, and with puckered lips she kissed him herself, a bit more forceful and with a nibbling mouth. A glimpse of their recent memory on the swings propelled her, and she could feel him smile against her mouth.

"So can I?" he asked again, and she realized that she had never answered him.

"Of course," she stumbled timidly, her eyes briefly glancing away from him. "I mean, if you don't have anything better to do." She tried to top it off with a laugh, but that came out awkward as well. And as if it would erase her previous comment, she asked him, "Do you want to come inside?"

Both his brows raised, his lips squirming about his face as he rubbed at the fabric of his bandana. "Really?"

There was a sparkle of something needy in his eyes, as he tried to appear collected but her remark had caught him off guard. He seemed reluctant but very hopefully at whatever she was going to say next.

"Uh, no," she replied, nervously moving strands of hair behind her ears. "Sasha's up there and I can almost guarantee something X rated is happening as we speak."

He laughed then, just as nervously as her, and she desolately knew she had steered a seemingly innocent moment into something sexual. Why did she invite him inside? And then take it back? Was she out of her mind? But as always, he seemed very amused by her, that his smile evolved into a grin, and he leaned forward to press his mouth against her cheek.

"It's cool. Maybe I can come up some other time."

When he winked, quick and flirtatious, she felt her skin boil from her blush, and she could only nod in agreement, too bashful to say anything more.

The next day, he called her fairly early into the morning, before she left for jazz class. They confirmed they would meet at the fair outside the school after her rehearsal. Upon finishing with Connie, she had shoved on her boots and dashed into the bathroom, applying some brown lipstick and spraying herself heavily with a bottle Sasha's cucumber melon body spray she had basically stolen from her. Once she was drenched in the fragrance, over her sports bra she put on a plaid shirt, tying it at her waist.

It was slightly warmer today compared to last night, and it was enough to keep her warm. Yet, when she glared at herself in the mirror, the bright white lights showcased her hickey, shining down at it almost like a direct spotlight. It was dark and round, the mark very low on her neck. As she traced a finger over it, she winced, though she felt no pain. It looked so ugly and so sleazy, and she couldn't believe she went through class that day so oblivious.

From her backpack she pulled out the long, red scarf, flowing celestially. She admired the softness of the garment in her hands before wrapping it meticulously around her neck. It was beginning to smell less like him and more like her, warming her skin instantly. And she gazed at her reflection then, her fingers gripping at the fabric, a small and girlish smile curving at her lips.

Every fall, there was a small fair in the courtyard outside the school filled with vendors of neighboring small businesses. It was her idea to meet there, only because she was nervous when he asked her "What would you like to do?" in that sweet, harmonic voice of his over the phone. She became flustered and said the first thing she could think of. He seemed a bit taken aback by her suggestion, but agreed to it. And when she arrived in the courtyard, bustling with people of the town, she could not find him.

She realized how stupid her idea was. It would have been much smarter for him to pick her up from the arts building, but she was so worried about fixing herself up that she panicked. Now how was he supposed to find her through all the old people looking at candles and soap?

Her backpack felt heavy against her shoulders, despite being packed with nothing but her wallet and dance apparel. And she felt a bit warm, standing in the direct glare of the sun, beaming down on her with a wrath of the early evening. A sliver of her midriff was exposed, and she endured the teasing tickle of the autumn breeze against her skin. It was an otherwise perfect day. A perfect day for a perfect date. If only she could find him.

Trying to act natural, she walked along a row of vendors, glancing with feigned interest at the items for sale while her fists lingered in the pockets of her plaid shirt. She stopped when she saw a little girl by a tree, set up on a table on the grass making bead bracelets.

It was very amusing, how the child operated like an expert entrepreneur. She had a tin box with cash beside her, a boy her age seemingly guarding it but paying little attention as he focused heavily on the Gameboy in his hands. They sat together at this table like a little team, the young lady glossing over her bottom lip with her tongue as she efficiently slipped beads into clear elastic and tying the band together into a tight knot.

Mikasa had been staring for a while, catching the young girl's attention. Dark hair fell into front of her olive hued face, as she looked up at her with a glum glimmer in her eyes.

"Can I help you?" she spat out surprisingly hostile.

Mikasa faltered, not expecting such a sharp attitude to erupt from a cute, tiny package. She could see the fire radiating in her eyes, the brown in them brightening.

"This is cute," she mused, skimming through the bracelets. "Did you make all these?"

And the young girl puffed, adjusting the strap of her denim overalls before resuming to her bracelet in hand as she slipped another row of beads in the elastic. "Obviously."

The boy beside her finally placed his game onto the table, rubbing at his forehead as if he were physically bothered by her demeanor. "This is why nobody is buying your stupid bracelets, Gabi. You're so rude."

The young girl pushed him, and he nearly fell off the bench. He ran his hand through his shaggy, dark blonde hair.

"Shut up, Falco," she mused, and then timidly returned her attention to Mikasa. "Did you want to buy a bracelet or what?"

An amused breath heaved her nostrils as she observed the pair. How old were they? Ten, twelve? Did kids really start dating this young now? It was adorable and entertaining observing their interaction, how they both concealed their interest yet it shone unmistakably through the tension held between them.

"Can you make two for me?" she asked the young girl, and she nodded.

Giving her directions, she watched Gabi craft the bracelets quickly, extending them out to her once completed.

"That's ten bucks."

Mikasa was not going to haggle a little girl, but she found it odd that she had a whole box full of cash. How was she making any sales with those prices? Was it because she was a seemingly cute little girl? She said nothing more, fidgeting with her bag until she pulled out her wallet and found a ten dollar bill.

She admired the bracelets as she walked away in no clear direction. At the moment, she had thought matching bracelets for her and Eren would be cute, but the longer she stared at them and allowed the thought to simmer, she felt an inward panic. What if it freaked him out? Was she taking things too fast? That's something a girlfriend would do. But they were already at the making out stage. He bought her gummy bears!

She didn't realize she had stopped walking and was standing in the middle of the courtyard, becoming an obstacle for all the passersby. The Mikasa bracelet was small, covered in pink and purple beads, while the Eren charm was a bit bigger with green beads. Just like his eyes. He would probably wear it today to appease her, she thought. Which would be fine for her, as long as it didn't scare him away.

Lost in her anxious thoughts, a small yelp rumbled in her throat when she felt a gentle tug at her ponytail. Briskly she turned around, feeling her pulse progress wildly, and a rigid stiffness took her body when she saw Eren, standing before her with a handsome smile.

She blinked twice, slipping her hands behind her back to hide the bracelets, her cheeks fuming from her timidness. Part of his hair was tied back into a messy bun, several strands sprinkling his face. He seemed very casual with a striped sweater and dark denim, his conch shell necklace glittering a beaming, jagged white. Except for the black fanny pack snug at his hips. Another checkmark on the Armin douchebag list.

There was barely a moment for her to respond before he scooped her up in a swift hug, his palms sliding beneath her backpack. She could feel the graze of his fingers against the nude skin of her low back, and she could have sworn he lingered there purposely just to keep touching her there.

