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 college in the late 90's.

17. Kiss From a Rose

Mikasa felt alive—cold striking air filling her lungs, a shiver of goosebumps lifting the hairs on her body. Every time she danced this way, it felt like a rediscovery of the meaning of life. To lose herself in her craft and let go.

And for that short time, she forgot everything that ailed her, every sad moment ever inflicted upon her. The feeling of euphoria was dizzying, blinding. And she saw nothing but the stars in her eyes, felt nothing but the elation that began from her toes and took her entire being captive.

The small third place prize she held meant nothing to her. Even if she had won first place, or hadn't placed at all. It didn't matter. Because that night, she graced the stage as herself—unapologetic, unyielding to shift into what was expected of her as a dancer, as a person. It was cheap plastic, that she could feel its cold ridges, tracing each point of the star with her fingers to see if she could prick herself with it.

And all of her friends—new and not so new—surrounded her. That she was shrouded with flowers and praises and it should have all made her feel very special. But the peace she felt from within was enough to comfort her.

She had changed into a more subdued outfit, ditching the luminescent sequins for a dark purple dress that only lightly hugged her figure. Opaque black tights and low heels Mary Janes complimented her outfit, a black cardigan buttoned partially and snug at the curve of her chest. There was glitter everywhere, spilling from her hair, dousing her cheeks, her eyes, her lips. Even specks of it caressed the air with every flutter of her lashes.

The weight of her coat felt heavy as it neatly draped over her forearm, their group standing together as they gushed over her performance in the lobby of the arts building. There was a small bustle of other dancers and their supporters, and a soft white light encompassed them. Mikasa rubbed the heel of her shoe into the white tile, watching the floor scuff beneath her.

And it was the showdown that was inevitable—Connie and Sasha and Nicolo. She had been curious to see, and it was no way avoidable at this point. How would the three of them interact?

It was very smug of Connie to hug Sasha. God, he could be such an asshole. Her reaction was very stiff, a placid frown pressed into her mouth as her cheek grazed the fuzzy fabric of his sweater. Even more awkward was their eye contact—his very penetrating, while Sasha looked at him as if she were inwardly placing a curse on him.

Her hair was styled in a very high and very messy updo, butterfly clips sprinkled along her scalp, wearing denim on denim and platform heels. Her makeup was very similar to Mikasa's, probably because Sasha had been the one to do both their faces.

Immediately after the hug, Nicolo took Connie's hand, and Mikasa noticed the tautness of his grip. He stood a few inches taller than Connie, his posture friendly yet firm. He shook his hand once, then twice.

"Hey man, what's up, I'm Connie—"

"I know exactly who you are." Still overly polite, smiling.

Connie pulled away suddenly, a squirm to his lips, and the arrogance that had once belonged to him shifted to Sasha. She was beaming as she took her boyfriend's arm, fingers curling against the rigid fabric of his jacket with pride and possessiveness.

Gone was his cavalier attitude and posture, stripped from him so quickly and sudden, while Mikasa watched him rub his head, a sheepishness draped over him. Yet, almost immediately did a very slender and delicate finger tap him from behind his shoulder, that he briskly turned around and looked down at the source.

Long tangled black hair, dark bags under her eyes. She looked like heroin chic, minus the chic. Light denim snug against her legs, baggy tee shirt messily tucked into her waist. She gave him a very glazed, unsure look. Mikasa was positive she had smoked something potent before arriving here. She could smell it blended into whatever expensive perfume she wore.

"Hey." She tilted her head up at him casually, her jaw shifting as she chewed on a stick of gum.

And Connie narrowed his eyes, as if unsure, his thumb hesitantly grazing his chin. "Hey…"

When Mikasa realized what was happening, she grunted—loudly, dramatically, rubbing at her temple as she shook her head vigorously.

"That's Pieck, you idiot."

And that declaration alone brought Connie to full realization, his demeanor towards the very petite brunette altering as a smirk dripped from his mouth and his gaze became very keen on her.

"Oh shit," he mused, adjusting the beanie on his head before abruptly taking her hand and planting a wet kiss on her knuckles. She was unfazed by the gesture, expression blank, emotionless. Just absolutely fucked up.

"Pieck baby," he cooed, that usual signature Connie perversion spilling from his inflection. "I've been missing you hard. It's like impossible to get a hold of you."

In actuality, he passed her nearly every day outside of that very building, but Mikasa kept her mouth shut.

Pieck was unmoved by his words, snatching her hand from him as a careless shrug took her shoulders, clenched fists shoved into the pockets of her very torn but probably very expensive jeans.

"Nice moves," she stated blankly. Then there was a slight shift in her stare. "Wanna go fuck in the furby vault?"

The broadening of his eyes consumed the majority of his face, the green and brown colors swirling in awe and ecstasy as his pupils visibly widened to match Pieck's drugged-out own.

"More than anything."

Mikasa's attention shifted from that spectacle to another as she felt the gentle yet rigid jab of Annie's elbow into her ribs. And she looked down at her, noticing how she held Armin's hand, the way that their fingers looped together in a tight and intimate embrace. Her look towards Mikasa was dull, yet intrigued, a delicate quaver to the bright blue in her eyes.

She brushed several strands of neon hair behind her ear, her small body nearly drowning in her jacket and loose floral dress. Her legs were bare and a supple peachy hue, ankles unsettled in her boots. "You'd have a fucking mean rare kick."

Mikasa stuttered, not exactly sure of her intentions. "Thank you?"

"You should let me teach you some moves."

The panic settled in her heart, and she pulled at the collar of her dress uncomfortably. "Yea, sure. That would be fun?"

The oddly tender moment was quickly interrupted, however, by the heated and fluctuating mixture of Reiner and Bertolt's chuckles. They stood beside her, nearly matching in black jeans and varying graphic tees concealed by unbuttoned flannel, heavily worn converse sneakers scuffing the floor more successfully than Mikasa attempted.

"Hey Annie, we didn't realize that was your kind of music," Reiner snickered, his voice low and taunting as he dragged his palm onto her shoulder. She visibly cemented from the contact, and Mikasa noticed Armin wince as she squeezed his hand even tighter.

Bertolt interjected playfully, towering over her petite frame. "Since when were you a fan of the Backstreet Boys? You should have told me, my little cousin had tickets to their concert."

A redness consumed Annie's pretty features, brows furrowed and slanted so fiercely that wrinkles creased against the bridge of her nose. "I don't know what the fuck you freaks are even talking about. I was being supportive."

Reiner gave her a blank stare. "You knew all the words—"

"I hear it on the radio a lot—sue me." And she took a step forward as if to shove him, but Armin held her in place, bringing their connected hands close against his chest. Her lips pursed as she looked up at him, a fiery glimmer shaking in her eyes. There was a gentleness exuding him, his usual kind aura radiating. His arms were uncharacteristically exposed as he wore a grey polo, creamed skin curved and flexed against his arms, and he rubbed his thumb against her knuckle as if it was a known way to soother her.

"Guys, quit teasing her." Annie huffed at his comment, and it would have been enough to end things there, but Armin persisted. "So what if she likes the Backstreet Boys—"

"I don't," she clarified sternly, fury simmering in her glare. As she yanked her hand away from him, she narrowed in on her closest target, Bertolt. Fingers curled into a round and compact fist as she aimed for his gut, twisting and angling her torso as she prepared for a precise uppercut. "And if you assholes don't shut the fuck up—"

A hand clamped solidly onto her wrist, that she briskly stopped and was pulled out of her hostile fury. Annie looked up at Armin, watching as he held her arm, fingers clutched around the entirety of her slender bone.

And he gave her a rather firm look, unrelenting of his grasp on her. "Stop. You can't just be hitting people in here."

A series of blinks fluttered against her lashes as her lips parted softly. Mikasa saw her blonde brows stitch together, a twitch pulsing at the arches.

"Are you bossing me around?" she asked flatly.

Armin stuttered then, rubbing generously at his neck while his gaze fanned between her grim expression and his hold on her. He let go of her quickly, apologetically.

"No, I wasn't trying to…" But he trailed off when Annie tilted her head, a slight curve to her lips when she took his hand once more, their fingers interlacing.

And then Mikasa's vision was filled with Connie—Pieck holding his hand rather aggressively as she tugged him forward. He was carrying both of their jackets like a little obedient dog, drool practically spilling from his mouth.

"Hey Mikasa, I'm actually gonna bounce."

He attempted to hug her, but she shook her head, her eyes rolling so gravely that they briefly became two white spheres on her pretty face. Instead, she shoved the little trophy in his clutches, making sure the point of the star lightly stabbed him. "Here, take this shit with you."

He scanned it with pinched brows, giving her an unsure look. "You don't want it?"

"No, I don't need it. Put it next to all your cheerleading trophies."

Connie frowned, looking at their prize as if it were a burden. But it gave him the opportunity to catch her off guard as he enveloped her into a brisk side hug, planting a kiss swiftly along her jaw.

"You were amazing. I hope you know that."

Mikasa chuckled lightly, knuckles kneading into the hard muscle of his shoulder. "Couldn't have done it without you."

The instant he left with Pieck, Armin and Annie seemed to be waiting in line with their excuse to suddenly leave. And she expected it, after watching their exchange, that lustful drip in Annie's glare after he had reprimanded her.

Scratching at his head bashfully, Armin looked anywhere but directly at Mikasa, a tint of a blush painting the apples of his cheeks. His plaid jacket was snugly zipped up to his neck, while Annie stood beside him dimly, her coat open and exposed.

"I just remembered, I left something really important in my car a few days ago. We'll be back in fifteen minutes—"

Annie jerked his hand, a grimness to her stare when their eyes caught. "Twenty."

"Twenty minutes."

A sigh heaved from Mikasa's throat as she hugged her flowers against her chest, a vague nod to her head. They scurried off like two horny teenagers, and suddenly Mikasa found herself fawned over by Reiner and Bertolt—taking her flowers, helping her put on her coat. As if there was some rule that they were not allowed to hit on her, now erased by the fact that Armin and Annie had disappeared and left them with her. It was very strange, but kind of nice, being showered with attention. Was this what it felt like to be Pieck?

