a/n: i've seen a couple familiar users on here and it was nostalgic! i stopped posting to here for quite a while. hi 👋

Because they were the only two people inside, the fitness room had a hollow echo. Each contact of Mikasa's gloves to Levi's mitts thudded with a competent violence that reverberated off the walls. Mikasa brought her arms in, homing her sight on the mitts held up for her to punch and kick.

"What, exactly, were you trying to say about Eren's nature?" she said, never breaking focus.

Three consecutive jabs struck the mitts. Mikasa's arms snapped back to her chest, taut and ready.

"You spoke too harshly," still focused on the targets. "It's not like what you said."

Mikasa moved violence down her shoulder. Levi saw the arm muscles take it and surge it from her hands, balling it up, forming two fist-sized explosions that erupted in Levi's palms.

Levi said, "Do you want to know what it was that I saw when I first laid eyes on Eren?"

Levi anticipated the powerful kick Mikasa thundered up from her leg. The mitt caught a precisely aimed slam. Balancing on one foot, Mikasa dug the upflung knee deeper into the mitt. Levi held it off. Both muscular bodies strained, exerting opposing forces, working to overcome the other. At last Levi shoved Mikasa's knee aside. They reset. Fists were tensed. Mitts were raised. They were poised, muscles charged, still as stone. Not moving, Levi spoke before Mikasa could break her stance.

"I saw an unhinged heart," he said. "In my opinion, the world's not wrong to fear him."

Mikasa opened her mouth, speechless at first. Then her fists smashed the mitts, rattling Levi's foreceps powerfully. "How can you say that?"

Levi took this as a sign to stop for the day. He slipped off the mitts and wiped his hands. Mikasa relaxed into an easy standing posture. "It was said, one day Eren would end up as either a savior or the devil. That future is fast approaching. It's almost here. And in the years I've known him, the truth of his disposition was never unmasked. Nothing has pointed toward a clear answer, so it's still unknown what we'll see. But the Eren with the power to choose where his will lies is absent. When I look at that face, all I see is an imposter."

Levi walked across the room. Mikasa followed. Levi hung up the mitts. Mikasa unstrapped her gloves. She flexed her fingers. They spun damp towels across their necks and rehydrated with room temperature water.

"I let things get out of hand," Levi said, "and I'm paying the price for it. Even so, I still want to get the 'true' Eren back."

# # #

Doctor and patient sat across from each other. The room was quiet and carpeted and lavender oil diffused the air. All the room's qualities were devised to relax and soothe. Even the cushions of the sofa were of an astonishing soft material, sinking Eren into it, enveloping him in a padding of comfort and safety, slackening each part of him. Even his tongue.

"Go ahead and take your anxiety medication," said the doctor, sitting in a simple upholstered armchair.

On a small side table, next to a glass of water, was the medicine laying in an open wrapper. Eren used the water to swallow two pale blue tablets. In ten minutes, he would melt into a drowse and imagine wild imaginings which he would sluggishly tell the doctor about.

"Let's continue our discussion from last time." The doctor read over her notepad, going over the notes from the last session. She placed the tip of her pen below her previous writing and recorded the day's date. "Last time you were telling me about a recurring dream you've been waking up to. You can't remember what it's about aside from the indistinguishable outline of a person sitting near you. Is this correct?"

"Yes." A faraway voice drifted out of Eren, insubstantial like a mist. Motionless clouded eyes stared out into nothingness. "Every morning when I wake up from that dream, I always have the same feeling of emptiness. Even if it puts me in a miserable mood, I'm grateful for the ache I feel. For letting my memories of someone who's always been by my side slip away, I can't allow myself to live comfortably in one-sided ignorance. That hollowness I feel is a reminder that I broke the precious bond of a memory. I'm glad that it hurts because at least I know it was real . . ."

