A/N: This was a request by the user Homer's Disciple under the theme of family, pertaining to how the term changes for both Eren and Mikasa as they grow from children into adulthood. (I tried very hard to stay to the outline of your request, I hope you like it!)
If anyone else is every interested in making a request, feel free to leave it in a review, send me a message, or my tumblr, crissyincali.
Mikasa feels lost.
Lost like a lamb that's wandered too far from its herd—like a baby bird that's fallen from its nest, or, appropriately, like a child who has no parents. In the days that follow her parents death, she follows Eren around his house, clinging to him like he's a mama cat and she's his kitten. In many ways, she feels like she's been reborn, like she's a new person altogether.
She remembers how to do basic, daily things, like brush her hair and change her clothes. But in other ways, she finds, she doesn't understand anything at all. Eren's mom doesn't cook food in the same way and she finds herself longing for the duck her father always brought home. Even simple things, like doing laundry, are no longer the same. (Her mother always hung clothes outside to dry, whereas the Yeager's have a line running through their house.)
The Yeagers buy her new dresses and shoes. Grisha shows her how to treat small cuts with salves and they practice splinting and bandaging broken bones on injured animals. Kalura shows her how to cook different meats and use spices properly (some she recalls from her mothers own use but most are foreign and smell funny). She now remembers not to hang clothes too closely to the fire—something she'd regrettably learned the hard way by burning a shirt of Eren's on accident.
They also take her to her parent's funeral, a small gathering consisting of the Yeager family, herself, and a priest. She surprises them all with her lack of tears; but, she thinks, they don't see her when she's alone, left with just her memories. She watches the urns full of ashes be placed into the ground, aware it is the last time she will see her parents in any form. She picks up dirt in her hand, rolls it between her fingers before gently sprinkling it down on the urns. Tears threaten, prickling at the corners of her eyes, but her composure holds; when she steps back, she's aware of the heavy gazes that are settling on her.
The Yeagers never waiver in their kindness and support her as much as they possibly know how. They call her their daughter but never do they force names on her – they always leave it up to Mikasa on how she would like to address them.
"Any name you feel is appropriate," Kalura says to her one night over dinner, a bit out of the blue. "I don't mean to put pressure on you…But you can call me and Grisha any name you feel like."
"Thank you, Mrs. Yeager," she says politely. She doesn't know what else to say and stirs the soup in front of her aimlessly.
"Well, I still want to be called Eren," Eren announces, kicking Mikasa under the table until she looks at him. "And you don't have to call me your brother…But you can if you'd like!"
"Thank you….Eren," she says, a small smile making its way to her face.
The nighttime is her favorite part of the day, when they're lying down to rest. Eren's space is fuller now; a new mattress for Mikasa is now pressed up against his own. His parents always fall asleep before either of them, their calm, even breathing from the other side of the room is a new lullaby for her, and an old one for Eren.
When she sleeps, she dreams of her mother's smile and father's laugh. She feels their arms around her, engulfing her in warmth and love. In her dreams, they praise her for her strength and resilience, for her will to keep moving on. But whenever she opens her mouth to answer them, she always wakes; more often than not she finds herself pulling the blanket tighter to herself, trying to salvage the astral warmth of her parents arms.
It's when she wakes, in those moments of trying to lose herself in dreams again, that sometimes—only sometimes—she opens her bleary eyes. With no curtains on the window, she can often see the moonlight shining on Eren's face, and her eyes often fixated on his expression. It surprises her that on most nights, his eyes are wide open, full of something akin to worry and thoughtfulness in one.
She wonders what his demons are, that keep him up at night.
One night, many months after her parents' deaths, she wakes up from a nightmare, from a dream of her father with a hole in his stomach and a bleeding wound on her mother's head. She finds her pillow soaked with tears and, like always, she pulls the blanket up a little higher. When she shifts to look at Eren, she's startled to see his large, green eyes staring at her. They remind her of cat's— so expressive of his emotions and yet perfect for concealing his thoughts.
"Was it a bad one this time?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper to avoid waking up his parents. She can scarcely bring herself to nod, embarrassed he's seeing her like this, weak once more. Tugging the blanket up to her nose, she tries discretely to dry her face. Eren turns his body to face hers, his eyes like lanterns—bright and intuitive.
"I see them, too," he says. For a moment, she thinks he's talking about her parents and wonders if he saw their bodies the way she had in their final moments. Did he see her father slumped over, her mother lifeless? But he continues, and adds, "those men. I see them every night before I sleep." His demons, she realizes with guilt, are her fault.
