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.

11. This is Your Night

A/N: Content warning, there is Jeankasa at the end of this chapter.

She wondered if she would find him. Through the flurry of students leaving and arriving to classes. In the courtyard, or the quad. That they would cross paths and it would send her back however many steps it took her just to show up on Monday.

And as terrifying as the possibility was, she secretly hoped she would see him. That he would find her, beg her to take him back. For suddenly everything to be okay and go back to the way it was before he ruined everything. To undue her progress, resort to something that felt comfortable. But she didn't see him. And as she stepped into her Ballet IV class, she allowed herself to heave a stifled breath she had been carrying. Only to inhale another one.

Mikasa arrived to class early, only a few dancers speckled throughout the studio, stretching. She went through the motions, hung up her coat, removed her layers until she was in her leotard and tights. Tight fists grappled the barre and she faced the mirror. It was almost like staring at a different person.

It still shocked her how short her hair was now. Sasha had helped her even it out when she discovered her crying on the floor. It was horrifying to sit with, once the reality of what she had done set in. Her long, thick hair had been completely hacked. Gone were the glossy, black, wavy locks that draped over her shoulders like velvety ribbons. Instead, she gazed at a girl with a short, choppy pixie cut, fringe framing her brows.

It suited her face, and she was pretty enough not to rely on her hair to enhance her beauty. But she felt so self-conscious to even leave the dorm that she slathered a dark red lipstick on her mouth. A deep crimson, the color of blood. It was elegant against the pearly hue of her complexion, complementing her silver eyes and dark hair.

One leg propped onto the barre, her toes stifled in her ballet slipper as she pointed them dramatically. She had barely moved in a week. This action alone felt uncomfortable, the stretch to her hamstring pulling generously within her thigh. But she appreciated the solitude, the short moment of peace before she would have to face another obstacle she greatly dreaded.

A drop of a duffle bag broke her concentration. And she turned to see Connie, who quickly gathered her in a hug before she could fully comprehend his presence. It wasn't tight or frisky or anything he would usually pull on her. His arms cradled her back comfortingly, his cheek pressed against her shoulder.

"How have you been?" She could feel him mouth the words against her skin.

She held him back weakly, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach. "Not great."

"Armin told me what happened. I'm so sorry, Mikasa."

She exhaled, burying her nose into his tee shirt. He smelled like some kind of heavy masculine cologne. "I'm sorry for worrying you. I know you called, but I really couldn't talk to anyone."

"Don't worry about it. You're here now and that's all that counts."

Slowly he pulled away from her, and the warm smile that had curved his lips dissipated when he looked directly towards her. And there he rubbed at his chin, a gleam in his expression that was a little more familiar to her.

"Well hello nurse," he mused, his eye visibly scanning her. Mikasa rolled her eyes, but she also smiled. Because hell, it felt nice to have someone check her out, even if it was a pervert like Connie.

"You are looking fine," he furthered, now flicking at her hair with a lick of his top lip. "This haircut looks so good on you I'm going to lose my shit."

She swatted his hand away, sucking in her cheeks to conceal a smile. "Take a chill pill. I look like a little boy."

But he chocked a laugh at her, shaking his head diligently while his arms folded over his chest. "You look so hot I don't know how I'm going to concentrate in class today. Natalie's gonna be on my ass because I'll be too distracted looking at yours."

Her palm smacked at his shoulder, and hints of her grin pressed into her mouth. "Stop trying to make me feel better."

"I'm not," he clarified, his look towards her a bit more serious as he took her wrist captive. "For real, Mikasa. You are fucking gorgeous and anybody who has you should know he's the luckiest person on earth."

She felt the sting of tears lace her eyes, but held them prisoner within. Instead, she smiled softly, a delicate sigh fluttering at her lips. "Thanks, Connie."

"Anytime."

And when she resumed her stretch on the barre, he joined her, their bodies standing in unison. He seemed a bit apprehensive when he peeked towards her, his palm rubbing at the pricky buzzed hair atop his head.

"Are you going to be okay taking class with…you know…?"

She felt her pulse stop at the inquiry, and her eyes trembled a dark shade of steel. "I'm going to have to be, aren't I?"

She saw his lips squirm about his face, staring at their reflections in the mirror. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, she was fucking up big time last week. In Modern too. Fucking combos, stumbling in her turns. It was like watching a car accident."

She looked ahead, even when he turned his neck to gather a response from her. "It doesn't make me feel better."

He seemed to sense the tension, clearing his throat to change the subject. "Wanna get back to practicing again today for the big show?"

When she felt him lightly jab his elbow into her shoulder, she finally met his gaze. "Yes. We have to get at it extra hard. Missed a lot of valuable time."

For a short moment, she almost forgot what was hurting her. It was almost like things were going back to normal. Connie was being a pervert, they were talking about the performance—the one that meant so much to her. And whatever she was going through, she was not giving up. She was going to keep pushing forward. She would overcome this; this was not the worst thing that ever happened to her—

She saw Historia enter the studio through the mirror.

Solemn, head down. Ymir had already been inside, she hadn't caught her walking in. But the two best friends ignored each other, taking to opposite ends of the room. Mikasa felt her breath become stuck in her lungs, lacked the delicate throb of her pulse. A moment frozen in time, watching her take up space, as small as she was.

But something was so different about her presence. Usually, it was like sunshine filling the room—so bright and glaring, annoying blinding. But today, Mikasa could feel the heaviness of her steps, the downward pull of her mood. From the way she walked, the slouch in her back. Even her hair, as neat and pretty as it still was, just seemed off. And she wanted to feel good, to relish in her pain. But it was heartbreaking to watch.

Why was she suffering so much? Did she feel guilty? When their eyes met, there was a brief hesitation, as if Historia would approach her to apologize. But she turned away from her quickly, in shame, and after that they never made eye contact again.

She could not look at her and not think about that night. It had been ten days since it happened, and each and every one of those days painful images flooded her mind. But seeing her here today, the thoughts became more graphic.

She wondered how he touched her. Was it the same way when they were together? Did it feel good when he was with Historia? Did he like it? Better than he did with her? Did he kiss her the way she used to kiss him?

Did he like it? Did it feel good?

Was she fucking worth it?

A single tear dripped down her cheek, and quickly Mikasa dabbed at it. To keep more from escaping she rubbed at her eyes. Soon after, Connie's palm rested on her shoulder.

"Are you okay?" he asked her quietly, a concerned dimple pressing between his brows. She nodded slowly, switching to stretch her other leg.

She felt the extension in the arch of her foot when she pointed her toe sharply. "Yea. I'll be fine."

Soon the room was filled with students, and the melodic warmup of the piano drifted elegantly throughout the studio. When Natalie arrived, she found Mikasa immediately, and a sense of dread filled her as she watched her set her clipboard down and approach her.

Her silver hair was tied in the tightest knot she had ever seen, and wrinkles pressed by her eyes when he smiled neutrally towards her. "Mikasa, how are you today? Your uncle informed us you were very ill. I'm glad to see you are feeling better."

Mikasa wondered if she even believed whatever excuse Levi had made up to get her out of class. And she didn't blame her. But she nodded anyway, a forced smile painting her lips. "Yes, thank you. I'm feeling a lot better now."

"Good to hear. I hope the time off will have enhanced your performance."

Mikasa frowned. Was she really going to start with the passive aggressive insults first thing? If she were less reserved, she would have opened her mouth and told her what she really thought of her and her opinions on her dancing. She would have flashed her disgraceful tits and endured the entirety of class with her perky nipples kissing the air.

But she kept her mouth shut, as she always did. Yet today, a different kind of rage boiled within her. It engulfed her whole body, a bounce to the balls of her feet, a lift to her posture. She was fucking sick of people taking her for granted. And it would end now.

The barre portion of class was when she cleared her thoughts, her mind a blank canvas as she focused on the stretch of her legs, the curve of her spine, the delicateness of her fingers. She thought of nothing but the control of her body, of each individually trained muscle. Because she herself was a work of art, and she knew this. Any person who watched her dance did as well. To have such precision of her form, her body the ink that crafted beautiful paintings filled with emotion and vulnerability.

When they moved to the floor, she kept this concentration, forgetting everyone around her. Dancing for no one but herself in an empty void, where nobody could judge her or hurt her again.

"Historia—goodness, dear. What has gotten into you lately?"

Her eyes cleared as she was dragged back into the reality surrounding her. Bodies of dancers staggered on the smooth wooden flooring. Connie still beside her. The lights were painfully bright. She could feel the elastic of her hosen clenching at her skin.

And then her gaze shot forward, to the spectacle of the room. Natalie scolding Historia, something she thought she'd never see. The elder woman's hands planted on her hips, a disappointed shake to her head. Historia stood there as if she were about to cry, the blue in her eyes quavering like the waves of a waterfall.

"This poor display is unlike you. Have you gotten sick? I can't believe what I have been seeing from you since last week."