"Remember, it was an unpredicted side effect. Cut yourself some slack." The pen scratched writing onto the notepad. The writing seemed to go on for a long time. Then the pen stopped and Eren pulled his eyes to the doctor.

"The last time we were together, you said you believe Mikasa is the person from your dream."

"Her smile moved something in me." Eren rammed the heel of his palm into his forehead, trying to remember. "I can almost see it. It's just — there. At the edge— of my—"

The doctor interrupted. "Have you considered the possibility that your confusion might be distorting how you remember your own faintest dream?"

"A distortion?"

"There's a photograph I'd like to share with you." The doctor inserted a photo between her fore- and middle fingers and snapped it out for Eren to take. He rose from the couch and approached the doctor. Slowly Eren took the photo into his hands. Still sitting, the doctor watched him, smiling warmly, her kind eyes beckoning him. "Do you recognize the woman in the photo?"

"No, I don't recognize her."

"Look closer."

Eren bent his head, peering closer. No ripple or quiver in his brain alerted him to a loosened suppressed memory. It was all still buried away. "There's nothing," he said, disappointed.

"Is that so?" The doctor uncrossed her legs and crossed them again. She gave him a kind and gentle look, wanting nothing more than to help him. "The woman in that photo," she said, carefully nudging his memory, "holds a special place in your heart."

# # #

The door was kept shut. The curtains were drawn. Voices spoke in low confidential tones in the secluded room. Armin and Jean led the conversation while standing. Connie and Sasha were sitting while listening, given instructions of what to do. Everything was done in secret. Once the instructions had been given, Jean and Armin offered an interval for Sasha and Connie to ask questions.

"What about Mikasa?" Connie said promptly.

"Mikasa's already on edge," Armin explained. "Even more than I am. If she starts to suspect Eren might be in danger, she'll act on an impulse. We need concrete evidence before we can take this matter to General Zacklay's door. Besides, as long as I've known them, those two have never had a chance to be together so comfortably before. There's nothing following at their heels or lurking in the shadows. They've seemed relaxed recently, so . . . I don't think we need to say anything."

The others said nothing to this. They didn't argue but they didn't necessarily agree, either.

Jean elaborated on their previous topic. "The Military Police claims Eren has been engaging in a destructive form of sleep behavior. Something like sleepwalking. Except instead of walking around, he's causing himself injury while he's asleep. They attributed it to his titan power. To activate it, he harms himself. At some point, that behavior was ingrained into his subconscious and now it's appearing in his sleep. This would explain why he's been waking up with bloodstains in his bed."

"Isn't that dangerous?" Sasha said. "What if he changes into his titan while we're all sleeping? He could seriously hurt himself and everyone else in the building."

"We've already seen this stage before, back when Eren first learned how to use his titan," Armin said. "Eren never unconsciously changed into his titan in the past. I doubt he'd do it now, either."

"That's right," Jean said. "Therefore, Eren's doctor proposed a different theory. She believes Eren has a preoccupation with violence, which led him on a desperate search for an outlet to release his pent-up frustrations. She claims it's a sign of a dangerous personality disorder."

"What? That doesn't sound right."

"There's nothing wrong with Eren's personality . . . is there?"

Armin placed a hand on his chin. "There's something I don't understand. The Military Police administered a drug that's never been used before. But — how did they know it would work? How did they know Eren's memories would be locked tightly away?"

Jean nodded, sharing Armin's doubts. "What are you thinking, Armin?"

"It seems impossible a drug would be one-hundred percent effective without a clinical trial. So, where's the research? I think what we need now is more information about the memory suppressant. Learning more about it could point us toward a sounder lead."

# # #

In town, the streets were crowded with foot traffic. People swarmed in a droning hum with swirls of uplifted dust hanging around their rising and lowering legs. Eren and Mikasa walked down the dirt street, kicking up their own dust-swirls. The sun was at the top of the sky. Eren and Mikasa's shadows were flat circles directly under their feet. The day was perfectly cool. Even under the constant sun, they didn't shed a single bead of perspiration.