"I'm sorry," she says, and she's not sure if she's apologizing for his dream, the memory, or both.
"It's not your fault." His answer is immediate and oddly reassuring. He scoots closer to her side of the bed, tentatively holding out a hand to her. "You didn't do anything wrong."
With a bit of hesitation, Mikasa slips a hand out from her warm blanket, reaching for his own. She's never had any kind of a sibling before and is clueless on how to go about treating Eren like one. She likes the weight of his palm in hers, the reassurance that he isn't going to let go. When he inches a little closer, she finds herself relieved she won't have to fall back asleep alone and scared, left with the awful vision of her mortally wounded parents.
"Thank you," she murmurs, her eyes growing heavy. "Thank you, Eren."
"What are brothers for?" His answer is another quiet, hushed whisper, and it's the last thing she hears before she gives way to sleep.
When she wakes, she finds his fingers still entwined with hers, their clutches slack but still holding fast. She removes her hand, careful to avoid stirring him, and glances out the window. She can see it's clearly late in the morning, but when she looks around, she doesn't see Grisha or Kalura. There is, however, food on the table; an oatmeal of sorts with vegetables mixed in. Standing up and testing it with her finger proves it's warm and she doubts they've been out long.
"They're gone?" Eren's voice says to her and she turns to look at him. His eyes are half-closed and he's yawning, stretching his arms above his head, his shirt rising up a bit to show his stomach. His movements remind her vaguely of the curious cat she'd seen in him the night before.
"Yes, but they left us breakfast." She pulls out a chair and sits on it, picking up a spoon. She's hungrier than she thought and, although the breakfast isn't her favorite, it's still better than nothing. (How long will it take for her to adjust to everything?) Eren pulls out a chair next to her, resting his chin on his palms and staring off at the wall.
"My dad asked me to go into town today," he finally says after some silence between them. She notes that he still hasn't touched his food and seems more interested in his thoughts. "He said there's a package waiting at the market, I just need to pick it up for him. I wonder if they went to town today? Why can't they go get it?"
Mikasa can hear the tone in his voice aching to spend the day off exploring and not treading through masses of people in town. She wonders if she's invited to go with him and she twirls her spoon around in the oatmeal. "I…I wouldn't mind coming with you," she says. From the corner of his eye she sees him straighten and suddenly he seems excited, animated and ready for adventure.
"You would? That's great! Maybe we can stop and get Armin on the way, too! It doesn't have to be a boring day after all! Maybe if we're lucky Armin will bring out that old book again…" He picks up his spoon and begins eating at a much quicker pace than her. It's comical and she finds herself laughing, relieved to have been allowed along and, for once in a long while, to feel normal again. She puts her spoon down and watches Eren, mimicking his earlier pose by placing her chin on her palms.
This new brother of hers... she thinks she can call him family.
She remembers very distinctly the first time she saw Eren naked. They were ten and playing in the river with Armin. Eren had taken off all his clothes, nudity none an issue to him – he'd rather flaunt himself around then risk a scolding from his mother about tattered, muddy clothes. He hadn't thought twice to rip everything off, toss them over a bush, and hop into the river.
Armin, for his part, had been more modest. He'd looked at Mikasa with a small, nervous smile, and she had laughed, "I'll turn around." He couldn't have looked more grateful if he'd tried. While she had her back turned, drawing figures in the dirt with a cracked tree branch, she heard Armin slip out of his clothes and lay them neatly over a low hanging branch before a loud slosh indicated he'd joined Eren. When she turned around, she saw the two of them splashing water with Eren attempting to make bigger waves than Armin.
"Come in, Mikasa!" Eren had looked at her expectantly and she'd done nothing but shake her head and go back to drawing in the dirt with her back to them.
"I'll wait until you're out," she answered, careful to avoid getting dirt on her clothes as she doodled a particularly large picture. (With all the help she'd been giving Kalura in washing clothes lately, she'd found a new respect for attempting to keep them clean.) "Tell me when to turn around again."
"Turn and look at me now!" Eren's voice held the tone of a demanding, petulant child.
When she'd turned to glance over at the two, she'd seen Armin's head below the water, and he was clearly been hiding from something; he always hated being beneath the water, he was so scared of drowning. It had only taken her a moment to realize what he was trying to avoid witnessing as when her eyes kept wandering she finally saw Eren proudly standing on a rock, his body gleaming wetly in the sunlight. Her face had flushed a dark shade of red and she'd ducked her head down. "Eren!"
It seemed to dawn on him too late the scenario. As he'd hastily jumped back into the water, his own face a matching cherry red, he had to remind himself that Mikasa was his sister—and therefore by default a girl—and she did not posses the same anatomy as him.