She thought back to every time Natalie would overly praise the small ballerina, and then ridicule her. How shitty she felt, and so fucking jealous. And god, did she want to feel good watching this little scene, one she had daydreamed about many times. Historia fucking up and the public humiliation that would follow.

But seeing her there, looking so broken and defeated. It was sad, pathetic. Pitiful. It was hard to hate her, to visibly witness her suffering. Whatever was going on, it was affecting her just as bad. She didn't even know he was her boyfriend. She really didn't know.

Did he like it? Did it feel good?

Was she fucking worth it?

None of that fucking mattered If Historia didn't know, if she was suffering too. It didn't matter because every time Mikasa would look at her, she would see her little fucking body screwing Eren. The same body she was always compared to. The one people tried to make her believe was better than hers.

And she knew the logical answer. Men generally would find a body like Mikasa's more attractive. She wasn't stupid. But she wasn't trying to impress men. Men weren't going to make her a dancer.

And Eren fucking chose her. That short, delicate little golden sunflower. He affirmed what instructors like Natalie implanted in her mind. And it pissed her the fuck off.

Connie, being the dick face he was, snorted a muted laugh at the exhibition, and Mikasa shot him a heated look. But Natalie had impeccable hearing, and unfortunately, she always declared Mikasa the blame of Connie's antics. Must have been her big, distracting tits.

"Mikasa, you have been absent for a week," she mused as innocently as she could. "I'd like to see you demonstrate the combination. I don't want you falling behind."

She had been dancing since before she could spell the word "hat." Already at a professional level, she could never fall behind as if this were a math assignment.

But she took herself to the front of the class without another word, an upward tug at her brow. Her eyes focused on her reflection, glaring into the mirrors behind Natalie. Silence had taken the room, and she could hear herself thinking. No, she didn't want to think. But there was fucking Historia, standing to the side of her, avoiding looking her way. Like a coward. A fucking coward like Eren. And Natalie hovering there, observing her with her arms crossed as if she was waiting to catch her failure.

Did he like it? Did it feel good?

Was she fucking worth it?

Fuck them all.

A moment after she went into position, the soft sound of the piano echoed in the room, and it seeped into her soul. A sweet, gentle melody. Keys pressed into beautiful chords. It helped her move her body. But she was only guided by the music, not compelled by it. The fire in her belly forced the arch in her back, the heaviness in her thighs made her lift her legs and drive her forward. The fury that lived inside her made her burst into an almost euphoric release. Her body was lost from her, taken by the anger bubbling in her heart. The pain and the downright fucking rage.

Did he like it? Did it feel good?

Was she fucking worth it?

Fuck them all to hell.

She found herself breathless when she stopped, her eyes fluttering open. And there was that silence again. It was so horribly loud.

She felt the tension from those around her, watching her in something she could not decipher. And Natalie, her eyes large and seemingly confused, said nothing for a long time. It made her suddenly very nervous, an uncomfortable acceleration to her pulse.

"Mikasa," she began, carefully choosing her words, "I don't think I have ever seen such passion come from you."

She froze, her breath hitched. She wanted to breathe but the sound might have hindered her hearing.

"The attitude, the hair…I'm getting jazz diva from you." Then she rubbed at her lip, as if an epiphany struck her. "It's giving me Liza Minnelli."

Mikasa's jaw gave out and her mouth fell open, and frantically she tried to force air into her lungs but her body was in shock, frozen solid in place.

"Whatever you have been doing, please keep it up. Great work, Mikasa."

The wobble of her legs made her feel like she was walking on jello as she made her way towards the back of the room. Did that really just happen? Did Natalie compliment her?

Connie quickly reinforced this, grasping her arms to give her one swift shake. "Holy fucking shit—Did she just—"

Mikasa blinked several times to clear her vision. "I don't know—"

"She compared you to Liza Minnelli!"

"I—I know—"

And suddenly, her rage was replaced with something else. Not replaced, but enhanced. Glazed with a feeling she hadn't felt in a really long time.

Pride.

And it carried with her during their rehearsal. Spins and turns and floorwork performed to near perfection. The way her ankles needed to twist to accommodate her stilettos once felt foreign was now a natural extension of her body. How the sole of the ballroom shoe gripped the floor and she found a way to do multiple fouetté style turns without scratching the heel against the smooth surface of the ground.

The extension of her arms and legs, how weightless she felt whenever Connie lifted her. So in tune with each other and the music, it became less like a choreography and just a fluid fluent movement of their bodies. So natural, like speaking a language or singing a song. And the lighting of the studio, usually so bright and relentless and unflattering, felt like a mother fucking spotlight, shining directly onto her. For her and only her. Because she was a fucking star, a work of art. Anything but ordinary.

But at the end of it all, she collapsed on the floor, sitting between her legs.

Connie was ecstatic, pacing the room in excitement as she adjusted the sweatpants hanging over her hips. She could hear the squeak of his jazz shoes sliding against the ground. He had put his grey beanie back on, and he looked so ridiculous, like an Eminem wannabe.

"You are on fucking fire today! Holy shit!" he beamed, kneeling in front of her. "Don't get me wrong, I think you're always fucking awesome. But it's like something woke up inside you, it's insane!"

She kept her gaze downward, suddenly feeling very heavy. The floor was so shiny she could see her reflection as her hands fumbled on her lap. "Thanks, Connie."

The shift in her mood was obvious, and he frowned as he settled his bum on the floor, bending his knee towards him. His elbow rested there. "Are you doing okay?"

As she peered at him timidly, a delicate sigh blew from her nose. "It was just really hard, seeing her today…and thinking of them together—"

At the crack of her voice, she stopped talking, swallowing the urge to start crying. Connie leaned forward to rub the skin of her arm reassuringly. "Seriously, fuck her. Did you see how bad she fucking sucked today? And how you shined? And the bullshit part it, you have always been better than her. You're fucking amazing, Mikasa."

"Then why did he choose her?"

Tears slithered from her eyes, one by one, their travels down her flesh languid and ominous. It was an instant sickness she felt in her belly, making her want to throw up. And in an effort to comfort herself, she wrapped her arms around her torso in a self-soothing hug. Connie filled that void, however, sliding closer to her and slipping an arm around her shoulder. Her head rested against him.

"Because he's a piece of shit," he said to her softly. "It's not because of you. He downgraded to his own level."

It was uncomfortable talking about Historia this way. Because she really kept trying to tell herself it wasn't her fault. She didn't know. She was hurting too. But that condom wrapper on the nightstand, how she left his room so disheveled—

When he took her in an embrace, she welcomed the gesture, and they sat there holding each other for a long time.

"I got you, baby," he reassured her. "I'll always be here for you."

"Thank you. I really appreciate you."

A beat passed, and she relaxed in his arms. "And you have Armin. I bet he's been picking up the slack."

She tensed, every muscle contracting, so much so that Connie could feel it, pulling away from her. Armin had tried calling her during the weekend, but she still felt so weird and embarrassed after what happened, or nearly happened, between them. She needed a few more days before she could gather the courage to face him again. Just a couple more days to think and process. "Everything okay between you two?" Connie asked with a lifted brow.

"Yea…everything's fine. It's just I haven't seen him as much, ever since he started that job. We don't work out at the same time anymore."

A frown pulled at his lips. "Really? Well…" And his face lit up, rising from the floor as he pulled her up with him. "I'll work out with you. Starting today."

She rubbed at her head hesitantly. "Like right now?"

"Yea! Unless you have something else to do?"

Adjusting the elastic at her groin, Mikasa thought for a moment. She was so physically and mentally exhausted, all she wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed. And probably start crying again. Yet, the idea of returning to her usual routine seemed enticing, especially if she didn't have to do it alone.

"Okay, but I'm gonna have to pace myself. I skipped an entire week and I'm already sore as fuck."

Connie accompanied her to the gym that evening, as well as the following day. It wasn't the same as she went with Armin, but it was still nice to have company and someone to talk to. Even if he was a filthy skirt chaser. He was really trying to behave himself, she had to give him credit.

Armin tried calling her again Wednesday. It was still too strange to confront him. She promised herself she would call him back on Friday. Then they could forget every bizarre thing that happened between them.

But when Friday afternoon came, she realized she wasn't going to have to call him after all.

Connie and Mikasa had finished their workout together, and were making a familiar trek from the gym to the arts building. It was strange, like sharing a tradition with him. One that had been reserved for her and Armin. They would work out and he would walk her to class. But instead of the boy she had known for over a decade, Connie was beside her.

"You look so good when you do sit-ups—"

"Fuck off, Connie."

The weather was mildly cold for the beginning of November, sudden drafts of chill wafting towards them occasionally. Yet, the sun shone proudly, lighting up the sky, gleaming down the crowded campus and bustle of students.

And everything was so close to being normal. No, Armin wasn't next to her, but Connie filled that void. He was missing the flannel, and ankle clinched joggers, instead wearing an open jacket and heavy sweats. Just like her, he graced spandex beneath the get-up. And soon enough, they would make their way to class, she and Historia awkwardly avoiding each other as they'd accomplished all week. She'd get through the hour and a half with bursts of passionate rage. And then another rehearsal.