Reiner slipped her backpack over her shoulders in a very tender and seductive fashion. A peculiar look crossed her face, brows twisted, her mouth a confused squiggle. An obscure thank you slipped from her uncomfortably.

"You dance like a sexy swan," he murmured, his lips over enunciating the words. Mikasa gripped at the strap of her backpack protectively, a nervous giggle vibrating in her throat.

"Is there anything we can do for you, Mikasa?" Bertolt intervened, taking her hand with grace and enthusiasm. Two freakishly tall and burly men, nearly groveling at her feet. She realized she could probably get away with saying whatever she wanted, and they would happily oblige her. But instead, she said the first thing that she could think of to get them to leave her alone for a few minutes.

"A soda would be nice."

They scrambled over each other to fulfill her request. Mikasa knew there weren't any vending machines in the arts building.

She found herself beside Sasha and Nicolo, and a relieved breath fled her mouth, her shoulders slouching from the exhaustion. She felt Sasha pet her shoulder, a gentle rub at her tender knotted joint.

"You were so beautiful, Mikasa," she gushed, sliding her palm until she caught her cheek between her fingers. Some of the glitter on her face smeared on Sasha's skin. "I'll never get sick of watching you dance. It's fucking stupid you only won third place."

But Mikasa smiled it off, a delicate laugh quivering at her lip as she tugged the zipper of her dark jacket towards her neck. "That doesn't matter. I'm just glad you guys enjoyed it. That was the whole point."

"Did you want to do something to celebrate? Get a drink or something?"

"No, it's alright. I'd rather just get home to Jax. He's probably lonely by himself." Her glance drifted between the couple. "Are you coming home tonight?"

"I'm staying at Nicolo's." As Sasha confirmed, a frown took her lips, that she looked up at her boyfriend sympathetically as she took his hand. "I hate that you're going to be alone on such a big day for you."

Mikasa observed them for a moment, the way their palms clasped together as if in prayer, how he moved several pieces of her fringe from her eyes, the smile on her face as he swiped his thumb against her temple. They looked good together, the darkness of her hair compared to his lighter shade. His look more subdued, relaxed, while Sasha was always dressed in vivid colors, full make-up, as if straight from a fashion magazine.

Her fist clenched his sweater, the fabric bunching in her palm. And Mikasa focused in on the intimate gesture, how Sasha wrinkled his shirt, clinging onto him with a delicate desperation. It made her think that something like what they had was worth waiting for. It was possible, real. There was a glassiness to her eyes, but a smile found her nonetheless. "I'm okay with being alone."

A beat passed. The stillness enhanced by a soft touch. One she had known before. Fingers delicately caressed her shoulder. A movement she had remembered, dreamed of, despised. It sent a jolt to her heart, that she froze in place. But only for a moment, until she turned around swiftly, her stare colliding into a strong, bronzed neck.

A waft of his scent wept into her nostrils. Warm, sweet, engulfing all of her senses. It made her feel weak, and heavy. So heavy. The silver in her eyes trembled, taken captive by his own. Held as a prisoner, where she could not escape, free herself from his magnetic hold on her. And she felt it in the shiver of her knees, the heat that fluttered in her belly.

Green eyes. Dark, glistening minty pools of depth and desolation. She fell in, drowning in them. Suffocating to her death, unable to breathe, focusing on every miniscule detail of him that didn't matter but enamored her anyway—the pull of his hairline, the sharp contour of his jaw. How warm his neck looked, that she wondered if it would burn to the touch. It was such a beautiful way to die.

He handed her roses as dark and crimson as fresh blood, their petals doused with moisture. And she took them easily, unguardedly, their fresh smell filling her instantly at her next breath—a sharp inhale, one that she held in for a long time. She secured the flowers against her breasts as if they were fragile and sacred, also hiding behind them like a protective barrier.

Fingers swiped at dark brown hair, slipping loose strands behind his ear. Long fingers, a sharp jaw that curved delicately at the edge—eyes so vivid and penetrating. Skin that looked smooth and supple, but she knew if she clenched the junction of his neck and shoulder it would be warm and solid.

She had to gulp to clear her throat, felt the dry trickle within her neck. It felt like they were alone, encased by the light, everything else around them only a faint murmur. She cleared her throat again, willing the courage to speak.

"Eren."

His name was all she could muster, and it was a strange sensation in her mouth. Sweet, yet bitter, tickling the edge of her tongue, begging her to say it again but clenched teeth preventing her from spewing such folly. "You came to see me dance?"

It was a stupid question. She knew it, but it didn't matter. She had to hear him say it.

And he seemed shy almost, nervous, his hand moving to the back of his head. His eyes looked upwards as he searched for the perfect answer. "Yea, of course—of course, I did."

Mikasa clamped down against her bottom lip, unable to speak, unknowing what to say. Even the emotions she felt stir in her—anger, sadness, hope, fear, excitement—all an uneven jumble in her heart, her thoughts. It made her numb, that she felt her knees go out, losing the strength to carry the heaviness.

But she didn't have to say anything. He said the words for her. "I'd like to talk to you. If you'll let me."

Gone was the urge to scream no, to fight his insistence, the desire to make him hurt the same way and with the same vigor as he had done to her. It was tiring, this endless struggle of pain and suffering. Her fingers coiled against the stems, the plastic crinkling from the gesture. And she exhaled softly, carefully, her gaze lingering on the beautiful roses for a moment before it reconnected with his.

"Okay."

She could see the ignition of his eyes, the breath that caught his lungs, shocked at her compliance, her willingness to listen. It surprised her too, that she felt suddenly clumsy, timid, not knowing what to do next but Sasha grabbing her arm lulled her to a more stable mindset.

Their gazes crossed uncomfortably, a scowl cloaking her roommate's face. Mikasa felt the pressure of her squeeze.

"Mikasa," Sasha said simple, solemnly. "Don't."

And she blinked several times, trying to keep her emotions at bay. "I need to. I want to."

But Sasha was shaving her head now, tugging on the sleeve of her jacket to keep her from leaving. "This is a bad idea. You'll never feel better if you keep going back. Please just listen to me—"

"Let her go."

She was hushed by Nicolo, his arm slipping around her shoulder as he pulled her against him cautiously. A look of bewilderment washed over Sasha, her glare narrowing in on him gravely.

"Are you kidding? She can't go after everything that happened."

But Nicolo smiled simply, his stance persistent, relaxed, his stare shifting to Mikasa, as if to urge her forward. "Let her go. Let them talk."

Sasha was heated, reluctant—Mikasa knew this would become a discussion for them once she was gone. But it was enough to convince her that this was her own choice, her mistake to make.

"I'm calling you tomorrow morning," Sasha spoke sternly. They held each other's gaze until Mikasa allowed it to slip away when she hugged her goodbye.

And she looked at Eren, caught the gravity that evaded him, dripping from his eyes, his breath. He tried to smile at her. It was so beautiful yet somber. Mikasa felt the urge to take his hand as she left with him. Their fingers interloping, hers delving into the hollows of his—to feel the warmth and tenderness of his palm, the swipe of his thumb. Holding hands just like she had seen Armin and Annie, Sasha and Nicolo, even fucking Connie and Pieck. But she fought it with all the strength she could muster, holding the flowers he had given her in a painful hug.

~oOo~

She felt him fill her—so fully and repeatedly, with every drop of her hips. Swift and precise, her palms clenched at his neck, her grip slipping from the sweat. Her dress hiked up to her waist, knees bracing his thighs. Impaling herself on his length with eagerness and vitality, grunts spewing from her mouth only hushed by the staggered kisses she stole from him.

Muffled sounds of their panting mixed with the sloshing wetness of her core, and the live radio hummed in the background gently. Annie felt his fingers sink into the skin of her derriere, felt the pulsing of fresh bruises painting her flesh. A Britney Spears song ended, and a Backstreet Boys one began. Not the same song, but the other one she liked. She'd kill a man before she'd ever admit it. It only made her fuck Armin harder.

Her finger slipped into his hair, pushing thick blonde strands away from his face, so she could see his eyes. And her gaze dug into him as she rested her nose against his, her lips trickling over his mouth as she took a slower pace with her hips.

He was dazed, flushed, so fucking frazzled that it was sexy. As she pinned him against the seat of his car, her hands slid down onto his chest, rubbing against his jacket, her mouth grazing along his neck and leaving a warm trail of spit on his skin.

She felt him shudder, panting, groaning at her touch, the gushing movement of her hips. She clenched herself around his length and his eyes opened largely, vividly.

And she swiped her tongue at the apex of his shoulder and neck, sucking and tasting the sweat that coated his skin. "Tell me how bad I am."

He stiffened at her words, and she could feel his rigidness inside her. It made her quaver, release a light euphoric gasp. She kissed his mouth to bring life to him, feeling him pucker against her. His hands glided within her dress, against the smooth, bare skin of her back, until he clamped onto her waist and shifted her hips so he could hit her in a more pleasurable spot.

She felt the pressure build at her cervix, her thighs trembling. She was so close and needed him to work with her. Filthy groans spilled from her mouth like a sweet, sinful prayer, and Annie forced her gaze into him again, her teeth tugging on his bottom lip.

"Tell me how bad I am."

Armin kissed her, desperately, messily, his eyes squinted in that same concentration. "But I don't think you're bad," he countered. "I think you're really sweet."

She shoved her hips down on him hard. They released a blissful moan in unison. Fingers delved into the collar of his jacket, her breath heaving from her mouth as a hot drizzle against his face.

"No, I'm really bad. I need you to teach me a lesson."

He seemed to catch her drift then, a glaze glossing over his eyes, that the blue in them grew more vibrant and alert. She felt him pinch against the small of her waist, pressing into her skin.

"You're always hitting people for no reason," he huffed. Annie could feel herself nearing closer to her orgasm. Her pace swiftened, core snapping against him excitedly. Over and over and over—she could feel his erratic heartbeat against her palms.

