It happens like this: they're sprinting through the streets of Marley, her small hand in his. Past the astonished eyes of the people whose lives he's torn asunder. Past the children darting through the streets like they did so long ago in Shiganshina, Past the weight of his sins.
For as long as she wills it, in this illusionary path neither of them will—are willing to—take, they're free to escape.
"Eren!" Mikasa calls out his name, and it hurts to hear, that soft exhale she releases with each syllable. She must be confused, but it will pass. Everything except time will pass here. "Where are we going?"
He looks back at her and tries his best to grin. "I don't know!" he yells back against the rising tide of the noisy crowd (the ringing screams). He squeezes her hand tighter, wishing that they could meld together, skin to flesh to blood to bone. Wishes he could burrow inside her. Wishes she could keep him, tucked away into the crevice of her heart. In here, you must forget. Keep your eyes on me. Will she reject him? Does she not want him? When he speaks, it is well-crafted words— desperation—hidden behind nonchalance. "Weren't you the one who said we should run away?"
"Oh," she says, confusion yielding to a dreamy look. Relief and triumph intertwine and squeezes his heart. "I did, didn't I?"
Mikasa didn't say that at all, but what matters is that she thinks she did. At this moment, she remembers nothing except what he's built for her. Eren doesn't know how strong her half-Ackerman, half-Hizuru bloodline will resist the Founder's powers, how long this dream can last, but it's holding now.
That's all that matters.
They run and run and run, hand-in-hand, and for a moment, the world warps to back when they were nine years old. He grabs her hand. Wraps a red scarf around her neck. And as it flaps in the wind, the ribbon tying their fates together, he leads her home.
Anywhere is fine. As long as it's away from here.
Before they run, it happens like this: he's dreaming of her, of them. All the while the world bleeds.
Their hands are still laced together. The calloused pads of her fingers on the back of his hand are rough and battle-weary. He hopes that it too, like the memories, will fade away. Mikasa falls asleep on his shoulder after they get on the train, head lolled against the crook of his neck. Her hat is long gone, flew away into the wind amidst giggles while they threaded their way through the streets to the station.
Eren, half-giddy with the fact that she's in this dream with him, reaches out with his other hand and tucks in a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear. She stirs at his touch, but continues sleeping, breathing softly, in and out, in and out. Alive, alive, alive, his heart says.
The train passes along metal tracks. It's quiet. Eerily quiet. There is no conductor, no passengers, no one except Eren and Mikasa.
She's here with me. We're running away together. We're going home.
He looks outside the window. She used to live in the mountains, didn't she? She used to be happy there. Before she met him.
When she first came to live with his family, she used to cry silently into the red scarf at night, trying not to wake him. The stifled sobs hadn't worked. Being the emotionally stunted child he was back then, he could only comfort her by crawling into her bed and holding her hands.
They curled up together, the two of them, until her tears stopped. No words passed between them, but it was the warmest Eren had felt. The illusion wrapping them now feels the same, a childhood blanket retrieved from the attic, full of nostalgia and longing for simpler times.
I miss the mountains, she confided in him once. I miss my home. I miss my family. Just that once, but he remembers. He remembers everything now. From the first meeting to now, he closes his eyes and recalls with perfect clarity.
As a child, he hadn't understood why she followed him. Why she bound herself to him.
As an adult, he understood too late.
Would she be happy there, in the home so unfairly ripped away from her? Does she miss it still? Eren has nothing but sand and dreams now, so it is the only thing he can offer to her. It'll have to do.
Eren closes his eyes, and the world bends. The city disappears in a blur, shifting into thick forests and green meadows. The empty train lurches to a stop, wheels shrieking as they grind into metal tracks.
Sunlight fades away into silver moonlight, landing softly on Mikasa's cheeks. She startles awake, a tiny jerk of her body as her eyelashes flutter open. Eren doesn't know what he wants more: for her to sleep forever, or for her to wake.
"Eren…" She rubs her eyes open and lets out a yawn. Asks with slurred words, as if her mind wasn't quite fully connected to the present. The air crackles, restless. "Where are we?"
"Our home," he answers, heart pounding in anticipation. In fear. They're going to run away and live together, just the two of them. If she lets him. If she follows.
She tilts her head, bewilderment etched in her furrowed brows. He resists the urge to smooth it out with a press of his lips. "What home? Weren't we just in the Marleyan port? Where's Armin? Why are we in this carriage?"