"Ah… I'm really sorry!" There was little more he could have said in that moment.
"I'm going to go see if they need us back at home yet…" She'd walked away without saying goodbye, and neither of them had ever brought up the moment.
This is the memory that comes to her when, at fifteen, she sees Eren after a particularly rough morning of practicing against Annie. He's about to go take a shower and she's lying on his bed in her pants and white shirt as she watches him remove clothes from his body.
"I swear, they want to kill us before we even get out there." He's complaining while slipping off his jacket. He arches his back and she hears the soft pops, sees the sweat roll down his neck. While Eren certainly isn't the most flexible or acrobatic among them, he still often reminds her of a cat, arching his body in as many angles as he can contort it.
"Extra training is necessary," she says, pulling his pillow underneath her head, closing her eyes. She likes the scent of him, so distinctly masculine. "You should let me help you practice more."
"So you can toss me into the dirt again?" He turns his back to her as he slips off his shirt. "I'll take you up on that offer soon, though. I'll be able to flip you any day now, Annie will make sure of it."
"If you say so," she answers, feeling herself grow lazy. It's when she peeks her eyes open just a twinge that she sees the back of Eren in the nude; he's clearly assumed her eyes would remain shut as he reached for a nearby towel. She's surprised by the flush that reaches her cheeks and she's reminded of the day so many years ago when she'd unintentionally seen the rest of him, too.
"Mikasa? I'm going to go shower, okay?" He steps closer to her, seeming momentarily concerned. "Are you getting sick?" Despite her shaking her head, he presses his palms to her forehead. His hands are warm, radiating heat from earlier.
"Take a nap while I go shower. The last thing anyone needs is for the Survey Corps best ma—woman to be out of commission." He leans down and presses a quick kiss to her forehead and—for a brief moment—she imagines he does so with more than brotherly affection. There's a tinge of disappointment in her at his words that surprises her—had she expected him to say that he needed her to be well, for him? How unrealistic and unreasonable. Of course the corps needed her (she hadn't ranked top without reason, after all), but she'd hoped to hear something else in his words, something that implied, just for a moment, she was more than his figurative sister.
As she watches him go she sighs loudly and says, "Yes, what would the survey corps do without me?"
It's getting late. Both of them aware they need to go back before they're missed, but all Eren can focus on is the pretty song Mikasa is singing (has she always been able to carry a tune?) and the fingers she's threading through his hair. Her voice carries through the wind and he tugs his jacket closer to his body. There's a gentle, rhythmic soothing way about the pads of her fingers pressing against his scalp. He's started to doze when he feels her raise his hand and he opens his eyes to look up at her.
"When did you get this cut? Did you try to fight Jean again? This one looks really deep." She's observing his hand with such keen interest that she misses the way his eyes aren't looking at his hand but are instead focused on her with newfound wonder. He notices the way she tucks stray hair behind her ear, the way her eyes have narrowed to focus on his injury, and the way her lips are cracked from the dry weather.
He wonders, for a brief moment, if her lips against his would feel as chapped as they look. It's this peculiar thought that brings a rise of color to his cheeks and he's thankful she isn't looking at his face to see it.
"Of course it wasn't Jean! Do you really think I would let him hurt me?" His attempts at sounding dignified are in vain, for Mikasa shifts to look at him with a raised, quizzical brow. If she notices the flush on his skin she says nothing.
"I've told you to stop going against Annie in fights." She huffs for a second before raising his hand again. Her hand holding his is dried out and calloused, rough to the touch – just like her lips, if he had to surmise. His throat runs dry as he watches her tongue lick her lower lip, no doubt an attempt to relieve the chapped feeling; he hardly realizes when his thumb reaches out to swipe across the same lip in a mimicking fashion.
Her hand holding his tenses and when she shifts her eyes to look at him, he no longer sees sister but instead girl—no, woman. When had she stopped being the sister who finished his fights and instead started to be a woman with soft features and tired face? The breeze picks up and causes her neatly tucked hair to fall astray but she doesn't seem to take notice; her curious gaze is on him and he resists the urge to fix it for her.
"Your lips… they look like they hurt," he says finally.
"It must be from the weather," she answers, laying his hand down with caution. She turns her eyes away from his and he feels her fingers begin to play with his hair once more. If asked, he could never name what compelled him to act next; it simply felt natural to consider his actions for only a moment before leaning up to kiss her.
