See you Later, Eren Chapter 19
Title: Regret
Okay so I am not under any illusion that it is still the 14th of November. No, I am fifteen days late to my set date, and I completely understand at this point if you have absolutely no trust in me XD
To add to that, this is another huge EM chapter. I know you all really want to see more of what has been going on outside the misadventures of Eren and Mikasa, and the other characters are definitely going to feature heavily in chapter 20, but I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you guys in that regard for now. The main reason I didn't do it with this chapter is because not only has it been long enough and I didn't want to make you guys wait any longer, but the words just flew onto the page, and this ended up being super long compared to the amount of scenes. I will continue to endeavor to post the updates on a biweekly basis, but I would be surprised if you all, at this point, didn't take that with a grain of salt. Life is just too hectic to make any sweeping promises, but rest assured I am working every day to get the chapters out. Without further ado, enjoy! -Y
Response to SpiralNemesis: Thank you so much! It's so good to be back and to receive your assurances. They were certainly needed after I realized I wasn't going to get this chapter out on the 14th!
Response to dareaderreads: ahhhh you're back! Thank you so much for leaving the awesome review! It was such an emotional chapter for me to write, so it's great to see that it had the desired effect! Don't worry, I've not forgotten about the Scouting Legion, though it should be clear at this point that their presence in this arc will be very limited. But they're sure to play a big role in the later chapters! Thank you for the compliments on the confession! It really was an idea that I've had since before the fic's very inception. It's clear in canon that Mikasa realizes that Eren never hated her, but we weren't really shown her react to that or deal with the grief it so obviously caused her, and I knew having a younger Eren, oblivious to any reason why future Eren would tell Mikasa that, be the one to tell her was a perfect opportunity haha. I'm glad you found it so well written! I've gotten mixed opinions on that scene, which is a shame considering how much it took out of me emotionally, but to hear that you liked it makes my day. And I completely agree I have no idea how I was capable of doing this before the pandemic XD. I just want to go home and sleep after each day, but I can say that without a doubt the worst part about not being able to write as consistently was that I didn't update for so long! It tore me up and made writing even harder. So believe me when I say that to hear your assurances that I can take my time means a lot. So thanks, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter!
Response to The r3wr1t3r: Thanks so much for leaving the review, and I hope you liked the last chapter! I'm glad you found the first scene entertaining, as it was a bit of an emotional catharsis for me just to write. I really wanted to make explicit just how mortified the true Eren was at telling Mikasa he hated her, as while we know that it tore him up in canon, it wasn't shown quite as much as I really would have liked. Yeah, Mikasa at this point has built up within herself the idea that she really has no excuse to not tell Eren she loves him, other than her general anxiety at the prospect and the notion that Eren hates her. So to hear that the latter was unequivocally false made her want to thank him, and her confession was, in her mind, the most genuine way of doing that. Ultimately, she wants to be with him above all else, and because she's suffering under some intense tunnel vision at the moment, it's all she cares about currently. I'm sorry to hear that you found my writing cheesy at times! In an effort to improve my writing, I must ask, was it the confession scene in particular, or my general prose throughout the chapter? If it's the former, I definitely understand how you might see it that way. Her repeating "I love you" is not something I'd see her doing under any normal circumstances, but this is the most vulnerable she's ever been towards anyone, and the rational side of her mind has decided to go all in on confessing, so I figured she'd repeat the phrase to both get the weight off her chest and elucidate to him just how much she loves him and how much she wants him to understand her most instinctual fears. That was my rationale when writing, but in any case, I've kept the "too poetic"-ness in mind as I've written chapter 19, and hopefully I've improved, if just a little bit. To that end, I hope you enjoy this chapter!
"You killed him."
He's so precious.
In everything he does. Everything he says. Everything he could possibly be to her. She couldn't express it if she tried. Sometimes she doesn't even think "I love you" suffices.
And he told her to take his life. To forget about him so she could be free.
She doesn't understand, but there are so many things about her Eren that she doesn't understand. Why he gets so passionate about all the little things. And the big things…
He gets passionate about everything. She just likes to bask in that presence, that passion. She could do it forever, she really could.
She's just so damn tired of dreaming of that moment. That last moment. The last moment she shared with him.
This is a different Eren. He's the same person, obviously, but he doesn't know what that past Eren did. And, if God, the Gods, Ymir, whatever was out there, decided to bless Mikasa with all its might, then Eren will never know what he knew then, because she really doesn't want him to.
Sometimes she feels like she'd do anything for him to stay. That's when things get really bad, when she starts to miss him more than she can bear, even if he's right by her side. Anxiety claws at her raw soul, its shell made tender by the words he chooses to voice into existence. Words like "I'll stay." Words like "What am I to you?"
Now he knows… now he knows.
She gets so needy, she gets so clingy, she gets so desperate. Truly, she doesn't understand why he still wants to be with her, why he still offered to sleep with her after the truth came out. But Eren is unyielding, and it is very difficult to change his mind, she knows.
Mikasa just can't believe she ever put that blade to his soft throat. She's horrified at herself, disgusted beyond reprieve. Sometimes she can't believe it so much that she tries to put herself back in the headspace of the Mikasa that killed him, just to understand…
It's always a big mistake. That's when she starts to cry, when she starts to cling at Eren's shirt inexplicably, when he shoots her that confused look as if she was being strange out of nowhere, as if nothing horrible had just happened.
But she obviously can't tell him anything. Maybe now he'll just assume that she loves him so much that she just can't help herself, wanting to be as close to him as possible. That isn't untrue, she supposes.
It hurts so much, though. It hurts her battered, stabbed, bleeding heart. She's a broken husk of a human, trailing right behind the only person that gives her a shred of life, not that he realizes it. That, perhaps, is to her benefit. He doesn't need to know how much she loves him, how important he is to her. She's burdened him enough.
It's so strange hearing everyone, including herself, call her strong, because she's such a damn weakling. She crumbles at just a few words, at just one terrible memory. How could she ever be like Levi? Someone who's lost so many comrades, and doesn't bat an eye? She knows it affects him. He'd be inhuman if it didn't. But he's so strong, he can keep going. He knows what has to be done.
But if she lost Eren, then she would die too. If not physically, then in every other possible way. And then physically, probably. Her committing suicide is not a prospect she wants to entertain in any way, but even if she didn't, she'd be too sad to go on.
She wouldn't eat. She wouldn't smile. She wouldn't laugh. She wouldn't sleep. She'd have nothing left to do but cry.
And maybe tend to his gravestone. Like she did in the dreams she used to have.
It's abhorrently pathetic, she knows that for a fact. But in times like these, when she has nothing but the inaudible snores of Eren echoing throughout their dingy house, there's no point in pretending that she isn't this pathetic.
If Eren doesn't hate her, does that mean she's still a slave? She doesn't see why he'd bother telling her one lie and one truth. If he really didn't hate her, then that probably means she technically isn't a slave either.
She can't say the notion has truly hit her yet. It's just so unfathomable, the idea that she isn't bound to him because of any Ackerman blood. That her powers were awakened simply because she wanted to protect him.