His eyes looked so pretty in the hazy sunlight, so strikingly green and large, the color swirling in a delicate dance around his pupils. It seemed like a new habit of his to hold onto the scarf that he had gifted her only a week ago, his fingers kneading at the fabric.

"Hey," he greeted, and her eyes fixated on the curl of his mouth. "I was worried I wouldn't find you."

Her lips parted, but before she could respond, he leaned down and planted a quick, fluid kiss against her open mouth. She could feel the buckle of her knees, her balance only failing her for a moment, but she gripped his shoulders anyway to steady herself. She remembered, then, the two bracelets draping from her index finger, and with a small smile, she rubbed at her forehead while presenting them to him.

"I got us these," she quipped nervously, trying to laugh her tension away. "I know it's kinda dumb, but the little girl making them was so cute."

She saw the interested gleam that trickled over his expression, and she exhaled heavily in relief when he smiled and took a bracelet from her. The gentle brush of his fingers against hers sent an intense blow into her stomach, yet she froze the instant after he lifted the sleeve of his right arm to slip on the bracelet.

She wanted to salivate at the smooth, bronzed skin he exposed, how even at such a brief glimpse she could see his raised tendons and solid flesh. But instead of the green bracelet she had made for him, she saw the tight elastic of the jewelry brandishing her own name snap against his wrist. It sat snug around his skin, glittering an array of sparkling pink and purple.

He seemed to admire it for a moment, before lowering his sleeve. "It's cute," he mused, then trailing his hand over the line of her jaw. "I like it."

Lightly, she leaned into his touch, feeling the desolate trembling of her heart. And she found herself looking down at the matching charm, sliding it carefully onto her wrist. It sat loose against her, but still fit. She was so happy she wanted to cry, flinging herself into his arms, her head tucked underneath his chin.

They stood in this embrace for a while, Mikasa contracting every muscle in her body so she wouldn't shake against him. It had been less than a day since they had last been together, but already she had missed him and his warmth and his scent. Just his soothing aura, radiating onto her and making her feel like a hot, blundering mess. Falling for him felt like a rollercoaster ride, so fast and thrilling and heart stopping.

This time she kissed him when they parted. She meant to only once, but it became two kisses, nimble and quick, planted firmly on his mouth. Avoiding his stare, she looked down towards the concrete, rubbing the toe of her boot against the ground bashfully.

"Sorry."

But his hand found her ponytail again, gently yanking at her hair so that she would be forced to make eye contact. "You can do that whenever you want."

And as if to test him on his promise, she stood onto her toes, feeling the flex of her arches, the tightness bunching at her calves, and placed another abrupt kiss on his mouth. She felt him pucker back against her.

He took her hand in his, their fingers interwoven into one fist, and they walked along the courtyard with no clear path. And she felt content then, any lingering feeling of panic or embarrassment leaving her slowly. All she could focus on was the feel of his hand, the grip of his palm, how his fingers lightly caressed her own.

Yet, she found herself blushing once more when he glanced down at her. "You look pretty today." He paused. "And you smell really good."

Oh thank god he noticed her smell. She made sure to camouflage every particle of sweat with the girly fragrance. She knew that his compliment on her appearance was vague. Her leggings were probably see through, she could have at least thrown on some pants, and her plaid shirt barely concealed the indentation of her nipples through her sports bra. All those things considered, he probably liked this look. It was ironically sexy.

He stopped suddenly, a furrow to his brows as he swiped his thumb across her mouth, humming in amusement. "Your lipstick's all smudged." He hesitated then, rubbing the top of his hand against his mouth and chin. "Did it get on me too?"

Mikasa rolled her eyes, only noticing a slight brown tint to his lips, but nothing glaringly obvious. "You're fine."

He continued however, gently pressing his elbow against her ribs. "I like that color on you, though."

Her insides did one complete Olympic level backflip. She could only look at him from the side of her eyes, her lashes fluttering apprehensively. "Yea?"

And he took her hand once more, squeezing gently. "Yea."

She was hoping he would kiss her again, her lips fumbling about her face in anticipation, but instead he glimpsed at the shops surrounding him, pulling at the collar of his sweater. "Is there anything you wanted from here?"

Quickly, she shook her head, suddenly feeling stupid again. "No. Not really."

When he grabbed her scarf, she stiffened, her palms resting against his forearms. His looks were always so intense, despite how simple and sweet his expressions were. It came from the depth of his eyes, so immense and filled with tension. The green of his irises never remained still, but were always moving, sparkling, the color darkening, or brightening. Such a deep, fierce shade, spilling many different emotions. Spilling, and she sucked in the mess, inhaled every ounce of feeling he bleed from those eyes.

"Do you want to go sit down?" he asked her, quietly, and slowly she complied.

He took her to a bench a short distance away, cloaked by staggering trees, blanketed by an ample shade. His posture was relaxed, lounging with his legs spread comfortably, palms on his lap, and Mikasa crossed her legs, an automatic lift to her back as she placed her bag on the empty space beside her. He seemed to stare off into the distance, as he did the prior night on the swings. When she placed a hesitant hand against one of his owns, he flinched for a moment, as if interrupted by a deep thought. But when his eyes found hers, he smiled at her fondly.

"I haven't seen you around the gym this week," she noted, batting her lashes at him.

She focused on the snug fit of his sweater, eyeing the red and white stripes against the medium grey fabric. He had lifted both his sleeves, showcasing his pink Mikasa bracelet on one wrist, while the other sported a white Fossil watch. She loved looking at his hands, how strong and polished they were. Tempted she was just to climb into his lap, to feel every bulge of muscle teased by his clothing. Even the line of his neck was compelling, so smooth and tanned and naked.

She chose to implant herself on the seat, her body so stiff she could feel splinters of the bench prickling through the thin material protecting her bum and thighs. Further he slouched, taking the hand she had rested on his own and clenching it.

"I've been going at night," he answered her. "I haven't been able to sleep."

Her brows furrowing, she scooted a bit closer to him, a gentle bounce to her ponytail. "How come?"

He gave her a peculiar look then, a hint of a blush tinting his cheeks. And she could have sworn he checked her out then, from the swells of her thighs pressed together on the bench, the clinch of her small waist, her breasts nearly spilling out of her top. Even when his eyes landed on her mouth, still a modest smear of lipstick on them, he exhaled delicately through his nose.

"I can't," he began slowly, pausing hesitantly, deliberately, "stop thinking about you."

And she inhaled sharply then, the gust of air feeling like ice in her chest. What she said next was intended as a serious question, but came out much more provocative. "You think of me while you're lying in bed?"

She caught him blush then, and it brought a flutter to the pit of her stomach. "Yea…Yea, I do."

Now she was engrossed by her intrigue, finding herself leaning closer to him, her chest pressed against his arm. Her chin rested on his shoulder then, their faces so close that their breath melded into one warm mist.

"What do you think about," she said, her eyes ample and curious, "when you think of me?"

When she felt him slide his palm from his thigh to her own, a light gasp stayed muted in her throat. He dug his fingers tenderly into her flesh, squeezing at the combination of fat and muscle, the pressure leaving an imprint on her skin.

"I shouldn't say," he replied, a hint of a smirk pulling at his mouth. "It's not very polite."