"These are the items I'm supposed to buy." Eren showed Mikasa the handwritten list.

She lightly put a finger on the paper. "Why don't we start here?"

"Or . . . why don't we walk around a little?" Without waiting for her reply, Eren shoved the list back into his pocket and started on a directionless journey, making sure Mikasa stayed right along with him.

They strolled and entered shops and looked and exited those shops to enter new shops and look and exit. They went inside a bakery and a bookstore and a shop of old needless knickknacks. They made it to a clothing boutique and Eren found a hat and put it on Mikasa's head and said it made her look mysterious and sophisticated. Mikasa wrapped a shawl around him and it wafted out an odor of warm wool and untouched newness. Mikasa appraised it and said it made him look safe and cozy. Eren was flattered by this, smiling a small bashful smile. They returned the items to the racks and exited.

Mikasa walked toward an old inconspicuous shop at the corner. It was lonely and out-of-the-way. The door was locked. The windows were barred and tinted. After climbing the front steps, Mikasa moved to grip the doorknob.

"You have to ring the bell," Eren said, and pointed. Mikasa grabbed a thin rope attached to a bell mounted a foot above their heads. "Wait," Eren said. Mikasa paused, her hand poised to pull the rope. "Do you have any idea what kind of shop this is?"

"No, but I'm curious."

"Curious, huh . . .?"

Mikasa pulled the rope. The clapper jerked, pealing out a thin ring. A few moments passed. The door opened from the inside. A dim room and an old man cradling a cat welcomed them. Mikasa stepped inside and dimmed with the dim room. Eren waited a moment before stepping and stopping in the middle of the doorway. Stretching his neck inside, he looked around, never setting a foot indoors. The little shop smelled of paint, elderly flesh, and something like wild animal.

"Are you looking for something in particular?" the old man said helpfully. The cat slept, lazy and content, in his arms. "May I ask, if you don't mind, what do you enjoy?"

Mikasa scanned the walls. The store offered an incredible variety of items. Racks and hooks were lined with all the paraphernalia a woman, a man, or anybody could ever desire. With an almost audible click of realization, spinning on her heel, Mikasa rushed to the exit. Eren stepped aside, sensing a shimmering heatwave as she whipped past.

"Thanks anyway," Eren said to the bewildered old man. He wedged the door shut and followed Mikasa the way they'd come. They walked on the dirt street for some time in silence, Mikasa carefully keeping her eyes trained ahead, that shimmering heatwave clinging to her like a membrane, and Eren at her shoulder with a sly curl on his mouth, peeking sidewise at her every few seconds.

"Stop laughing," Mikasa said by his fifth or sixth glance.

"I'm not laughing."

"You are."

"Was there nothing interesting to you? Not even the—"

"Eren." Mikasa blushed.

"'It's natural to submit to one's instincts.' That's what my doctor told me."

"What did she mean by that?"

"Ah, hm, let's see. I'm not sure." Eren shrugged. "Anyway, that was the first time I've seen you make such an awkward expression. Well, that I can remember."

"We've wasted enough time." Mikasa touched her hair self-consciously. "We should start on the list now."

To save time, they split up. Mikasa went to get half the items. Eren went to get the other half. On his mission to get the second half of items, he wandered down the street at a leisurely pace. The day was cool and he came to a flower shop and let his eyes roam the blossoms. Inspecting a bed of flowers outside the window, he paused. Right as he paused, a light breeze whispered the flowers and he could almost hear the murmur of tiny frail voices speaking to him, telling him a thousand little stories. Soft quivering tensions in the petals hypnotized him and he was possessed by a nostalgia from what felt like a sad past. He felt like he could cry. The florist came out of the shop to ask him if he needed assistance. He didn't, but wondered what kind of flower he was looking at. She told him what kind of flower had been planted in the flower bed. They watched the trembling blue flowers together, the breeze sweeping them into a silent dance and tune. The florist could've told Eren the symbolism of such a flower. She didn't. Instead the florist asked for his name. Eren told her his name.