But it doesn't cheer her up as much as it should. Just because she knows she isn't enslaved by blood, after all, doesn't mean she's very free. She's not afraid of defying Eren, of telling him no and refusing to submit to his demands. But everything she does is in an effort to keep him alive, to keep him close to her. He may not be able to dictate her every action, but she still feels enslaved to everything she's done, and to her pitiful insistence that Eren be safe. Couldn't she just be a good person? Gather the resolve right here, right now, and suffocate him with her pillow?
He's evil, right? By every objective metric imaginable, he's evil. He's worse than the Marleyan's most unfounded, vile prejudices against the Eldians, he's worse by a magnitude of millions.
How many lost souls would be thanking her right now if she snapped his neck?
She isn't going to do that. She killed him once, but she could never be that strong ever again. Just thinking about what she would have done afterwards, if she wasn't sent back in time, sends innumerable, ghastly chills down her spine. Would she have grown old? Would she have moved on? From Eren? Found some random person to call her husband as she had a family?
The thought makes her sick. She loves him too much. She doesn't know how she could do anything but slowly kill herself after his death, and she couldn't be more pathetic for it.
He's just so precious. She just wants to kiss him and keep him safe for eternity. But she isn't like him. She isn't so passionate that she'd kill all of humanity for it, right?
But Eren is. Whatever reason he had… he felt that it was worth throwing his soul right into the deepest chasm of hell for it.
"I don't want you to go to hell…" she pleads with him, her voice high and quiet, fighting back tears. "I want you to stay here...
He isn't a bad person yet, right? He hasn't committed that atrocity, so he's still a good person? Shouldn't she just pretend it never happened, so long as he doesn't do it again?
Hell if she knows.
She's gifted with literal clairvoyance, and she still doesn't know a damn thing.
...
Mikasa shoots her eyes open, inviting the pitch black air to nip at the wetness under her eyes. Thankfully, that proves to be the only place her tears have traveled, but it cannot abate her beating heart. The ghost of a horrific memory, undoubtedly the most sickening thing she's ever done, stains the back of her eyes, filtering anything and everything she sees with the image of his decapitated head. Frantically, she looks down at what she holds in her arms, deathly afraid of what she might find. To her inconceivable relief, however, it's just him. It's just Eren.
Was that a dream she just had? He was sleeping in her arms, just as he is now, and she felt fully conscious. So how did she... wake up from it?
She lets out a heavy, shaky sigh, surprised at just how terrified she was at the prospect of greeting that sight ever again. The sight that will never leave her until the day she dies, the sight that has placed an eternal weight upon any joy, any excitement, any contentment she could ever feel.
"You killed him." It was not the type of reminder to go away after her last panic attack. It's not a fact that will ever go away.
Fighting back stubborn tears, Mikasa lets her face fall into Eren's soft hair. An involuntary whimper escapes her as she clutches his form for dear life, as if it was the most precious thing in the world to her. And of course it is.
"I'm sorry..." she can barely hear herself.
Mikasa doesn't know what she's apologizing for. Any semblance of justified anger has long since drifted away from her heart, leaving only fear that he'll exit her life at the drop of a hat. Whether there was good reason for anything he might do played no role in that fear. Is a reason needed? She couldn't fathom the reason he abandoned her the first time, she can only make guesses related to the basement, the outside world, Paradis, the titans, or any other possible ailment. There were enough reasons to go around, to be sure.
But it could still be her. She could have been too overbearing, or not concerned enough. She could have been too cold, or too attached. She hasn't the faintest idea, and that terrifies her, it petrifies the innermost musings of her heart. What if he didn't want to be with her anymore?
The notion keeps her grounded. It reminds her that she has to put in everything she has, to let him know the complete extent of her feelings if she wants him to stay. She has made the biggest gamble of her life, she knows, and it's in her commitment to the idea that she failed to care enough, she failed to be honest with him when he asked those five, incomprehensible words. "What am I to you?"
So now she is. She said an "I love you" for every single time she should have said it before, in this life and the last. But she still can't believe she actually told him. To even call it surreal would be an understatement. She feels so... alien. To confess to a caliber such as that is not befitting of this cruel, cruel world. Her ten year old self, her nineteen year old self, neither one of them would be any more amicable towards the idea of Mikasa actually telling him than the other. It fills her heart with equal amounts of hope and dread, it makes her want to beg to him, to hope beyond hope that he cares about her enough to understand.
She hopes Eren doesn't mind the way she hugs him, too. The way she snuggles between the arms that wrap around her in an effort to sink further into them, or the way she pulls his head closer to her chest. He probably won't, considering how he melted into her embrace last night. Even this feels strange, though. She feels like a minx, nudging him closer to the mounds of her chest despite herself. It's not that she wants him to lay there in particular... she just wants him to be close. She likes to snuggle into his chest, so why can't it be the same in the reverse? Why does she have to feel so lewd for making an active choice? An active choice to confess her love, an active choice to hug him and comfort him?
It's because it's so scary. It was just the juvenile feelings of a little girl, she told herself in her past life. And in this life, a different excuse, though still just as impenetrable, manifests itself, that of her fears that if she makes too bold a move, it will be over forever. She will lose him, forever.
But he's going to die eventually anyways. And with his death she'll be alone, an outcast from the military amidst a war between the oblivious forces of Paradis and the unyielding might of Marley. She knows she will be buried into this cold earth thinking that all of her choices since Reiner charged through Trost's gate have been wrong. They've doomed humanity more than they ever could, they've doomed her friends, and they've doomed her.
At the very least, she does not want to die feeling the way she did that night in Marley, as her drunken self cuddled into Eren's shoulder, thinking, regretting, that she didn't tell him the truth.
"What am I to you?"
"You're my home, my most beloved, my dear."
She wants to cry. And she does, as silent as the night, holding him.
Mikasa likes that she gets to hold him.
If it was once in a full moon that she was hugged by him, then it was once in a blue moon that he allowed himself to be hugged by her. When they were kids, the young boy never let himself receive any kind of physical affection from the raven haired girl. She knew it wasn't out of any childish idea that girls were gross, seeing as how he wouldn't hesitate to wrap her in a warm hug whenever she was scared. All it took was some personal observation, as well as hints from Armin, to understand that Eren always strove to be the provider, the fierce protector, the savior. It's why he hated it when Mikasa started beating up his and Armin's bullies with stunning ease, and it's also why he didn't often let himself be comforted by anyone other than his mother, who just so happened to be the only one more stubborn than the brown haired boy. That's what made it so much more difficult when Aunt Carla was eaten. He could not cease his own tears, but the most Mikasa could do to comfort him was hold his hand and stay by his side in the dingy orphanages they lived in. Mikasa wanted to hug him so badly, to tell him that everything was going to be okay, and that she would protect him no matter what. He would only ever lash out, though, and so Mikasa never got the opportunity to learn how to comfort Eren the way she secretly wished she could.
But that's what ended up happening last night, as he cried into her chest. He was never so eager to melt in her embrace, apologizing for a reason that still manages to elude her.
Or... perhaps it doesn't, it just hurts to have to accept it after confessing her absolute love for him.
"He's apologizing because he feels sorry for me... he's sorry that he can't love me the way I love him."
She wishes he didn't. She doesn't want him to feel sorry. She wouldn't dare ask for anything more than for Eren to simply understand her love. So long as he recognizes it, and, as a result, continues to stay by her side, then she would be the happiest person on earth. She would rather live a thousand lifetimes of him not loving her than for him to live in regret over that fact even once. It's not his fault.