"I'm so violent, I'm out of control." As she pressed her face into the hollow of his neck, she could smell his fragrance, a sharp warm scent. Her lips adhered to his skin as she sipped from him desperately.

He extended his neck for her, throwing his head back deliriously. "You're kind of rude. Not very ladylike."

Annie sucked along the length of his neck, gulping the trembling lump of his Adam's apple. She was shifting her hips forward on his lap eagerly now, a groan stifling her throat from the sweet tension budding at her center.

"I'm not a lady. I'm your little fucking slut," she gushed, speaking the words directly into his mouth before kissing him. She lulled him against her, feeling the gentle quiver of his lips, the thirst of his tongue as it searched desperately for her own. Their moans melted together, a chaotic noise of lust heaving from their throats.

"Your hair dye is messy and gets all over my sheets." And he progressed, his touch pawing at her skin, fingering the bones of her spine. "And you're always fucking with my stuff. Moving things around, tilting picture frames."

Annie stopped then, rather abruptly, her hips stiff and solid against him as she yanked on his collar down to connect their gazes. A scowl crossed her face, nose wrinkling, brows stitched together.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't be such a fucking neat freak," she snapped at him, her tone hushed yet sharp. And a brief stillness took over. The buzzing of the engine melded with the hum of the radio. And he looked at her—dazed, disoriented, his hair messy from her persistent tousling, spewing concentrated breaths from his mouth.

And it all seemed to bring her back into character then, that she shivered as she pressed a damp and sensuous kiss on his cheek. She felt him relax against her, his back sinking into his seat, his length hard and thick inside her and it felt so good that she squeezed him again just to hear him moan. And she was fucking him again, harder and faster than before.

"I mean—yea, I'm the worst." A delicate flutter of moans dripped from her lips as she embraced his face and kissed him again, her mouth gliding on his chin and leaving a trail of drool in its trek. "Now suck on my tits."

He yanked at the top of her dress, her breasts exposed, the jewels adorning her skin glimmering in the darkness. Annie felt the warm air that heated his car, how it toasted the back of her neck, blowing her hair. She could smell the leather interior, mixed with Armin's light scent. The aroma turned her on, that she elongated her neck and released a stifling cry the instant she felt the glaze of his tongue caress her nipple. The feeling was sharp, an instant gush in between her thighs, her nipples pebbled and hard as he touched them. His thumb rubbing—mouth dribbling warm and wet praises against her rosy skin.

And it all felt so good, because she was so fucking bad. His violent, rude, little dirty slut.

~oOo~

The moonlight highlighted her form—serenading her, gushing its beautiful glow all over the vision that was Mikasa.

She was glittering—literally. Glitter spilling from her hair, her cheeks, even patches on her neck. It was hard not to notice her, walking beside her. Eren tried to keep his eyes on the sidewalk, counting his steps as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. And he felt the frost of a breeze swirl against them, trickling within the open contents of his jacket.

He heard the crinkle of her hold on the flowers, hugging them closer against her chest. "It's cold. You should zip up."

Her voice was light, quiet, and when he looked down at her, he noticed that she peered at him through the corner of her eyes, witnessed the dramatic, thick curl of her lashes, the timid fumble of painted lips.

The will to touch her was strong, relentless, an endless fight he could barely win. And they had stopped walking, taken by another gust of wind, this time a bit fiercer, as if it were trying to bring the both of them together. A moment passed, and she gave him a knowing yet restrained look. But her concern for him leaked from her eyes, spilling the contents of her heart into the chilled air.

Eren took a deep breath and held it in until he finished zipping up his jacket. And they stood there together in the cold, in the darkness and stillness. The flowers remained a barrier between them. He almost wished he hadn't given them to her. But he knew how much she liked them, and how beautiful she looked holding them. She slipped the lower half of her face beneath the roses, leaving only the vicinity of her eyes—large and penetrating, her stare unyielding.

Her hair was slicked back, but a stubborn strand of her fringe sprinkled her forehead. It felt like a sinful temptation, to reach out and slide the delicate tendril with his thumb. Milky cream skin blended with the deep red of the roses, her eyes two sterling petals.

Eren dug his heel into his Oxford, a painful patter drumming at his chest. "I loved your dance, Mikasa."

She didn't move or respond, but he could see her grip on the stems tighten, a sudden tremble in her eyes.

"It's so beautiful. Sometimes it feels like you're only dancing for me."

"I wasn't," she countered quickly, a slant to her brows. And he nodded vaguely, his lips pursed into a straight line. Eren rested his gaze upwards, towards the moon and stars. There were so many, bright and twinkling above them, like a shimmering rainfall that had yet to spill from the skies.

"I know," he clarified then, exhaling from his nose. "But it feels like nobody else is there. Just you and me. And I forget about everything else. Everything bad. It's like watching someone really be alive."

He saw her slowly lower the flowers, revealing the uncertain stumble of her mouth. "I feel like that, too. When I dance."

"I like the haircut," he added, "it looks very pretty on you."

"I thought you liked long hair."

He faltered, as if caught in a lie. "I do. But I like this too. I like seeing more of your face."

The temptation to touch her, hold her, seep devoted confessions of love and his betrayal—it was all so overwhelming. But he held it within, saving his passion for the right moment. Because she looked so beautiful in the moonlight, in her purple dress, hugging the flowers he had given her.

He walked her the rest of the way back in silence, stood beside her quietly in the elevator. So close he was, that he could smell her melony fragrance. Dripping with sweetness, no sharp notes, but like pure sweet fruit. If he could just sweep his tongue along her neck, to see if she tasted as good as she smelled.

And when they entered her room, he walked in after her, closing the door behind him. They were greeted briskly by the little dog, an excited yelp clamoring from his throat as he ran straight to Mikasa. White and black fur blurred together as he energetically wagged his tail, and she dropped to her knees, cooing at his affection as she placed the flowers on the carpet and removed her backpack.

"Hey sweetie." A sugary giggle evaded her mouth as he perched himself on her lap. When Mikasa ruffled the mane of fur underneath his chin, he continued to whimper blithely. "I missed you so much. You did such a good job protecting everything. You're such a good boy."

It felt like a pull at his heart, watching her interact with the small animal, personifying him, speaking as if he understood a word she was saying. The unconditional love she presented to a vulnerable creature. There was something so kind, so fiercely maternal about her. The way she loved and cared for others, the strength she exuded in herself. It was beautiful to witness, yet made him mourn and yearn for what he himself had lost.

When the dog had noticed him, he trotted earnestly towards his feet, that Eren kneeled to pet him, his little head warm and fuzzy as he nuzzled his face against his palm.

"Hey little guy. I missed you."

Mikasa snapped her neck to look at him, and as he faced her, he noticed their proximity, how he could feel the gentle and warm patter of her breath on his skin. So close, that if he leaned in only slightly, his lips would graze her own. Just enough to feel the flutter of her lashes, taste the fragrance on her neck.

"I…" She cut herself off to swallow, trying to avert her gaze but unable to look away. "I have to walk him. You can wait here if you'd like."

Jax grumbled in sweet euphoria as Eren scratched behind his ear. "It's fine. I'll go with you."

She attached the leash to his collar, and Eren followed her outside. There were few students decorating the campus as they walked along the grass, many seeming to be going out for the night. More rounds of harsh wind enveloped them, and Mikasa huddled in her jacket, hunching her shoulders to warm her neck. The two of them stood against a tree, while Jax stammered around slowly with his nose adhered to the grass.

He almost expected her to whip out a cigarette, and he wasn't even thinking when the thought relieved itself on his tongue. "You aren't smoking now too, are you?"

When she looked up at him, a stunned scowl claimed her expression, and she rubbed her legs together, hoping to generate friction and warmth.

"What the fuck? No. Why would you even ask that?"

Eren sighed, shifting his gaze ahead. "I don't know. It just feels like everybody is smoking lately."

The thought festered with her for a moment, and when he looked down, he found her nodding reluctantly in agreement. "Yea…it does, doesn't it?" A stillness drifted between them before that same grimace returned to her face.

"You're not smoking, are you?"

And Eren frowned, as if insulted. His hands curled into fists in his pocket at an attempt for warmth. "No. That's fucking gross."

Their gazes drifted forward, watching the dog knead his foot into the grass, kicking the dirt behind him. Somehow, Eren could feel her smile.

"Good."

It was a tedious and overdrawn trek back to her room, because he could feel the anxiety brimming inside him. Everything up until that point had been serene, yet awkward and distant. She was holding back from him, as if containing herself before she would spill the contents of her pain and anger and let it splatter all over the carpet. And he was willing to listen to it, all of it—whatever it took to fix the mess he had caused. He only hoped that she would hear him out in return.

The room was dark when they entered, nothing but a small nightlight embracing the darkness. Eren noticed that her bed was unmade, a few articles of clothing scattered on the edge. Jack's food and water bowl sat uneven on a mat by the wall. The water was half filled, some of its contents dripping over the surface.

And he watched her slip off her shoes, remove her coat and place it on the backrest of her chair. His flowers rested on her desk, moisture seeping from the petals and staining the wooden surface. Pointe ballet slippers peppered the floor by her bed. She made no attempt to turn on the lights. Perhaps she preferred her vision impaired, for his image to be cloaked by the shadows.

He wasn't sure if he should follow her motions, if it were even appropriate for him to remove any articles of clothing even if it was just his jacket. He waited for some sort of cue from her—anything. But a stiffness took her then, her back towards him, and she just stood there, unmoving, unwavering. That's when he knew that the inevitable was approaching.

"What do you want to say to me, Eren?"

She exhaled slowly, as if to control her emotions, as she turned to look at him, a gloss in her eyes. The way the shadows of the darkness embraced her was beautiful yet heartbreaking. The angle of her heart-shaped face, the feminine dips and curves of her body. The only source of light dripping from her eyes, her tortured stare. Her fingers flinched, curling with doubt, suspicion.

