Mikasa's POV
The summer sun cast its ethereal glow over the room, pulling me from my sleep as golden rays filtered through the clean windowpane. My eyes fluttered open, squinting against the light.
A blanket was draped over me, though I didn't recall ever pulling it on. My legs ached for some odd reason, and my head felt heavy, throbbing with a dull pain while my face seemed extremely dry.
I turned to the side, my breath hitching as a sudden wave of realization washed over me—I was in Eren's room.
The air was still, save for the faint rustle of the curtains. I blinked, trying to piece together how I'd ended up here. Last night… I came here for something. But what? My brows furrowed as I strained to remember. Oh, right—I'd come to check on him, to see if he wanted help changing his bandages.
But what happened after that? The memory felt distant, foggy, as though submerged beneath water. I vaguely recalled sitting with him, talking about… something. Yet the details slipped through my grasp like sand, leaving me with nothing but fragments.
Before I could delve deeper into my thoughts, the door creaked open. Eren stepped inside, his figure bathed in the morning light. His emerald eyes met mine briefly, lingering as if searching for something. For a moment, he didn't say a word.
Without acknowledging me further, he crossed the room, his footsteps quiet against the wooden floor. He reached for the bookshelf, pulling out a worn, leather-bound diary. His movements were steady, deliberate.
Carrying the book to his desk, he sat down, opened it, and began to write, the scratching of his pen filling the otherwise silent room.
I watched him, the soft tension in the air wrapping around us like an invisible thread. My mind wandered again, circling the hazy memories of the night before. Why couldn't I remember? And why did my chest tighten as I stared at Eren, lost in his quiet, focused world?
It had been forever since I'd seen him like that—the Eren I once knew. The quiet, thoughtful one who preferred to stay lost in his own world, his mind a labyrinth of ideas and dreams. Watching him now, so still, so deliberate, brought a smile to my lips.
But then his gaze shifted to me. He closed the diary with a soft thud, and I quickly averted my eyes, a warm flush creeping up my cheeks. He stood, the chair creaking softly under the sudden weight shift, and his gaze never wavered from me.
He just… stared. For far too long, his eyes locked onto me, unblinking. I could feel his presence like a wave crashing against my composure, and I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze. Why was I acting so shy?
It wasn't like me. But here I was—sitting on his bed, wrapped in his blanket, surrounded by the faint scent of him. Everything about this moment felt surreal, like I'd stumbled into a dream I was too scared to wake from.
"Er..." I finally mustered, breaking the silence. My voice wavered as I turned my head, trying to meet his eyes.
He didn't move, his hands buried in his pockets, his stance casual but his expression unreadable. "I heard you were the first one to fall... during the expedition," he said, his voice cold and detached.
My heart sank. He was disappointed.
"Sorry… I… I was just—" I stammered, but his gaze pierced through my half-formed excuses. Then he looked away, the simple motion cutting deeper than any words could.
"How are you supposed to fight Titans," he said, his voice steady, sharp, "when you can't even stand against some mere humans?"
His words were a slap to the face, and yet, I couldn't deny them. He was right. He was always right.
"Eren, I—" I tried again, desperate to explain myself, to make him understand.
He just looked at me, and for the first time, I could feel it—the weight of his disappointment. It wasn't in his words, not yet. It was in his eyes, cold and distant, like I'd shattered some unspoken expectation.
My chest tightened, and I cursed myself silently as a wave of shame washed over me. My lips quivered as I finally spoke, my voice trembling.
"Are you… are you disappointed in me, Eren?" I whispered, my eyes stinging with tears that I couldn't hold back any longer. A few escaped, rolling down my cheeks as I fought to keep the rest from falling.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he just stared, his silence cutting deeper than any words ever could. And then, when he finally spoke, his voice was flat, detached.
"I'm not." His tone was sharp, like the edge of a blade. "Why would I even bother being disappointed? It's your life. If you're strong, you live. If not, you die. What's in it for me?"
The cold finality in his words stung more than I thought possible. My lips parted slightly, trembling as I tried to respond, but nothing came.
"What?" I managed, my voice barely audible. "Then... why let me stay in your room... if you think I'm... I'm worthless?" I said, even though Eren never said the exact words, I just somehow messed up.
His gaze darkened, piercing through me with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. He didn't flinch, didn't soften, and his words hit me like a hammer.
"It was until…" he began, his voice cutting through the air, "I realized how utterly useless you've become. From a warrior to nothing but a weak, frail girl. Just think for a moment." My heart beat quickened, I never thought I'd hear those words.