"You look a little lost," the florist said.

"I'm just taking my time."

"I didn't mean it like that. Sometimes when a person's taking their time, they can look a little lost. But what I meant was, you look a little . . . lost."

By the time Eren reunited with Mikasa again in the middle of town, an hour had passed and she was carrying two crates on either shoulder while Eren came up empty-handed. Mikasa lugged both crates down, easily, without even expelling a shortened breath.

"This should be everything on the list," she said, smacking the dirt off her hands.

"What? You were only supposed to get half." Eren shoved his hand in his pocket. He removed the crumpled ball of paper. "The list was here in my pocket. How could you know what was on it?"

"I memorized it when you showed me."

"Everything?"

"Let's check to be sure."

They matched the items to the list. Everything had been collected, organized systematically into the wooden crates. This made Eren feel useless and dependent and incapable. He wanted to apologize for his wandering and daydreaming. Instead he raised his hand and showed Mikasa the flower he'd been holding.

"Where'd you get a flower?" Mikasa said.

"The florist down the street gave it to me. She said it's a pink camellia." He swept Mikasa's hair away and slid it behind her ear. Mikasa brushed it delicately with her fingers, trying to see by touch how fine and lovely it was in her hair. Eren smiled, able to see her whole face with her hair pulled aside. Then he said: "The florist also invited me to meet her later tonight."

"Did you accept?" Mikasa only held her eyes to him, her face calm and unreadable, still brushing at the flower, seeing it that way.

"I didn't give a reply. I figured it'd be off limits, considering my situation."

Mikasa finally put her hand down, letting the flower alone. "There's no reason to tell anyone."

"What do you mean?"

"It can be a secret." Mikasa hauled one crate onto her right shoulder. She hauled the next onto her left. The flower remained wedged prettily behind her ear.

Eren thrust out his arms, feeling incompetent again. "I can—"

"To ensure your safety," Mikasa said, easily carrying the crates on her shoulders, "I'll follow at a distance. So if you want to meet that woman tonight, go back and give her your answer."

"I didn't t hink you'd respond this way. I was sure you'd object to it."

"If I had the chance to lead a normal life, I would take it. This may be your one chance to feel what it's like. Are you just going to let it slip by?"

# # #

After her checkup, Historia lied in bed, debilitated, the color gone from her cheeks and lips. Her sleeping face was exhausted and suffering, her hair laying open and loose around her small delicate head. The light coming through the window hit her gold hair, making the sight of her heartbreaking and tragic and beautiful. A hatted man with no presence or purpose drew the curtains closed. Historia's bright loose hair darkened with the room, the window covered now. The hatted man went out. Soundlessly he shut the bedroom door. In the living room, the obstetrician, a squat man with thin gray hair, was packing up his equipment. He carried two bags, one in each hand.

"Your visits take a toll on her," said the hatted man. The cap on his head was tugged so low his eyes were hidden. "I don't see the purpose of your checkups." Even his voice was the general voice of any man from anywhere, making him nobody at all.

Turning, the obstetrician sneered and gave the man a merciless verbal lashing through his teeth. "I don't see the purpose of a person like you. You're a nobody, a nameless man living with the queen out in the middle of nowhere. You hide your face from even the mother of your own child, ashamed and humiliated by your own existence. What other kind of meaningless thoughts is a nobody capable of having, I wonder?" Each word was meant to strip the man of his flesh. Nothing could pierce a man who did nothing for himself but breathe and make blood. He stood in the living room, tall and impassive and silent, giving the impression of a wholly inferior being.

The obstetrician jerked his bags off the floor, scoffing. "An insignificant man should have a firm hold over his tongue." He walked out the door and the man followed, entirely subservient and inferior. Outside, a carriage waited. The squat obstetrician struggled to mount the carriage step. The nameless man took him under the armpits and hoisted him inside.