"Tell me what you want to say tonight, of all nights. So you can take it from me and make it all about yourself. Because it's always about you, isn't it, Eren? So why would this night be any different?"

She approached him then, listlessly, her walk a solemn saunter void of any lingering emotion. Even her face, so solid and stern, nothing but the tremble in her eyes and the resonance of her voice revealing the inner turmoil bubbling within her. And she was close to him now, so close. If only he could touch her. If only it could make everything okay again.

"Tell me what you need to say. Everything I've already heard. Tell me you made a mistake and you want me back. Try to convince me why I should even consider it. Please, take this night of joy for me, where I forgot about the horrible thing you did and remind me of it again."

Wetness succumbed her eyes, and she puffed a hot breath into his neck. A quaver took her body, her bottom lip, as her brows slanted, a dimple pinched between them. "Hurt me more, Eren. Tell me you love me and hurt me more. Remind me that I still love you and hurt me more."

Like liquid glass against porcelain skin, slipping down the planes of her cheeks. One after the other, following in agonizing succession. They were black tears, colored by her makeup, leaving streaks on her skin. And it broke him—that he stole the joy from her again, how only hours ago she had been so bright and happy, that beautiful shining smile curved against her sweet mouth. The way she moved and danced and exuded that harmonic bliss that captured everyone in that room. And now with his presence, reduced to a cowering, miserable version of herself.

It broke him—that he started crying too, his palms capturing her face, thumbs swiping her cheekbones with urgency, hoping to stop the tears but there were too many now, drenching his hands. And he tugged her against him; she let him. Cupping her face, feeling the burning heat of her flesh, the wetness that dripped on his fingers and knuckles.

He could have kissed her then. She would have let him. To kiss her for the first time in over a month, an attempt to steal the pain in her expression, that sorrow weeping from her gaze. He could have grazed his tongue and combatted every single tear, taste and savor the salt on her skin. He could have kissed her. She would have let him. But he didn't.

Instead, in his own agony, he fell to his knees, smothering himself into her belly as his arms gathered around her torso. He hugged her tightly, quivering against her, weeping into her dress like the anguished child who had never left that hospital after nearly dying.

She hardened against him, stunned, her palms erect and shaking, hesitant to return the embrace. He could only imagine the width and bewilderment of her eyes. Even he was unsure of what he was doing, overtaken by his pain, his emotions. Perhaps she was right. He was making this about himself. Crying against her after she had just confessed her grief, seeking comfort when she was the one who was supposed to be suffering.

"I don't want to hurt you anymore. I don't want to hurt you," he professed, his voice uneven and wavering. "And I do, I love you. I love you and I messed up. I messed up so bad."

Mikasa sighed, her palm resting at the top of his head. "Eren—"

"I tried to ruin what we had because you reminded me so much of her."

A gentle silence, one tarnished by panting and shivering breaths. His cheek pressed against her dress, absorbing the tears that tainted his skin. He shuddered then, only when she dropped her arms and cradled him against her.

"I was afraid to be happy. Because being happy would make me remember what happened to her. What happened to me. And it hurt so bad trying to face it. So I ruined it. I got drunk and did the first stupid thing I could think of. And I'll regret it for the rest of my life, how I hurt you. I don't want to hurt you."

Mikasa's palm delved into the length of his hair, and he could feel her shaking, the vibration of her heart sinking into her entire body. The way she held him, nurtured him—he took it all in, had been craving it so desperately, ravenous for her love and redemption.

"Eren…" Her voice was soft yet pained, and he felt the tender graze of her fingers, like a gentle massage along his scalp.

He pressed a kiss where her navel would be. "It hurts to be alive, so much easier to mask it all away with distractions. But you were never a distraction, Mikasa. You made me open my eyes, and they had been closed for so long that it was fucking blinding. And the night that I hurt you, it was a horrible night. There's no excuse for what I did, and I should have told you—but I was scared and confused and I did all the wrong things. Every year it gets worse. Every year I have to relive what happened and it's another year away from her—"

Her palms flattened against his cheeks when she lifted his chin. He was met with her eyes, but it wasn't bewilderment that he saw, but horror and dismay. Her lips parted and trembling as such a disturbed expression claimed her that it made him wish he could take back everything that he had just said to her.

"That night…was…?"

As if she had seen a ghost, haunted by an apparition of the past. He didn't answer her, but retreated to the haven of her belly, feeling the return of her caress as she hugged him back, now her embrace stronger, more secure, unyielding.

"Eren, I…I didn't know."

"I never told you."

The edge of her palms pressed into his shoulders, her fingers sliding toward the back of his neck. Her touch was cold against his hot skin, but it soothed him, simmering the painful heat.

"I love you," he spoke tenderly, the depth of his despair seeping from his mouth. "I love you, and I need you. I want to get better, but I don't want to do it without you."

A sharp breath squelched in her throat as he abruptly pulled away from her. And he fingered his pocket for the ring, holding it before her as he flicked open the box with a snap. It all happened so fast that, less than an instant. Mikasa reacted just as quickly, hands clasped against her mouth as her eyes were met with the stunning, blinding emerald piercing into her gaze.

He held the moment, surprising himself with his own audacity. Searching for the words, the perfect words. Where she would look at him with certainty and answer yes.

"I don't deserve you. I know I don't. But I can't stop loving you. And I don't want to be without you anymore."

Stifled muted breaths, little gasps against her palms. More tears left her eyes, and he hated himself for making her cry again. Why couldn't he get this one thing right? How could he give her back the joy he had stolen? It meant nothing if he couldn't experience it with her.

"This was my mother's. It meant a lot to her. And now I want you to have it, because you mean everything to me."

And he swallowed the rigidness that had bunched in his throat, wiping the wetness burning his cheek. Mikasa stared at the ring as if she were hypnotized by its sentiment, the powerful vulnerability of his love that it represented.

"Even if you don't take me back, I want you to have it. So please take it, please."

An unsure murmur sang in her throat, and he wondered what she would do, what she could possibly say. The tension was killing him, and he could feel the pain in his knees as he bowed before her in prayer, in worship, presenting to her his kill, his sacrifice. Begging, pleading, for her forgiveness, her grace. To grant him mercy for the sinner that he was.

And she dropped her hands, carefully, the trek slow and hesitant to her sides. Her mouth closed as she looked down at him, the shiver in her eyes so tragically lovely that it made him gush and broke his heart at once.

He saw it suddenly, the tormented smile that tugged at her lips, her own tears embracing her face as if to comfort her. And when she nodded, Eren finally released that dreadful breath he had been holding the entire time, slowly suffocating himself as he awaited her answer.

"Okay," she said with a shaky voice, and a beautifully sad laugh sang in her throat when she said it again. "Okay."

She gasped again when he took her right hand, the sound leaving her mouth as more of a sharp ahh, taking the ring from its box and slipping it onto her appropriate finger. It fit on her only slightly loose, but it mattered very little to her, because another rush of tears consumed her face. But this time as she wept, she smiled. She finally smiled. It was pained and raw and emotional, not the jubilant grin that had taken her as she danced. It was different, bleeding of her grief, her cluttered feelings. But it was beautiful, still so fucking beautiful and real.

Eren lost all sense of control, every ounce of his restraint and discipline vanished by the sight of her. Moved by his passion, the overwhelming sense of desire he felt for her. He wanted to feel her, to finally really fucking touch her. That when he stood up, he took her with him, fingers delving into the curves of her waist, hoisting her against him as compactly as he could as he hugged her.

He felt the swells of her thighs grip him desperately as she wrapped her legs around his hips, her arms furling over his neck. And that sweet, soft grunt she made when he picked her up, it urged him further, made him crave more, want and need more of her. The heat of her breath warmed him, blending with his own. And she smelled so sweet, like melons and cucumber. He wanted to taste her, savor her, fingers digging into her thighs while she curved against him.

Long curled lashes fluttered along his brow, her lips softly parted, sweet sighs slipping from her mouth. Her dress hiked up to her hips, and her body was suddenly so warm, burning almost. The nimble pacing of her heart resonated against his chest, and the beat matched the rhythm of his own. Pounding in unison, heavy anguished drums.

The sound of desperate panting, frantic heartbeats. The delicate sighs of a sleeping dog none the wiser to the silent passion aflame in the room. He supported her weight by clamping onto her derriere, palms smoothed along the plump flesh of her bum, and she squeezed her legs tighter, pressed her nose onto his.

One breath, one heartbeat. She was still crying. He would do anything to take those tears away. But before he could, she kissed him, sunk her mouth into his.

And she kissed him once, slow and careful, that he relished the taste of her. A hot breath left her nostrils, and then she kissed him again with that same reservation, her lips puckered and frenzied but still holding herself back. How many days had passed since he kissed her—since he could taste her mouth and swallow her spit, feel the thick exhale of her breath when he kissed her back with an even greater hunger?

They were kissing—sloppy gliding lips, puckered and open mouths, full of dread and wonder and excitement. Short kisses, multiple kisses that soon evolved into one long, messy broken kiss. Her palm curved around his neck, a moan lodged in her throat, but the hum of it was beautiful, sensual. He swallowed the sound, let his tongue venture into her mouth so he could revel in the source of it. He found her own, engaged in a delicate combat, entangled tongues, swerving mouths, muffled moans. Puckered lips.

She murmured when he placed her back gently on the edge of the bed, kneeling over as he discovered her mouth again. His knees dug into the carpet, and he removed his jacket and blazer for dexterity. As her arms extended lazily above her head, his palms cupped the sides of her ribs, kneading into the fabric of her dress. And his tongue slipped inside her mouth once more, tasting the song of her pleasure, glossing over the roof of her mouth, while he sipped on the drool that dribbled over her bottom lip.

She writhed on the bed, pelvis bucking forward, her moan finally released from the captivity of her throat. His mouth was gliding down her neck, lips sinking into soft creamy skin as his tongue fondled her flesh. She was warm, so fucking warm, and she did taste as sweet as she smelled.