But she could never be angry at him for feeling bad. If nothing else, it shows that he still cares about her, at the very least. Enough to regret not being able to make her as happy as possible. And when she views it that way, she's able to let out a sigh of solace. She should be thankful that Eren wasn't outright disgusted by her feelings.
Still, the painful sense of disquietude that slipped into the air after her confession is far from gone, and though she should be worried about the fact that their relationship has entered into a more precarious state than it has ever been in (disregarding the contents of her last life), she's distracted by the movement of his arms, sliding up further up her arm unconsciously. She gasps, eyes shining with the remnants of her cries. It's an inconsequential act, not to mention involuntary, but it makes her blush harder than she perhaps ever has before. She'd better get used to that, she thinks.
She hopes that it will get easier with time, but she isn't optimistic. All that matters is that he stays, so the raven haired girl supposes she can deal with a little awkwardness. Besides, she has yet to give nearly enough thought to the very impetus of her confession to begin with.
"I don't hate you."
The words he repeated multiple times, just in case she misheard.
She couldn't describe the feeling it instilled within her if she tried. Love simply does not do it justice. To hear her most ancient, fundamental anxiety dissipate with the might of his words lifted a weight that not even her, with all her Ackerman strength, was even capable of lifting alone. But now that the tears have settled, she can't help but wonder if he really meant it in the same way she thought she did. Maybe he was just concerned that she may have thought he was angry at her, and wanted to make things crystal clear...?
The idea makes her stomach plummet and break into tiny little pieces. Was she really so desperate for anything equating a rejection of her most existential fear that she jumped on the opportunity just at the notion that he doesn't hate her? Of course he doesn't hate her right now! How could she be so delusional as to think Eren hates her after having done so much for her? Why would he ask to sleep in the same bed as her if he hated her? Why would he bother to stay down here if he ever hated her?
"Just because he doesn't hate you now..."
"Are you sure? What was it he said again?"
Like she could ever hope to forget.
I've always hated you.
"So that means... Eren lied to me..."
She angles her head down, looking at the forehead of the boy who's currently snuggling into her. "Why did you lie to me...?" she whispers, eyebrows arched in desperation, though he knows he won't respond.
Perhaps it's better if Eren said it without any knowledge of what he would say in the future. Because if he somehow knew what he would say... it raises more questions than answers.
And that's the larger concern. She can worry and fret all she wants about how pathetic she looks by confessing to him just because he said what he did, but what truly scares her is what that means. Because at the same time, it fills her heart with too much hope, hope that not only may he actually be saved, but hope that he never meant any of it in the first place.
"Forget about me... be free..."
A fresh batch of tears surges below her eyes as she remembers his last words. The words that so utterly defied her every feeling towards him that it gave her the strength to do the unthinkable. Forget about him? She would rather kill him.
But now... now that she knows it wasn't out of hate, it wasn't out of a desire to free her from her slavery, then why would he say that? It pricks at her vulnerable heart, in a completely different way compared to Eren saying he hated her. Her soul burns with love and care and concern, because what could have possibly driven him to suggest that she forget about him?!
"I'm sorry, Eren. I won't give up. I'll never give up again. If I die, I won't be able to remember you. So I'll win, no matter what! I'll survive, no matter what!"
That was what she told herself, the first and only time she was ever capable of beginning to accept Eren's death.
She thinks to be offended at Eren's words now. "Throw the scarf out once I'm dead..." how could he say that? But at the same time, she knows there was a reason, a reason why he couldn't have just accepted her love. If those cold eyes of the Eren of the future used to mortify her, then now they stupefy her. What was he hiding behind those forests of dead green? And now that she's changed things so drastically, she can't help but wonder...
"Would you say that now? Now that you know?" she asks through tears. His only response is the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the slight whistle of his nose.
She hugs him as tight as she always wanted to.
TWO DAYS AGO
It started with a boom. A thunderous cataclysm that could be heard from what Marco's sure is the entirety of the Underground. At first, he had no idea what to think. It seemed as if some great dragon, the kind his mother would always read to him about in fairy tales, was in the process of emerging from some cavern, hidden from sight until now. As he looked around the troubled glances amidst the, by his estimation, typically desensitized population, he knew he wasn't the only one confused, and partly afraid.
But he's a member of the prestigious Military Police. Or, at least as prestigious as his own reputation allowed, as whether he liked it or not, he was the sole beacon of everything he looked up to as a cadet, as a child.
So as any good soldier would do, he sprinted in the immediate direction of the sound. The closer he got, the more prevalent the screams became, and it didn't take Marco's military-hardened mind long to recognize that this was no fearsome beast, but a bombardment of gunfire. And with it, his heart rate spiked. He's no stranger to the unique sound of gunfire, unique, even, to that same sound on the surface. He isn't quite sure what it is, but the dome shape of the metropolitan cave seems to have the uncanny ability to echo large sounds in a way that is completely subsuming to his ears.
It was one thing when he was being fired at by some petty criminal, and it took about a day to get used to. But the titanic sound, the spectacle of flashing lights that emanated from an area not far from the entrance of the Underground, was unlike anything he had ever seen.
Feet tramped against the cobbled pathways, his slim form able to navigate efficiently through the narrow, cramped alleyways of the heart of the Underground slums. And of course that's where he had to be at a time like this.
He shouldn't blame himself, though. On any normal occasion, the poorest areas of the Underground were the best places to be. Originally, he just assumed that there he would find the greatest concentration of crime, and that while was a decidedly smart assumption, he was also quick to realize that the Military Police, especially in a place like this, were capable of standing for more than a force that makes arrests. He had a grounded, king ordained institution on his side, and with it, he could provide relief, aid, and security to the innocents who had no choice but to chance the risky, crime ridden streets every day because of their wealth (or lack thereof). He's sure it's helped build him a positive reputation among the destitute, not that they are too likely to have anything that would come as particularly useful to Marco. But that fact couldn't make less of a difference to the freckled boy.
Now, though, it's in jeopardy. Every look they give him as he rushes by is one of a panicked questioning, as if to ask, "What is going on?" It's a strange sight, considering how infrequently they let occurrences like gunshots, murder, burglary, and things even Marco has difficulty stomaching affect their daily lives, and it does nothing to assuage his fears. What's worse, though, is that he's supposed to have an answer for them. No emotion could trump the anxiety he feels in this moment, but he'd be a liar to neglect the shame of running from street to street in a frenzy, without the faintest idea of what's going on.
"I can't say I know these people too well yet, but do they trust me? Are they putting their faith in me?" With a glance to his right, he notices a girl peeking out of an alleyway. She's disheveled, hairs poking out in every direction that isn't caked by dirt and dust. Her clothes are ragged, though surprisingly clean, which Marco can only hope is the product of a diligent parent, and not something worse. She doesn't look scared, more so curious, and a bit confused, the way Marco remembers he acted when his parents first relayed the news of the fall of Wall Maria. It's not that he didn't realize it was bad, he simply couldn't comprehend its significance, and he suspects that girl may not be so different. Her brown eyes are wide, and Marco knows that if he does nothing, the curiosity in those eyes will shrivel and die, making way for fear to cloud those innocent pupils.