The obstetrician gargled, embarrassed. He sat down and pulled his collar off his throat where his sweat was pooling. "Make sure Her Majesty stays warm. When she's up and moving again, give her a good meal."

The man didn't speak but lowered his head. The coachman urged the horse forward, dragging the carriage behind them. The wheels turned and bumped along. Birds flocked the sky in countless shadows. The man watched until the horse-drawn carriage was a descending black mark on the horizon. Then he returned inside and went into the bedroom and added a blanket to Historia's covers and, with his palm, attentively felt her cold white face and went to the closet, grabbed another blanket, and added it to the layers. Then he went into the kitchen and began to cook a warm meal.

# # #

The room was steeped in silence. The sky had let down a short cold rain. The hills and trees glistened coldly with the pink evening light. Eren sat by the window, looking at the world, trying to understand it. He hadn't heard anyone come in so when Armin began talking, it was like being hurtled out of a deep dead sleep, with no memory of how he got where he was. He swiveled his head, feeling like everything was slow and deep underwater. He saw Armin's face and tried to focus on him.

"How are you feeling?" Armin said.

"A little spaced-out." Eren's tongue was thick and dragging in his mouth.

"Have you remembered anything about Mikasa?"

"No, not yet."

"Is there something on your mind you want to talk about?"

Eren moved his teeth on one another. He drooped his head. He shook it.

"I get the feeling you want to talk about something."

Eren said nothing. Armin knew Eren wanted to talk about something.

"I heard you and Mikasa went into town. Did something happen?"

Eren raised his drooping head. He gazed out the window again. The pink had deepened to a red honey-glaze. "I met a florist and she invited me to share a drink with her. I'm supposed to sneak away and meet her outside the flower shop."

"Isn't that a little risky?"

"Mikasa offered to act as a bodyguard. I'm waiting for her to come get me."

Armin thought about this. He went to the window and leaned next to it, looking at the red light staining Eren's face.

"You're frustrated," Armin said.

"Frustrated? About what?"

"Mikasa probably believes it's the noble thing to do."

"Noble? I don't care about what's noble." Emotion raised the volume of Eren's voice. He nearly resembled the Eren Armin had always known. But none of the words matched the Eren Armin had always known. The voice was similar, the words were completely foreign. "You're right. I'm frustrated," Eren said like an outburst. "I want her to say, 'don't go meet that other woman' or 'please remember me.' Even if it's selfish, I want her to say things like that."

"Eren . . . Do you have any idea why you might feel this way?"

"That's because—" Eren trailed off, concentrating on the deepening red horizon, two red suns scorching and dying in his eyes.

"What you yearn for is Mikasa's attention," said Armin. "But Mikasa won't ever influence your right to make your own decisions. If there's something you want to say to her, just say it."

There was the small sound of men's shoes tapping down the hall. It grew louder and then Mikasa strode into the room, wearing men's clothes and a wide-brimmed hat. Under the hat, her short boyish hair hung in her eyes, and she appeared androgynous and very handsome.

"Are you ready to go, Eren?"

"Yeah." Eren got up from the windowsill, stuffing his shirt into the back of his trousers. He walked in shoes that were of the same style as Mikasa's. He stopped in front of her and they evaluated the other's appearance without commenting. Then Eren started past her toward the door. Mikasa turned. She took him by the arm. He went totally still and loose.

"Your suspender." Mikasa slipped her fingers under the strap, untwisting it. With a strange explicitness, Eren felt her hands contacting his back. The small hairs on his neck and arms prickled and his mind seemed to submerge in a foot of water again.

"Mikasa," Armin said, still standing by the window. "Even with that getup, people could recognize you."

"I'll wear a face-covering, then," she said. "You can cover for us until we get back?"

"As long as you don't stay out too late. The Military Police will start to ask questions."