Enticed by her moans, her gasps, the way her thighs clenched at his body with quivering bent knees—he found the valley of her breasts, his palm dipping to hold her, squeeze her, as much as he could through the barrier of her clothing. She sang for him, a cluttered melody of grunts and ahhs, her pitch shaking with a desperate vibrato. Kissing her neck, fondling her breasts, watching her squirm beneath him.

And he pulled off her tights, slowly, reveling in every ounce of ivory skin revealed to him. He saw the dramatic curve of the arch of her foot, how beautifully and precisely her toes pointed. Hands grazed along the swells of her thighs, his mouth finding her knee and kissing her there gently.

Her dress pulled up so high he could see her belly button and he kissed her navel too. Her hips bucked again, a quiver taking her pelvis, and he thumbed along the desperate, needy part of her body, seeing her back lift off the bed, hearing the cry she released as she hugged her knees towards his head.

She wore a black thong, but he could see her wetness soil the cotton. And he slipped off her underwear, resisting his pull as the stickiness of her essence clamped onto the garment. A shine glossed over her center, open and weeping for him, soft black curls stippled against her skin. And he could hear her, so desperate to control her breathing, releasing her exhales in thick, heated puffs.

Palms pressed into trembling thighs, grappling the insides of her flesh, opening her further, watching the spread of her slit, the folds that unraveled from her. And he tasted her, swept his tongue along the swell of her heat, her sweetness seeping into his mouth. Her body jerked from the motion, a gasp so sharp from her throat that it was near deafening. When he reached the tip of her sex, his mouth caressed the small bundle of nerves.

Sucking, lapping at the most sensitive, tender part of her body. So small yet so potent, that she released another sweet song of pleasure, fingers delving into the bedsheets. She tried to move but he held her down so she couldn't close her thighs, allowing him to take her, caress her with his mouth and tongue, drinking her essence, swallowing her pleasure.

Her body was squirming, her knees shaking. One moan after the other spilling from her mouth sloppily like a desperate prayer, hoping god would listen to her cries. Her thighs were warm, her center throbbing. Slender fingers tugged at his hair with no clear goal but just to feel him, the weight of the ring slightly tangled in his locks.

She was so beautiful and sweet and perfect, the way she tasted and felt, the heat and tremble that gathered at her clit as she neared climax. Her moans were music he wanted to hear for the rest of his life, her sweat and fluid a taste he could now never live without. And his tongue swirled along the sweet pearl nestled at her sex—soft tender circles, his lips puckering and sucking in until he felt the delicate pulse erupt into a manic throb.

Her body convulsed on the bed, moans and filthy words slipping from her tongue with the obscenity and indecency of a sinner. But the noise was so sweet to him, urging him further, riding the shudders of her orgasm with her, feeling the pulse of her release against his tongue. He tasted the wetness that flushed from her center.

"Eren…Eren," she stammered, pulling on his hair, frantically trying to push her legs together. But he wouldn't let go, allowing her to come past the point of it being almost unbearable, a second wave hitting her swiftly that she yelped from the sensation. And she was crying, sobbing, so taken and engulfed by her climax, the euphoric release that took her entire body captive.

Longer and longer, and it wouldn't end because he wouldn't stop. He took too much joy in the jerking of her hips, the quiver of her center, how she wept for him so beautifully and chaotically.

And soon the throb became a slow, ragged pulse, and she collapsed as a frazzled heap, her body dipping into the mattress. The sound of her breathing was heavy, her breaths long and spread out. He finally let her go, and she sighed in relief.

When he kissed her, her palms clamped onto his neck, her touch heated. He opened his mouth so she could taste herself, to learn how sinfully sweet she really was.

He felt the mist of her breath, pattering gently onto his face. Her eyes half opened in delirium, while the pulse of her heart drummed powerfully. As she embraced his cheeks, her lips remained parted, and her gaze bled into his own.

"Eren…Eren," she repeated, softly, her thumb gliding along his bottom lip. "I love you, too."

~oOo~

As the familiar scent of his cologne engulfed her nostrils, she noticed a particular aspect absent from his smell.

There were no remnants of any alcohol.

Even when he kissed her and massaged her tongue, she couldn't taste it. Not even in the spit that drizzled in her mouth. It was only him, and the sharp sweet mint of his breath.

They lied together on her bed, his shoes kicked off haphazardly somewhere on the floor so he could cuddle beside her. She lulled his head on her chest, his arms draped over her stomach, and her fingers delved into his hair, massaging his scalp. He slept quietly against her, his breathing soft and stable. And Mikasa tried to close her eyes, to fall asleep with him, but despite the darkness and the stillness, she lied awake, her thoughts scattered, her own pulse still just as erratic as it had been earlier.

He was warm, so warm. And it felt so good to hold him again, to feel the thud of his heartbeat, the sweet graze of his breath on her skin. She pressed her lips against the top of his head, breathing him into her lungs, a frantic set of emotions overtaking her as she experienced him. It made tears well in her eyes, a heaviness setting in her chest. But at the same time, she never wanted to let go of him, to let him know he could always find haven in the softness of her breasts, soothed by the beating of her heart no matter how swiftly it pounded.

She felt him stir, his arms gathered at the bunch of her dress, still hiked at her navel. She felt the cool draft of the room caress her core, as his palm slipped to the side of her waist. And he readjusted his cheek on her breast, while she gently brushed her knuckles along his cheekbone. At the heave of his breath, she knew he was awake.

"Eren, are you okay?" she asked quietly, delicately. Then, to lighten the mood, she smiled. "You kind of sound like Jax when he cuddles with me."

He huffed an amused breath, tightening his hug as he nuzzled his head into her chest.

"I'm…alright," he answered her gently.

Her fingers trailed over his temple, rubbing small circles along his skin. His reply failed to ease the anxiety in her heart.

"Eren, I love you. Just the way you are. I don't want you to change." She paused then, feeling him cement against her, a slow but apparent increase to his pulse. "But I don't want you to hurt anymore. I don't want you to hurt me. How do we stop hurting each other?"

He was quiet for a short while, lying still on her chest, lulled by the beating of her heart. And she continued to caress him, nurture him, allowed him to feel surrounded and secured by the love she radiated.

"You did nothing wrong," he said gently, yet the agony was apparent in his voice despite his attempt to mask it. And they both knew exactly what he was talking about.

Mikasa swallowed the lump in her throat, suddenly feeling very guilty. "But it feels wrong."

"It doesn't matter. We weren't together. I don't own you."

It sounded like he was arguing with himself, trying to convince himself of her innocence. And she felt tears clutching to her bottom lashes, clumping her mascara, that she embraced his cheek again, her thumb dipping into the angle of his jaw.

"But it hurt you, and I don't want to hurt you. I'm sorry that I did."

He sighed then, the sound long and overdrawn, and she could feel him shudder gently against her. "It hurts to talk about it. Please let's not talk about it anymore."

Slowly, she nodded, a tear escaping its confinement. "Okay." Another wave of solitude passed them, and a thought festered in her mind as her teeth took her lower lip captive and sliced along the tender flesh apprehensively.

"But I did do something wrong," she whispered, a few more tears spilling down her cheeks. She reached quickly to wipe them before they made a mess on her neck. "That night. I said something so horrible to you. I was so mad, so hurt, and I shouldn't have said it. Especially since that day meant so deeply to you…"

Her fingers combed the bottom half of his hair, her opposing arm cradling him against her. "I'm sorry, Eren. I'm so sorry."

And he repositioned himself on her slightly then, curving his back, enveloping his face into her chest, that she could feel the pleasant vibration of his breathing.

"I'm not mad at you. I know you didn't mean it." He paused. "And I deserved it."

"No, you didn't."

"What I did to you was so fucked up. It doesn't matter the reason. I didn't have to hurt you. I chose to do that."

She allowed him a moment to settle, for his heartrate to ease. And she continued to soothe him, petting his head, snuggling him with that maternal aura she knew he craved.

"I want to know why you didn't tell me," she stated, her gaze latched onto the ceiling. She found the familiar and comfortable visual of her NSYNC poster, though muted by the darkness. "Why you didn't feel like you could come to me. I would have supported you, no matter what. No matter how you felt."

He sighed gently, as if mentally rehearsing lines he had prepared for this moment. "I should have. I wish I did. But it's hard for me to talk about what happened."

"You can tell me," she whispered. "We can lie together like this, and you can tell me at your own pace. And I'll still be here, holding you, even at the rough parts. But I need to know. If we're going to get past this, I need to know what happened to you, baby."

Her voice broke as she punctuated her statement, and inwardly she scolded herself for tarnishing the image of strength and security she tried to manifest towards him.

But she felt the somber nod of his head, and her arms slipped to his shoulders, nestling him against her.

And he began his confession simply, with a very simple statement. "I killed her."

It was a startling revelation, that she wanted to pry further and force eye contact between them. But she did as she had promised instead—she was there for him. To listen, to understand. And so she said nothing, continuing her precious and gentle hold, focusing on the clarity and softness of her own breathing.

"She was tired from working. But I really wanted that cassette. And I made her take me to get it. She and dad promised I would get it. And I was too selfish to care she was tired. It could have waited for the next day. Another day. I should have let her rest. It was my fault."

She felt a delicate tremble overtake him, and she caressed his cheek, her knuckles gliding along his skin slowly to console him. Her eyes drifted down towards him, noticing how still he lied against her, despite the quiver that vibrated his body.

"If I had let her stay home, she wouldn't have died. He wouldn't have shot her. I wouldn't have had to worry my father and brother while I was in the hospital and they were trying to plan her funeral—"

Mikasa's eyes opened, her pupils expanding, and it felt like her heart stopped beating then, that she held his face with shaky hands. "You were in the hospital?"

He paused then, as if reluctant to tell her. "I was shot too."

With a rushed concern she had wished to avoid, she cradled his cheeks, trying to lift and force his gaze to meet hers. He resisted, shoving his face back into the sanctuary of her chest. She hadn't realized immediately that she started crying again as her hold on him became strong and adamant.