It's a tense, awkward, and plainly uncomfortable moment for the both of them; he knows she hadn't expected it any more than he had. He pulls away first and rather quickly, having received no response from her. It was a huge mistake, he thinks, to kiss the girl he calls his sister. Her eyes are still peering down at his but he doesn't see repulsion or disgust like he'd expected; instead, he sees the little girl with wide eyes who sometimes woke from nightmares.
"I didn't mean…I shouldn't have…" His words sound heavy and he starts to sit himself up when she gently—but firmly—tugs his hair again to pull his head down to her lap.
"It's okay," she says and although her words are meant to reassure him, he hears the quiver in them. "You didn't do anything."
He's trying to place why her words ring a bell before he recalls saying the exact same phrase to her when she had woken up one night. He relaxes back into her fingers, feels her body become less tense. He does this knowing they're going to be scolded and even potentially made to run laps when they get back, but he can't seem to muster up the strength to leave. Besides, the survey corps would certainly never truly discharge them; after all—she's worth a hundred men and women. Besides, isn't he their best weapon?
After their first kiss, they share many; sometimes at the risk of getting caught with quick pecks in passing, or others that are more leisurely and languid and discrete, like in fields of flowers or at night when it's raining to cover the sound. Eren doesn't think he can be any happier and even Jean's obnoxious questions ("What the hell has gotten into you? Did a titan hit you when we weren't looking?") seem to roll off of him. He surprises Mikasa in small ways, like leaving her flowers laced into her scarf or tucked into her pillow. He never sees her wear them and she never verbally thanks him; he only knows she's received them when they're alone at night and she kisses him with a smile that reaches her eyes.
He loves her, this he knows; it also scares him to know that this makes her his biggest weakness. He can't afford weaknesses when they're fighting titans. He tells her as much one night, hesitantly broaching the topic on evening outdoors by saying, "You could get hurt. It might be better for us both to not have to worry about each other more than we already do."
At first, he doesn't know what to make of her laugh, full of irony. When she turns her head to look at him, her eyes sad and teasing, she says, "Have I not already risked my life for you a thousand times? What's another thousand?"
It's true, he thinks. His hand reaches out to touch the scar on her cheek, the one he'd unintentionally left on her skin as a titan. "I'm sorry," he apologizes, though knows it's a worthless apology at this point; is he apologizing for the times he's endangered her already or for all the times he knows he will in the future?
"Didn't I say you'd die without me around?" Her hand, smaller but stronger than his, reaches up to rest atop his own. He knows it should be him reassuring her—not the other way around—but she sounds so sure, so serious. He knows she will die for him if need be and it pains him to think she'd so willingly toss her life aside for his. His life, which to him, has much lesser value than hers. Should he die before killing all titans, he wouldn't want her to waste her life moping around because of him—she has far too much passion left in her for that.
"If I die," he says, feeling her face crease with concern beneath his fingers, "then continue without me. Promise, okay? Kill them all for me, every single one of them." He's looking into her eyes and he sees her apprehension. It's a lot to ask of her, he knows, this begging to keep herself safe and sane should he die while also wanting her to complete his own personal mission. It's selfish of him to ask because he knows without a doubt she'll do it.
"I promise," she says, so quietly that the wind almost whisks her words away. It's subtle and he almost misses the way she turns her head to kiss at his fingers, pressing her lips to the palm of his hand.
"Because you love me?" His voice is light, an attempt to lift the dark mood that has settled across her normally stoic features.
"Because I love you," she answers, bringing the tip of his pointer finger between her lips before biting it with enough pressure to make him squirm. She's teasing him now, aware that her actions will spark fireworks in his stomach.
He only vaguely recalls the following hour spent in a rush of half-undone clothes and kisses. So blatant are their actions he's sure they'll be caught; alas, he finds it hard to care when her lips are in places he's only ever touched himself.
"There's still a lot of titans out there, you know," Eren tells her one night as they're sitting on the roof of the barracks. Their hands are entwined, the only touch between them.
"I'm not stupid. I know that, Eren," she answers back. "It was just a suggestion."
"A stupid one," he says harshly, almost immediately regretting the severity of his words as her hand withdraws. "Mikasa…" His voice takes on a tone meant to placate her, but it's too late and he can't rescind his words.
"You're not really in a position to call me stupid." Despite her words attempting to mock him, he can hear the underlying hurt. Perhaps if he hadn't said it with a tone of such finality she would've brushed it off like always, as used to his typically brash words as she is.
"It's really not that stupid," he says, a sigh drifting past his lips as he follows her gaze to the moon. She's intentionally avoiding looking at his face, that much he knows, and guilt pools in his stomach. "It's not stupid to want a life outside of the corps. It isn't stupid that you asked if I wanted more from my life. But you know I'm not stopping until I've completed my promise."
