Sometimes they fuck.
Sometimes they make love.
Sometimes they make love in between the fucking.
Usually, they fuck and drink coffee in silence after, her scrolling through missed texts and Snapchats on his bed with his head in her lap; both of them naked or both of them in underwear but always completely silent. It isn't uncomfortable or awkward but peaceful, an understanding between the two of them.
Usually, she goes home after her cup is finished and Eren lies down on his bed for another hour with music that reminds him of her playing out of his laptop before he gets up and cleans his room, pretending she wasn't there only an hour before.
Usually, he sends her a text the next morning: see you soon?
Usually, she answers, later in the evening: see you soon.
She comes in waves and spurs and never by his schedule; he's given up on trying to get her to go on dates with him. ("I don't date, sorry.") She comes when she's lonely, when she wants to talk without using words, when she feels happy or elated. She comes in all emotions and all weather; she often comes any time of the day or night convenient for her. If he's honest, he hates that she's unpredictable as much as he loves it.
He wonders if she's ever stopped by when he wasn't around, if she left the apartment and came back later or considered him a lost cause for the day and found someone else. They talk little and he knows almost nothing about her personal life; he's aware she's majoring in environmental studies and that she loves organic chemistry and anatomy, that she's good at math but doesn't enjoy it.
He met her in his sophomore year of college when he'd begun to look for a tutor in organic chemistry; she'd had a simple flier posted in the communal recreational room in the dorms offering help in science and he'd reached out to her. He can't remember much about the first time he kissed her, the first time he ran his fingers through her hair or the first time she breathed his name in a way that was not as only friends should; he can only remember the first time he told her he loved her, because he told her so in the first moment he felt it.
They were not dating, had never been anything close to it, and had only been sleeping together after studying for a few moths when he told her. They had fallen into an easy routine—study, fuck, drink coffee, go home—and it was in a moment of drink coffee when he saw her pouring coffee into her cup and his, adding too much cream to hers and a smidge of sugar to his out of habit that he knew he could do this on end with her every day if she'd allow it.
"Mikasa," he'd said, coming up behind her, grabbing her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. Her body had tensed beneath his fingers and he knew why. This—chin on shoulder—was not part of their routine. "What would you say if I told you I loved you?"
She'd stayed quiet, both cups gripped in separate hands, her head bent downward as she looked at the coffee. "I'd ask if you'd want more sugar in your coffee."
"That's not—"
"Please, Eren—would you like more sugar?" She'd looked up at him, eyes so large and pricked with water in the corners that he'd taken his cup in silence. He'd gone to his bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed and waited an unusually long time for her to come in after. When she did, she looked pink but refreshed; she'd sat down on the other end of his bed, crossed her legs and gently tapped them for him to rest his head in.
Usually, he falls asleep with her fingers running through his hair in soft circles, gentle tugs that are soothing.
He thinks often of the time he told her he loved her, thinks often of how much he'd like to fall asleep with her in his arms and not his head in her lap. He wishes more than he'd like to admit that she'd talk to him instead of answering messages that remind him there are other people in both their lives.
"Do you remember," she says to him on a Sunday evening, one hand in his hair, the other answering a Snapchat, "when we were studying and you asked me why I like anatomy and chemistry so much?"
"Mmhm…" he mutters in reply. He's almost asleep when she speaks to him and her words to him sound muddled, as if he's had too much to alcohol to drink. He turns his head, presses his lips to the side of her leg and kisses it softly, knowing full well he's left behind a bit of lazy drool she's nice enough not to comment about.
"I like them because they're explainable. They're logical. But if you think about it, the chemical differences in our bodies make us all unique. The reasons you…care for me are not the same reasons you would like anyone else. You like other things about different people. What makes us like someone? What in our chemicals and theirs make us like each other? Our bodies are all so similar and so different at the same time." She's put her phone down now, her hand having stopped in his hair.
Eren opens his eyes, staring at her with more focus than he had before, and murmurs, "I don't know, Mikasa."
"Why do I like you?" She whispers her words quietly, her eyes meeting his tentatively. "I wonder sometimes if I could even begin to fathom what it's like to truly be in love."
Eren feels his throat close, knows this moment with her will pass soon if he does not reach out and grab it. He's sure but hesitant when he reaches out to touch her cheek, to skim her lips with his fingertips. He says, in a voice more confident than he feels, "I could show you."
This time, his words make her smile, weary and unsure but with a new determination he has not seen from her before. She does not push him off her lap or kiss him in way of goodbye.
Usually, she goes home, a quick blur in his line of sight before she disappears out the door.
Usually, he sends her a message, pretends he doesn't miss her with music that's whimsical and passionate.
Usually, they fuck, and—sometimes—they make love.
Today, she stays.
She slides her body down on his bed, lets him curl his body around hers.
Today, she agrees to let him show her why he loves her.