And suddenly it made sense, the scar on his abdomen, how he never talked about it, told her where it came from. Because that night, Eren did not only lose his mother, but he almost died too. And through his survivor's guilt, he blamed himself for her death.

"It doesn't matter. I don't want you to worry about me, Mikasa. Because everything about it is so stupid—"

"It's not your fault." She faltered, her exhale shaky and wavering. "It's not your fault, Eren."

"So many people have said that to me, but it doesn't change anything, it doesn't change what happened."

But she shook her head firmly, and they both seemed to fasten against each other in an unbreakable embrace. "I don't care. This time I'm saying it. And it's not your fault. It's not an opinion. It's fact."

"But why? Why isn't it?"

"Because things just happen. Shitty things. We can't predict them. Like car accidents. We don't know when they'll happen. We can't live our lives anticipating the inevitable." Her voice was unstable as she spoke to him, and she felt like she had failed at being his source of stability. She was just as vulnerable and damaged as he was.

"And I know right now, what I'm saying is just words to you. And I understand, it's okay. When my parents died, I saw so many counselors, therapists, and they were trying to fix me, as if something was wrong with me. And no matter what they said and what exercises they had me do, it didn't change the overwhelming fact that I just fucking missed them."

Perhaps now he was comforting her, as she sobbed beside him without reserve, feeling his grip on her waist grow more taut, protective. It was hard to remember, to think of the moment when she knew she lost them, without the soothing blindness of dance to guide her through the pain. Just raw, agonizing words, sensitive emotions exposed to him in all their vulnerability. She never felt more naked than she did at that moment.

"I'm sorry," he whispered softly against her, feeling him mouth the words along her breast. Her palm caressed his cheek, feeling the wetness of his own hushed tears.

"Don't be." And she took in a concentrated breath, feeling the air expand her belly, her body indented into the sheets. "I bet your mom was so happy when she saw the look on your face when you got your tape."

He shivered, his face submerged into her soft cleavage. "She was."

"I don't believe people really leave us when they die. I think they're still somewhere there with us. And she wouldn't want to see you like this, Eren. Unable to live your life, destroying yourself over your guilt."

Another beat of stillness passed between them, and her leg curled around his. Her skin rubbed into his jeans as she felt the friction pulse against her thigh. "Why don't you try talking to her?"

He exhaled carefully, hesitantly. "I don't know what to say."

Her fingers played with his hair, crawling over the edge of his ear. "You can start by saying hello."

She felt the vibration of his chuckle, and it willed her to laugh with him. His leg bent over her own, their bodies intertwined. As he spoke, his voice was soft and even, a gentle hum brimming at the back of his throat.

"Hey mom," he began, and Mikasa smiled as her eyes drifted back towards the ceiling. "I just wanted to say that…" He paused, a falter to his tone, and she could feel the sudden rigidness of his body. "…That I miss you. So much. Every single day of my life. And I'm sorry you were tired. I should have listened. But I know it's because you loved me so much. And I love you, too. I'll love you forever and ever."

Tears cascaded down the messy plane of her face, and it was that moment she felt him break, just as tumultuous and afflicted as her. He trembled against her body as she did her best to ease him from his heartache.

"And I promise I'll do better. I promise."

Mikasa hugged him firmly, the quavers of their bodies shuffling the bed. "If you look at me and see your mother, Eren…I hope it doesn't hurt you anymore. I don't want you to feel anything less than safe with me."

And he shook his head, grabbing her arm and bringing it to his face so he could kiss the inside of her wrist. "I will. Always. Looking at you doesn't hurt me. It never has. You have been nothing but a light in my life."

Her palms cupped his cheeks, nestled against smooth warm skin. He melted into her touch, his body finally relaxing against her.

"You've found comfort in your suffering." When she lifted his chin to meet her gaze, he didn't pull away from her this time. Their eyes connected, the green of his irises vivid and striking. Just as shimmery as the emerald now perched on her finger. They were so beautiful, ample—his eyes—filled with his emotion, his pain and longing. Her thumbs dabbed at the tears drying on his skin, the wetness sprinkling his cheekbones. And she smiled at him then, generously, tenderly.

"But baby, you don't have to suffer anymore."

And as she tilted her face to kiss him, he shifted, meeting her most of the way.

They kissed with a tenderness that had been brewing for weeks. Spilling of love and aguish, hope and longing. She felt it in the pucker of his lips, the graze of his tongue, the way he lied on top of her, his knee bending into her groin.

As her arms draped his back, gathering his shirt in her fists, she moaned into his mouth. And he swallowed the sound—drinking her spit, sweeping his tongue against her own. So beautifully slow yet vulgar, intimacy bleeding with desire.

The intense scent of him, the mint taste of his mouth—how hot his palm felt against her naked abdomen. His thumb glided over her navel. She held in her breath when she felt the brush of his tongue on her neck, kissing down the milky plane of flesh. So warm and wet, his mouth sucked into her skin. It hurt so good.

And she tugged on his shirt, pulling eagerly at the fabric. He followed her guidance, the both of them sitting up as he swiftly discarded it. Seeing him kneeled before her, his skin bronzed, looking even darker in the absence of light—how the darkness carved shadows against his abdomen, caressing every indentation of muscle, from the rigidness of his stomach to the firm swells of his chest, the curves of his arms. The white beads of his necklace such a striking contrast to his tinted skin. Jeans taut around his hips, yet she could still see the v line that delved towards his pelvis.

His hair partially secured, the locks that weren't bound framed his face. Baby hair coiled at his forehead. The angle of his jaw, the lift of his cheekbones—he was like a fine, sculpture molded to perfect precision. And he looked so good that she just needed to touch him. To let her fingers seep into the pockets of his muscle, embrace the sculpted ridges defined by sleek skin.

Palms smoothed along his chest, feeling his nipples pebble beneath her touch. Down the length of his arms, following the divots and curves. And her eyes connected to his as she touched him, that when she grazed his scar she held her hand there, embracing the glossy skin. He let her, gaze unmoving, his breathing heavy yet steady.

He was covered in her glitter, that he was just as shimmery of a mess as her even in the dimness. His face, patches of his neck, even in his hair. She smiled at the sight of him, even as he took her dress and lifted it off her body, and she was still smiling when he unclasped her black bra, her breasts released with a delicate bounce.

Her back fell gently onto the mattress as he positioned himself on top of her. And he was so close that her lungs filled with his fragrance, his body heat mingling with her own. How he kissed her mouth—so slowly, savoring every kiss and pucker of her lips—then her neck, delving his face into the junction of her shoulder as he inhaled her into his being. And his hands, exploring every naked part of her, grasping her thighs before tracing the curve of her waist.

She felt the wet trail towards her collar bone, along her chest. Her body sinking, head thrown back onto her pillow as a cry lay stifled in the pit of her throat. And she felt his breath touch her nipple first. The warm huff of air caressing her pink tip, that she hardened there instantly.

He squeezed the swell of her opposing breast and her hips jerked automatically. Hot fingers clamped onto her, his grasp lustful and generous, and when his thumb swiped over her nipple, she heaved an audible sigh. Then his tongue licked the other, tasting her, his lips kissing the swollen peak until he began gingerly sucking.

Fingers pinching, kneading, grazing her sensitive tip—his mouth sensuously and eagerly swallowing the other. It felt so good she thought she might die, unable to control the slew of erotic sounds that dripped from her mouth like pure sin, the way her hips pressed forward as she felt herself gush between her legs. A sharp, pleasurable sting that began at her tips of her breasts but shot directly into her core, that she felt herself pulsing there, begging to be touched.

And as if sensing her anticipation, his hand left her breast, sliding down her belly until fingers dipped into her sweet center. She doused him with her longing, and she felt the slick wetness of his touch as he rubbed at her most tender spot.

Circling, swirling against sensitive, throbbing flesh. His touch so light yet so beautifully powerful. And his mouth on her breast—kissing her so slowly, languidly, her nipple hard and aching against the trickle of his tongue. The torturous and euphoric glide of his lips as he savored her. She was drooling, spit cascading down her chin as she groaned, writhing against the sheets, her knees clamped against him as her arms furled sloppily over his shoulders.

It didn't take long for her body to react from the multiple stimulation, from the pleasure she felt as he spurred each erogenous zone. For the pulsing between her legs to bubble into a trembling quake. That she came again beneath his touch, her body erupting as she fell captive to her own orgasm.

The throbbing engulfed her, and she hugged him close, filthy words and even filthier sounds flowing from her mouth, his name glazing her tongue like drops of sugar. Even when she reached her peak and came crashing down, she felt herself lie limp on her bed, her body completely flushed and exhausted. And he kissed the remainder of her breath away, her nipple wet and cold from the loss of his touch.

Heavy breaths melded into one hot drizzle, their heart beats colliding. His eyes shot through her, seizing her own. Emeralds melting into silver, that it burned her, and she tried to look away but she just couldn't.

Her lashes fluttered, eyes half closed, when he kissed her again, softly, sweetly. And again, just the same. In a matter of seconds, the rest of his clothes were off too, as she hurriedly opened the front drawer of her nightstand to pull out a condom, nearly knocking over the phone from its receiver.

He lied down, pulling her on top of him—her breasts pressed onto his chest, the rumble of his heart resounding against her skin. She could feel his length hoisted along her belly, felt her sex drip onto him in anticipation.

And his hands found the small of her back. She embraced his face, felt the glow of his cheeks, her thumbs smearing the glitter she had shed on him.

He grabbed her hips to guide her, and she shifted herself, knees straddling him, her body melted against his own. Until she felt him slip inside her. A grunt cursed her mouth, a soft cry wailing at the back of her throat as she closed her eyes shut. The intrusion—that sharp feeling of fullness as he settled inside her belly—it was painful initially, yet quickly did the sensation morph into voluptuous warmth and pleasure.

And he held her, his arms enveloping her frame into a hug as she expelled a hot breath on his face. His skin was so warm, melting into her, their bodies beautifully joined. Skin on skin. So full inside her. When she started to move against him, she buried her nose in his neck, sinking her teeth into his shoulder as her lips puckered along his skin.