As time lapses between them he considers repeating or rephrasing his words, for she has done little to acknowledge his statement to her aside from a slight tilt to her head. When she does answer, it's a brief, concise statement, worded carefully: "You're right, it isn't stupid. It's only stupid that I want more with you outside the corps."
Their relationship, both romantically and in regards to their friendship, is forged from years of understanding, built-up trust and intimacy. It is a fragile, delicate scale that they're constantly trying to balance. Mikasa worries about it crumbling and breaking from the weight of stress more than Eren does; he's always so confident that life can repair itself. She knows he never considers the possibility of the scale broken for good.
"It's not stupid," Eren repeats, observing that the moon seems oddly closer this night than normal. "I told you a long time ago not to follow me here."
"In another life, maybe we could've been normal," she answers, brushing off his last comment; she's not interested in a life of things she could've (should've) done. When her head tilts a bit more to finally catch his eyes, there's a small smile gracing her features, a cross between melancholy and adoration. "I bet we'd marry in a church and have a dog or two. I'd have a garden and you'd have room full of books for you and Armin. And…and kids. We'd have children. We'd be normal, Eren. "
Her last few sentences are said in a whisper, drifting up into the sky, and although Eren knows his face is red and flushed, she seems surprisingly calm. It seems likely to him that she's had these thoughts before and he wonders how long she's harbored these wants. He feels selfish for having never considered the possibility of marriage—to her or anyone—despite the obvious fact it's something she desires and has pushed aside for him. (What other things in life has she not told him she wishes for?)
"You want to marry me?" His voice comes out as a surprised squeak and adds to his already evident embarrassment. Of all the things to say, it's the only one he can make sense of easiest. Dealing with any of those other what if's is just too much for the time being.
"Maybe in another life I can." Her smile against the night is bright and teasing; it's prettier than the stars above her. Her hand finds his again and he notes that it's chilled. They should've brought extra clothes or grabbed a blanket.
"Why not this one?" The question from his lips startles even him but comes out with such clarity and confidence that she raises a brow at him, seemingly unsure now if he's being serious or simply toying with her.
"Would you say yes even if I asked?" Her eyes are no longer on him, back up at the moon, and she crosses her legs together. There's a touch of anxiety in the way she starts to drum her fingers against his, a subtle nervous tick that he wouldn't have noticed at all if she weren't touching him.
"I guess you won't know till you ask." His words come out cautiously, pronounced with thought and care, as though each word were a child to be cradled. His eyes are fixedly on her, hoping she'll spare him a glance again.
Mikasa lets the silence extend between her and him once more before she asks into the air, seemingly to no one in particular, "Will you marry me?"
He supposes it's only natural, the color that comes to his face, but still he looks away from her in a shy, almost sheepish way (despite the fact that she still isn't looking at him and he vaguely wonders if women feel the way he currently does when proposed to). He follows her gaze upwards to the night, still dark and impending but somehow seeming a little more welcoming than it had earlier. The chill has not left them but he's surprisingly warmer than he had been ten minutes prior. There's a new, fresh heat to her hand on his and he suspects she's feeling similarly, despite her outwardly calm demeanor.
"Yes, I will," he replies, his voice coming out hoarse and choked, so he repeats himself more firmly: "Yes, I'll marry you."
While he expects her to finally look at him still she does not; the only indication that she's even alive in the way her eyes blink and how, noticeably, her fingers have tightened their grip on his hand. After a few seconds he's about to call her name and demand she look at him because god dammit he's agreed to marry her can't she at least look at him? when she finally, finally turns her head to him and smiles, so bright and wide it puts the moon to shame.
"In this life?" Her voice doesn't reach the same volume of excitement as her face and he understands she's looking for confirmation that he's promising her to be true to his word.
"Of course in this life, what other life do I have?" He can't help the hesitation in his words as he starts, "But only after…"
"After the titans," she finishes, though she doesn't sound so disappointed; he's sure she knew the stipulation would be there even before she'd asked and he'd agreed. With a few subtle scooting motions, she's next to him, the side of her body pressed against his arm as she leans in to kiss his cheek.
When she says, "I love you, Eren Yeager," with a tickle of breath against his face, even he can't keep the smile from his lips.
He stands, pulling her up with him, as he says, "Let's go, we've got a lot of titans to kill then, Mrs. Yeager." When she ducks her head, color finally finding its way to her face, he doesn't try to resist the urge to kiss her. He steals her lips with the ease of familiarity; somehow, he's sure they'll have many more evenings full of kisses under the stars.