When they approached the building, the familiar, wretched smell of cigarette smoke filled her lungs, that she hocked out a forced cough, her body stiffening in her thick pullover. And she threw the usual offended look she always did when passing the smoker gang. But this time she stopped in her place. Connie nearly collided into her.

She blinked, hoping she was imagining the sight before her. "Is that—"

Connie scratched at his head, absolutely dumbfounded. "No fucking way."

"Is that Armin?"

~oOo~

"Listen carefully, I'm going to tell you freaks this once and I'll fuck you up if I ever have to repeat myself. Got it?"

Annie stood before the group almost like a dictator, and despite her five-foot frame, she seemed taller than all of them. And Armin felt almost like her mistress standing beside her, being flaunted before them as a latest addition to their peculiar gang.

Her hands were furrowed in the pockets of her windbreaker, unzipped per usual. Her black blouse was messily stuffed into the waist of her jeans, the denim a light blue with large tears at her knees. Her ankles crossed together, slivers of skin exposed from the cavity of her combat boots.

"This is Armin. He's my boyfriend and he's hanging with us now."

She released a hand from captivity to move strands of hair away from her face. It shone a more intense shade of orange in the sunlight. Even her eyes were more vivid, sparkling so beautifully that he found himself smiling at her. Until she looked at him and frowned.

And his gaze was ahead, at the group cornering the bench, clouds of smoke surrounding them and circling their forms.

"Armin, this is Bertolt," she began, flicking her finger towards the man standing against the brick. He held the cigarette between his teeth, managing to inhale and exhale without using the assistance of his fingers. Freakishly tall, well over six foot, a longer face and ruffled dark hair. Ripped jeans covered his long legs, while he was bundled in a red jacket, zipped just enough to still showcase the faded Nirvana tee he wore underneath.

"He's a film major. If he asks you to be in any of his movies don't fucking do it."

Armin's mouth shifted on his face uncomfortably, as Bertolt lifted his head in greeting.

"And this asshole," she continued down the line, to the guy lounging on the bench, one foot on the seat as he used his knee to rest his arm. A stream of fog fled the cigarette that sat loosely between his fingers. "Is Reiner. It doesn't matter what he's majoring in because he's going to flunk out of here anyway."

Tousled dirty blonde hair, hazel eyes, and a patch of scruff around his mouth. He was also very tall, though not nearly as big as the previous giant. His build was burlier, a more muscular frame. Despite wearing brown combat boots, the skin of his shin was exposed, his black jean pantlegs rolled up. The dark jacket he wore was lose fitting. Didn't any of these people ever get cold?

"And finally, Pieck."

Long, tangled black hair. Dark brown eyes. She sat on the bench with her legs spread open. A heavy winter coat, entirely unzipped, showing the usual bizarre Catholic uniform she wore. Her legs were completely bare in the skirt she wore.

"Pieck doesn't even go to this school. She's an heiress to the company that makes Furbies. So instead of getting an education she decided to be the embarrassment of her family. It's cool though, because she's still rich and buys our smokes."

She appeared to be on some kind of drugs, drifting in and out of concentration as she inhaled from the slender stick in her grasp. But an interested, hazy smile crept on her lips, her eyes cloudy and glossy, as she slipped her hand on Armin's thigh and squeezed. He felt the intrusive press of her fingers into his front muscle.

"Hey, Armin."

He flinched, but before he could properly react Annie grabbed Pieck's tie, pulling her forward aggressively.

"Hands off, you fucking whore. He's mine."

She coughed from the hostility of the gesture, the fabric tugging at her throat. It would have been more concerning to Armin if he didn't know that they were friends. When Annie let go, her head flung back, and she coughed for a moment longer before she settled down and brought the cigarette back to her mouth.

"Armin," Reiner spoke, his voice low and gravelly, "are you really Annie's boyfriend? Or did she force you here against your will?"

Bertolt chortled, ingesting a thick inhalation of smoke. "Yea, blink twice if you're being held hostage."

The both of them were chuckling together now, and Armin could feel the wrath seep from Annie's body, her brows furrowed and crinkling. She took one step in front of Bertolt before her small hand curled into a fist and shot an uppercut directly into the center of his gut. He heaved a sharp breath, the cigarette spilling from his mouth and onto the concrete as he shriveled forward and cradled his abdomen.

"Anybody else need convincing?" she asked, waving her fist as if it were a gun. The other two were silent.

Reiner pulled a pack of Marlboro's from his jacket, opening the red and white box as he offered a cigarette to Annie.

"You are definitely past due for one of these."

She rolled her eyes very dramatically, that they briefly became white spheres on her face, but she took a cigarette anyway, grabbing a lighter from her pocket. As a flame ignited from the flick of her thumb, Reiner glanced at Armin.

"How about you?"

Is this what they warned about in school? Was this peer pressure? He hesitated briefly before pulling a stick from the box, and Annie gave him a narrowed look.

"You don't have to smoke, you know."

He chuckled nervously, rubbing at his scalp. "It's cool. It'll be like my initiation."

"This isn't a fucking frat, Armin. Nobody is going to haze you if you don't smoke."

But with a grumble, she lit the cigarette for him anyway. He took in a deep breath of air first, letting the crisp coldness fill his lungs and expand his chest. Why was he so nervous? He seemed to fit in fine enough. In his flannel jacket and dark denim, if he didn't have such a pretty boy wholesome look to him, he could have been just as grunge as they were. Should he unzip his jacket?

It wasn't a greatly successful inhale when he brought the cigarette to his mouth. He could feel all their eyes on him, as if expecting him to fail. And the moment the smoked crept inside and burned his throat, he relinquished a series of short, controlled coughs. But he powered through it, through the uncomfortable sting, the ember in his chest, even the instant lightheadedness he experienced.

It was all fucking worth it, just to stand there with her, being introduced to her friends, being accepted by them. For her to publicly declare him her boyfriend. It was all very strangely sweet in her own way. So when he took her hand and curled his fingers through the hollows of hers, she didn't pull back. But she did squeeze him back more tightly than she needed to. And it was kind of painful. There was a lot of power in such a cute, small hand.

"You guys are fucking adorable," Pieck cooed, in that unsteady strung out tone of hers. Her eyes were narrowed so much that they were practically closed, an enamored smile taking her lips before she blew out several rings of smoke.

Annie frowned. "No. We're actually fucking disgusting."

And when Bertolt hollered a cheer and Reiner stomped his boot against the chipped wood of the bench in approval, Armin felt the burn of a blush darken his face. And she rubbed her thumb against his hand, shooting him a swift interested glance.

He knew better than to kiss her in front of her friends. But she seemed so tempting at that moment, from the glossy shine of her hair, how her pink heart-shaped lips puckered against the cigarette. Her eyes were large and expressive, a striking shade of cerulean. Even the jewel on her nose sparkled from the sunlight. And he loved the shape of that nose, the gentle slope of her bridge, enhancing her European features and setting her apart from all the other girls.

It had been such a strange week, taken away from his regular routine and thrust into something that was new and exciting and different. Weird. But he also really fucking missed Mikasa, who was still avoiding him. If only see could see him now.

"Armin!"

The snap of the feminine voice jerked his attention, and soon he saw Mikasa storming towards him. Interestingly enough, Connie was beside her. Had she replaced him already?

"Uh, Mikasa—" he stumbled uncomfortably, and suddenly everyone's attention was on the two dancers who looked so absolutely out of place. It didn't help that she seemed to recoil in disgust, forcing performative coughs from the clouds of smog that drifted around them.

He wanted to hug her, but he didn't want to let go of Annie's hand even more so. And she was really looking them over good, blonde brows furrowed in concentration. It made him a bit scared for Mikasa. And the four of them were face to face, separated only by the cold drafts of subdued wind.

"Hey, I've been trying to call you. Are you alright?" he asked quickly, but then stopped as something was very different about her. "Oh, wow, you cut your hair!"

Her mouth fumbled uncomfortably as she crossed her arms over her hefty pullover. It was a really flattering cut on her, showcasing the beauty of her face, the sharp curves of her jaw, even her eyes seemed brighter. But it was a very drastic change. He wondered where her mindset was when she decided to cut it.

"It looks really nice," he added, almost uncomfortably, unconsciously taking in another breath of smoke.

"Yo Armin, what's up," Connie shot back with a grin, adjusting the beanie on his head before giving him a half hug. "It's been a while."

And then he did the most Conniest thing he could possibly do. Rubbing at his chin as he sliced his teeth against his bottom lip, he looked Annie up and down, scanning her with deviant eyes. "And who do we have here?"

He knew they were looking at their entangled hands. And he laughed nervously, laughed maybe a little too enthusiastically. "Oh uh, this is Annie."

She tilted her head upwards, biting down on her cigarette after blowing a ring of smoke towards them. "'Sup."