So concentrated on his touch, Mikasa forgot how to breathe, having to force light breaths out of her open mouth. "I'd like to hear. Maybe you can tell me sometime."

And he lifted a brow, his hand carefully sliding up her leg, settling between both her thighs. "Maybe I can show you?"

She became so red she felt her entire face boil, despite the immediate "yes" that escaped her mouth. However, she shifted slightly away from him, placing a palm atop his brazen hand. "Um, but it might be a while, though," she added bashfully.

He grinned at her reaction however, displacing his hand from her thighs and shifting it around her shoulders instead. There she cuddled against him, her cheek falling to his shoulder and she could feel the softness of his sweater.

"I can wait," he said to her quietly, eagerly, and she smiled against the fabric.

"Did you have any classes today?" she asked him, and he nodded briefly.

"Just two in the morning." He looked down towards her, bringing her closer to him. "How about you? How was dancing?"

She had a flashback of Connie taunting her hickey and shuddered, shaking her head at the recent memory. "It was alright" And as if he cared, she added. "I'm getting better at dancing in high heels."

He took an interest to this, a lift to his brow. "You can dance in heels?"

"I'm getting used to it. I really want to."

He grinned then, rubbing at his chin. "I bet you look really good in a pair of high heels."

Brazenly, with a dash of nervousness, she shot back, "I do."

This must have been the establishing sexual tension date, and surprisingly the majority of it was escalating from her. And the realization was making her a bit uncomfortable, so she shifted in her seat, uncrossing her legs as she tried to feign ignorance of his heavy stare.

She decided to poke at the bag perched on his hip.

"What's in the fanny pack?"

Her tone came out unintentionally sarcastic, and he laughed immediately, removing his grasp from her and unzipping his bag.

"I bought a camera," he said, removing a small box flaunting the Kodak logo. "My dad wants me to start taking pictures on campus and mail them to him so he believes I'm really at school."

Mikasa took the box from him, opening it and sliding out the disposable camera wrapped in foil. "I love these things," she beamed. "I would always accidentally expose the film on our regular camera and destroy all the pictures my family took. They'd get so mad at me."

His smile towards her was warm, watching her as she opened the wrapping and threw the litter onto the empty space on the bench. Squinting one eye, she peeked into the window of the camera.

"You like taking pictures?" he asked her.

Placing the film on her lap, she shook her head nervously, shrouding her face in her palms. "Oh, sometimes, but I always look like crap in them.

"I highly doubt that."

Her stare was cute and timid as he took the camera back from her, and she found her fingers flubbing anxiously on her thighs, tapping nervously.

She choked on her breath when he asked her, "Can I take a picture of you?"

Shifting her knee onto the bench, she faced him, a bewildered expression claiming her face. "Of me?" she repeated, pointed at herself a accusatorily.

Swiping loose strands of fringe away from her eyes, he nodded, a bright chuckle leaving his mouth. "Yea, why not? Then I can prove to you that you do take cute pictures."

She blushed again, a slouch to her shoulders. "I'll definitely take a bad picture now. The pressure is on."

When he took her hand and rose from the seat, she followed him, feeling a familiar weakness in her knees. "Go stand by that tree over there," he directed, and she followed obediently.

She awkwardly stood there, as if she didn't have over a decade of intense training in beautiful, immaculate posture. Holding her hands behind her back, she squashed the toe of her boot at a patch of dirt of the ground, her body gently swaying while she waited for him to wind the film, his finger triggering the tiny flash button.

As he placed the camera over his eye, Mikasa fumbled.

"Okay, now pose."

She smiled timidly, throwing a peace sign, her knees bent together like a baby. Two seconds later she was enveloped by the spark of the flash, and it took every ounce of focus in her to make sure she didn't blink. Not that it mattered, she knew the picture would be horrible.

The moment it ended, she threw her hands up in the air, defeated. "God, I suck."

She could hear the light chuckling of his laugh, as well as the sound of thumb strumming along the dial, winding the film once more. He moved several feet away from her then, bringing the black and yellow camera towards his face.

"No, no, it was cute. Why don't you try dancing or something instead?"

"Dance?" she repeated, mostly to herself, and an idea popped into her head.

With a delicate sigh, she transitioned herself into dance mode, feeling the lift of her posture, aware of every single moving muscle of her body and the gentle contraction of each of them. Even her expression softened, her lips parted, and without another thought her body extended, in a move so automatic and natural to her, weight pressed onto her left leg, lifted into a releve. Her opposing leg raised behind her, toes stiff and pointed yet concealed by her long boot. As she bent into an agile backbend, her leg pointed in the air, she felt the beautiful and controlled flexibility of her body as it morphed into a nearly perfect arabesque.

The flash enclosed her as he took another photo.

Almost as elegantly as she posed, she released her carriage, slowly maintaining her usual relaxed posture. It took her a moment before she looked back at Eren, who had a very unreadable glower on his face.

"Um, how was that?" she asked him, scratching at her head. His face squirmed, searching for the right words to say, the camera flopping in his grasp.

"How the hell did you do that?" he asked, bewilderment laced in his voice. "You're like a contortionist."

She only shrugged off his compliment. "It's not that impressive. Five-year-olds do this in ballet class."

He shook his head however, a few more strands of hair coming loose from his bun. "No, keep going."

She felt the instant length of her legs, ready to progress, but she held herself back. "Don't waste all your film on me."

But he was persistent. "It's cool. I'll buy another camera." Her heart missed several beats when he winked at her. "Do some more of that ballet stuff."

And she obeyed, taking another stance, ankles twisted into a steep turn out, now slowly extending her leg into a developpe, creating a vertical standing split. Posing her arms into an elegant extension, she held the position with a polished precision, feeling the flash of the camera envelope her once more. And it pushed her to proceed to keep moving. Slowly at first, so that he could capture her movements in all their grace and cultivated beauty.

Yet, closing her eyes, she could feel the gentle breeze, hear the clicks of the camera, and she was taken into her own reality, the sounds around her their own distinctive beats, feeding her body to keep dancing, keep moving, gliding along the grass with delicacy yet profound strength, extending, lengthening. Until she found herself doing leaps, feeling the squish of the grass as she turned, at first with her feet on the ground. But soon her leg rose, forming a precise posse at her knee, and she opened her eyes to spot as she turned. Multiple turns, one after the other, interrupted with sporadic changement. Her pirouettes were smooth, the slickness of the grass and dirt almost as fuel to her turns.

And she had gotten too carried away, forced too many turns, that she felt her ankle twist in her boot from lack of proper support, and instantly she tumbled onto the grass, landing on her back.

As she looked towards the sky, she watched the clouds shift, the redness of the dusk peeking through. It was beautiful catching the teasing glimmer of the sunset, and she found an elated smile plastered on her mouth, her heart trembling, wildly, exhilarated from dancing to nothing, for no reason, with no one critiquing her, correcting her, teaching her.

Eren had run beside her quickly, sitting on his knees as he held her rapidly. He was a blur to her at first, until the vision of his face focused and she could see him clearly, concern engraved in his expression. She marveled at the natural arch of his brown, his ample worried eyes. She found herself unabashedly tracing the line of his jaw, the slope of his cheekbone. And he grabbed hold of her wrist gently, though he did not displace her lingering touch.