She was filled with his heat, his sweet taste, his luscious scent. Shoving her hips against him as she took his body for her own, feeling him enter her repeatedly, over and over, greeted endlessly by the thick fullness pounding into her center.

Grunting, panting—trying to keep up with herself, with the clamor of her heart, her arousal taking seize of her body, her mind, her scattered thoughts. Their bodies were so close, connected so deeply. How he heaved beneath her, at the mercy of her desire. His arms holding her, fingers delving into the basin of her shoulder blades. She kissed his mouth just to taste his groans because they sounded so delicious.

Going faster, more erratic, squeezing her core against his length, feeling him squirm and clench beneath her. Until she planted her palms hotly on his chest, sitting up carefully. Impaling herself on him. The feeling was more intense, that she slouched her back, fingers curling along his abdomen as her face churned in an aroused anguish.

Squiggled brows, wrinkled nose, cries seeping from her mouth. She moved slowly at first, feeling him hit her cervix, gasping at every thrust, each downward pull of her hips. Sweat gathered at the inside of her thighs, by her groin, her knees locked at his hips. And she couldn't find the strength to straighten her back, nearly crying as she fucked him this way. Feeling the intensity of the position, his thickness immersing her. It was almost too much.

And he was touching her now—hands tracing the shape of her body, cradling her breasts. Thumbs skimming at her nipples the way she liked.

He squeezed her breasts and she moaned further. "I missed you." His voice was low, sultry, his eyes sinking into hers. "I missed this body."

She felt tears sting her eyes as he manipulated her nipples, plunging her hips harder. "I missed you too. I missed you so much." Her pace quickened, pelvis grinding into his, fucking him faster, more vigorously.

"It feels so good. I can't take it." Her voice was strained, her eyes squinted.

When he grabbed her hips and maneuvered her position, she released a startled yelp, feeling his fingers sinking into the fat of her thighs and bum, his grip on her tight and almost painful. And she could feel him now, hitting a more pleasurable wall within her. That she lost control, chasing the feeling, the arch coming to her back as she fucked him with urgency.

She was loud—so fucking loud. Because she was coming. An immediate release, her body thrown into pure trembling ecstasy. A trained dancer with control of her form, reduced to tears and sloppy movements, chasing her high, not caring if she looked pretty doing it.

She only stopped from exhaustion, breaths sputtering from her throat as sharp gasps. He took her then, lifting his torso off the bed as he enveloped her in his arms. And she hugged him back loosely, shaking against him. Sweat painted their bodies, slick and pressed together, their warmth melded, heartbeats as one.

Her mouth caressed his shoulder, tongue sliding along his skin. She felt the muscles of his back, dug her fingers into every crevice, his flesh firm and strong. He flipped her onto her stomach, flat on the bed. And her head hit the pillow softly, toes pointing with the sharp flex of her arches.

His weight pressed on top of her—lean chest resting on the plane of her back, his palm slipping beneath her as he held her belly. She moved her leg so he could fit between her, huffing into her pillow.

His hand burned her, pressing into her navel so she could lift her back. She arched so much that it hurt. And his sweat was warm, slipping against her own, his mouth finding the back of her neck, her shoulder. She hugged the pillow as his hands explored her body, clenching her thighs, the fat of her bottom. It felt like he was leaving marks. Fingers pressed into her skin. He grabbed her breasts and she felt herself leak and douse her groin, a cry in her throat.

She made a noise when he entered her, a hybrid sound that wasn't a moan or gasp. Allowed her eyes to close, holding her breath, to relish in the weight of his body on top of her own. Feeling the resonance of his heartbeat on her skin, the drip of his sweat, how his mouth continued to taste her, hands squeezing—touching anywhere he could.

His panting, every time he moved into her—gentle at first, slow, that she cooed at every thrust, each time he filled her. And the dirty words he whispered in her ear, clutching her breasts, spilling sweet confessions of how good she felt, how wet she was. Making her breath falter, her heartbeat rise.

Until he rolled her on her side, embracing her—pulling her against him, yet still connected to her. She felt the cold metal of his watch chill her navel as he pressed a palm onto her belly. Her body curled into itself, but he clamped onto her thigh, opening her leg. And she felt him deeper inside, hitting a part of her that felt so good.

Her back curved, and he kissed her shoulder, her neck. Her cheek. A warm, wet touch against her skin. Soft yet brazen. Firm but gentle. The feeling of fullness, how he forced himself into her, taking her body just as she had taken his. The way he held her thigh, digging into her skin. Squeezing muscle and fat. Their sweat mixing, mingling.

Cries fluttered from her throat like songs of devotion. Her breasts shook at each thrust, her grunts loud and unrepressed. So loud that she braced her palm over her mouth to mute the desperate sounds. Eyes shut, tears stinging them. Why was she still so fucking loud?

When she pulled away from him, she gasped from the loss of his fullness, quickly turning herself so that she faced him. Met instantly by the erratic patter of his breath, the sweet warmth of his scent—slender fingers curled around his length, and she watched the broadening of his eyes, how they shot into her with the force of an arrow as she wrapped her legs around his torso. Squeezing him, so she could be as close to him as she possibly could. Guiding him inside her, the breath she released one of relief, pleasure.

Her ankles crossed, thighs clenching at his hips. She could feel his hip bone dig into her skin. And she held him, her arms wrapped around his neck, lying on their sides together. He was so close to her, that she licked his lips, felt the heave of his breath as she fluttered her lashes along the bridge of his nose.

She felt him caress her back, slipping along the smooth surface from the perspiration that coated her skin. They moved together messily, pelvises grinding, hips shoving in tandem with a chaotic frenzy.

Kissing—kissing him—she never wanted to stop kissing him. Drinking from his mouth, sucking in his lips. Some short and swift, others long and sweet. Tongues caressing in an erotic dance. Her breasts pressed flat against his chest, bodies sinking into the mattress. Her toes pointing—arches curved, hugging him with the strength of her thighs, the pull of her ankles.

And even when he pinned her down, they stayed like this. This same position, the luscious and loving proximity of their bodies. But now he was fucking her. That her back pressed into her grandmother's blanket, his chest stuck on hers from the stickiness of their sweat. As he plunged his length into her, filling her, taking her. She could do nothing but lie there and take it. Her moans devoured by him, her gasps and cries trapped in the barrier of her throat.

He was so thick and hard and made her feel so full—and he was going so fast, so rough. She had to turn her head just to catch her breath, setting free the vulgar sounds he tried to subdue. But he kissed her neck, licked her jaw, kept his mouth on her, because he needed to feel her as much as she needed to feel him.

It felt so good—the pounding, the intimacy mixed with the raw carnal desire. She didn't know if she came right before him or if they did so together. All she felt was the blinding pressure of her core overtaking her—that she was nothing but a wailing, trembling ball of pleasure, singing his name, begging him for mercy.

And as he pulled himself off of her, she felt the slickness of their bodies, shaking at the loss of heat. He rested beside her, his arm draped over his forehead in exhaustion, breathing through parted lips. She watched the rise and fall of his chest. How beautiful he looked embraced by the darkness—hair tousled, his body hot and wet. Her glitter now covered his chest, his torso, sprinkled over the crevices of muscle.

Mikasa tried to control her own breathing. Her heart was going crazy in her chest, that she could feel the reverb of its pounding in her throat. They sat in the silence, and she felt him rest his palm against the top of her thigh. Still warm, he squeezed her flesh.

Their gazes were forward, and she found the softening waver of his breathing soothing. He seemed really focused as he stared at her ceiling.

"Who are those guys?"

She immediately laughed, rubbing at the loose mascara in her eye as her body shook from the gesture.

"One of those boy bands you like?"

She smiled as she glanced over at him. "Good job."

He paused, as if he was really trying to think about it. "The Backstreet Guys?"

And she laughed again, throwing her head back onto the pillow, shaking her head. "No."

As he rubbed at his temple, his eyes squinted. "Ninety-eight Fahrenheit?"

She broke into a giggling fit, shifting her body towards him as she leaned on his shoulder. He squeezed her thigh again, his own smile large and silly. She poked at the dimple pressed near his mouth before kissing it, leaving a wet mark on his skin.

And she watched him remove the condom, about to toss it in the trash when she briskly stopped him.

"Don't—Jax will eat it if you put it there. Just…leave it on the night stand for now."

He narrowed his eyes, discomfort shedding over his features as he did what was requested. "Wow, that's…disgusting."

Mikasa leaned on her elbow for support, an amused and playful grin sweeping her mouth. "His preferred snack of choice is my sweaty thong right after a dance class."

Eren rested his hands behind his head, wrinkling her pillow, the muscles of his arms extended and flexed. "He's a man of fine taste."

His smile was stupid and giddy, that when she shoved the side of his abdomen, he released a fit of laughter similar to her own. Their bodies entangled, writhing against the sheets. And they landed into a position more comfortable, as her head cuddled against his chest while his arm slipped around her.

His heartbeat was slow, soft against her ear. Like a tender lullaby. It made her relax.

Silence lingered between them, her hand nestled between his breasts. "Hey, Eren?"

"Yea?"

"Are…we engaged?"

They looked at each other in unison. There was a lift to his brow. "Do you want to be engaged?"

She stammered, a blush to her cheeks as she quickly averted his gaze. "I…I don't know?"

A soft chuckle rumbled his throat, and she felt him caress her shoulder as if to ease her. "I have another ring for you…But my dad said I have to wait five years before I can give it to you."

Mikasa was quiet, her eyes slipping towards her hand, feeling the weight of the giant emerald on her finger. Even in the dark, its glow was magnificent, especially the diamonds sprinkled on the band, shimmering like cut glass. Her smile was soft, a slight amused huff leaving her nostrils. "Your dad is very smart."

Her same finger traced the muscles of his chest, shifting the glitter around on his torso. And she was still smiling, attempting to draw a heart with the sparkles.

"You're covered in glitter."

He sighed, partly in frustration, but more so in amusement. "I figured as much."