Connie took her hand, even though she didn't offer it, placing a kiss at her knuckles. Armin would have been offended if she didn't automatically slap him across the face. She seemed very unbothered, and the hit was stark and precise. It left Connie stunned for a moment.

"Bet you liked that, huh?" she said flatly, her face void of emotion. And he grinned amply, stupidly, embracing his warm cheek as if he had been touched by a goddess.

"This is Connie and Mikasa," Armin introduced them, meeting Annie's rather hostile glare. He then turned back to his friends, and Mikasa seemed rather impatient, tapping the toe of her Sketchers against the concrete as if waiting for an explanation.

"What's going on here, Armin?" she asked him, her lips a deep shade of red. It was a good look on her. Even watching her talk was beautiful. "What the hell are you doing smoking?"

He looked at them, then towards Annie, and he was so nervous that he felt the urge to smoke some more before he replied. "Annie's kind of my girlfriend now."

He heaved a forced breath when Annie vehemently stabbed her elbow into his gut, tasting the filter of the cigarette as he bit down. The pain was so sharp that he could feel the burn of tears caressing his eyes from the impact.

"Definitely," he corrected himself, his voice thick and hoarse as he stumbled to catch his breath. "Annie is definitely my girlfriend." And she comforted him, wrapping herself around his waist possessively, in a strange affectionate sort of way. A smile crept on his mouth as his arm enveloped her small frame.

Mikasa's expression could only be described as bizarre, a look of panic set in her eyes, her brows a squiggled mess on her forehead. She was staring at the two of them as if she were looking at the crime scene of a grisly murder.

"When the hell did this happen?" she exclaimed, but then leaned forward a bit timidly for discretion. "Armin," she began quietly, "did I drive you to this?"

Annie glared at him dully, her grip on him tightening and constricting his breath. And he chuckled nervously, almost guiltily, pressing her head against his chest, his fingers slipping through her hair.

"No, no of course not. It kind of just…happened."

Mikasa looked at them, then at the group of rejects by the bench who seemed unfazed by their interruption, surrounded by a large veil of fog. Annie took this as a cue to give him a moment.

"I'll let you talk to your friends," she said dully, puffing a cloudy mist into his face before planting a very stern kiss at the corner of his mouth. He really wanted to kiss her. They hadn't even kissed yet today. Recently all her could think of was kissing her. Among other things.

And when she walked away, cigarette in her mouth while she shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket, moving in that uncaring way that he began to adore, Mikasa aggressively pulled him aside, the three of them huddled together.

"Armin, what the hell is going on?" she lectured him, a crinkle deep set between her brows.

"And since when did you start smoking?" Connie added, though with much less concern and with more amusement, a smirk claiming his face as he gestured towards the burning stick in his grasp.

"I don't smoke," he clarified, all while continuing to inhale the cigarette. His eyes closed as the tar filled his chest. "And it's not a big deal. I just really like her. And while you've been avoiding me, I started hanging out with her."

Mikasa's lips tugged downward. "I wasn't avoiding you. I'm sorry, I was going to call you tonight. I've just been a fucking mess."

Armin sighed, a foggy stream spilling from his mouth. "I know. I've been worried about you."

"And now I'm worried about you. Don't you think she's kind of…" she faltered for a moment, as if what she wanted to say was obvious, her hands moving to emphasize her point. "Mean?"

Armin laughed, a smile spreading across his face. "What? No. No, not at all." A dreamy look glossed over him then. "I think she's really sweet."

"Dude," Connie interjected, "she just decked you in the stomach."

He felt a slight pulse in his abdomen as if to remind him, but he chuckled it away, cradling the cigarette between his fingers before taking another drag. "Nah, it's cool. My appendix is on the other side."

Mikasa glared at him blankly for a moment, trying to read him, and as she scanned him thoroughly, taking in his posture, the gushy expression on his face, her eyes narrowed in realization, a dimple pressed in the bridge of her nose.

She took one step towards him "Oh my god…" she breathed, a frown cursing her lips. "You already slept with her, haven't you?"

Connie's lips parted in a simultaneous smile, while Armin felt himself turn absolutely red, from the bottom of his neck to the top of his forehead.

Balancing the cigarette between his teeth, he chocked a laugh. "No, of course not." But he was grinning so broadly and stupidly, a lustful glaze glistening in his eyes, that Mikasa threw her head back, smacking her hand against her forehead.

"Shit, you fucked her already?" Connie beamed, shoving him rather aggressively and in interest, his smirk almost as big as Armin's. He took his hand and did some sort of weird brotherly handshake that Armin could barely keep up with. "Sweet. Man, how's she like? She looks feisty."

And he was giggling now, shaking his head while his smile was giddy and consuming and absolutely silly. "No, I don't kiss and tell."

"But's she's good, right? Dude, you're fucking sprung. I can hear the fucking church bells."

Armin need only a flash of recent memories to spark his mind, images of Annie and her soft peachy skin, her hair thrown in front of her face as she took his body with eagerness and skill. The glisten of the studs on her nipples, how beautifully she oozed with arousal between her legs. The way she jerked her hips when she sat on his face—

At his insistence, Armin nodded hesitantly, and that set Connie off, that he was shoving him again and taking his hand victoriously. "Holy shit, this is awesome. You have to tell me what she's like—"

A loud, aggravated grunt from Mikasa interrupted their discourse, and she raised an erect palm towards him. "Would you two quit being fucking perverts?" Armin blinked hard when she clunked her fingers against his forehead.

"Wipe that dumb smile off your face, Armin." Then she yanked the cigarette from his mouth, throwing it onto the ground and stomping on it. "And you better not make this shit a habit."

He may have been more accepting of her authoritative behavior before, and he knew it came from a place of love and concern. But he really fucking like this girl. He'd been eying her for months. And yes, things were moving insanely fast, but it seemed to be their dynamic. Fast and intense and heavy. And he couldn't get enough of it.

"Listen, I like her. A lot. And I'm going to be around her now. A lot," he clarified, lifting his brows for emphasis. "And her friends too. I still love you and care about you and want to be there for you. I just ask that in return, you're gonna have to get used to it."

He looked over at Annie then, seated at the bench beside Pieck, decorated by several of their backpacks thrown on the cement. Her posture was relaxed, legs opened comfortably, a gentle curve to her back. The stream of smoke that cascaded from her cigarette danced around her body. Within that tough exterior was a very soft, tender, and vulnerable person.

She caught his stare and extinguished her cigarette as she came back towards them. Mikasa seemed a bit more accepting, however her hands were secured in the front pocket of her hoodie, her lips squirming uncomfortably about her face. When Annie approached her, she took a guarded step backwards, a bead of sweat dotting her forehead.

She grunted when Annie threw herself at Mikasa into a forced embrace rather vigorously, her arms curling around her waist behind her backpack. Mikasa's face turned red as she held her breath, her eyes large and stunned, while the much smaller girl rubbed her cheek against her breasts, her hold on her solid.

"We're going to be best fucking friends," she said lowly. No smile, so emotion. Her tone was so flat it was almost threatening. And Mikasa patted the top of her head anxiously before Annie slowly slipped away from her.

A hint of a smile curved at her lips then, as she glanced at Armin before focusing her gaze back to Mikasa. "You were right, Armin." She paused, a devilish look glossing her face as she tuned into her. "They are nice."

Mikasa stiffened, while a deep blush took Armin's cheeks. He rubbed at his head restlessly, a nervous smile attempting to mask his guilt, while Connie looked between them in simultaneous bewilderment, interest, and amusement.

~oOo~

"Wait—what?"

Sasha held Jax on her lap while they sat on her bed, her legs folded together like a pretzel. The dog nestled himself on her bare thighs, completely oblivious to their conversation. She wore nothing but a robe, her hair tied into a very messy bun. Did she even go to class today?

Mikasa was seated at the edge, trying to pet the dog that was technically hers who was always held hostage by her roommate. She could feel the comfortable grumble he released as she rubbed at the fur of his chin.

"Yes, I saw him with them as I was walking to class. He was standing there smoking a cigarette like a fucking degenerate."

She saw the skeptical shift in her eyes, her glossy lips pressed together in a straight line. "And you said he's dating one of them now?"

"The one with the orange hair."

Sasha squinted her eyes, shuffling her back against the mountain of pink fuzzy pillows. "You mean the girl who eats entire pies with her hands in the cafeteria?"

"Yes."

"The one who opens coke bottles with her teeth?"

"Yes!"

Then she laughed, ironically. "No fucking way. How the hell did that happen?"

Mikasa would have pulled her hair if she didn't cut all of it off. Instead, she moved clumps of her bangs away from her face, a heavy sigh fleeing her nostrils. "I have no clue. I knew he kind of had a crush on her for a while. Then we don't talk for a week and all of a sudden he's one of them!"

Sasha decided to dissect her statement, however. "You haven't spoken to Armin for a week? Why?"