"Mikasa, are you okay?" he asked her, and she nodded with a hum in her throat.

"Yea, sorry. I'm not exactly wearing dance shoes." She laughed then, not nervously but with humor etched in her tone, and Eren smirked at this, his palms planted gently on her shoulders. "That," he began, his eyes large and vivid, "was fucking amazing."

He became so excited then, almost like an impressed small child, and she could see him visualizing what he just witnessed, trying to make sense of it. "I mean, I knew you said you were a dancer, but holy cow, I still never could have imagined that."

She looked away from him, bending her knees towards her. "It was really nothing."

"No," he countered, giving her one solid shake. "You're like a fucking acrobat. It was incredible. And you made it look so effortless and beautiful."

It felt strange, his praise towards her. She wasn't used to it, having someone gush over her dancing. It was more common for her to accept criticism, because she could always learn more, to improve in some shape or form; she could always dance better. But witnessing Eren's enthusiasm, how dazzled and amazed he truly was watching her brief dancing, praising her as if she were the greatest dancer alive…it felt fucking good. So good. She felt the sting of tears in her eyes, a hollowness in her chest.

"I ran out of film," he persisted, "but I think I got one of you doing the splits in the air and –"

She hushed him with a kiss, throwing herself on top of him, that he landed on the grass in a soft thud. With her body beside him she lied, her arms entangled around his neck, kissing him with an open mouth, repeatedly, frenziedly, as if she would die if she stopped kissing him.

When she wrapped her leg around him, he gripped at her thigh, and her palms slid to clutch at his neck, kissing him with a mouth weeping heat and longing. Her lips bit at his hungrily, and their movements became sloppy, frantic, her mouth wet as drool dripped over her lips and down her chin.

It was when she felt the tender prodding of his tongue against her own that she decided to separate from him, remembering that they were, in fact, in public, and she suddenly became very shy at the prospect of making out in front of an audience.

They seemed to be alone, however, and she sat up abruptly. It took him a moment to lift himself off the ground, a dazed look sweeping his face.

His palms pressed against the dirt for support, Eren took a few careful, calculated breaths, most of his hair disheveled and pulled from its bondage.

She used her scarf to cloak herself, stifling her neck to dip her face into the fabric as she brought her knees to her chest. "Sorry about that…I got carried away."

But his glare was soft, yet intimate, that she retreated further into her scarf for safety as he gently rested a hand onto her knee.

"I told you, you can do that whenever you want," he reminded her.

He squeezed her knee.

~oOo~

It was difficult to separate them the next few days.

They spent a lot of their time at the library, more so for Eren. Mikasa had an English class and an elective she took in finance, but the homework for her proved to be light, especially so early in the semester. That Friday evening as they sat nestled together in the library, she finished all her homework for the weekend within a few hours.

She followed him there again Saturday and Sunday, just to spend time with him. While he studied, she picked up a novel and would read beside him. And he would gift her moments of his time, asking her random questions, or taking her hand. Suddenly, Mikasa loved the library. It was now officially her favorite place to be. It was so interesting watching him study. Despite knowing his major before she actually met him, she didn't expect him to be so smart. Especially with all the drinking he did. He seemed to be naturally gifted.

In between they would spend at coffee shops, and if she thought his drinking might have been concerning, then his caffeine consumption was maybe worse. She had only known him for such a short period of time, but she quickly caught on to what he used to fuel himself mentally and emotionally. And she wished she could just ask him how long had he been coping this way? What could she do to help him?

She wondered how her life would be, if she replaced eating and sleeping with drinking alcohol and coffee to function? Such a blurred sense of reality he must have experienced, probably a very difficult lifestyle to maintain. It sounded exhausting, knowing how he had trouble sleeping. It made her very sad for him.

She had asked him once, almost to herself from the depth of her thoughts, "What can I do to help you sleep?"

He didn't take long to answer. "Sleep next to me."

The comment made her blush, deeply, and she didn't bring it up again. Not for a while. She saw the buzz in his eyes, the smirk that curved his mouth. And she even considered it. To curl into bed with him, hold him while he fell asleep. Maybe that's what he needed, someone to comfort him. She wondered when the last time someone who cared for him held him.

When he found out her English course was a three-hour night class on Tuesdays, he made a promise to walk her home each week. She initially refused, since it was on campus and such a short walk to her dorm. But he was insistent, and recalling what briefly he had told her about his mother, she complied.

She seemed to count the seconds for the entirety of her class, dreadfully excited to see him. Monday had passed with only but a phone call between them, and she already had begun missing him heavily. She found it difficult to focus on the lecture and participate in discussion, her mind revolving around Eren and his smile, the way his Adam's apple quavered when she'd make him laugh. The feel of his breath against her skin when he would kiss her, so warm and so sweet. And the profound scent of his fragrance, the smell engulfing her, seizing all of her senses, until she became bemused in everything that was Eren.

It made her tingle with want and desire, her yearning for him. Just to see him was a visual climax, to hear his light voice an enamored spasm to her ears. And she should have dressed herself better, instead of her oversized Gap hoodie and sweats, her usual lazy white and pink Sketchers. Maybe she should have done more with her hair than half brushed it after relieving it of her bun, using a zigzag headband to pull her fringe away from her face.

She had plenty of time after her Modern class that afternoon, when she went home and collapsed into a short nap. But she was so tired she could barely muster up the energy to get out of bed before walking to her course.

So she would have to meet him looking like a bum, and hopefully he had gotten used to the look by now.

And when nine twenty had arrived, she took a moment to pack up her books conscientiously, controlling her breathing before she made the trek down the stairs and found him standing by the front doors.

His gaze was focused out towards the windows, his back against the wall. And he didn't immediately notice her when she approached him, after the short bustle of students had passed. Tugging at the sleeve of his jacket, she smiled when she noticed he was still wearing his Mikasa bracelet, the colorful beads sparkling. She had refused to remove her counterpart as well.

He had a much more laid-back look than usual, his hair tied hastily into a low, short ponytail, black joggers clinching at his ankles. His Reebok sneakers were clean but worn out, and she pinched at the thin sweater hidden beneath his jacket, the fabric soft against her fingertips. It made her feel good to see that they matched in their apathetic fashion.

She reached to kiss him, and he met her half way, their lips melding briefly, the contact subdued. Even his smell was different, more natural, only a hint of his fragrance lingering on his neck. Hus aura leaked with sleepiness, and she liked him like this, that she found herself slipping her arms around his waist, pressing her head against is chest. She could hear his heartbeat. It was slow and hypnotic.

"You look tired," she mused, looking up at him, and he rubbed at his eyes, exemplifying his exhaustion.

"I tried to fit in a nap," he confessed to her. "I probably look like shit."

Mikasa frowned. "You shouldn't have woken up just to walk me home."

But he was already taking her hand, leading her out the door. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Besides…"

When they were welcomed by the deep blackness of the night, the moon glimmering down as a bright white crescent, it felt like a light that shone only for them, beaming down upon their form, engulfing them. She could see the sleepy blur of his eyes, the delicate smile lifting his lips. And he took both her hands, bringing them together, while drawing her closer to him.

