Welcome, everyone!

SPOILER ALERTS. This takes place after the ending of the manga.

I tend to think that Mikasa suffered more than anyone truly knew after the war. We saw her demeanor change when she thought that Eren was dead earlier in the series. I believe that she would truly have a hard time coming to terms with his loss. The beginning of this chapter reflects that.

Enjoy!

Armin eyed Mikasa nervously from across the table, brow furrowed. He studied her face, focusing sharply on the glaringly obvious signs of exhaustion burned into her empty eyes. He watched as she weakly poked at her dinner, movements listless and groggy. Her lips were parted slightly, shallow breaths revealed by the fluttering strands of hair framing her face.

It had been a month since the war ended. The days were filled to the brim with negotiations, rebuilding, strengthening international relations, and mourning those lost to the rumbling. They had been so incredibly busy, a welcome thing for Armin, a distraction from the haunting images scalding his memories. However, nothing could distract Mikasa, and Armin knew that. He had watched her health decline frighteningly fast. He had watched her skin pale, her eyes dull, and her limbs shrink in malnutrition. Nothing could have prepared him for how quickly she would fall, wings clipped, heart obliterated.

Was it truly surprising? He stared down at his own plate with a withering appetite. Anyone would suffer as Mikasa did if they shouldered the burden she carried.

Armin jumped when something lightly brushed his cheek. Glancing sideways, he met Annie's eyes and watched her hand retreat. He could tell by her expression that she had similar concerns. Her gaze flickered to Mikasa, lingering briefly. Looking back to Armin, she raised her eyebrows, emphasizing her worry. He nodded and gave her leg a reassuring squeeze. Pretending not to see the blush flood across her cheeks and clearing his throat, he looked at Mikasa again with gentle, careful eyes, bracing himself.

"Hey, Mikasa . . ."

She flinched at her name, seemingly startled. Like a rabbit reacting to a snapping branch. Not like herself. Not like the lethal predator she had been during the war.

Armin clenched his teeth, sadness welling in his throat and settling there, an obtrusive lump. Forcing a smile, he leaned to make eye contact with Mikasa and tried desperately to ignore how utterly hollow she looked.

"Did you sleep okay?" he asked, trying his best to sound more cheery than he felt. He knew it was a stupid question. Did any of them truly sleep well any more? Were any of them not plagued by the godawful scenes of bloodshed, violence, friends being torn apart, gunfire peppering the stench-filled air, death, destruction, loss . . . If Armin closed his eyes long enough, he swore he could still smell the stench of rancid blood and decay.

Mikasa blinked, swollen eyelids aching for the sweet reprieve of sleep. She assessed Armin's expression, knowing he was concerned. Such a mother hen. She spared a quick glance at Annie, who was cautiously appraising the situation. Contorting her lips into a shadow of a smile, she nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay." Her grip tightened on the utensils she held.

Lies lies lies lies, all lies. Her head existed in a perpetual haze of depression. Her insides were screaming. Her heart constantly clawed violently at itself, begging for the mercy of death. Her brain played an eternal slideshow of gore, unable to forget what she had done. Her one regret.

Armin pursed his lips, hearing the ache in every syllable that dropped from her mouth. Looking at his plate again, he clasped his hands together with enough force to turn the knuckles white. His thumbs twiddled and danced around each other nervously. He could tell that she wasn't in the mood to be helped, but he persisted. "Listen…" he swallowed, the lump in his throat cemented in place. "I think… I think you need to see somebody, Mikasa."

Her steely eyes flashed dangerously.

"Not like that!" Armin raised his hands defensively, fingers splayed. Backtracking quickly, he added, "I mean someone like a doctor. Someone to talk to, someone to help -"

The table rocked back when Mikasa leapt to her feet in a blinding movement, dishes and cups clattering. Her glass tipped, spilling its contents haphazardly across Annie and Armin's plates. Their uneaten bread readily sucked the moisture in. Armin leaned back, sitting straight and trying to gather the courage to stand his ground. Her anger was palpable.

"See you tomorrow, Armin," Mikasa murmured. The air between them stiffened, stale with bitter tension. Pulling her scarf over her nose and throwing a half-hearted wave towards Annie, she threw a leg over the bench, lithe body stalking away, dodging other civilians as she went.

Armin's eyes followed her every step, the lump in his throat burning like a wildfire. Tears stung his eyes, increasing in intensity as she grew smaller and smaller. Once she disappeared from view, he dropped his head into his hands, gripping his hair as grief and anxiety overwhelmed him. His tears readily spilled then, brimming over as he began to drown. His chest convulsed, spewing a quiet, strangled cry from his lips. Pulling at his hair, his shoulders heaved with the chaotic, silent agony of a man who had lost too much to bear.

Annie watched him. Slowly, hesitantly, she reached for his trembling frame. Comfort . . . such a foreign thing to her . . . But before she could retreat, he leaned into her touch. He was broken, afraid, so alone, and oh, so vulnerable. Annie felt a well of sadness rise in her chest. Pressing her palm to his back, she tried to convey her understanding. She gently rubbed his trembling shoulders in slow, circular motions. Does this even help? She wondered, somewhat flustered. To see Armin, the embodiment of positivity and light, hunched over in obvious pain - it was disheartening.