"It doesn't matter if they do. I swore an oath to them," he resolves, scurrying into an alleyway, the destination of which leads to the top of a large wall, where the remainder of the district rests below. He leaps off the top, startling a few people as he crashes into the ground, executing a quick roll and resuming his pace. A part of him thinks to slow down to a trot, at least. The hastier he is, the more he's sure to induce panic among the population that watches him, but as the shooting in the distance ceases, blood rushes through his limbs, the fear that he might be too late gripping his chest.
With each hurried step his heart grows more anxious. It seems as if the closer he gets to his destination, the farther it is, and the quicker he has to push himself. His breaths grow ragged as possibilities dance in his mind. Was it a scuffle? An altercation between some parties? It sounded like it came from the dock... so what could that hint towards. Marco doesn't have a clue. "That's supposed to be the safest place in the Underground because of the governmental activity there, dispensing of food, water, and medical supplies in exchange for the important industrial resources used by the military. As such, it has the greatest presence of Military Police, too..."
As his thoughts blend with the sharp breaths he takes, his worries begin to come out of his voice. "Then why? Of all the places for something bad to happen, why would a criminal choose to do it there? And why would the Military Police need to use all the firepower they have to counterac-"
Despite his constant sprinting, he manages to gasp. "No... the only explanation is that they were forced to because of an overwhelming attack!"
Images flash in his mind, of the ongoing battle between Military Police and some concentrated force of criminals. Why they would pick now to attack the Military Police, which has had a presence for as long as the city's existence, he could not guess. But then again, Marco never understood resorting to crime to get anything done, so he's probably not in the best position to predict a motive, but at this very moment, it couldn't be less relevant.
Were his comrades struggling? Were they ambushed? Or did the MP catch the criminals in some kind of act? Drug trafficking? Smuggling? Grand theft? As much as he wants to believe that things were going well, so well that his assistance may not even be necessary, the explosion of fire that assailed his ears not five minutes ago does little to inspire confidence.
"I need to be there. If I can just get there..." he quickly retrieves the rifle strapped around his shoulder, anxious hands gripping the gun with all his might as he makes a quick turn. "Two lefts, and then a right on Pries street. Two lefts, and then a right on Pries street..."
But upon his arrival, there is only silence.
He stands at the end of the road, overlooking the long street that sits next to the only river in the Underground, overlooking what should be a fierce battle between the forces of the crown and the scum he's grown so accustomed to combatting in the weeks he's been here. But the battle has already been fought, and everything, from the ground, sticky with blood and bodies and cloth, to the assorted crates that spill into the river, floating across the water as far as the stream will take them, to the desolate groans of injured Military Police, attests to a conclusion that Marco cannot stomach.
"We... we..."
The sight is macabre, and Marco, the shining beacon of hope within the Underground MP, stands with a rifle, ready to fight. He continues to grip it with all his strength, as if there's still work to be done. Maybe a criminal or two remains, hiding from sight in one of the alleyways, or behind one of the boxes, ready to strike at a moment's notice. Maybe, if he's lucky, he can still help.
But the seconds tick by, and no one is there to make note of his presence. He is too late. He didn't run fast enough.
He takes languid steps closer to his destination, face blank, absent of any of the horror that lies so prominently on the faces of his comrades. They look like they were about the scream, if they were capable of such a thing. But they've screamed too much, and have nothing left within them. Marco knows the look all too well, he's gained far too much experience watching traumatized soldiers float around like ghosts, their throats strained, their eyes puffy and black, the color of sickness. Perhaps that's why he doesn't wear their same face, why the sight of blood oozing through the cracks of the stony street doesn't shake him to his core in quite the same way anymore. It's because he knows exactly which cracks will fill up first, and how long it will take. He knows blood far too intimately.
These policemen don't have that luxury. It's likely that many of the men and women here, many of whom Marco's just started to get to know, have witnessed the most traumatizing picture of their lives today. And all he can do is stare blankly, with wide brown eyes. Is he as different from that little girl as he thought? Is he even scared?
No... of course he is. But this is an utterly different kind of fear. He is not afraid for his own life, he's afraid for his spirit. The spirit of hope that he fought tooth and nail to maintain, despite the harsh, doubtful words he'd received all his life, be it from his dad, Shadis, Jean, Konigsmann...
He's too late?
"Mia..." a cracked voice echoes from around the corner of a storage building. A sharp gasp steals Marco's breath as he hears it, recognizing the voice. He turns the corner, peering into the connecting road. And there he's greeted by the broken tears of his friend.
"Ashe!" the words leave his breath, carried by the breeze, lost in the stench of death. There his friend sits, leaning on a wall as forceful tears ooze from his bloodshot eyes, cradling Mia's corpse.
"She... she needs a d... doctor..." the shaggy haired boy croaks, caressing his lover's hair as if she was only in a deep sleep. The sight rumbles Marco's soul as he registers the words.
She doesn't need a doctor. Half of her face is missing. In its stead is a gaping hole, the aftermath of a well placed gunshot.
Marco's figure casts a crippling shadow over the pair, and he can barely stutter out a word at the horrific sight. A vicious dread consumes his mind as tears of his own threaten to leave his eyes, but he pushes it to the back of his mind. After all, it isn't even the most violent picture to stain his mind in this past month. It isn't even a new circumstance. He has seen it time and time again, in people lucky enough to find someone they care about as much as Ashe and Mia cared about each other. Two people he had grown to call his friends, if such a word could be applied after four weeks of acquaintance, separated forever. Their relationship represented a wistful type of comfort to him. Though he was never one to appreciate their shared hesitance to play the part of a dignified soldier, he held nothing but respect and admiration for their love. Perhaps it reminded him a little of Franz and Hannah, of a time in his trainee days when never was there a situation so serious that he was incapable of finding their relationship amusing, and admittedly sweet.
Franz and Hannah's bones never left Trost, and with their deaths, a part of him thought nothing like the care that they had for each other could exist in this cruel world. His two fellow Military Police, to some twisted extent, proved him wrong.
Looking back, though, maybe that was a correct assumption. Because now, he knows, he'll be left with nothing but the memory of Mia, and the broken shadow of a man once called Ashe. "Come back... please..." his words are quieter than a whisper, and Marco feels like an intruder, listening to words not meant for anyone but her.
"I'm so sorry," is the freckled boy's pathetic attempt at consoling his friend. As if the phrase would do anything to save Ashe, to save himself. He didn't just fail the citizens of the Underground, he failed his comrades.
"Do you think they deserve it...?" Armin had asked him that day, after they made it to the safety of the walls, about the blond's two best friends. Mikasa and Eren, both more competent than Marco by the Training Corps' estimation, who died by what he can only assume to be sheer force of poor luck on the day Trost fell. Now, though, Marco thinks he may understand what Armin meant.
And the answer is yes. They deserved to die together. A Mikasa without Eren, or an Eren without Mikasa, would have been a harrowing sight to behold. Same, too, with Franz and Hannah. Maybe Ashe wasn't as lucky as them, for air still fills his desolate lungs.
The sitting boy cries, hugging Mia with all his might.
"Jen!" Marco shouts from behind her, jogging to the central area of the dock. The chaos is still profound, even after Military Officers and doctors flooded the scene. Police run to and fro, some recovering the disaster they played a part in, but most arriving after the fact, attempting to make sense of the aftermath. Marco, begrudgingly, belongs to the latter category, and a part of him can't help but be envious of the wounds that Jen is wreathed within. Dried blood sticks to her forehead, and a multitude of bruises accompany it, dotting her face and hands. And that's just of what he can see while she wears her uniform.