"I couldn't go another day without seeing you."

She hoped he would kiss her then, to take her in his arms right at the center of the quad, while a small flurry of scattered students leaving their late classes ambled around them. But instead, he tugged at the strap of her backpack, his fingers lingering over her shoulder. "Let me hold your bag."

She didn't protest, handing him the backpack. It wasn't very heavy, and he really didn't need to carry it for her. But it was charming watching him sling the baby pink colored bag over his shoulder, the sack appearing much smaller against his broad build.

And she took his elbow then, linking it around hers, while her hands disappeared into the baggy sleeves of her sweatshirt. They progressed leisurely down the campus.

"Did you eat anything?" he asked, glancing towards her with the corner of his eyes. "Are you hungry?"

She hesitated, her gaze towards the concrete. "No, I'm alright…Unless you're hungry?"

But he shook his head, a but disappointed. "No, I'm good."

She thought for a moment, her grip on his arm tightening. "Maybe I don't have to go home right away?"

They stopped walking then, surrounded by no one, only the quiet buildings of the university that decorated the vicinity. She could hear the chirping of the crickets, a lethargic, monotonous tone. Then a gentle rustle of air passing between them. It was colder than it should have been.

His gaze was interested, brows raised. "What'd you have in mind?"

There was a gentle part of her lips, as she thought for a moment on how she would answer him. She had no clear idea, but dreaded the thought of leaving him so soon. Waiting hopefully for a response, he observed her, pressing his lips together, sucking them in with apprehension.

She faltered, a timid sound leaving her throat, yet before any words could be spoken, she blinked, feeling a droplet of rain prick at her nose. The next instant, several more drops followed, sprinkling them sparsely. And there Eren grasped her wrist, squeezing gently.

"We should go," he said a bit sternly, leading her ahead. But his haste did not save them from the downpour of rain that erupted a short while later, streaming heavily from the transparent clouds of the dark sky. They were drenched in an instant, the rain attacking their forms, that she found it difficult to breathe from the watery barrage that plummeted towards her body.

So she dragged him to the closest building to them: her home, the arts.

They were a sopping mess when they walked inside, swishing on the tile flooring, and she took a minute to collect herself, rubbing at the wetness of her face, hoping to clear her vision. When she looked up at Eren, he looked equally tousled, water dripping from his hair and jacket. He, however, seemed more amused at the situation than she did.

"Let's just wait here a minute until the rain dies down," she muttered, and went to approach the student receptionist at the front desk, but he was clearly asleep. Taking Eren's hand, she led him up the stairs to the dance department. It was late, the building open for another hour or so. There had to be a vacant studio available.

When she peeked inside the usual room she practiced in with Connie, she noticed the lights were lit, yet the space was empty. The solid black flooring was shimmering, as if it had just been cleaned. She felt guilty that they were about to dirty it. But she led him inside, clasping her fingers against his. She immediately inhaled the strong scent of multipurpose cleaner, the air a sharp sting in her chest. He seemed to be intrigued by the mirror encased room, the clean white lights that shown down on them.

He dropped her bag by the mirrors, removing his jacket. His sweater had been spared from the rain, but his hair was drenched. She watched him with a tilted head as he removed his hair tie and wrung out his locks, several droplets falling to the floor. He kept his hair down, and it remained pasted against his neck. His face looked brighter this way, with his hair completely pulled away, the lighting enhancing his eyes, that they shone an even more intense shade of emerald.

And he leaned against the mirrors then, sliding down his back until he was seated, now simply watching her, elbow rested against his knee.

"Did you bring me here so you could dance for me?"

She saw the teasing smirk pull at his lip, and she scoffed at him, walking away as took off her shoes and socks, placing them neatly by the mirrors.

"No." And she clarified. "With all this water. I can't."

Without thinking, she yanked off her sweatshirt facing him, her spaghetti strap top cemented against her body. The blouse was covered in glitter, a mix of orange and pink stripes. Per usual, she failed to wear a bra, and she could feel the pucker of her nipples, painfully hard, against the fabric. Catching him staring, she blushed, then tossed the drenched garment toward him. It landed on his knees.

"You wish you had your camera for this one, huh?" she taunted, giving him a crafty smirk. She reached for the edge of her tank, mimicking a removal, yet stopped short right above her navel. Eren rubbed his palms against his forehead, watching her with sharp eyes as she came back to him, sitting on her knees.

"Why'd you stop?" he asked, and he shifted towards her. Droplets of water fell from his hair, making a tiny puddle onto the floor. Her eyes followed the drip that cascaded him while he moved closer to her.

When he snapped the strap against her shoulder, she gently rolled her eyes, shoving his arm.

"You're a pervert."

He shrugged however, choosing not to deny her accusation. The silence of the room captured them and she became acutely aware of every small noise. The cackling of the lights, the gentle sound of his breathing beside her. Even her own heartbeat, loud and thundering, stammering against the walls of her chest. So fierce, she could feel it in her ears, lodged in her throat.

And she tensed when she felt him touch her shoulder again, his fingers trailing over the naked skin. They were still wet, but warm, yet it felt like trickling ice, dripping on her, moving towards the length of her neck.

Fingers were replaced with lips, a wet heat draped over her flesh, grazing over her gently, tenderly. His trail was damp, so warm, and yet she shivered from his touch, the sensation shooting up her spine. He kissed the base of her shoulder first, moving until he found her neck, his lips gliding along her skin with elegance, kissing up towards her jaw. He moved so slow, that she would comprehend his every movement, never lost in a sea of haste or blind lust.

And he was kissing her, her neck a canvas splattered with his wet markings. There his hand slipped, curled around her abdomen. She felt his palm clutch at her stomach, fingers curling in. The reaction of her body was automatic. How she felt a gush of dampness coat her center, her core throbbing and aching in her longing. A sharp shiver passed both her nipples, erect and rubbing at the fabric of her shirt. And she closed her eyes, engulfed in the feeling of him and his touch, closing off all her senses except for her sense of him.

When he found a particular spot he liked and began sucking, she sighed faintly, lifting open heavy lids.

"You left a bruise last time."

It was agonizing, feeling him pull away from her, the loss of heat from his mouth, how she suddenly felt cold when he slid his arm off of her. She watched him curiously, how he leaned so casually against the glass, knees bent, and splotches of rain still coating his sweats. She feared he would be disappointed, and maybe he was. It was hard to tell from his downward gaze, a speck of a smile hinting at his lips. He just looked so tired.

"Sorry about that."

But she shook her head at him, moving so that her thigh pressed against his. She caught the intensity of his eyes as he looked down at her. "No, I like it. It feels good."

With a delicate intrigue, his brow rose, stitched onto his forehead. His glare tied a knot in her stomach. "Yea?"

The dryness in her throat was scratchy, uncomfortable, that she tried to swallow it away but it lingered there. "Yea."

And he smiled, squeezing her cheek between his knuckles, her skin turning red from the gentle pinch. She liked the brightness she saw in his eyes, how it shone throughout the rest of his expression.