Exhaling slowly, Annie slid her hand along his shoulders. Curling her fingers around his upper arm, she pulled him into a soft embrace. Hesitant. Gentle. Shy. She worked to untangle his fingers from his hair, replacing the golden locks with her hand and pulling his arm around her waist. She tried to ignore the racing of her heart as her other hand gently slid along the back of his neck, leaving trails of warm comfort in its wake.

His tremors made her heart ache. Pressing her forehead to his crown, she whispered a gentle "It's okay… I've got you…" and allowed him to feel.

Armin readily accepted her validation with desperation. He tightened his grip around her waist and held her as if she were his lifeline, his tether to sanity. Just as he had relied on her to listen when she was imprisoned in her own crystalline hell, he depended on her now to help share the burden of his mind. If it weren't for her, he feared he would have been driven to pure madness long ago.

Annie continued to stroke his back, run her fingers through his hair, and whisper very occasional words of reassurance. She ignored the stares of those who passed their table, friend and stranger alike. When she spotted Reiner making his way towards them, she shook her head discreetly and motioned for him to move along. He shrugged, looking confused, and obliged.

The time passed in a similar manner - Annie protecting Armin from himself and unwanted attention, Armin struggling to keep a grip on his slipping sanity. They clung to each other, both a little broken, both a little desperate.

Eventually, finally, the mess hall had cleared. They were alone.

It seemed like hours had passed before Armin finally calmed enough for the hiccups and tremors to fade. He began to grow numb from the burning. His logical reasoning was breaking through the frontlines of his raw emotions. His irregular breathing steadied. Blurred vision cleared. Blinking firmly, he took a deep breath and pressed his face into the spot just below Annie's jawline, inhaling deeply. He felt her heartbeat stutter. It grounded him further. He briefly considered pressing a chaste kiss to her heated skin, but decided against it. This was not how he wanted a first kiss to happen, even if it was just her neck.

Sighing, he finally pulled away, roughly scrubbing the tears from his face with the heel of his hand. He smiled down weakly on Annie, releasing her from his grip.

"I'm so sorry, Annie," he mumbled, throat hoarse. "It's just… I feel…" sighing, he let his fist fall to the table. "I feel as if I've lost both of them." His eyes bored into hers, heart bleeding. "I knew I was going to lose Eren. It was so obvious. But I didn't expect him to take Mikasa with him when he died."

Armin could still see it clear as day: Mikasa striding through the steam, the bloody head of his best friend tenderly pressed to her chest, her expression distant, dissociated, destroyed. She was a different person.

Annie nodded, remembering Mikasa's soulless eyes from earlier.

Armin looked back to his hands, jaw working as he tried to phrase his words. "She… she screams in her sleep."

Screams of pure agony. Blood curdling screams of pain and loss.

"I hear it every night," he continued, tears threatening to appear again. "I haven't told her. But it's always the same. She never sleeps, and when she does, it's short lived. I hear her pace the halls. I hear her cry until her voice is gone. And every night, she calls his name." He paused, looking at Mikasa's unfinished plate. "I've never, ever seen her like this. I know that losing Eren was terrible, especially when she was the one to do it, but this…" he trailed off, chewing his bottom lip. "She never told me what Eren showed her in the paths…"

A breeze wafted through the mess hall, flickering the small flame of a nearby candle. Annie watched goosebumps prickle up Armin's neck. He shivered, eyes gazing somewhere in the distance. His lips parted, sucking the fresh air in. He focused on the feeling of that air filling his lungs. Never a day went by when he was not grateful to be alive. He so wished for Mikasa to feel the same way, but he knew the truth. Beneath it all, she yearned to die, too.

"I lost Eren," he finally continued, voice hard. "I can't lose Mikasa, too. She's the only family I have left, Annie."

The cold evening air stung Mikasa's cheeks as she stalked quietly through a dark alleyway. She blended with the shadows, melding into them effortlessly. She placed her feet with care, minding every pebble and puddle in her path. The pads of her fingers skirted softly along the brick wall she was following. Home wasn't far, but she was loath to return. There was nothing about her lusterless room that beckoned her. It consisted only of bare wooden floors and a cold, empty bed - the place in which her nightmares routinely terrorized her, sucking her dry of any inclination to continue fighting. It was not the bed within her treasured memories of the life she could have led, the warm down bed full of laughter, love, happiness, companionship. The life that didn't happen.

Squinting through her tired, foggy eyesight, she stopped. No. She didn't want to go home to toss and turn, scream and flail. Pulling her scarf tighter around her neck, she shifted through the shadows and entered another alleyway that led in a different direction.

It had been a while since she had visited him.

Him. What a cold way to address someone so warm.

He has a name . . . Mikasa thought to herself, eyes glazing over. He has a name. Say it.

Her throat automatically constricted. Her breath came out in a small gasp.

Damn.

Kicking at a stone, Mikasa dug her fingernails into her palms. She hated the weakened version of herself that she had become. She despised how frail she felt and how hard it was for her to even stomach a meal. She had become such a shadow of her former self.