Mikasa immediately became flushed, that she pulled away from the dog and awkwardly fumbled with her hands on her lap. "Well…something kind of happened between us last Friday."

She had never seen Sasha's eyes get so huge, not even the one time when she walked in on her and Nicolo having sex amidst orgasm. "What do you mean something happened?"

When Mikasa didn't answer her, she gasped, interrupting Jax's nap as she shoved her arm enthusiastically. "Spill it!"

Rubbing at her temple, she struggled to confess the extremely awkward and humiliating encounter. "We sort of…made out?"

The squeal that emerged from Sasha's throat was ear splitting, that Mikasa winced from the noise and Jax attempted to leave her lap. She held him there.

"No fucking way! You kissed Armin?!"

The dog managed to escape her grasp, jumping off of the bed. The tags on his collar clinked together when he shook his little body before finding his bed at the corner of his room. Now that she had more range of motion, Sasha leaned forward onto her knees, her breasts nearly spilling out of her robe as she clamped her hands onto her shoulders.

"It was a mistake. I was upset, and it won't happen again," Mikasa clarified, shrugging vigorously to free herself from her hold. But Sasha wasn't satisfied with the response.

"Well…" she began, less ecstatic and now more intrigued. A clever smirk perked her lips. "How was it?"

Crimson colored her cheeks, and she looked about the room bashfully to distract herself from her roommate's leering stare. "It was…nice."

"Is Armin a good kisser?"

Mikasa didn't move for a long moment, silence consuming them. But when she nodded, Sasha squeaked again, and she buried her face in her palms from the utter embarrassment.

"Oh my god!" And she was shaking her again, forcing Mikasa to look at her and the giant grin plastered on her face. "I always thought you guys would be so cute together."

"We are not together," Mikasa shot back defensively. "Didn't I just tell you he is dating that little demon spawn?"

"Maybe you just need to get to know her a little? I'm sure she's not that bad."

Somehow Mikasa knew where she was going with this. Sasha was so fucking predictable that she sighed in advance, preparing her answer.

"Nicolo is covering for someone at this really hip night club tonight and I was thinking—"

"No."

Mikasa was about to stand from the bed, but Sasha held onto her arm, anchoring her down. "Come on, hear me out. You've heard of this place, it's called Supernova. I really want to go. And we can invite Armin, and his new girlfriend—"

"Sasha, are you fucking hearing yourself?" Mika said sternly, her brows furrowed. "You wouldn't just he inviting his girlfriend but her entire fucking drug fueled posse."

"But it's the perfect opportunity for us all to hang out and be friends."

Mikasa found her optimism to be nauseating. "You can invite him but I'm not going."

She got very quiet then, a glassiness to her eyes, and she couldn't find the strength to even look at Sasha anymore as a heaviness filled her chest. "I'm not ready to go anywhere, okay? It was hard enough going to class this week. I just want to stay here with Jax."

She felt the reassuring pressure of Sasha's hand as she kneaded her arm, rubbing against the sleeve of her sweater. She felt so aware of herself then, the dimness of the lightbulb that would probably need to be changed soon, the heated air wafting from the heater, how stiff her body felt and the sudden urge to break out in tears again. She had been fighting those desperate cravings all fucking week.

"I know, honey," she comforted her, squeezing at her triceps. "But it's been two weeks. Wouldn't you feel a little better going out with your friends? Even if it's only for an hour or two. We're all really worried about you."

Mikasa considered the option. To find the physical and mental strength to dress herself, fix her hair, wear makeup, to drink and attempt to have a good time. It was tempting, but the stronger desire to continue her new ritual of wallowing in her misery was overpowering. And the invasive thought that had been tormenting her all week crept back into her mind, banging against her skull.

Him and Historia. The condom wrapper. She hadn't even finished zipping up her pants as she left his room.

Did he like it? Did it feel good?

Was she fucking worth it?

She would go out there and prove to herself just how fucking desirable she was.

~oOo~

When Armin convinced Jean to come with them to the nightclub that night to introduce him to Pieck, he didn't expect her to be sitting at the booth making out with Reiner.

Instead of her usual plastered and dazed condition, she appeared as a totally different person. Long black hair styled into a voluminous, bouncy blow out, frosty eyeshadow highlighted all the way up to the arch of her brows, a dark liner tracing the fullness of her lips. Even the length and curl of her eyelashes were dramatic, the heavy dark circles under her eyes also concealed. She wore a black dress with a dangerously high slit, cleavage spilling out of thin straps. The silver of her spiked stiletto heels shone under the flashing lights, so thin and so pointed they could have been considered weapons.

Armin, Annie, and Jean sat together on the opposite end of the booth. Annie seemed unfazed, sliding a cigarette from her pack and securing it against the side of her mouth. The fire from the lighter lit up her face, and Armin noticed she was actually wearing make-up too. Not much, but enough for him to see the glitter on her eyes and a tint to her normal lip color.

He didn't catch her outfit beneath her baggy jacket until after she had taken it off inside. A pink dress, and her hair done up in partial ponytails. It was very unlike her, and he wondered why she had chosen to dress this way. Was it for him?

Armin sat sandwiched between them, and when he glanced over at Jean, he gave him a nervous smile while scratching his ear.

"Sorry about that."

Jean looked straight ahead, while Pieck shoved her tongue inside Reiner's mouth. The way they kissed and groped each other, it was almost pornographic. Bertolt seated beside them, unbothered as he drank from a bottle of beer, his cigarette burning on an ashtray.

A sigh fled Jean's mouth, sounding more defeated than annoyed, and he leaned his back against the cushion. "It's cool. You were right though, she's very attractive."

A stream of smoke snaked around them from Annie's hand, and she sucked in her cheeks as she breathed in. "She doesn't even look like this. Usually she looks like one of the dead people from Beetlejuice."

She leaned forward onto the table, sliding her box of smoked towards Jean. "Take a cigarette."

He ran a hand through his slicked back hair, then rubbing uncomfortably at the scruff that lined his jaw. "Sure, why not." And he took out a cigarette, taking the lighter from Annie. When Armin reached for the pack, she smacked his hand.

"Not you. You're not smoking anymore."

She was probably right for saying so. He was starting to almost like it. His eyes shifted then to the other two inhabitants at the table.

Mikasa and Sasha sat together, between Annie and the heavy make-out session. Sasha seemed to be all for it, drinking wine poured from the overly expensive bottle Pieck had bought for them. Her hair freshly crimped and adorned in a crown of sparkly butterfly clips, all of them in different pastel colors.

"Okay, I had my doubts but you guys are fucking awesome," she sang with a flush drenching her face, drinking from her wine glass. "Annie." He saw her flinch at the mention of her name as Sasha slid closer to her. "You look so cute, like a Spice Girl."

No dimples pressed on her face when she frowned. "My roommate dressed me. It's repulsive."

"So, how did you and Armin meet?" Sasha pressed her elbow forward onto the table.

Annie dabbed her cigarette against the edge of the tray, grey ashes falling against the silvery plate. As she brought the stick back to her mouth, she inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. "We met on a bench last week and about an hour later he fucked me." The words left her mouth in unison with the smoke. Her tone was flat, dull, and her expression reflected such.

Armin felt his heart sink, his face swell in embarrassment. And he could hear the amused chuckle from Jean, tapping his cigarette against the same plate, while Sasha stared directly at him with large, stunned eyes, her lips carefully separating.

"It was a little more than an hour," he rationed, looking down at his girlfriend, who continued to smoke unvexed. He decided to defy her and steal from the pack, watching the twitch of her brow as he ignited the end of the stick. And again, at the first breath, he was coughing.

"I wanna smoke too," Sasha cooed, and Annie casually slipped her the box and lighter. But Mikasa grabbed her wrist before could even touch it.

Everyone noticed her that night. It was impossible not to. How every head turned to take a glance her way. Her hair was pulled back away from her face with a zigzag headband, slightly tousled and messy, beautifully framing her face and sharp jawline. He lashes were thick and black, a steep curl to them, a shimmery pearly hue decorating the entirety of her eyelids. Her lips were painted a tinted brown, and when she started talking, Jean leaned his weight forward, sipping on his cigarette, watching her with interested eyes.

"Sasha, don't," she said to her solemnly, the silver in her eyes glimmering as a warning. She pouted in response. "Why? Everyone else is doing it."

"This is exactly the kind of thing they warned us about in school."

"They also told us we'd die if we sucked dick. But I lived to tell the tale."

And shoving her off, Sasha took a cigarette from the box, while Annie scraped her thumb against the wheel of the lighter. A small flame kindled from the device, the fluid within trembling. As the cigarette came to life, Sasha grasped it between her fingers, fluttering her eyes close as she took in a deep, slow breath. She opened her mouth to release the air, a thick fog of smoke cascading and dripping down her jaw.

"You did that a little too well," Mikasa quipped, a lift to her brow.

Armin could feel Annie shift her weight against him, her shoulder grazing his. He noticed the slight slouch of her posture, how heavily she focused on smoking. She drank nothing but soda, and he made sure no one tried to offer her any alcohol. She seemed to have already been well versed in refusing drinks while being vague about it.