Marco, by contrast, is a clean, green boy, the only things to mar his own face are the brown freckles he's had for as long as he can remember.
The dirty blonde haired girl lifts her weary eyes to greet him, casting a rough glance to his figure and inviting his question silently as she leans on a stone wall.
Marco sucks in a breath. "I have an idea of the situation, but there are some things I'm lost on. Were the Military Police ambushed here?"
Jen sighs, caressing the bridge of her nose. Marco ponders if he's the first person to ask her such a question. Surely not. He's not an astute soldier for wanting to satiate his own curiosity, like so many others must feel that they are.
"Something like that. I'm a little hazy on the details myself. Either way, it was an organized attack."
Marco furrows his brows as he looks around him. The only thing of value around here, the crates that carry various goods, still lie intact. Many are stained with blood, and others float downstream, an accidental result of the battle, but for the most part, nothing has been taken.
"Did the Military Police fight against them so effectively to the point that they were unsuccessful? Or was it something else? Was there another goal in mind for them?" anxiety forcing the question out of his mouth. "Why would they attack here?"
The girl looks at him, brown eyes searching as she contemplates. "You're not gonna like it..."
"What do you mean by that?" he cannot keep the fear out of his voice.
"It was Miller's gang. The same one who jumped you after you tried to arrest that guy." Her voice is raspy, both from her exhaustion from the prior events and her reluctance to tell Marco the truth. Like Ashe and Mia, Marco had grown fond of the comrade he had gotten to know over the past few weeks, and if her hesitation is any indication, then she isn't eager to hurt Marco any more than is necessary either.
The freckled boy stutters, crouching down to be eye level with Jen. A part of him thinks to put a hand on her shoulder, to be a comforting presence like he was always able to be during his days as a trainee, but he can't. "Why... would Miller do that?"
"The same reason he attacked you, I assume. To stop the MP's from threatening them. Shit... If I knew this would be the result, I would have stopped you sooner..."
It didn't take Eren long after he awoke to realize everything that happened was real. Her steady heartbeat did well to remind him of it, with every colorful thump. It feels so strange to him, to understand the rhythmic flow of her blood as intimately as he does now. Whether he likes it or not isn't a question he feels like pondering at the moment, and it isn't particularly relevant anyways, right?
But as much as he tries to push silly thoughts like those to the back of his mind, he's so close to her, so much so it lights his cheeks aflame, cheeks veiled only by the old cloth of her nightwear, because his face is pressed into it, into a tight, warm hug. He can feel her heartbeat right against his chin, a little bit to the right. Not only that, but he can't manage to shake the push of her chest from his mind. With each breath she takes, he moves slightly backwards, and with each tiny little snore of hers, he's sinking back into her embrace all over again.
It was one thing two nights ago, when Eren was consumed with thoughts of his perceived misdeed. It was literally unreal, a figment of his twisted, broken imagination. "I've always hated you..." the phrase stings the back of his throat, rattling his chest the same way it would when any mention of the titans used to come up. A primordial, molten rage. The only key difference is that now it isn't the titans. It's himself. A lot to take in, to be sure.
As such, when he decided to bring Mikasa into a hug after the dream, to cradle her unconscious form, smoothing his rough, calloused fingertips across the softness of her raven hair, the implications of what it meant for their relationship, what it meant for his own feelings, was the last thing on his mind. He just wanted to apologize to her.
But he knows exactly how she is. If he tried to apologize for something he knows took absolutely no step in reality, she'd be questioning him with those doe eyes. It seems as if every little strange thing that crosses his mind, should he dare to voice it into words, was subject to the intense, unrelenting scrutiny of his best friend. More so now than ever, for a reason he couldn't begin to fathom. She was always concerned about what he dreamt about lately, what he suddenly remembered, down to such a fine level of detail that he couldn't possibly relay it to her if he tried. Not that he tries particularly hard to relay it, because why should she care? He's had these kinds of thoughts for as long as he can remember, occasional instances where in place of memories are images and events that he knows never occurred, though they feel the same as any memory.
It isn't that he resents her for it, not when he understood that it always came from a place of concern, but that doesn't account for it's inexplicability. Suffice to say, he wasn't eager to straight up apologize for the dream. No matter how good it may have felt, no matter how understanding he may have expected Mikasa to be, the logical side of his mind, the one that knew it was some stupid dream, stayed his breath.
But the least he could do was hold her. "Just for a minute or so... until I can calm myself down," he remembers thinking. That was what he told himself, but the way she finally was able to relinquish the death grip she had on his sleeve, the way she sighed contentedly despite being in the depths of slumber, the way she nuzzled herself further into his neck without even thinking... he couldn't possibly let her go then. He thought he might just hold her like that forever, if she asked.
"Of course she fucking loves you." He bites back an audible sigh, one of frustration, but also guilt. She never asked to be held... hell, she never even asked to sleep in the same bed. She never asked him to give her so much as a goddamn word of affection, and yet the effect it would have had on her, the way it would have brightened her soul more than anything he could ever imagine, breaks his fiery heart.
"How was I supposed to know? She's always so reserved, and happy to just hang around with me. How should I have known she felt that way?"
"By being anything other than an idiot, Eren!" he answers his own silent question, frowning. "All the times she would open up, or stop being cold for just a few minutes... it was because of you, Eren."
He wonders if Armin knew. He was always so perceptive. But with how obvious it seems to Eren in retrospect, he'd be surprised if anyone, other than perhaps Connie, didn't catch on to the fact. Mikasa's not an incredible actor, she was just lucky enough (or unlucky, depending on how you look at it) to not have to put an extraordinary amount of effort into hiding it from a dense piece of shit such as himself.
"Why couldn't Armin tell me... or Sasha, or Marco, Reiner, any of them! Why did I have to see her like that just to know...?" to see her in tears. To see her crying and apologizing and looking generally astonished at the notion that he did not hate her. He hates to see her cry. The more his thoughts flood his mind, the more he feels like he wouldn't have objected to Armin coming into their quarters with a large metal rod and hitting him over and over until he understood.
He also wonders if she outright told anyone else, though he can't say he suspects that to be likely. She's closer to him than anyone, and so if anyone's going to coax it out of her reluctant mouth, it'll probably be him. "And it was so easy... 'I don't hate you.' That's all I had to say." He wants to say so much more. He wants to tell her how she makes his day better just by being there. Hell, it makes him happier just knowing that she exists, even if he hardly sees her. She's his home, she's probably the single most important person in his life, the one he just couldn't live without. Every time he said he never wanted her around, he didn't actually mean it! It was only ever difficult seeing her excel so much more than him, seeing her prioritize his safety over everything else, "Because I'm just some piece of shit who couldn't even save his own damn mom!"
"Why? Why do you love me?!"
But he wouldn't dare ask. He's tired of seeing her tears, and he has a feeling that they wouldn't be in short supply if he tried to coax an answer out of her. And she certainly doesn't owe him one. She doesn't owe him a damn thing, and yet she gives the entirety of herself.
But as he feels a hand caress the back of his head in her sleep, soothing his trembling mind, he knows he has the answer. He saved her, right?