She felt the trickle of his fingers against her jawline, and she took his hand then, lifting herself so that she could kiss along his knuckles. He still felt so warm on her lips. Her cheek nestled onto his hand.

And she found his gaze, looming over him gently as her thumb grazed his bottom lip. So soft and supple, she was tempted to kiss it, to gently tug at his flesh with her teeth. She could look into his eyes forever, so lost in the beauty and depth of them.

"You know what would sound nice right now?" Her voice was low, suggestive.

He lifted a brow in retort. When she lowered her face, she fluttered her lashes against the bridge of his nose. "A bath."

His chuckle was soft, knowing, and he furled his arms around her body, lulling her closer. "Well, I've got one of those."

She smiled against his mouth, only a breadth away from kissing him. "I know."

~oOo~

Water splashed around her as her hips heaved forward. Caressed by the wetness as it cascaded onto her clean skin. Mikasa felt wrinkles press into her fingers, her body soaked, hair drenched and dripping in front of her face.

Her arms furled around his neck, water frizzling down the bronzed length, peppering his lips, his wet hair pasted down and away from his face. He sat with his back plastered against the tub, his shoulders stiff as he held her, palms kneading into the base of her spine. And she sat on top of him, thighs straddling his hips. Her knees slipped against the base of the tub, that she had to contract her abdomen to keep her balance.

He looked so good covered in water, how it dripped along his chest, painting his skin. And she was bouncing on him vigorously, the glitter washed off their bodies. Her face clean and bare, void of the heavy makeup she wore and the mascara that tarnished her cheeks.

Every time she thrusted onto him, she felt the rush of water fill her in unison. She was addicted to the pressure, how it plunged into her cervix, hitting such a sweet spot inside her that she couldn't stop moving. As if possessed, overcome by this intoxicating feeling. Her fingernails seeped into his skin, her hands slipping.

And he was holding her, his face clenched in pleasure, concentration. She was riding him wildly, with vigor—crazed, enthusiastic. Moaning, crying—celebrating in the throws of her passion and euphoria, her breasts bouncing, splashing in the water. She felt like a fucking mermaid.

When she kissed him, she drank the water doused at his mouth and chin. Their kisses were sloppy, broken—she was unable to form a pucker from all the sounds evading her mouth. But she entrapped his lower lip, sucking on the soft, tender flesh. Throwing her hips, grinding her pelvis. Squeezing his length inside her.

"I want to do this all the time," she gushed between sharp breaths and stutters, squeezing slippery thighs against him, "in here."

He grunted from the force of her thrust, hands sliding along the milky canvas on her back. Kisses peppered onto her collar bone, warm and wet, gulping throbbing skin as he spoke the words against her. "Whatever you want."

She delved her hands into his hair, fingers combing through drenched locks pasted onto his neck. He looked so good with the light hitting him, his body dripping, letting her take him and fuck him just the way she wanted.

Yet he stiffened suddenly, his eyes widening as he dragged her against him, forcing her to stop her movements. Only an instant later he was laughing, hugging her body.

"Oh my god, the dog scared the shit out of me."

And she looked over to see Jax peeking into the tub, his little feet draped over the edge as if he were ready to hop in with them. He titled his head, ears flopped, and she could see him wagging his tail.

Mikasa yelped, pressing her chest flat onto Eren as she held him compactly. "Jax, no! Don't look!" Giggles fled her mouth, the sound melodic as it echoed against the walls of the bathroom. She splashed water towards him, and the little dog spurred, jumping down from his curious perch as he scuttled away.

Yet, she saw him grab her underwear off the floor, securing it against his teeth as he made a run for it.

"Jax!"

Time passed before she found herself on Eren's bed. Hair damp, one of his shirts loose and soft along her torso. He lied beside her, bodies aligned into an embrace, legs tangled, heat melding. Her cheek rested against his shoulder—bare, warm, his scent freshly doused onto his neck. She breathed him in, allowing her lungs to fill with the sweet notes of his cologne. Fingers splayed along his back, poking into naked muscle, kneading his skin.

And he held her in the same regard, lying on top of his sheets, needing nothing but the warmth of each other to ease them. Her leg smoothed over his, hers bare while he wore grey joggers, and she felt him rub circles at the side of her waist, dipping into the dramatic feminine curve.

She could feel the dog at her feet, hear his gentle muzzled noises as he slept beside her. It was quiet and dark, and so beautifully peaceful. But in the stillness, her mind wandered. She didn't want to, but everything had happened so fast and so wonderfully chaotic—she didn't even have a moment to think.

Something emptied into her chest, and it felt horrible. That a lump gathered in her throat, tears glassing over her eyes.

"Eren." She said his name quietly, with hesitation.

She felt his breath on her neck. "Yea?"

Then she said the words she shouldn't have said. But it was killing her inside. And there she felt the first trickle of a tear glide down her cheek. "Did you like it? With Historia?"

She didn't feel him react, or even breathe. He was only quiet for a while, until he hugged her tightly, bringing her as close to him as he could.

"No."

And before she could say anything further, he added, "I don't need to know. I don't want to know."

She spoke not another word about it. Yet she was still crying, and he must have noticed, because he was caressing her spine, cradling her, trying to soothe her in any way that he could. And she wished all this pain could magically disappear overnight, and despite the resurgence of intimacy between them, it still fucking hurt. That whenever her mind wandered there—and it did, often—she could feel the sharp pain stifle her breathing. It felt like a knife shoved into her heart. And she didn't have the courage to tell him. Not right then. She could only hope that one day, it would hurt a little less. For everyone. Even Historia.

"I want you to apologize to her."

Stillness again. Neither of them moved, locked in their embrace, bodies glued together and unmoving. "I've seen her this last month…really suffering. It's been hard to watch. This has affected her so much, she dropped out of the show. I don't want to see her hurt anymore, Eren. Please, apologize to her."

He moved his head to share a pillow with her, his nose touching her own. Their eyes locked, his irises so dark that they almost blended into his pupils. He exhaled hotly through his nostrils, and she stiffened for a moment, her hands pawing into the plates of his shoulders.

She released the breath that she had been holding when he nodded, pressing a kiss onto her forehead. "Okay. I will."

~oOo~

Armin watched Annie drink her soda from her straw, how cute she looked puckering her mouth as she sipped. She looked so small seated at the bar stool. When she caught his enamored stare, she gave him a dirty look.

His fists shuffled against the bar top as he grabbed his own beer, drinking from the bottle as he refocused his attention over to Sasha. She sat with crossed legs, crinkles pressed into her denim jacket. A scowl slanted her brows as she drank vigorously from her glass. Slamming it onto the counter, she poured more Surge from the can, mixing it with her straw. It looked like a neon green biohazard with ice.

The bar was busy, yet the music in the background as well as the bustle of customers was not loud enough to distract from the tension between the three of them.

He tugged at the collar of his polo shirt, lips squirming about his face in apprehension, "I think we should call her. Make sure she's okay."

Sasha grunted, sipping another large gulp of her drink. "She'll be fucking pissed if we do that."

"Well, we have to do something. I can't believe you let her leave with him."

The look she gave him was lethal, her elbows sinking into the table as she narrowed her eyes. "I told her not to. Nicolo was the genius who told her to go."

He seemed to appear right on cue from behind the bar, dressed in white button up and slacks as he brought his girlfriend another can of Surge, filling vodka into a fresh glass.

And Nicolo smiled at her she hovered over the counter, pinching at her arm. "Hey babe, are you guys having fun?"

Armin had never seen her give him such a mean, angered glare, shoving him away from her as she grabbed the new glass protectively, pouring the contents of the can inside. "You. I'm not talking to you. And you're definitely not getting any tonight."

Nicolo chuckled however, as if amused, placing shot glasses onto a tray as he filled them with liquor.

"Get over it, babe. It was bound to happen."

But she was shaking her head. "I don't like this. I don't it at all."

Annie slurped dramatically from her straw, her back hunched forward as she embraced the counter. Despite wearing a dress, she sat with her legs spread open.

"Too bad I wasn't there. I would have fucked him up." A hint of a smile tugged at her lips as she glanced at Armin, her brows close to her eyes. "Since I hit people for no reason. Shouldn't be forgetting important shit in your car, Armin."

His expression scrunched in bewilderment, that he was rubbed his knuckles into the back of his head, feeling the close buzz of his undercut. "It was your thing we had to get from the car. It was your idea to get it."

Annie laughed however, the sound flat and dull as she held the drink in her hand, drinking the remnants of the ice cubes. "Sure it was."

Sasha groaned, shoving her forehead into her palms. "Would you guys stop trying to speak in morse code? Everybody knows you went to fuck in the car."

A flush took his face, palms pressed onto the wooden surface of the bar. The condensation of his drink doused his hands. "N-No, we didn't."

Sasha huffed, swirling the vodka and Surge. "Liars go to hell, Armin."

Annie was sitting there absolutely unfazed as he became a flustered mess, that he took the bottle and began drinking from it to distract himself. He could see his girlfriend from the corner of his eye, spinning the straw in the empty glass. She looked over at them casually, unvexed.

"I fucked the gear shift too."

He choked on his drink, feeling the liquid seep into his wind pipes. Coughs hurled from his mouth as he clutched at his chest, shaking his head as he tried to capture enough breath to speak.

Sasha's jaw dropped, her butterfly clips sparkling in the soft white light of the bar. "What?"

"She's—she's kidding."

But Annie tilted her head innocently, a shrug to her shoulders. "Am I?" A pause lifted by the curve of a smile. "You liked it."

He felt the fumes of his embarrassment as he delved his face into the haven of his palms, while Sasha leaned closer towards them, the scent of her perfume strong and wafting into his lungs. She was invested, half of her body sprawled onto the bar.

And Annie, sitting there as if she hadn't said the most barbaric thing as if it were nothing, still playing with her straw, her lips pressed into a straight line.

"Wait? Are you kidding, or did you? I need to know—how is that possible? Wouldn't it hurt?!"