He looked down towards her, his palm sliding against her thigh. "Are you feeling okay?" he asked as quietly as he could. The music was loud, and he could feel the beat of the bass pulsing within his chest. Reflections of the flashing lights highlighted her face, and she only glanced at him briefly before taking in another breath of smoke.

"I'm fine." She paused, placing her hand against his and resting it there. "I'll tell you if I'm not."

There he squeezed her flesh, feeling the soft tautness of her skin, the flex of the contraction of her inner thigh. He was surprised when she slightly leaned her head against his shoulder. Only slightly.

"Pieck," she suddenly shouted, her brows furrowing as she smashed the used bud onto the ashtray. When she took the cigarette directly from Armin's mouth and started smoking it, he was dumbstruck, sitting there with his lips separated as she exhaled a fresh current of smoke. "Nobody came here to see you two dry hump each other. It's fucking gross."

It was a very delayed response, but eventually, Pieck climbed off of his lap, wiping at her smeared lipstick with her forearm as she adjusted the end of her dress, crossing her legs. When Bertolt slipped his arm around her, she molded against him. It was such a weird fucking spectacle.

Armin could feel Jean's anxiousness beside him. From the way he practically hovered over the table just to get a better look at Mikasa. His eyes hadn't left her, scanning her form as she sipped more wine, leaving an imprint of her pucker against the glass. Her fingers were slim, nails painted red, skin as creamy and luminous as the shell of a pearl. It was so painfully obvious how much he was into her, rolling the sleeves of his white button up to his elbows. The brown of his eyes flickered with the embers of his longing.

She seemed to feel his gaze, their eyes catching and locking for a moment. And Armin looked between them curiously, suspiciously, his lips pressing together as he took Annie's hand under the table and laced his fingers with hers.

And he saw it then, that whatever desperate vibe Jean was exhuming, dripping like a gas leak from his aura, Mikasa seemed to be reciprocating of it.

When Sasha shrieked, dropping her cigarette onto the ashtray as she rose from the table, she shuffled past the others, and Armin turned his neck to see Nicolo standing before them as Sasha threw herself at her boyfriend.

She was taller than usual in her platform sandals, her thighs crushed by the tight leather of her pants, and her breasts barely filled the top of her white bustier. She was adhered to Nicolo's side, rubbing her cheek into the divot of his shoulder as he welcomed her embrace. He was dressed like every other worker there, in crisp black slacks and a black vest over a white dress shirt. His dirty blonde hair seemed darker than usual in this particular ambience, while a smile brandished his face from the swarm of affection.

"Babe, I'm so happy to see you," Sasha gushed, planting kisses all over his cheek and neck and leaving evidence of it on his skin. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, babe," he said, caressing his nose against hers. Armin rubbed at his head, feeling the stiffness of his blazer as he bent his elbows. Oh god, is that what he sounded like to Annie? He knew if he ever called her babe she would probably cut off his tongue so he could never say it again.

"I have a couple of minutes to sit with you," he continued, then looking towards the table. "You have a really big group with you tonight."

Sasha bounced excitedly, always giddy when offered with an opportunity to gossip. "Armin has a new girlfriend and these are her friends."

Annie exhaled a cloud of smoke, saluting him vaguely. Soon enough, Nicolo was sitting at the table with them, their booth consumed by differing waves of fog and tar. Armin noticed how uncomfortable Mikasa had been the whole time, her face low while she had been very uncharacteristically quiet.

It was sudden when she stood, her stance a bit wobbly as she straggled past the others. "I'm going to the bar to get a drink."

And like a little puppy, Jean watched her walk away for only a moment before he smashed the bud of his cigarette into the ashtray, rising as well. "Me too."

Not even like a little puppy, Armin thought. Even Jax had more dignity than him,

~oOo~

Everything in this club was different shades of grey, while multicolored lights flashed against the vicinity. It was loud and Mikasa could feel the thumping of the beat vibrate in her body. It was painful almost.

And she noticed the turn of heads as she approached the bar, like the parting of the red sea, her purse taut against her shoulder while she kept her gaze forward and avoiding. She was covered from head to toe, but the majority of her outfit was sheer. Black hosen clung to the skin of her legs, her dark miniskirt hugging the curves of her hips and bottom, and her long-sleeved top was just as sheer as her tights, her black bra visible from underneath.

The bar was somewhat crowded, yet she found room for herself, leaning forward against the marble counter as she waited to get the bartender's attention. She didn't know what she even wanted to get. She just needed to get up from that table. The smoke, all the talking and stimulation. It was all too much. God, it was so loud in there. She couldn't hear herself fucking think.

Her thumb and index finger pinched at the low center of her forehead, a wrinkle to her nose as she closed her eyes and heaved a breath. What the fuck was she doing here? Having all these perverts look at her didn't make her feel any better. She was just fucking tired and upset. All the noise and the lights and the gross energy from this place made her feel even more empty inside.

She was missing the alcohol. It was the magic step that brought life to this depressing atmosphere. All she needed was some warmth in her belly and soon the clamor would become melodic. The heaviness would bleed from her body and she would be covered in the blood of her agony all with a careless grin on her face, forgetting all about it until it would be time to wash it off.

When the presence of another body shifted beside her, she gave no acknowledgment, until she felt the gentle press against her shoulder and the scent of a familiar cologne. When she opened her eyes, she saw Jean slouched on the bar next to her.

She sighed. In relief, irritation, something. In her stilettos, she stood a few inches shorter than him. And she noticed he was slightly taller than Eren, a similar build and shape to him. From the curve of his shoulders and arms, the flat ridges of his abdomen. Her eyes were tracing his body and he wasn't oblivious. It made her sick, how looking at him brought her mind back to the one place she was trying to escape.

"Hey, how are you holding up?" he asked her, his voice low and clear despite the commotion engulfing them.

She sucked in her lips before finding his gaze, their faces so close she could feel the patter of air from his breathing. There was tension in his eyes, and they were a very strikingly dark shade of brown, the color swirling around his pupils.

"I'm alright. I guess," she answered, then trying to make eye contact with the bartender, yet failing. She could still feel his stare pierce into her.

"You look really nice," he added, and when she turned her neck to look at him, she caught that smile that curved his mouth while he rubbed at the scruff of hair on his jaw. "But I'm sure you knew that, with all these sickos staring at you."

Mikasa laughed slightly, a pull of a smile on her lips. "Thanks."

"The hair, it looks good, too. Really suits you. I like it."

She barely acknowledged the compliment, nodding subtly, and he licked his lips, running his fingers through his gelled hair.

"What do you think of Armin's girlfriend?"

And there she hocked a laugh, shaking her head vigorously. "It's like an episode of the Twilight Zone."

"Try living with him," Jean added, chuckling modestly. "I swear all they do is fuck. I'm practically homeless now."

For the first time that night, Mikasa laughed. A genuine, sincere laugh. One that vibrated in the pit of her belly and resulted in an unadulterated smile. Jean found himself victorious at her reaction.

"Do you like this song?" he asked her, and with both brows lifted, she shrugged her shoulders.

"It's okay. I liked it more when it came out a few years ago. They played it at my prom."

"You should dance, show everyone how it's done."

And she laughed again, this time sarcastically. "Yea, right. I'll do some leaps and shit in this mini skirt."

Jean turned, leaning his back against the bar, his posture more relaxed. "Armin says you can dance like Madonna."

The roll of her eyes was dramatic, overdrawn. "Armin has a big mouth."

"I bet you can. I've only ever seen you in your recitals and that contest."

She narrowed her eyes, a dimple pressing between her brows and she shifted towards him. "My recitals?"

"Yea, the ones in the spring. Sometimes you do some others during the semester. I've been to all of them since freshman year."

She paused. "I'm always just a background dancer in those. Not even Armin comes to them."

"Well," he began, his eyes connecting to hers and penetrating straight into her, "even then, you're still the best dancer up there. Maybe I'm just your biggest fan."

She felt the flush of her cheeks, ignited further by the intensity in his eyes. And it sparked an emotion in her she couldn't immediately decipher. Because she should have felt elated, touched that he cared so much about her to attend all of her performances. And he was handsome, kind, she could see it standing so close to him. The power of his lean build and height, the depth of his eyes. There was already somebody right in front of her, pining for her for years, waiting for to notice him.

And that night, she did notice him. But it didn't feel good. There wasn't the pleasantly nervous patter of butterflies in her stomach, the melting gushy feeling in her chest. No hop to her step, a giggle laced in her voice. Because all she felt was fucking anger. Bubbling, churning inside her.

It wasn't supposed to be Jean. He shouldn't have been the one exuding all this effort, attending all her shows, watching her dance with awe and captivity in his gaze. It was supposed to be him. He told her he would come see her dance one day. Not on the grass, or an impromptu private performance. On stage, with the spotlight caressing her body, shining down on her like the star she was. He said he would come watch her dance. And now he never would.