His blood runs cold. When he inhales, the air slices into his chest. It is everything he has feared come true. Too many questions. Too little time. "We ran away, Mikasa," he says quietly, and holds her hand tighter. Wills the illusion to wrap a little closer, a little tighter. He looks at her and refuses to blink.
Memorizes the shape of her mouth, the curve of her jaw, just in case everything shatters. Then, at least, he'll have something left at the end of it all. "You said we should live the rest of my years in peace and quiet. You told me…" He hesitates.
But Eren is Eren. He pushes forward.
Refuses to back down. What is one small sin in the face of so many he's carrying already? "You said you love me, remember?" he says, voice small and creaking. "You love me. Right?"
She does. He knows this. Knows it from the careful following of her eyes. Knows it from her gentle touches. Knows it from the breathless sighs of his name. From all the billions of worlds he's been through she's the person who loved him.
She loves him. She must.
"I did?" she says to herself. Her eyes cloud over. Eren stops breathing. He waits. Prays.
They fade back into crystal grey, and the world starts moving again. "I did, didn't I?" She puts her hand to her mouth, takes a shuddering breath. "I told you that I love you."
Three words, but they're gut wrenching. She didn't say it before, but she's saying it now. She does, she does, his mind repeats. She loves me. His throat tightens on the verge of pain. Eren wants to hear it again and again, everyday until the end. Even if he doesn't deserve it, he wants this fleeting happiness. "What was that?" he asks.
Her eyes fly back to his face. "I s-said—" she stammers, face flushing, eyes flickering at everywhere but him.
"Say it again?" he teases, voice rippling with amusement. It's almost nauseating, how lovely she seems in this moment. Words like "lovely" weren't supposed to be in his vocabulary. She's always been pretty, but when he had been fifteen, it'd been nothing but a passing thought. Now, it consumes him, this desire. "I didn't hear you, Mikasa."
"You—You're making fun of me," she accuses, a rarely-heard stutter. She makes to stand up, to untangle their fingers, but Eren refuses to let go. He follows her. Pushes himself off the seat, leaving indentations from where his nails sunk into leather.
Wraps his free hand—the one not holding her hand—over her hips, fingers splayed on the satin pink fabric of her dress. She reddens even more, eyes wide.
"Say it again. Please?" he asks softly. He stares into her eyes, and from shining grey eyes, his desperate face stares back.
Within Paths, Eren can pull at time. Mold it in his desire. Stretch a second into a day into a year. Into infinity. But she'll wake before that. Her blood refuses to bend to his will.
"I…I—"
"Please."
She takes a deep breath, swallows air as if she were drowning. Mikasa faces him head on, with her steel-grey eyes. She does not back down. In this small train compartment, the world shrinks to just the two of them. All of the universe condensed into a single coordinate, and it is here.
Tell me again, he wishes. She grants it, voice strong. Stronger than him. "I love you, Eren Jaeger. "
She's killing him. Tearing into him, syllable by syllable. His heart is so light, yet so heavy. Love. She could have told him that, on that day in Marley. What am I to you, Mikasa? Would it have changed his trajectory? Would it have shifted his path?
But it's okay. They're here now.
Mikasa stares at him, her previous bravado gone. "Do you…You don't have to return anything," she hurries to say. The taciturn Mikasa Ackerman, one of humanity's strongest soldiers, is reduced to a babbling mess. "I just…wanted you to know. We don't have to change. No matter what, you'll always be family—"
"Hey!" At the sound of that word, Eren lunges. His hand presses over her mouth as she gasps in surprise. He doesn't want to hear it again. "Don't put words into my mouth. Do you really not know why I'm here with you?" He headbutts her softly. "I don't want to be just family." His eyes slide away from her face. Not that kind, anyway, he thinks in self-deprecation.
He lets go of her mouth. Leans forward, closer and closer until the distance between them is just short of their lips touching, forehead pressed against hers.
"Then…what do you want?" she breathes. She's pretty when she blushes. Eren wants, wants to—
But he doesn't. He answers her question instead. "What do I want?" His voice dips low, and she shivers in response. He's not the best at putting thoughts to words and he's not articulate like Armin. But he has his honesty and that promise he made to her, if she'll have it. All that he can't be, he'll give it to her here. "I want to wrap that scarf around you every day, Mikasa Ackerman. Now and forever."
