Mikasa couldn't breathe and it was one of the few times in her life where she truly felt dying would have been preferable to the anxiety that was eating at her, taking large pieces of soul with every wave of nausea and panic. Eren's hold around her waist should have been comforting and soothing, should have calmed and put her nerves to rest, but he knew as well as she did that tonight his embrace would not bring the solace she needed.
In the middle of his new room in his new house filled with new furniture, the only comforting familiarity are the trinkets on his bedside she'd seen for years in his childhood room—a carved wooden elephant she'd given him when she'd returned from a trip to Africa with her family, a jade bracelet he'd never worn but stood for luck from her mother, and a comb he refused to acknowledged was useless with all its missing teeth and still used daily.
But in this moment, it's impossible for her to focus on the objects when all she can think of is that this house is not a house she knows. It is not the house she spent nights watching movies in with Eren and Armin, kissing Eren quickly between Armin's bathroom breaks. It is not the house where she sprained her ankle running up the stairs at the age of eight, chasing after Eren and Armin who had said, "No girls allowed!" before running off.
It is not the house where she fell in love with her best friend; it's not the house where they decided, three years in to dating at the ages of twenty-three, that the love they shared was more platonic than romantic.
It's possible, she thinks with tears staining Eren's sweater, they rushed the decision, should have tried harder to be more successful together.
It hadn't bothered her when Eren began to date again (hadn't she, too?) but she'd never considered for a moment Eren would like—let alone love—someone else enough to even remotely entertain the idea of being with them forever, a lifetime that she had somehow always assumed would be his and hers together.
This is a house that is not made of memories of him and her. It is a house made of new memories that she is not a part of, filled with love and laughter that did not come from them together. It aches in a way she is not familiar with and it occurs to her that perhaps a largely hidden, deep rooted hope in her had prayed they'd find a way to make it work, that fate would always somehow draw them back together.
"It's okay, Mika," Eren tries weakly, knowing his words are like small drops of water attempting to put out a large fire. "You'll still see me all the time."
She can think of nothing to say, instead tries to wipe the tears away, tries to not think about the engagement party going on downstairs, filled with people wishing him and his bride-to-be well. She tries to forget about the waiters walking around his living room the size of her apartment, all of them carrying trays of expensive wine or champagne or both, because Eren is marrying a woman who is as intelligent as her parents are wealthy—that is to say, very.
She tries very, very hard not to think of her one bedroom apartment where she lives with her cat and finds herself almost surprised at her selfishness; Jean is no doubt out there waiting for her, a glass of white wine in hand, wanting to ask her thoughts about Eren's new home—his new mansion. He does not know that she has harbored very improper feelings of love for Eren throughout the years and would no doubt be devastated if he were to ever learn the seeds had taken root and bloomed fully.
"This place doesn't feel like home," she says through a sniffle, attempting to disengage herself from his arms.
"It's my home," Eren reminds her gently, reaching out to playfully pinch at her cheeks in an attempt to crack a smile out of her. "You can come over any time still, you know."
"No, I can't," she murmurs while thinking of his fiancée, a woman whose name starts with a 'w' that she can't recall—Wendy, Willow? What would this woman say if she were to see Mikasa making herself at home on her couch, in her kitchen, on her bed? Nothing pleasant, she's sure.
Mikasa also realizes that she knows very little about his bride. In retrospect she's sure that it's intentional, that she'd been avoiding becoming too close to any of Eren's girlfriends for fear of realizing how much he truly cared about any of them. This one had clearly wheedled her way in to his heart; it devastates her that she can't even remember the woman's name and yet Eren has given a part of himself to her that had once been Mikasa's.
She takes a few steps away from him, pushing his arms aside when he attempts to reach out for her once more.
"I think I need go home," she says, straightening her posture, trying to keep her voice from cracking.
"No, no, stay," Eren is insisting, following behind her as she goes to open the door and leave. "There's some expensive white wine downstairs with some kind of fancy tarte aux pommes, whatever those are, that Whitney insisted would be great tog—"
Whitney. That's her name. Hearing it sounds so formal, so official, that Mikasa pretends not to hear his pleas as she goes down the stairs. Eren stops calling after her when she's halfway down the stairs, no doubt wanting to avoid making a scene. Mikasa finds she's relieved to see that Jean is weaving through the crowds in what is a blatant attempt to find her.
She waves him down and when he notices her, a smile cracks wide across his face.
"I've been looking for you for the past twenty minutes," he says to her in a quiet whisper into her ear as he embraces her; his glass is thankfully almost empty and doesn't spill over the edges.
"Sorry," she murmurs back, plucking the glass from him and placing it on a passing waiters tray. She's pacing back and forth now, glancing around to see if she can spot Eren's dark hair among the partygoers. "Eren was showing me around."
"Upstairs?" Jean asks and Mikasa can't tell if he's curious or suspicious or a mix of the two.
"They remodeled the bathrooms upstairs and he wanted to show it off, I think." It surprises even her how easy the lie comes. "Maybe we should head out? I'm not feeling too well, I'm a bit nauseous."
"Sure you're not pregnant?" Jean teases and an awkward pause extends between them before he clears his throat. He's avoiding her gaze as he murmurs, "Sorry… We're going to miss the toast but I'm sure they'll understand."
Mikasa smiles and though it doesn't reach her eyes it's obvious Jean doesn't notice, a bit buzzed from the champagne still she assumes. She leans over to place a half-hearted kiss on his cheek as she says, "I said my farewells upstairs, meet me at my car in ten?"
When Jean leaves to find Eren and—and…well, the woman whose name starts with a 'w,' Mikasa takes the chance to find her way to the door, cracking it open and slipping out quietly. She's sure she hears Eren's voice calling after her; but when she turns at the last second, eyes scanning quickly through those closest to her, she doesn't see the one face she's looking for.
She breathes out deeply as the door closes behind her and tries to imagine that this is her house, her home, and that in a few hours she'll be returning to Eren's arms. She doesn't think about the woman inside the house he's kissing, that he's raising a glass to, that he's professing his undying love for. She doesn't let her mind wander to her own date, who no doubt is already imagining his own engagement party with her.
When Jean gets in her car a few minutes later, she starts the engine, making a point to mentally tell herself not look back as she reverses and drives off; still, in a moment of weakness, her eyes glimpse her rear view mirror. She finds she's both relieved and disappointed to see nothing but the large house fading in the distance.