It pissed her off, made her feel a different kind of rage. It fucking hurt. It hurt so bad she wanted to start crying again, to spill her guts onto this bar. But finally, the bartender approached them, and she decided to ease her pain a different way.

"Do you want to do shots?" she asked Jean, and he gave her a strange look for accepting. "Yea, sure."

Seconds later they clinked two short glasses together, downing shots of straight tequila. At the burning feeling trickling down her throat, Mikasa coughed, her face wincing as she felt the liquid shoot straight to the pit of her stomach. It was warm, and she craved more.

Before she could order another round, a body pulled in front of her, signaling the bartender, and when her brain processed who it was, her mouth nearly dropped to the floor.

"Connie?! What the hell!"

He seemed just as startled as her, his eyes widening as he looked her up and down just as she expected he would. He was dressed in a white turtleneck and black slacks, looking more mature than his usual douchebag look. He flicked at the skin of his chin, nodding approvingly. "Mikasa, hey. What are you doing here looking so good?"

She pressed her fingers against her brows, a sigh heaving her throat. "I'm here with people." She motioned towards Jean, and Connie took his hand, bringing him into a swift embrace.

"Hey man, what's up? Haven't seen you in a while."

Jean tilted his head upwards. "I'm alright. Just been focusing on classes and this internship."

She saw the shift in Connie's eyes as he looked between them in interest. "Are you two on a date or something?"

Mikasa stiffened, and though Jean seemed a bit worked up, he took initiative and answered the question. "No, we're not. We're here with Armin and everyone."

Connie nodded slowly, yet suspiciously, then gestured to the table across the room. "I'm here with some of my guys. The shitty thing about being a trained dancer is you can't enjoy dancing with hot girls because you're too busy judging them."

Mikasa huffed an amused breath, but when she saw him scanning the room searching for her table, she panicked.

"Where you guys sitting at—"

"Connie, don't," she barked at him, clasping his wrist in her grasp. She could feel the softness of the cashmere fabric. "Sasha is there and she's with her boyfriend. I mean it, you do not go over there."

Jean smirked, trying to down remaining droplets of alcohol from his shot glass. "I forgot you guys slept together."

However, when Connie's gaze settled and his lips pursed, she knew it was too late, he had discovered them. His expression seemed unreadable as he stared intently, his elbow resting against the bar.

"That chump's her boyfriend?" he mused. "He was just here a minute ago, working at the bar. Shit, I bought drinks from him." Then he laughed from the irony of it.

His face turned stone cold when his attention focused elsewhere. Mikasa flinched when he planted his palm on her shoulder, squeezing generously. "Who," he began, looking towards her with that ravenous look in his eyes, "is that?"

She faltered. She was looking at the same table he was glaring at. What had sparked his interest that he was practically salivating at the mouth?

"Who?" she asked, squinting her eyes as if to see clearer.

He wasn't shy to point a finger directly towards the object of his desire. "Her. That gorgeous, raven-haired fox."

Her mouth pressed into a straight line when she realized who he was talking about. "You mean Pieck?" The girl in question somehow sat at the outside of the table now, holding a lit cigarette between her fingers as she crossed her legs, exposing a generous amount of skin on her thigh.

"Pieck," he repeated, tasting and savoring the name. "Oh man, she is like the most beautiful thing in this room."

Mikasa stared at him blankly for a moment, blinking several times. "You do realize we both saw her earlier today, right?"

Connie narrowed his eyes. "What? When? I would have remembered if I saw that vision of loveliness. Especially those beautiful fucking arches."

And, she had to admit, he was right. The arch of her foot was steep and deeply curved, further enhanced by the heels she wore. Only Connie's perverted dancer eyes would have noticed such an obscure detail like that.

"She was the other girl sitting with Armin's girlfriend," she clarified. "The one with the tangled hair who was singing to herself."

But Connie was disbelieving, a devilish smile claiming his lips as his gaze grew even more fond. "I have to go talk to her."

Mikasa grabbed his arm, ready to scold him. However, Jean beat her to it. He chuckled ironically, his shirt crinkling as his arms furled over his chest. "Get in line. She was literally making out with the guy next to her just a couple of minutes ago."

"I would wait behind one hundred men just to have the chance with her."

Mikasa really needed to stop doubting the extent of his desperation and horniness.

Connie was quiet for a moment, until he straightened his posture, stretching his neck. "I'm going to ask her to dance with me."

"Connie, I swear to god, if you go over there it will be the biggest dick move you ever made."

But he paid no head to her words, and she lacked the strength to hold him back. It was like waiting for the inevitable collision of a car crash, watching him approach their table with his arrogant confidence. Seeing the color leave Sasha's face when she noticed him, her expression blank and grim and downright lethal. She clutched onto her boyfriend, while Connie greeted Armin casually before spilling his attention to the girl in the black dress.

Pieck seemed just as disinterested as always, which was even more of a surprise when she placed her petite hand into Connie's grasp and stood from the table. Mikasa expected her walk to be clumsy in those heels, but she moved with elegance as Connie led her to the dance floor. There was a precise sway to her hips, the way she walked pressing weight onto the ball of her feet first.

And it was just an absolute mindfuck when they began dancing together, taking control of the entre fucking room as if they were in a movie. They moved as one together, her back arched into a gentle bend as he dipped her, the way she spun during turns as if she knew exactly what the fuck she was doing. Her grace, footwork, just her overall presence manifested dancer.

Jean shuffled beside her, clearing his throat. "Armin kind of mentioned she was a competitive ballroom dancer when he was throwing his pitch."

None of this made any goddamn sense. Who were these people who terrorized her, smoking in front of the art building all this time? Now one of them was dating Armin and somehow their lives were becoming connected. It was ludicrous, fucking insane. All these changes surrounding her. It made her panic, anxious.

She flagged down the bartender again, ordering another round of shots.

Warmth cradling her belly. Warmth comforting her. Making the noise more muted, muffled. Just a clubbing pulse against her chest. More shots, their elbows linking as they drank together, glasses clinking in cheers. But for what?

She saw Pieck seated at a bar stool, Connie embossed between her open legs. They were kissing heavily, his palms sliding up the sides of her small waist, her arms draped around his shoulders. Mouths gliding, swerving, tongues entangled in an erotic dance. The son of a bitch really did it. He actually stood in line.

The heaviness was almost gone, the pain so close to being subdued. She just needed another shot, just one more to take off the edge. Yet, she stumbled then, a pain throbbing in her head as she landed safely into Jean's arms.

He was warm, and strong yet gentle. He smelled so nice. How had she never noticed how tall he was?

"Are you okay?" he asked her, and she could see the concern that glazed his eyes. A throbbing pulse seeped into her temple, and she winced, the warmth turning into heat, one that was almost unbearable.

"I'm really not feeling well," she confessed, letting her head rest onto his shoulder. "Honestly, I didn't want to come out here tonight. I feel like shit. I just want to go home."

He nodded against her, his hand patting the top of her back. "I understand. I know you've been going through a lot. You deserve to do whatever makes you feel comfortable."

He paid for their drinks and walked her back to the table. She could barely find the courage to look at any of them.

"Mikasa's not feeling so hot, I'm going to help her get a cab home," Jean explained. Armin shifted in his seat.

"I can drive you back—"

"Don't, please. Just enjoy your night. I'll call you tomorrow. I promise."

The two of them met half way, partaking in a brief hug. When she and Jean picked up their jackets, he helped her put it on. The chill of the night was mild, yet sudden gusts of freezing wind passed them, and she felt the sharp coldness shiver up her barely concealed legs. It was busy outside the nightclub, every available taxi quickly taken by those waiting before them. She found her gaze focused on several cracks on the sidewalk, her neck buried in her coat, fingers curled within her pockets.

She looked at Jean hesitantly. "Did you want to stay here?"

She saw his eyes gazing at the stars, the muffled music of the nightclub echoing behind them. "I just watched the girl Armin tried to hook me up with suck face with two other guys. I think I'm ready to go home too."

Mikasa smiled lightly, nudging her shoulder against his. "Can we just walk back then?"

He gave her an unsteady look. "It's like a half hour walk. You sure you can in those shoes?"

He had no idea what she was capable of in heels.

~oOo~

A leather jacket was only a fashion statement. It wasn't designed to keep one warm. But he had nobody trying to keep him warm anymore.

And so he sat there cold, sitting on the pavement outside of a shady liquor store at midnight, drinking straight from a bottle of whiskey encased in a brown paper bag. His legs were open, spread, his body hunched forward to garner some sort of heat. And his hair fell in front of his eyes when he took another swig from the bottle.

"This is pretty pathetic, Jaeger. Even for you."

His vision blurred, and it took him a moment to focus on the figure beside him. Floch sipped from a beer bottle, his gaze unspecified before throwing a bothered glance towards Eren. A much heavier coat covered his torso, while Eren could barely muster any comfort from the solid unmoving leather of his own.