"Would Eren Yeager—the Eren you think cared about you—look at your current self with pride? Or would he see you for what you are? A good-for-nothing piece of trash."
The words tore through me, leaving nothing but raw, open wounds in their wake. My breath hitched as my tears broke free, streaming down uncontrollably. I clutched the crimson scarf tightly against my chest, holding onto it like a lifeline.
Each sob felt like it was ripped from the depths of my soul, and my heart thudded painfully against my ribs. His words echoed in my mind, over and over, amplifying the weight of my shame.
The scarf grew damp with my tears as I clung to it desperately, trying to steady my crumbling resolve. And yet, somewhere in the rawness of my pain, a flicker of determination began to form.
His words hurt—hurt like hell—but maybe that was what I needed. Maybe it was time to prove that I wasn't the person he saw me as.
My tears continued to fall despite my efforts to wipe them away. No matter how hard I tried, they wouldn't stop. My voice trembled as I tried to shake the weight of his words.
"Sorry... It's just… Eren never said those words to me before." I let out a weak laugh, but it sounded hollow, even to my own ears. His words were so real, yet they felt strangely out of place, like a cruel mirage I couldn't escape.
But when he spoke again, his tone, though still cold, felt like an anchor pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. "There are only two options, Ackerman: evolve or extinct."
The bluntness of his statement struck me differently this time. It wasn't a condemnation—it was a challenge. Somehow, that realization brought a faint smile tugging at my lips, shaky as it was. Gathering myself, I stood up from his bed, my legs unsteady but determined.
Slowly, I walked toward him, each step feeling heavier than the last. When I reached him, my hands instinctively reached out, clutching his wrists. He didn't move, didn't flinch. His body remained as still as stone, but I could feel the faint pulse beneath my fingers, grounding me.
Leaning closer, I rested my forehead against his shoulder, my hair brushing softly against his chin. His scent surrounded me—familiar, grounding, but distant. He didn't wrap his arms around me, nor did he push me away. He just stood there, unyielding, like an immovable monument.
"Sorry…" I whispered, the word spilling out before I even understood why I said it. He didn't reply, but his silence spoke volumes, we stayed there for a couple of minutes till my tears stopped and then I exhaled deeply.
"Eren?" I tried again, my voice quieter this time, fragile. When he still didn't answer, I hesitated but pressed on. "I… I want to get stronger… just like you."
Pulling back slightly, I tilted my head up, meeting his emerald gaze. His eyes were dull, the vibrant fire they once held replaced with an almost lifeless green. But there was something there—something buried deep, flickering faintly like an ember waiting to be reignited.
"I want to be someone you can be proud of," I murmured, my voice steadying as my resolve grew. The words hung between us, unspoken emotions swirling in the silence. He didn't respond.
Eren remained silent, his unreadable expression never shifting, and yet, his presence felt heavier, as if the weight of my words struck something deep within him. The faint flicker in his eyes was gone almost as quickly as it appeared, leaving behind the same stoic, distant mask.
I tightened my grip on his wrists, grounding myself against the storm of emotions swirling inside me. "Eren… I know I've been weak, but I don't want to stay this way. Not anymore." My voice trembled, there was conviction beneath it.
"That's why... Would... Would you train me... And make me strong... Just like you...?"
"Not interest—" Eren began, but before he could finish, a cheerful voice cut through the tension in the room.
"Sure thing! Eren and I train every day. I bet he wouldn't have any problem if Mikasa joins," Christa chimed in, a bright smile on her face as she jumped on Eren's back like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Right, Eren?" she asked sweetly, her tone laced with an underlying edge that made it hard to tell whether she was joking or serious.
Eren sighed, his gaze drifting momentarily to the window as though he were contemplating the meaning of life itself. Finally, he looked back at me, his expression as neutral as ever. "Fine. Don't leave the field after training. Wait for me. And Christa—" His voice dropped, colder now, "get off. You've gotten heavier."
"Hey! That's so mean, Eren!" Christa pouted, smacking his shoulder playfully, though her voice had a teasing lilt to it.
Without another word, Eren walked out of the room, leaving the two of us behind. Christa watched him leave, her smile lingering, and I felt a rush of gratitude swell up. "Hey, Christa, thank—"
But before I could finish, the air in the room shifted, sharp and icy. Christa turned toward me, her once-sunny expression darkening into something venomous. Her voice dropped, each word laced with a venom that made my stomach churn.
"Shut up, Mikasa Ackerman."