"Know what would make me feel good?" he asked her, and her face fell.

Watching her squirm uncomfortably beside him, he laughed at her unease, his fingers finding the drenched length of her hair. A stream of water fell as his fist curled along the end of her locks.

"If you danced for me," he concluded. She rolled her eyes again, a playful smile cursing her lips. Crawling towards the boombox, she looked through the box of old cassette tapes beside it, skimming glumly through the material. A lot of boring classical compositions, nothing he would find interesting. Even as a trained dancer, some of this stuff she found dreadful.

"You'll fall asleep to any of this," she remarked, not paying head to his reaction. Yet, she halted when she flicked through one tape, encrusted in dust, and she felt her heart stop. Really, it must have stopped. She could no longer feel the throbbing of her own pulse, taken away from her swiftly, yanked from her chest in own fluid, brisk motion that a delicate gasp left her throat from the intrusion.

Tears tugged at her eyes, but they stayed trapped inside. A tender smile took her, and she looked at the tape with a muted yearning, her thumb brushing over a layer of debris. It was a recorded tape, written in cursive handwriting on the jacket "Dance of the Blessed Spirits."

"So, you find something?"

Looking towards him, she nodded slowly, maneuvering the radio while the cassette player opened and she slid the tape within. When she pressed against the play button, she hesitated at the small click sound. There was a staticky silence that hummed through the speakers. It lasted a long moment, until the gentle strumming of a cello ensued. And it filled the room, almost as if there was someone sitting in there with them, embracing the stringed instrument.

It was mechanical how her body rose from the floor, occurring so naturally, so ingrained within her, that the music alone seemed to move her, control her. She rose with the grace of a dove, taken by the romantic, lyrical melody. So slow, yet passionate, heartbreaking. She could feel her heart clawing at her bone, beating franticly, begging for release. And she didn't know how she got to the center of the floor, or when; did not realize she had begun moving, dancing, her body flowing and disregarding the law of gravity.

Every extension of her arms, her legs, was deliberate, precise, the motions commanded by the music, the harmony governing her body, ruling her, demanding of her. She forgot who she was, why she existed, for any other reason but to dance to this. To become one with this song, to live through the music. It engulfed her being, that she was not a dancer, she was the dance. She became the embodiment of this music, the physical retelling of such a beautiful, poignant descant.

Droplets of water sprung from her form when she leapt, moving across the floor, and she felt the splatter of the water sprinkling her as she turned. It felt like she was dancing in the rain. And the damp stickiness of the floor did not hinder her spins, the arch of her naked foot dramatic, so dreadfully curved. She felt a sharp flex that stretched to the ball of her feet. It furthered her to keep going, to keep moving. Moving, and dancing, her body swaying until the sound faded away, and she was left as a pretty heap on the ground.

A while after it ended, she remained there, and another buzz of silence hummed from the speakers. It took a lot out of her to find the will to move, to rise from the floor and go to the radio, stopping the cassette tape. And she sat next to Eren again, her shoulder kneading his, while her gaze remained forward. A blush tinted across a straight line on her face, both sides of her cheeks and along her nose. She felt him when he glanced at her, his stare heavy, radiating.

"I think you might be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Her knees rubbed together, snug against her chest, and it took all the courage she could muster to meet his gaze. He seemed so intense, his brows sewn together, a concentrated wrinkle to his nose. The way he eyed her, as if trying to memorize her, or to decipher what he just witnessed. She felt a wave of goosebumps.

"It was like…you were telling a story," he continued, his knuckles skimming down the length of her arm. "I couldn't look away. I almost couldn't breathe.

She was telling a story, but not her own. This was her mother's favorite song to dance to, and how painfully vivid her memories were of her of this…some at the studio, some even in the living room of their home. Her body flowing with such an elegance, as if she graced the stage of a grand theatre, dancing for entranced thousands, instead of her enamored small daughter.

Yet she didn't tell him this, kept it to herself. Held in the tears that yearned to flee, to smear down her cheeks as slowly and thick as blood. All of her pain, she bottled up inside her heart, just as he did with his own.

But she was happy. Elated that it moved him just as much as it did her, that he seemed exasperated just by watching her. So she took her pain and melted it within his, her mouth taking his lips in ravenous swallows. There was no delicacy, no gradual progression of their longing. She kissed him hard, dirty, her tongue grazing against the roof of his mouth, his teeth hitting hers as they pushed deeper.

Her hands were on his hair, still so wet and heavy, while he had taken her hips and pulled her to sit on his lap. And she straddled him, her thighs clenching at his center, her back pushed into a profound arch. She felt nothing but his heat, blending with her own, his breath heaving onto her skin, his heart stammering just as wildly as hers. It became one chaotic rhythm, aroused by the sloppy movement of their lips. Kissing, sucking, biting. Whatever they could do in their urgency to drink one another, devour the sweet wetness that dripped from their mouths. Their tongues dancing, swerving, while their heads moved with the motion.

And she felt when his hands slipped under her top, his fingers trailing the bones of her ribs. It sent her into a frenzy almost, that she kissed him harder, deeper, her palms hot as she clutched at his neck A low hum sang in her throat, while a drop of water from her hairline traveled down her forehead leisurely, its trek prolonged, languid. It trickled over her temple, before disappearing as a remnant on her cheek.

He seemed desperate returning her kiss, as if the moment would pass them too quickly, taken from them in one swift motion. Or perhaps he feared they were in a dream, at risk of waking in an instant. How warm his hands felt on her skin, so dangerously close to her chest. His thumb had rested beneath the crevice of her breast, and she dared him to move, if only a little, just to ease the sharpness that stung at her nipples.

He was glaringly hard beneath her, and she felt the strain of him prodding at her center. He was hard the second he shifted her onto his lap, never a smooth transition, just the solid bulge sitting painfully against her.

And she didn't know what to do, how to feel or even how to react. Overtaken by so many sensuous emotions, signals flaring towards different parts of her body. The shiver of her nipples, the wetness and relentless burning below her abdomen. It caused her to contract her pelvis, clenching the muscle inside of her, holding it in until she let go in a euphoric release. She was overcome by the sensation, repeating the motion, flexing in and surrendering over and over again.

The gentle pull of his fingers on naked skin, the feel of his drenched mouth, kissing hers with a determined passion. His smell, so thick and full and engulfing her senses. The burden of his desire tucked so compactly against her. And the contraction of her pelvic floor, sending a maddening sting into the depth of her core. It was too much, everything happening all at the same time. It overwhelmed her senses, forced her body to retaliate, for a pressure to build inside her. Something she could not control, taking seize of her entire body.

She squeezed her pelvic floor one final time before her body erupted into a haze of pure pleasure. It burned first at the apex of her thighs, searing upwards until it was sheer fire in her belly. She rode the waves of ecstasy, her body trembling, hips buckling, that she tried to keep kissing him but only her lips grazed his mouth as a sea of staccato moans spilled from her throat.

She wanted to stop herself, yet was so lost in the feeling, that it took over her, drove her to hold him closer, fingers pressing into the divots of his shoulder blades. Her vision was blurred with splotches of black, rings of light glaring into her retinas. When one wave of the orgasm ended, another began, jolting straight into her center, and it was the longest, most extraordinary ten seconds of her life.

