A/N: So this is basically the chapter Church told from Mikasa's perspective. I didn't like how she seemed so malicious in that chapter and kind of wanted to give her a backstory of her own. While I don't think it's necessary to have read the chapter, this will probably make a lot more sense if you do (or at least skim it).
Eren is wonderful.
Truly—he's wonderful in a way she knows she is not.
She loves him.
Truly—she loves him in the way plants depend on water, in the way she habitually calls him every Wednesday night to discuss their favorite television program. (Even after she marries Jean this continues, because tradition holds tight between them.)
It was unnecessarily cruel for Jean to ask Eren to be his best man. If she's honest, she would have preferred Eren not attend her wedding at all, to witness what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life and yet what felt strangely like the worst.
Before she'd walked down the aisle she'd asked for him. She'd begged one of the caterers passing by for the reception after to please go find the best man, Eren Yeager, but the young man, no older than herself, had said that all the members of the wedding were already out, already waiting on her arrival down the aisle. It was devastating for her, to know she would no true opportunity to explain herself, for now when she saw him, alone or otherwise, she'd be a married woman.
It hadn't been easy for her to walk down the aisle and though her pause half-way down the runner had felt like it lasted for hours, it was certainly no longer than a few seconds, but those seconds had allowed her time to find Eren, to meet his reassuring gaze and oh, the relief she felt was palpable. In a dress that she had not picked out, that she'd decided on at the insistence of her mother even though it was too tight, made her itch uncomfortably, and was far too outdated for her tastes, she noticed none of those things from the look in Eren's eyes. It was a look that spoke to her on so many levels, but she read it clearly enough: I love you and you look beautiful.
She supposes she should have been more discrete about her staring at Eren—Jean would later ask on their honeymoon why she'd paused to stare behind him and not at him—but for as much as she loved Jean, he did not bring the same feeling of home as Eren did.
Marrying Jean was a mistake done out of feelings of worthlessness. Truly, when she'd left the apartment shared with Eren at the age of at twenty-two, her engagement ring on what had been their kitchen counter for over a year, she'd had little intention of staying in Eren's life afterwards. She'd felt at the time that she wasn't in a place to be with Eren—she could no longer handle cup noodles for dinner every night and the stress of worrying about if their water and electricity was paid. It was not a life she felt she could attempt to live any longer. It was only through Jean, who'd decided to send her a text almost six months after their breakup, that Eren's world was reintroduced back into her life.
Jean, who knew that she'd loved Eren since elementary school, understood winning her over wouldn't be an easy task. In reality, her letting Jean—one of Eren's closest friends—into her life had been a selfish move, initially done primarily with the intent of being able to find out how Eren was handling life without her.
"He's shit," Jean told her the first time Mikasa asked after Eren's health. "He does't really hang out with anyone and he's started skipping days at work. I think he's about to fail a class, too…" He misses you, is what Jean failed to say, but it was the elephant in the room neither of them spoke about.
It had been six months into dating Jean and a little over a year into her breakup with Eren when she reached back out to him. From what she could gather, he hadn't improved much in getting a grip on himself but was making baby steps to getting better. Perhaps it was completely selfish of her to bring herself back into his life right as he was getting a hold on living without her.
But she missed him, missed him terribly.
She'd logged on to Facebook and sent a simple message saying, "I know it's been a long time, but I hope you're doing well." She'd thought about adding something more—I still think of you every night—but decided it was too personal. She'd sent the message, small and to the point, and hadn't received a reply till later in the evening, well past midnight.
"I'm okay. I hope you're doing well."
Her heart had thudded in her chest, loud and deep, and she'd pried herself away from Jean's arms in bed to go into their living room to answer. "I am." She'd almost sent it before adding, "Can we…meet up sometime? I think there's things we should talk about."
This reply from him had taken considerably longer and she'd fallen asleep waiting for it, had only woken up from Jean gently shaking her shoulders and kissing her forehead, asking, "Why are you in the living room?"
