The first time Eren kisses Mikasa, they're ten years old, and relaxing underneath a large oak tree not too far from home. They're supposedly scavenging for berries and wood ("Better to look when it's dry and hot then when it's wet and rainy!" his mother had said), but it's hot and they're taking a break underneath the shade. His head is in her lap and his eyes are closed; he's spent the better part of the last twenty minutes daydreaming in and out.
Mikasa's hands play with his hair, tugging gently at the dirty, unruly locks. She's untangling the knots while making him flower accessories. He now proudly owns four rings, two necklaces, an anklet, and is aware that she's making him a crown to match. He's glad Armin isn't around to see him this way because, although he's sure Armin wouldn't tease him too much, he doesn't want to go down a notch in anyone's books, either.
They talk, mostly about Eren's desire to join the survey corps, until Eren's curiosity gets the best of him and he asks, "Where did you learn to do all this?"
He feels her fingers pause in her handiwork before she answers, "My mom. She used to make them with me. I'd surprise my dad with them when he got home." She resumes her work and Eren wants to ask more, surprised she'd revealed what she had. She rarely mentioned them and he wasn't stupid enough to bring them up himself.
"You can ask, it's okay," she says, tying the last knot on her crown. "Sit up? I want to put this on you." He complies, crossing his legs as she faces him. She leans in close, her lips near his nose as she puts it on his head. He feels her fingers adjust it and weave it into his hair.
"I'm sure… he loved them," Eren finally says. He's young and at a loss for words in this situation that is far more mature than him.
"He did," she agrees. She's quiet for a moment before she adds, "Almost as much as I love you."
His face flushes and his head bows, heavy with embarrassment. "You can't just say things like that!" He hears her clothes rustle, sees her face appear before his.
"But it's true, Eren. Until angels close my eyes," she promises. She says it with as much seriousness as she can – which, for all she's seen and been through, is quite a lot. He believes her.
He nods his head once, leans in just a little and whispers, "Until angels close my eyes." Their lips touch briefly, a ghost of a kiss, and their pact is sealed.
The last time Eren kisses Mikasa, they're seventeen; she's just been pulled from rubble and barely breathing. Titan's lay dead around them, smoke rising and clouding his vision, but Eren could spot her a mile away. She's clearly in a tremendous amount of pain and he's screaming at anyone and everyone who will listen. Can't they see she needs help? Can't they see the blood?
But the problem is they can see she needs help. They can see all the blood.
They all see her ribs, concaved and broken. She's gasping and the corners of her mouth are prickled with fresh blood. Her stoicism is broken in these last moments and pain is evident in the way she's breathing but not moving, exhaling more than she's taking in.
She isn't going to make it.
It doesn't stop Eren from trying to save her.
He kneels by her, looking around at the circle of people gathering. Gathering, he thinks, to see how low the best has come. "Help her, fucking help her! Grab bandages and start making splints! She needs medicine now!" There's a scramble behind him and though they know it's all for naught (he knows it's all for naught), they do it for him, for this last reassurance.
Tears, hot and heavy, are pouring down his face, landing on her clothes. He sees her open eyes watching him and knows, even as she's lingering by a thread, that she's attempting to reassure him.
"Do you remember," she says slowly, a deep breath between each word that causes her face to pinch, "how long I said I'd love you?"
"This isn't the time for that, it's not time for that, it's too early!" Eren begs, as though he can reverse the damage, as though he can heal her wounds with his hands. He tears off parts of his shirts, attempting to make tourniquets for her bleeding wounds.
"It's time, Eren," she says and she hears the soft plea in his voice. She's aware of the little time she has left and he stops tearing at his clothes. She doesn't want to fade off on words of unimportance. "What… did I tell you? Until…what?"
"Until angels," he answers and he's crying harder. He hates himself for not being stronger in these last few moments with her. "Until angels close our eyes." A smile graces her face and he sees the amount of effort it takes for her to partly raise a hand – he meets it half way, holding hers tightly. His fingers intertwine around hers, digging his nails into her skin.
"It's not time," Eren repeats with less certainty, leveling his face to hers on the ground. "Tell them to go away."
"Too late. They're here," she answers and leans her face into his, closing the last bit of distance between them; their lips touch together for the last time. His arms are under her when she falls back, catching her before her head hits the ground. He hears her last breath, watches her eyes close before the flame of her life is extinguished. She finally looks peaceful, a look he's never seen on her till then. It's the extent of a compliment he can give her in that moment, because death isn't peaceful or pretty, and in life Mikasa was so much more than peaceful or pretty.
He picks her up, aware of how her body is still warm and blood is still dripping from her injuries. He cradles her to his chest, holding her like a lover and a child at once. He places a kiss on her forehead and promises, "I'll always love you, until angels close my eyes."