It left her exhausted, a heavy breathing mess plopped against his shoulder. She felt his palms, warm and strong, smoothing along the skin of her back, and as she relaxed against him, slowly did a feeling of complete humiliation creep up inside of her.

Eren was only amazed, bewildered. "How…did you…?"

Her body tensed against him, and she dared not move herself to confront him, her chin remaining planted on his shoulder. The fabric of his sweater rubbed at her skin, and she sighed, calculatedly.

"Sometimes when I'm nervous…I do kegels."

She felt a loss of heat when he pulled her slightly away from him, and she could see the heavily amused expression crawl on his face. "You have to teach me how to do that."

Her lips fumbled, her face flushed as she tried to hide her shame, but she only whimpered in defeat, burring herself on his shoulder once more.

His hands were still under her shirt, kneading at her upper back. "Don't be embarrassed for feeling good."

She shook her head however, her forehead clinging to the base of his neck. "Too late."

This made him more bold then, brazen enough to slide his hands to the front of her stomach, lingering there until he trickled with a light, feathery touch over her nipples. The touch was so airy, so barely there, that it was almost as if he hadn't touched her at all. But she could feel it, heavily, completely, how his thumbs grazed over her rosy peaks, how they pebbled painfully, instantly. The buck of her hips was automatic, her breath hitched, the moan that slipped from her mouth sharp and light.

Her reaction made him do it again, his touch gentle, but more deliberate, watching her squirm on top of him as he rubbed in tiny, soft circles.

And she could have had another orgasm just from this alone; it would approach quickly if she let him continue. But the hammering of her heart became uncomfortable, a fierce pleading against her sternum, that she displaced herself from him, her forearms sliding against her breasts. And he let go then, slowly, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Eren, I can't, because…" she paused, searching for the words, "I get attached."

On his lap she remained, her back straight, yet neck pointed downwards. Her hands found the end of his shirt, fidgeting with the garment between her fingers. He blushed at her comment, straightening his back against the glass, rubbing at his temple bashfully.

"Sorry, I didn't mean…" he broke off, nervous, "Well…especially not here." He paused, collecting himself. "I'm sorry if I got carried away."

"No," she said instantly, catching his attention. "I liked it." And he tilted his head.

"A lot," she continued, rather bravely, watching the lust befall him all over again. "But it'll be a while before…" She trailed off, but she didn't need to finish.

He smiled at her then, and it eased the trepidation lingering in her gut. "It's cool."

She fell against him a tender hug, her head tucked under his chin, and they stayed like this for a while, molded against each other. His hand trailed over the sliver of skin on her lower back.

"Mikasa." His voice was weak, inquisitive.

She didn't move. "Yea?"

He hugged her compressed against him. "Will you be mine?"

Her eyes fluttered open, her lips parting. Carefully she untangled herself from him, her eyes finding his in a sharp stare.

He seemed nervous, a redness tinting his tanned skin. "Will you be mine?" he repeated, taking a damp lock of her hair and securing it behind her ear.

His connotation seemed so clear, but she doubted her sanity then, her eyes squinting in suspicion. "You want me to be your girlfriend?"

He nodded as if it were the easiest thing in the world. "Yea."

She smiled, in confusion, in pure bliss, and she climbed off his lap, seated beside him, her thoughts spinning in her head. Instead of accepting, as she wanted to, she looked over at him with big, quavering eyes.

"Why?"

He blinked, scratching at his head. "Why?" he repeated. "Because I like you." He then tried to reason with himself out loud, his gazed focused on the black floor. "I know we haven't been hanging out very long. But I want to take you, before anyone else can. The thought of you with anyone else makes my skin crawl."

His confession was romantic bordering creepy, but she drank it all in like sweet dripping nectar. That when he looked at her again, their eyes interlocking, green melting into silver, he rested a delicate palm against her cheek. And she eased into his touch, her eyelids heavy.

"Okay," she answered simply, her lashes fluttering.

He stumbled. "Okay?"

She said it again. "Okay. But only if you can be mine too."

The smile that captured his lips was charming, addicting, that it compelled her to return the gesture, so consuming and large. His fingers delved into her hair at the back of her head as he kissed her, slowly but briefly.

"This is so great," he said, a pleasant chuckle bubbling from him. "I won't be able to sleep tonight."

Her brows furrowed in concern. "Really?"

"Maybe."

Her hand found his, her squeeze tender. "Can I help you fall asleep?"

He looked at her with narrowed eyes, as if perplexed by her statement. But she was certain he must have remembered what he said to her, because he nodded gingerly, his smile a soft pull on his lips.

It had stopped raining when they left, the thick rain replaced by the dewy stillness of the night. She was quiet as he held her hand and they walked over to his dormitory. A thought passed her, that maybe she should change her mind, that she would be tempted to do something she was not ready for. But she trusted him, this person still almost a stranger. She trusted him from the way he held her hand, his gentleness. His protectiveness.

The silence lingered during the elevator ride to his room as she stood beside him shoulder to shoulder. Even when she walked into his residence behind him, she maintained her stillness, glancing around curiously. It smelled like him inside, just like his cologne. It was her new favorite scent. And she noticed how clean it was in there, just as polished as he was.

It was a bit dim even when he turned on the light. He had one bed in the corner of the room, and the layout was different from what she usually saw at the dorms at this school. It was cozier, more like a small home.

She placed her damp backpack by the door, lingering there nervously. He seemed to pay no mind to her timidness, lifting his sweater over his head, and she counted every individual muscle exposed as he stripped of the garment, throwing it onto the floor. She knew the sight of him without a shirt must have been a beautiful spectacle, but by god the perfection that chiseled his torso left her completely mute and red faced.

Lean, sculpted, and bare, nothing but the lightly bronzed skin that draped his flesh. She had to clasp her hands together to stop herself from reaching out and touching him, her fingers stuttering with apprehension. Yet, her eyes shifted when she spotted a scar on the side of his abdomen. It was healed, shiny thin skin plated over the large, tinted wound. It must have been there for years. And she had almost started asking him about the mark, but she quickly stopped herself, suddenly becoming fond of the carpet, counting each individual grey fiber.

She wasn't sure of her motive when she moved closer, peering up at him with large, timid eyes. He gleamed towards her discreetly, as if he were trying to read her mood.

"The bathroom's over there," he motioned. "Do you want one of my shirts?"

She gave him a strange look, peeking inside the adjacent room. "You have your own bathroom?" She answered her own question when she turned on the light, finding a compact, clean restroom.

"I'm supposed to share it with the room next door, but doesn't look like anyone moved in there yet," he clarified, and she nodded. He must have lived on a nicer floor than Armin, who shared a similar living situation to her own.

Her look was a bit subdued when she turned back to him and asked, "Can I take a bath?"

He stuttered briefly. "Uh, yea. Yea, go ahead."

Then she went inside the room, closing the door behind her.

As she stripped down, she left her clothes as a messy heap on the floor. A sigh of relief fled her throat when she removed her underwear, finally free of the uncomfortable, thick wetness that coated the material. And she stood there naked for a moment, a shiver encasing her form, until she stepped inside the small tub, seated on her knees as she turned on the facet.