It's not enough for him. She deserves everything he can't give her. Someone who won't force her to join the most dangerous branch of the military, who won't spend every waking hour caring about the unstoppable, overwhelming force that is the titans, and not about her.
Because he's not about to abandon the promise he made to himself, to his mom. To exterminate every last one of them from this world. And yet he can't fathom abandoning her either.
After all, he feels her heartbeat because she's hugging him. Because even in her most vulnerable hour, she has to be the one to hold his pathetic ass in her arms, to calm the raging storm of his own soul. He can't live without her, but, perplexingly, nothing would make him happier than to see her be safe, to see her truly happy. He doesn't know how to do that, but he's sure he can start with making sure she knows that he doesn't hate her, because he never wants to see the way her soul broke at his future self's words ever again.
"Are you awake?" the stream of her voice echoes through the room, startling him. He hopes he isn't crying. He's so goddamn tired of crying. He blinks, silently checking the contents of his eyes, which to his relief are dry, and this seems to answer Mikasa's question. She sounds tired herself, and for a second he thinks to kick himself for waking her up, but he struggles to think of anything he could have done to do so. It's probably just morning.
He lets out a long exhale through his nose, and neither of them move. He's simply too comfortable, now that he thinks about it, now that the obligations of the day threaten to separate him from Mikasa. He's never been opposed to hugging her after all, and being hugged by her is just as nice, if not better. Not that he has any inclination in his mind to tell Mikasa, or anyone for that matter, of that fact. Unfortunately, the heartbeat that's drummed so steadily against him for as long as he's been awake begins to pick up its pace. For a second he doesn't understand why, almost furrowing his brows in contemplation, but he's not so dense that it takes him longer than a couple of seconds.
His face is pressed up into her chest. Right.
Eren has to desperately fight the embarrassed blush that swarms his cheeks as he moves his form away from her grasp. She doesn't resist it, arms loose as they droop down his sides and then off of him completely as he sits up in his bed, looking away from her and pretending to yawn. His mind fights a fierce battle, combatting the awkwardness of him being so close to a body part his mom always stressed as a private place for women, and knowing that Mikasa, of all people, obviously didn't mean it in any way close to what makes Eren so hot in the face. He frowns, beginning to regret his hasty decision. What if he hurt her feelings? "Seriously, Eren? After she was so honest to you? You goddamn idio-"
But he turns his head to greet her form, still laying there as she rubs at her eyes. She doesn't look hurt in the slightest, and he has to bite back a long sigh from leaving his chest. Is this how hard it's going to be now? Is this how shameful he's going to feel for doing the smallest things, most of which he wouldn't have thought twice about doing just a day ago?
And as she scratches her head idly, sitting up to look at him, he feels it again. The painful surge of a memory of how awful of a person he's been to her. He remembers her soft forehead, the way he headbutted it when she insisted that he come find her in case things got bad at Trost. He thought she was too worried about him, clouded by her juvenile attachment and a need to babysit him during a moment as crucial as Trost's breach. He thought he just had to knock some sense into her.
He remembers those eyes as clear as the night sky, the way they shone with vulnerability after he headbutted her. How could he not see it? If it were anyone else, she would have avoided the headbutt and knocked them into the stony ground with ease, all without so much as a second thought. But it was him. And she loves him.
"Please... don't die..." is what she sa-
Wait... that's not right. She didn't say that. He never...
Did he ever even headbutt her? When did he do that again? When did she even insist he find her after the battle went south? Wasn't she more assertive than that, simply asking where he would be and telling him that she would find him?
And she did find him... right before he succumbed to the weight of that titan's jaws. That titan with the beard. The one that kind of looked like...
Wait, no. It was a titan, not a human, there's no scenario in which he would have seen it in any kind of human form, other than some fever dream. So why does..
"Eren. When I return, I'll show you the basement that I've kept a secret all this time."
Images of his father flash through his mind, of his hat, of his key, of his glasses.
Why is he thinking of that at a time like this?
And where is his key? Right, it's on the counter, near where Mikasa puts her scarf. She convinced him to leave it here, due to the high chances of someone stealing it from him down here, should he wear it brazenly.
"Eren...?" her voice is softer than the wind, yet it pierces his mind, breaking him from those strange thoughts. He focuses on her again, and realizes that he's confused her. To his evident dismay, he isn't capable of relieving that confusion, considering he's just as lost on it as she is.
"Sorry." He apologizes. It's a good rule of thumb now, he supposes, to apologize. Because even if he didn't do anything wrong at the moment, she still deserves to hear it.
"Why?" she still decides to ask.
And he wants to tell her every reason he's sorry, for everything he's done. "I'm sorry for making you stay here with me."
But he doesn't, because she'd frown and insist that she's doing it of her own will. He supposes she is. Isn't it her choice to love him? But if it is, then he's supposed to have a responsibility to not take advantage of that.
But that's what he's been doing his whole life! Every time he gets himself into some kind of fight, or endangers his life recklessly, she comes in to save his sorry ass. Would she do it if she didn't love him? Is that just how horrible of a person he is, to let someone as precious as Mikasa risk her life regularly because of him?
He wants to say sorry for all of it, not that it would do anything. He wants to apologize for everything, what he has and hasn't done, and what he will continue to do and not do because he just doesn't understand anything anymore.
But as he looks into her curious, onyx eyes, the blush that threatens to bloom across his face keeps his voice at bay. It doesn't matter, it's not like apologizing would do much practical good anyway. It may make him feel a tad better, but she's as stubborn as it gets about things she cares about, as much as she likes to pretend she isn't.
Plus, her gaze is so easy to get lost in.
"Nothing.." he stutters out, once he realizes that he's taken far too long to answer a simple question. Her eyes fall, almost as if in defeat, and a part of Eren's heart falls with it. The small changes in her face, however minute, has become profoundly obvious to Eren over the years that he's known her, and now he finds himself caring more than ever as to how she feels.
"You always look lost in thought nowadays." She mutters in concern, looking out the window to gauge the time. It had only occurred to her recently to go out and buy a clock, which would have helped them significantly. But they haven't yet, mainly due to the fact that Eren isn't keen on the idea to any extent. He didn't outright say no, but he hoped Mikasa knew him well enough to tell what he really wanted, and it seemed that she was. He reasoned to himself that they shouldn't grow too dependent on technologies like that when things could go wrong at the drop of a hat. The Military Police, technically speaking, were still on their tails, after all. But in reality, he couldn't deny that he just didn't want to get too comfortable down here. He doesn't want anything permanent.
The longer he's had to stay, the more he's noticed his own mind acclimating to the ghastly situation they've found themselves in, and, truth be told, it's starting to frighten him. Every time he feels the thick air wrap around his throat, every time he's looked up at the sky only to see dark, wet rock staring back at him, it's gripped his chest with a primal desire to return back to any sense of normalcy. But then he started to spend more and more time with Mikasa, and just Mikasa, and it hasn't been as unpleasant as he would have expected. Guilt is the demon to sway him whenever those thoughts come up, though. He knows what he promised to himself. He knows what he wants to do, and he's not about to catch himself getting used to this, because if he doesn't push them to get out of here, who will?