"What the hell are we doing out here, drinking in a parking lot like a couple of bums?"

Eren didn't reply, instead taking another swig of alcohol. He just wanted to feel it burn his throat. The pain somehow comforted him. It shot straight into his belly, a brimming fire in the pit of his stomach.

"Wouldn't you rather go out somewhere? There's a nightclub across the street—"

"No," he shot back, lazily turning his head towards him. "I don't want to go anywhere."

"So you're just going to sulk for the rest of your life?"

And he drank again, a shrug to his shoulders. As he closed his eyes, he allowed the tipsy feeling simmer in his brain, reveling in its potency. They were seated in front of Floch's car, a beige Saturn, and the man himself only took calculated sips of his beer, pacing himself.

"This is the type of shit we do." Eren's voice was clear as he spoke, though the words were all jumbled in his head. "We drink and waste time. How many weekends fucked away from doing this exact same thing? Why stop now?"

Floch shot him a pained look, his hand grazing his auburn hair. "Well, maybe we should start doing more productive things. You could really use it, man. It fucking sucks seeing you like this. Watching you lose yourself and falling apart."

There was a moment of silence between them. Nothing but the breeze of the wind and the sound of cars passing in the street. Floch shifted in his seat, his jeans rubbing against the cement. It was clear he was stalling from saying what he wanted to say.

"Did you try calling her?"

He downed another gulp. "She changed her number."

"Then did you try finding her to talk? I know you know her schedule."

"She doesn't want to talk to me. She fucking hates me."

He hadn't seen Mikasa for two weeks, and it was hell avoiding her. Hoping not to run into her on campus, going to the gym at odd hours so he wouldn't see her. He has been tempted to find her, so horrifically tempted. Just to beg and grovel at her feet. He missed her so much that it was physically agonizing.

And perhaps the only thing holding him back was the fact that he had succeeded. He pushed her away. Isn't that what he fucking wanted? For some insane incomprehensible reason. Or maybe he was just too much of a coward to face her, to see that look in her eyes again, witness the pain and hurt he inflicted upon her.

And it was all affecting him so deeply and distressingly, he might as well have been shot again. That's how strong the physical and mental anguish was, that he couldn't sleep, couldn't focus in class. He had skipped so many over the past two weeks. Just thinking fucking hurt. The only thing he could do was exercise more, more strenuously; his body permanently sore as he relished in the pain. Exercising, and drinking. The only two things he could muster himself to do.

Floch sighed, the sound soft yet sprinkled with irritation. "Why'd you do it, man?"

Eren was quiet. He had been asking himself the same question, and none of the answers he gave sufficed.

"It was nice to see you so happy for once. She was really good for you. So why did you do it?"

He swished the liquor in his mouth, feeling his insides burn before he swallowed. The gulp was fiery down his throat, and he could feel the extent of its travels. "Because," he started, avoiding Floch's gaze. He answered with the only explanation that actually made any goddamn sense. "I'm a piece of shit."

Floch huffed an amused breath before resuming drinking. Yet, he immediately choked, bringing his hand towards his throat as he shuffled uncomfortably. Eren snapped his neck towards him, his attention lifted.

"Oh shit," he spat out, his gaze straight ahead and ominous. "Eren—"

But it was too late, Eren saw what he saw, and he felt his grip tighten against the glass bottle, the paper bag crinkling loudly.

It was heaven and hell seeing her again, even from across the street. To witness the curves of her long legs, black tights snug against her skin, walking gracefully in a pair of silver stilettos. Oh god, she was right. She did look good in a pair of heels.

She was wearing makeup, and he noticed she had cut her hair. It was dramatically short, but very cute and suited the shape of her face. She was so fucking beautiful his eyes burned looking at her. Burned so much that they watered. Like staring at the face of an angel of death. He could feel the urge to cry, but he masked it with another swig of whiskey.

"Damn, she cleans up well," Floch added smugly. "Is that…Horseface walking with her?"

He had been so tuned into Mikasa and all her beauty and perfection, he barely noticed the man walking beside her. Tall, lean, light brown hair slicked back, a line of facial hair tracing his jaw. It took a moment for his unsteady vision to focus in on the two of them together. How closely they walked, though their positions not intimate. What the fuck was Jean doing with Mikasa? Why was she so dressed up? Were they on a date?

"I guess she moved on pretty fast, huh?" Floch snorted. "But still not as fast as you did."

He never had taken the time to envision Mikasa with another man. The mere thought alone sent his mind into a seething rage, too painful and agonizing to even think about. That someone else would enjoy her body, touch her soft skin, hold her the way only he was allowed to.

It was a thought that would make him lose his fucking mind. That when he clenched the small whiskey bottle so rigidly, it shattered in his grasp, and he didn't immediately notice. He wasn't aware of the shards of glass that pierced his palm, the trickles of blood decorating his hand and staining his jacket. He felt no pain but the hurt that seeing her with Jean brought him. He was fucking livid.

"Eren, shit, what the hell—You're fucking bleeding."

When the rage took over, the rest was a fucking blur. All he was aware of was the fire of his breath, the swift thumping of his heart. The secured tears he would not let escape his eyes. And the fucking pain and misery, bottled inside him. Because he missed her so bad, loved her so much, and he knew then, right then. He didn't want to live without her. He couldn't think of another man touching her, having her, granted the blessing of sharing her company, her warmth. To experience her smile and laughter and kindness.

Did she tell Jean to zip up his jacket too?

~oOo~

They walked mostly in silence. And Jean was right, it was fucking painful walking in these shoes. They were stiff and digging into the back of her ankles. Mikasa could already feel the blisters forming against her skin. As they approached campus, she peered towards Jean, a timid flicker in her eyes.

"Thanks for walking me back."

A gentle smile crossed his lips then, as his elbow lightly brushed against her. "It's no problem. I wish I could have driven you. My mom wouldn't let me keep the car on campus."

"It's alright. We were both drinking anyway, and it was nice to walk outside. To clear my head."

"I've been really worried about you, you know," Jean said to her, a squirm to his lips as his hand delved into his pockets. "Ever since that day you came to us crying. I never want to see you like that again. Jaeger is a fucking idiot. I hope you know that."

She kept her gaze on the concrete, focusing on the lines of the sidewalk. Gone was any buzz she felt from the alcohol, now left with nothing but her own thoughts to torment her.

"I know."

"I mean…you're amazing. You're beautiful. Smart. Funny. Insanely talented. You love dogs. Being with you is like winning the fucking lottery."

She wanted to feel comforted by his words, to take in the severity of his compliments and have it somehow make her feel better. Yet, she only felt even worse. Heavier, so much heavier. Sad and downright angry. Why was he telling her this? Why did it have to be him? Or, why couldn't she just choose Jean? He was good-looking, tall. Kind. Fucking adoring. Why did his longing for her make her even angrier at Eren?

They were standing outside her building then, in the courtyard. She could feel her heels begin to sink into the grass. They faced one another for a long while, unmoving, without words. To keep her balance, she flexed the muscles of her abdomen.

"I hope you have a good night, Mikasa," he said to her, his voice gentle and smooth. All she could feel was dread and panic and that same lingering sense of doom. It exuded from the quaver of her knees, the rapidness of her heartbeat.

"Call us if you need anything, okay? I'm here for you. I care about you."

She felt her heart shatter, breaking into many sharp, piercing shards within the walls of her chest. It was painful, harrowing. Why couldn't it just go away? What did she need to do to make the pain go away?

When he hugged her, she took in his form, his scent. He was so tall. Why didn't she ever notice how tall he was? If she closed her eyes, she could pretend. But it hurt to pretend. Because Eren didn't. He wasn't pretending. He did what he did with his eyes wide open. And maybe, she thought, she could too.

When he turned to leave, she grabbed his wrist. The same why she took Eren's the first night he walked her home. In front of her building. But this time, instead of the hopeful feeling of romance and anticipation, dismay and hysteria cloaked her body.

Because she wasn't sure what she wanted and why she wanted to do it. Perhaps it was a way of a silent revenge against him. That she would join with another man and maybe that would hurt him the same way he fucking hurt her. Or, she just wanted to feel the warmth of another body, to feel touched and needed. She hadn't decided if she would close her eyes and pretend, or keep them open wide and blatantly aware.

Jean's look towards her was timid, inquisitive. And she tugged at his wrist, her lips trembling as she tried to say the one word that would change everything.

"Stay."

She saw the tremble in his eyes, growing so large and distraught, the he pulled nervously at the collar of his jacket, looking around the courtyard before refocusing his attention onto her.

"I—you—I don't—" He took in a deep breath, his gaze settling into something more solemn. "Are you sure?"

Mikasa shivered then, from the cold, from her nerves, clamping both her hands around his wrist and bringing him closer.

"Stay."

A gentle gust of wind swirled around them, the stars serenading their bodies, the crickets singing haunting melodies that were almost cautionary. And in the silence, he took his hand in hers, their fingers interwoven into a pact. He was going to stay.