As the tub filled, she rested herself along her bath, feeling the hot water encase her body. The heat soothed her muscles, and as she dipped her hair in the water, she removed the claw headband that tugged at her scalp. She decided to leave it hanging by the facet, and she would keep it there as a reason to come back.

When she was satisfied, she turned off the stream, laying down as tiny droplets of sweat formed at her forehead from the heat. The entire room had become misty, the mirror fogged, a light steam hovering around her.

And she glanced around, looking at his soaps. He seemed to have a lot of nice things. His family must have had money. He said his father was a doctor. Dipping her head into the water, she allowed the entire length of her hair to become immersed, and when she heard the gentle knock on the door, she brought her face back to the surface, lightly gasping for breath.

"Mikasa?" She heard his muffled voice and sunk deeper into the water. "Can I come in? I brought a towel for you." He paused. "I promise I won't look."

She cleared her throat, the sound echoing off the walls. "Yea…come in."

The door creaked open slowly then, and she watched him walk in carefully, his gaze purposely averted, feeling a sharp cool breeze shoot towards her. He was wearing a shirt now. Actually, he had completely changed into another set of loungewear. She saw the thick white towel he held for her, bringing a hand in front of his face.

"I'm not looking," he declared, and she giggled lightly.

She continued to observe him, when he placed the towel against the sink, as well as one of his tee shirts for her. His back remained facing her, and she sighed then, bringing her knees against her chest to further hide herself.

"You can turn around. You won't see anything."

He seemed hesitant. "Are you sure?"

She nodded to herself. "Yes."

He lingered for a moment before turning only his neck to glance at her. She smiled at him, brows lifted, and he finally deemed it safe to move his body to completely face her. His focus on her was intense, his eyes following the length of her sodden hair, watching the droplets of water trickle along her naked shoulders. She had rinsed the small amount of makeup she wore off her face, and she sat there before him, completely bare, holding her body close so he could not see the most beautiful parts of her.

"Do you need anything?" he asked her, a bit nervously while his arms folded across his chest.

She shook her head, water swishing around her. "No. I'm okay." Then, she quickly added, "Do you want to sit with me?"

He raised a brow automatically, a hopeful smirk pulling at his lips. "In the bathtub?"

Mikasa huffed in amusement. "No."

He caught her drift, however, taking a seat on the bathroom floor, his back pressed against the wall of the tub. He was so close to her naked self, only inches away, yet he could not see her, or touch her, guarded by his merit alone.

And she pressed her breasts against the ceramic basin, the warm water splashing around her as she peeked over towards him. Water dripped mercilessly when she swaddled her arms over his neck, staining his shirt, drizzling his hair, the skin of his neck.

The kiss she planted on his cheek was warm and slippery, leaving a wet mess on his skin. "I like having a boyfriend."

His shoulders were drenched now as she draped herself on him, pressing her cheek onto his. Her hair was flung to the side, a stream of water falling to the floor. And she could feel his smile against her, felt the press of his dimple as he took her arm, placing a warm kiss on the inside of her wrist. She was still wearing her Eren bracelet, and it slid halfway down her arm, residing there.

"Are you sure?" he teased. "It's only been like an hour."

She countered his claim by kissing his neck. He sat silently, allowing her hand to slip inside the collar of his shirt, while her lips moved languidly along his skin. Lightly he sighed, exhaling his pleasure, and she continued to kiss him, feeling his pulse against her tongue, tasting the sweetness that coated his flesh.

It was difficult for her to maintain her breasts within the tub, struggling to keep them concealed. And he seemed to sense that things were progressing too far, that he gingerly separated himself from her, patting the top of her head lightly.

"I should go."

She shifted in the tub as he walked away, closing the door behind him. She only stayed there a while longer before briskly cleaning herself, rinsing the soap off her body. And when she put on his shirt, it fell half way above her knees like a loose dress. Her eyes found her underwear on the floor, and she dreaded sliding that sticky, gross material up her legs.

So she left the room wearing nothing but his shirt. She wondered if at this point she was setting herself up to have sex. Maybe this was a test of her own self control over his? What was she supposed to do though, put on that sopping wet underwear?

She found he had turned off the lights, lying in bed and staring towards the ceiling. His hands rested underneath his head, his lower body cloaked by the thick comforter. He had taken off the shirt she drenched, his body dark, the shadows of the night carving out every muscle of his chest, his abdomen, even his arms as they stretched from beneath him. She followed every steep, tempting curve, until she found his scar once again, almost black in the darkness.

He noticed her then, his eyes whisking towards her. They were the only source of color in the room, such a dark luscious green, the speckles of white in them sparkling like starlight. Their beauty compelled her to get into the bed with him, lifting the covers to their shoulders, her head sharing his pillow.

She lied there rigidly beside him, her gaze filled with the empty blankness of the wall. His breathing was light, harmonic, while his hand scanned for hers beneath the blanket. He squeezed it upon discovery, and she sunk deeper into the mattress.

They moved together simultaneously then, shifting to their sides, that they faced one another, only a breadth apart, so close that her eyelashes trickled over his face, his breath a hot mist warming hers.

He pulled her close, their bodies connected, molding into one form, her shirt riding up and failing to hide her modesty. The arch of her back was automatic, her palms absentmindedly smoothing his chest. She felt his nipple pebble against her skin, traced the creases of the muscle sculpted on his stomach. How thick and strong his arms felt furled around her, but so softly he held her, afraid he would break her.

When he kissed her, she closed her eyes, the gesture long and lingering, but delicate. He kissed her many times, repeatedly, tasting her lips as he glossed over them with his tongue, gliding against the pout of her mouth with a tenderness she swallowed desperately. Her fingers delved into the thickness of his hair, feeling the dampness wet her hands. While his palm took captive her thigh, she wrapped her leg around him, so overcome by her desire she had forgotten she was almost naked.

Further he travelled upward until he touched the bare skin of her derrière. She stiffened when he delayed, clasping at the plump flesh, before letting go completely. His lips parted from hers, and she opened her eyes. A low, desolate groan rumbled in his throat.

"You are making this so difficult."

Her smile was guilty, bashful, and she apologized as she tried to roll over onto her back, but he pulled her against him, his palm firm against her low back.

"You're supposed to help me sleep, remember?"

She said nothing, but allowed him to maneuver her to his pleasing as he laid himself flat on the bed, bringing her to rest comfortably on his chest. Readjusting, her cheek found refuge against his breast, and despite the hard muscle that covered him, his skin was surprisingly soft and warm.

And she felt the solid embrace of his arm draped around her, while their legs entangled, their body heat mingling, heartbeats becoming one. It lacked rhythm or pacing, just a slow yet chaotic drumming. But to her, it was beautiful, something she could dance to, a story she could tell through the movement of her body.

She knew he had fallen asleep when the pattern of his breath changed, lighter and even instead of a deliberate heave. And she hugged him tighter, held him closer, until she felt the heaviness of her own eyes—feeling, seeing, smelling, hearing, even tasting nothing but him in all of his perfection.