Mikasa? Don't be ridiculous. She's goop, simply molding to the situation around her and doing what she can to survive, and more importantly he's come to realize, keep him alive. He's not so stupid as to think she actually has a terribly strong interest in getting back to the military as soon as possible. She never put much emphasis on freedom the way he and Armin did. There was a time when it frustrated him. Hell, it always frustrated him. Until now.
She's not reluctant to make any risky moves because she's indifferent, it's because she's afraid. She's scared of losing him, he knows, and it astonishes him to an incredible degree. He always knew she cared, and was extremely protective, but it wasn't until yesterday that it was revealed to him just how terrified she is of him being taken away from her. It drives her every action, it brings her to tears just at the thought. It was enough to motivate her to repeat those words over and over again. "I love you."
And it's anyone's guess as to why. Why she's so scared. More so than ever, more so than when a titan approached them as they tried to lift the wood off of his mother's form. What is it about the government sentencing them to death for insubordination has her that much more worried?
He wishes he had the same mentality he had during their training days, the one that knew things were only going to get more difficult, and that no matter how much she cared, she couldn't put him over the mission. But times have changed, and he couldn't possibly say something like that to her now. It would break her heart.
"Quit it, Eren. She's not that fragile, she's Mikasa. If you said something like that, she'd ignore you like she always does."
He shoots the girl a sorry look, sighing lightly out of his nose.
"It's not like she loves you all of the sudden. She's always felt this way, even if you were too stupid to see it. So you'd be wrong to think she'd act any different."
Still, if he's learned anything over the last few weeks, it's that what Mikasa does and how Mikasa feels on the inside are two completely different things. He thought he was better at reading her than anyone, and maybe he is, but that doesn't change how much he's missed the mark. He can't blame her too much, but it frustrates him partly. He never had difficulty voicing his own opinions, and when it came to things he couldn't figure out, all that was needed was a quick talk with Armin, and he'd have no issue letting as many people as possible know of any grievances he might have had. In this respect, Mikasa couldn't be more different. She doesn't complain, she doesn't whine, and usually that results in a girl who often goes with the flow, rarely having an opinion on whatever trivial, or significant, matter was being discussed.
But there were times when she did have strong opinions. Even then, however, she wouldn't talk about them. She'd have her way by sheer force, or when in conflict with Eren, sheer force of stubbornness.
"You always look lost in thought nowadays."
"You're one to talk," Eren remarks with a light smile on his face, finding it funny that she thinks him to be the quiet one among them. Mikasa looks back at him, eyebrows slightly raised in query.
"What do you mean?" she asks quietly, not taking it as the light joke he meant it as. He can't help but sigh. Why does she have to be asking these types of questions now?
But if it's his mind she wants, it's his mind she'll get. "I just mean, sometimes it's hard to get information out of you." He instantly regrets it. The words slip from his mouth before he can stop himself, and he grimaces. That's not how he wanted that to come out. It's not her fault that Eren was too idiotic to see what was so obvious in retrospect. The burden was not on her to confess to him.
She looks at him with her signature doe eyes, the eyes that have the most astonishing effect on him. They make his heart beat faster, louder, and harder. They make his stomach twirl as if he was just beginning ODM training all over again. They bury any semblance of the idea that Eren was somehow tough and stoic deep into the ground.
"I wish you would have told me sooner," Eren lets out. He cannot look at those eyes.
After a few agonizing seconds of silence, with him unable to shift his eyes back to whatever expression she may hold, she takes a long sigh, and he feels his heart shrinking with it. "I... I do too... I'm really sorry."
His eyebrows shoot up, eyes widening in shock as he finally looks at her face, irises heavy with shame. "Don't be! I'm not.. angry with you."
She doesn't speak, and though he feels as if he hasn't even begun to develop his thoughts and feelings on her confession, his mouth moves faster than his addled brain. "I wish you would have told me because... I would've liked to know. It's my fault. It's my fault I was too goddamn dense to see it. It was so obvious..." he places a hand on his head, his own fingers tingly because of how surreal it is to be talking to her about this for the first time.
"Huh...?" her voice is so high, like it always gets when she's emotional. It eats him up even more.
"Did Armin know?" He doesn't know why he's asking, but the blood is rushing to his chest and stomach too fast for him to give it much thought. It's the first thing that came to mind.
She blushes a deep red, he can see it clearly on her pale skin. "I-I... think so."
No surprise there, though Eren can't deny that a part of him still resents the blond for it. Would it have killed him to at least push Eren in the right direction?
He sighs, his own face heating up as well. Since when were they this bad at talking?
"She's about as good as she always is. It's you, Eren. You can't seem to think of a single thing to say, even though she deserves some kind of answer!"
Answer to what?
To "I love you?"
Is this the part where he says...
"I didn't tell you because I didn't see it as important," Mikasa whispers, wrapping her arms around herself to protect her from the cold. Eren's eyes practically shoot out of his skull, bewilderment making no effort to hide itself on his face.
"Huh?! Of course this is important!"
"I.. I-I know that... but it's the excuse I used. We were constantly under the possibility of a titan attack, and people died every day. Y-You knew that I cared about you, and that you were important to me... that was enough."
He furrows his brows, eyes shining in desperate confusion.
"I don't want you to change... I was worried that trying to tell you something that didn't matter would have taken you down a different path... and I was scared..." Eren has half a mind to wonder what she means by a "different path," but then she begins to tremble. He can only take her hands in his, despite the oppressive embarrassment he feels from the act.
"You don't have to love me back, not in that way... it's not... it's not important. I just don't want you to leave me..."
"Bullshit" he lets out, eyebrows arched in compassion. "Why would I leave you? I've known you for so long, and we spend almost all our free time together, we have ever since we met! Why are you so scared?"
"You..." she tries at a word, but it gets lost in her eyes, the eyes that fill with tears. And that look, the look that Eren was certain would go away, now that she's told him the complete truth, returns. Is there more she's not telling him? Or is she just emotional? Is he just crazy?
"What...?!" his voice is desperate.
"You... you always go somewhere and leave me behind. If it's bullies, or titans, or something else. I know it's not fair of me to ask, so I try not to bother you with what I think, because the only thing I want is..."
She grabs his shirt with shaky hands. But to Eren, she might as well be holding his bleeding heart. It feels like he's hearing her "I love you"'s all over again, but he thinks that this time, it might be hurting him more. Everything hidden between the words, everything that they could not encapsulate, is being expressed to him now.
"Mikasa..."
Despite everything she's told him, his frenzied soul can't manage to truly understand her fear. And is that what has driven her this far? If it weren't for her fear, would she have ever told him this at all? What if they actually did kill the titans? What if they saw the ocean? What if they were able to live the rest of their lives in peace and safety, all while his closest friend, his family, kept the extent of her feelings to herself?
Not that Eren would dare to say this aloud, because he wouldn't ask Mikasa for any favors, not when he owes her so much, but he wishes she trusted him. He wishes she could trust him to not leave her, to not treat him like he'd scurry away the moment she decided to be genuine. Because as much as guilt, shame, regret, and pain chip away at the fiber of his soul, the knowledge that Mikasa loves him like she loves no one else, that he truly, utterly means the world to her, fills him with the most overpowering sense of giddiness he could ever articulate. It's just as annoying as it is intense.
He's interrogating her not because he wants to know why she loves him (not that he can say he really understands that, either), but because he wants to know, more than anything, why she didn't tell him sooner.