"It got hot in bed." The lie had come too easily but it was through those chains of events that she'd found herself reconnecting with Eren. Their first meeting after had been sufficiently awkward and full of tears that pricked their eyes; neither of them had eaten their food but had left agreeing to see each other once more, having discussed little beyond their current state of affairs.
Neither of them talked about her relationship with Jean and nor did they mention Eren's continued friendship with him. It was easier that way, to ignore what was so blatant and in front of them.
When Jean had proposed to her, she hadn't thought twice to say yes, because she loved Jean, loved Jean in a way that she had always loved Eren. But her and Eren were like oil and water, unable to mix properly, unable to find a way to combine to make something beautiful. They were an ugly pair, filled with more screaming than laughter, and they'd been forced to acknowledge that neither of them were the vivacious twenty-year-old versions of themselves they'd been when they'd initially met and began to date.
Jean and her melded perfectly, meshed in a way that was lovely and comforting. Jean wasn't home—no, that would always be Eren—but he was a sense of reality, a sense of stability.
It was purely coincidental the first night her and Eren had slept together again was the night before Jean's proposal; the irony continued, all the way up until their last tryst the night before her wedding.
Selfish is what she labels herself as, unable to end things entirely with either one, unable to choose who is truly best for her. It's hard for her to forget the way his face crumpled as he practically begged her not to marry Jean the next day, not to commit herself to the other man.
"I will always love you," she'd said. "I just love him a little bit more."
What a lie, told so believably that even Eren did not question her. (But if he had—she truly wishes he'd had the courage to plead once more.) She'd fallen asleep in his arms, wrapped in the red silk sheets that had once belonged to both of them. She'd left before he'd woken, leaving a small note that red, "Thank you," before darting off to get ready for what was supposed to be the biggest day of her life.
"I lost the baby," she says quietly to Eren one evening, only a few months after her marriage to Jean. His arms are around her as she buries her face in his neck, willing herself to cry and feel remorse, but all she feels is relief. Relief because she did not know whom the father was, relief because she will not yet have to pick between the two men she loves most. It's only a matter of time, truly, and she knows that. It's easy for her to lie to Jean—trusting, loving, devoted Jean—and tell him she's working late, that she slept in her office, that she'll see him the next day, all that while falling between the sheets with Eren.
"I'm sorry," Eren says, with no true sadness and it stings her in a way she had not originally thought it would, but can she truly blame him? The child had as much chance being his as it did Jean's and it would not want to mourn a being not his.
"Maybe it's better that way," she answers, quiet, before wrapping her arms around Eren's neck for him to lift her. He does so with surprising ease, not at all like the struggle he used to have before, and she wonders if he works out in the time they are not together.
He carries her to his—their—bed, laying her down before helping her take off her pants, leaving her in nothing but an undershirt and underwear, a pair of red boyshorts she's particularly fond of.
She stretches, arching her hands high above her head, and jumps when she feels Eren's hands skim across her abdomen; it's particularly sore from the loss but she bites her tongue, lets his hands touch her in a way that only a true lover can. His hands, rough and calloused, are welcome; but still she jumps once more when she feels his lips against her skin, kissing below her bellybutton, and even she must fight back tears.
"We should stop this," she whispers, trying to pretend she does not feel wetness against her stomach, tries to ignore that Eren might be more upset over a potentially lost child than initially thought. He is quiet, attempting to still the shake of his shoulders that rattles her body. With hesitance, she reaches down to thread fingers through his hair, to gently tug and pull with as much reassurance as she can.
"Maybe it would be better that way," he finally says, so quiet she almost misses the words, almost does not hear them as they fall away into the increasing darkness of the room.
"But I like it better this way," she answers, a truth said so softly that Eren does not hear her; her words fall onto his deaf, tired ears, and her last memory of him before she falls asleep his mouth against her skin, his arms around her waist, holding so tightly, she's sure he thinks she'll be gone once again when he wakes.