But what she hated most of all was how painful it was to remember him. How scared she was to feel the agony. Even picturing his face was something she couldn't bear to do, because the only face she could see was from that day . . . empty eyes, sunken cheeks, and muscular tendrils strung from his head. His expression that begged Mikasa to end it all . . .

Her chest tightened considerably. It was decidedly better to keep an empty head while walking, she mused, and so she continued her path in heavy suppression.

However, try as she might to hold it back, the moment she saw the tree looming over the buildings, her heart began to race. Adrenaline surged in her veins, pushing her to increase her speed. Her atrophied muscles cried out, begging her to slow down, but she ignored them, breaking into a jog. Her lungs struggled to keep up, but she didn't care.

He was all that mattered. He was all that had ever mattered. The mantra ran on repeat with her footsteps, keeping rhythm as she wove through fairly empty streets.

She reached the base of the tree thoroughly depleted. Air whistled past her teeth as she sucked it in, lungs searing. The taste of iron leached onto her tongue. Stumbling to a halt, she bent over, grasping her knees and trembling as she waited for the panting to settle. She swallowed hard when the urge to vomit hit her like a barreling train. Pressing the heel of her hand to her mouth, she stood straight and turned to the stars, eyes wide. She felt the chill of the night whisper around her neck, cooling the sheen of sweat glassed over her skin.

Beautiful . . . she thought, gazing upon the myriad of stars dancing in the sky, waltzing with each other in various collections of gorgeous constellations. It was a clear night. A perfect night to spend with him.

How many times had they come here together as children to stare at the stars? How many times had she tried her best to teach him the names of the stars? How many times had he failed miserably, only for her to laugh gently as he cursed himself?

So many precious memories here, memories that she treasured beyond anything she possessed. They were proof that he had lived, that he had cared, that he had once been free of the world's problems. He had been a normal boy.

Her hands dropped to her sides, brushing her skirt. Even though she was here, she found it incredibly difficult to face his headstone. It was a simple one, engraved with words written by Mikasa herself.

"Here lies my dearly beloved, the love of my life, forever drifting off into sleep."

She had the words memorized and chiseled into her heart.

Water quickly spread along the fabric covering her knees when she fell to the ground, an earthy smell filling her nostrils, eyes screwed shut. She didn't want to see it. She didn't want to be reminded yet again that he was permanently gone. She could feel grief lurking in the shadows, ugly claws extended, waiting eagerly to pull her back into its tormented grasp.

She smiled sardonically, imagining a stronger version of herself facing grief equipped with full ODM gear . . . But she hadn't touched her gear since she had killed him. Grief would surely win without much of a fight.

Nostrils flaring, she took another gratuitous breath of brisk air. The dense scent of campanula flooded her senses, dragging buried memories back from the dead. Precious memories filled with Carla, Armin, collecting firewood, her parents, and . . .

"Tch," she scoffed, frowning. She still couldn't even think of his name without flinching. Somewhere deep within her mind, a younger Mikasa shook her senseless, begging her to resurface from this pool of misery she was drowning in, imploring her to fight. Just like he used to do.

Bright colors began to bloom behind her eyelids. Still, she refused to open her eyes.

A faint breeze tickled her neck, soft as a gentle caress.

Sighing, she tried to loosen the tightly wound muscles in her throat. Coughing slightly, she murmured, "I . . . I'm sorry I haven't visited in a while."

Weeks. It had been weeks. And even then, she had merely stood at the headstone, tears streaming. No words.

"I just . . . this is difficult. I know you would understand."

Would he?

Mikasa swallowed. "I haven't been doing the best," she admitted, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear self-consciously. "Can't sleep. Can't eat. I can't think straight most days. Armin is worried."

That was definitely an understatement. She knew it.

Softly biting her lip, she added, "He misses you. He tries to act like he's doing okay, but I know he does. It's a good thing he has Annie. She's good for him. You should see how he gets around her." Mikasa almost giggled, remembering how Armin flushed whenever Annie so much as looked at him.

It was impossible not to acknowledge the warmth spreading in Mikasa's chest. Sitting here with him . . . it was healing. The holes in her heart were weaving together simply by talking to him, though he wasn't even there.

Why did she avoid this? Wasn't the warmth and the comfort worth the pain and grief?

"I miss you, too," she affirmed, twisting her hands into the ends of her scarf. "You have no idea how much . . . I . . ."

Hadn't she shed enough tears at this point?

Breath hitching, she steeled herself. She was strong. She needed to face it. She could do it.

"I miss you . . . I miss you so much, Eren."

His name. It was perfect. It burned. It spread a fire along every extremity, it brought back every glance of his emerald eyes, it highlighted every touch they had ever shared. It sang on her tongue, a soft, affectionate tune ringing from its letters. It was so simple, and yet, it brought her to life. Its light dispelled every shadow suffocating her heart and emotions. Eren. Eren.

Using every ounce of courage she could muster from this burst of vigor, she opened her eyes, ready to face the stoic engravings -

And met Eren's impenetrable gaze instead.

His lips twitched into a beautiful smile. "Hey, Mikasa."