But why? Why does he need to know so badly? What changes, really? She will stay with him, as always. She will be overprotective, as always. He will continue to be by her side, like always.
But she loves him now. He cannot stop his juvenile side from slamming that fact into his head over and over again. He even thinks to smile because of it. Why? He doesn't know. And of course he won't, because Mikasa is exhausting her soul just explaining herself to Eren, and he'll be damned if he does anything but cherish each and every word, committing it to the deepest recesses of his memory.
However, as silence fills the room once again, a blush stricken Mikasa vehemently avoiding his eyes, he knows it's his turn to speak.
He has to apologize. For as long as they've known each other, she only has one reason not to have trusted him with this exceedingly important fact. Him.
"Mikasa... I'm..." he grabs at the sheets with his hand, taking her own with his other. Usually he'd do it to calm her, but this time he needs her touch. "I'm sorry you were too afraid to trust me."
"Eren, that's not-"
"All I had to say was that I didn't hate you. Did you really... not know that?" he feels hot tears prick at his eyes, viciously fighting them back as he gets his point across. "You mean so much more to me than that! I care about you more than anyone else..." and it begins to dawn on him just how much it hurts. For Mikasa Ackerman, his Mikasa, to be so profoundly grateful for something as pitiful as that.
Maybe he's not very different from that future Eren. Maybe they're both just as horrible to Mikasa as the other. He never paid her feelings mind, and this is the result. Fear of his indifference kept her from telling him that she loves him.
"...Why?" she dares to ask, eyes wide at his "revelation," as much as he wishes he didn't have to call it that.
He cannot stop the tears from falling once again, his soul torn into a thousand, shameful pieces. "She really had no idea that you even cared..."
"Because... you're Mikasa..." he doesn't know how else to explain himself. How could he even begin to explain why Mikasa means so much to him? The totality of everything she is. He could call her his home, he could call her family, he could call her his best friend, nothing really does her justice, other than her own name.
"Then why did you..." she stops herself, clamping her eyes shut as she keeps Eren's hands within an iron grip. And for a single moment, Eren's stomach plummets in terror, fear that she somehow knew of that dream, that she somehow knew of what he said, and that it was all more real than he could have imagined.
But it was just a dream. He's being paranoid.
And yet the words tumble from his mouth all the same.
"I never hated you. I get that I'm a piece of shit sometimes. I know I don't always explain myself, a-and I don't consider you in my decisions. I..." he remembers how he was after his mom's death. They were both in pain, and yet he couldn't even be bothered to comfort her. He was hurting too much to even let her care for him. "I act like you're not there, and that you'll just follow me no matter what I do. But... I still... you're Mikasa!"
She means the world to him, she is the world to him. He would not last long in a universe without her, not only because she's there to save his ass whenever he gets into trouble, but because a world without her is not one he wants to live in. Everything would become so much colder.
"Eren..." tears swell in her eyes again, not that they ever really left. He can tell the effect his words are having on her, the way they touch her heart, and Eren is left unable to decide whether he's happy that he's able to explain himself, or upset that it's taken him this long.
She tugs at his sleeve, tenuously inching closer to him with a silent questioning, and the very instant Eren recognizes what she's asking, he doesn't hesitate, pulling her right into the strongest hug he can manage. He loves hugging Mikasa.
All that's left is their sniffles.
"I'm sorry.." she mumbles.
"No. Stop being sorry, you're not allowed. You didn't do anything wrong." His face is resolute.
"But, I was scared you were angry with me for what I've done. I know you want to leave this place. I do too. But I haven't been very helpful in making a plan."
He can't argue with that. As much as he wants to assuage her concerns, he couldn't deny that he wishes she was more helpful in getting them out of here. He's sure that she has every intention to leave, she's just frozen with fear.
"It's not your fault. If you haven't done much to get us out of here, then I'm no better. All I can seem to do is complain to you." He digs his fingers into her hair, relishing the softness of it.
When she pushes herself away from his hold to look at his face, her eyes are considerate, deliberation flushing into her face. "Eren, I'll leave the gang."
Eren's eyes light up, a careful hope instilled within him as he asks, "You will?"
At the sight, her trepidation transforms into a bright smile. As bright as Mikasa's can get, anyways. "Yes."
He can only smile more at her own smile, warmth spreading into his chest that makes him want to hug her all over again. But he doesn't, simply grabbing her hand. He thinks to say that she doesn't have to, that she should do whatever she feels is best, because he's just so pleased with her decision. Which is strange, because that would be antithetical to everything he's wanted for the past week and a half since she joined Miller's gang.
Of course, he stays his tongue, giving her the warmest smile he can muster, and the effect it has on her is immediate. Did he always have this great of an effect on her? He shrugs the thought away, realizing that there's no way for him to know how she acts compared to when he isn't with her, unless someone like Armin told him. Clearly, though, Armin wasn't too keen on cluing Eren in on any of the girl's feelings.
"I think I have to get ready to go now." Her voice interrupts his thoughts, the face that filled him with an explosion of emotions completely wiped from her face as she remembers her obligations. He frowns too, instantly missing her eyes, but nods.
They both shift out of their bed, Mikasa going to the bathroom to fix her tenacious bedhead and change her clothes. Eren decides to make breakfast, which never consists of anything more than some bread. Regardless, he insisted that it was indeed something he could do, and it allowed Mikasa to spend more time unfocused. She gets more talkative when she isn't focused.
When all was said and done, the pair dressed and ready to go their separate ways, Eren felt like something was missing. They silently decided to leave the intensive conversation they had earlier on a high note, not bothering to bring it up as they ate. They both still had many problems, internal and external, Eren knows, and they are far from having solved everything he wanted to, but the joy and affection he feels towards her at the moment is something he has no intention of abandoning anytime soon. He knows how volatile he can be, after all. A part of him can't even trust himself to treat her correctly, considering it's taken this long for everything to come out, so why risk a rare instance of contentment over it?
"What?" she asks, noticing how long he's been staring with furrowed brows. He notices it too, the missing piece of her puzzle coming to his mind.
He turns around, taking a few steps back to grab the red fabric that dangles on the counter.
That damned scarf.
And he's reminded that she's loved him since the day they met.
Of course she would never throw it away. Of course she wears it every goddamn day.
How could he have missed this about her? About his best friend, the most important person in his life? She wears her feelings on her sleeve, for everyone to see, despite her preference that they don't look.
And Eren was jealous towards Jean...
He has to bite back a chuckle at that one. How could he have ever thought...
"Here you go..." he hands it to her. She takes it.
"Thank you..." her voice is so beautiful. She's so beautiful.
The scarf leaves his hands, and he couldn't be happier about that fact. It belongs to her. He'd give her everything if he could, just to see her smile.
There you have it! I know, it's a little bit strange that three scenes took me a month to write. I knew that all of these scenes were pretty important, and as a result, they ended up having a much girthier word count than I expected (12K words :o), but ultimately I was just very eager to give you guys another chapter because you've all been so patient with me. Chapter 18 unfortunately did not usher in a golden era of consistency for me, but it was better than a two and a half month wait so at least I can be happy about that. Luckily, I've been blessed with some very awesome and patient readers who I know are okay with waiting as long as it takes me, and that means the world to me, so thank you all so much! As always, tell me what you thought and have a great day! -Y