It's all a bit murky, this dream. It's supposed to be hers. Eren shapes the world, but it's all according to her. Or maybe she's not here at all. Maybe it's him that's dreaming. Or maybe it's both. A long dream is better dreamt together, after all.
There's a small cabin in the middle of nowhere that houses his heart, and Mikasa is at the centre. Eren wakes up so intertwined with Mikasa that it's hard to tell where he begins and where he ends.
(Always at Mikasa. Everything begins and ends at Mikasa.)
Untangling himself from her is hard when he wakes. On some days, it's easier. On some days, it's harder. On some days, it's impossible. It's a recent thing, waking up in her arms. They've shared the bed ever since they've started living here, but they've kept to the edge, arms length away, both too afraid to damage this newfound fragile bond.
Eren doesn't want to push her; it's delicate work, weaving this dream, especially when her mind keeps pushing him out. He contents himself with holding her hand and the accidental brushes of their skin against each other, even though all he wants to do is fall within her arms. But in this eternity, there is no second to spare.
"You can come closer when you sleep, you know," he mentions offhandedly one night while they're settling in, at arm's length once again. The moonlight peeks from behind the curtains, illuminating her back. "I mean, even as kids, we used to sleep together closer than this."
The breeze whispers through the windows. Mikasa is silent for a few minutes. Finally, from the other side of the bed, he hears her voice. "I just don't know where the line is."
"You want there to be a line between us?" His brows furrow. "Even after everything?"
"No!" She sits up. Doesn't look at him. "It's just that…I'm not used to this."
"Used to what? Sharing a bed."
"Wanting me closer. I don't know where you want to draw the line." Even without the moonlight, Eren knows she's turning that pleasant shade of red again. "I…I want anything you would give, but I don't know if you're the same."
Oh. She's holding back, for his sake. He doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. "I am. The same, I mean," he says honestly. It's the one thing he cannot lie about. Not again. "I want everything you'd give me."
"Oh. Um, good then." She's silent again.
He bites the bullet."C'mere." He moves closer to her and holds his arms open. "Well, if you want," he amends.
Mikasa turns, slow and hesitant. He smiles and waits. Patience, he counsels. Patience.
She shifts herself closer. Inch by inch, as Eren waits, before she finally moves close enough for him to enclose her in his arms to fall back onto the mattress. She's always been tall, even as a girl, but right now, she feels so small.
The soft exhale of air he can feel on his neck, while she curls up into him, is making him…feel things. Disgustingly soft things his nine-year-old didn't know love entailed, like the want to touch her skin, to press a kiss to her forehead, to her lips.
"I love you," she whispers suddenly, voice muffled. "I think I've loved you since I was nine years old. Ever since you wrapped this scarf around me."
Heat flashes through his body. Oh god, she's making the sappy feeling worse. He'd never tire of hearing it, but it still shakes his whole world upside down. All of a sudden, it's too warm. His ears are too hot. Is it always like this, this intense longing? Is this how she felt, whenever her eyes followed him? Is this what love is?
Screw it then. He'll do whatever he wants, embarrassment be damned. His hand drifts toward her cheek. Mikasa leans into his touch. Her breath hitches as he maps out her face, lingering to caress the scar. The scar he'd given her.
"I—" The words are not coming out right. He's choking on that soft feeling, struggling to tell her just what exactly she means to him. He can't pinpoint the time when he first realized when it started. Maybe it was when they were both about to die that day on the battlefield, when she thanked him for saving her. Maybe it was when he first saw her when they were nine years old, beaten and battered on the ground. But it doesn't matter now.
But finally, he dislodges the words from his throat. "Me too," he whispers. "I love you, too."
She makes an amused noise. "Don't force yourself. I already know how you are with expressing your emotions."
"I can talk about my emotions—" he pauses, reminded of his teenage obstinacy. Then sheepishly admits, "Well, this time, at least."
She hums and presses her face to his chest, where his heart is pounding like he's in the middle of battle, sword drawn at the ready, adrenaline in his blood. It's the same feeling when he transforms, flesh made bigger than he really is. The same piercing lightning zapping through his arteries.
"Stay with me?" he pleads. Helplessly. Uselessly. He pulls her tighter against him, trying to capture this moment in time, memorizing the feel of her arms wrapped around him, the warmth of her skin. In the end, memories would be all that he has.
"For how long do you want me, Eren."
He laughs mirthlessly. "Forever then."
"For how long do you want," she repeats.
But they won't have forever, will they?
...
"My hair's getting too long," he complains, hand tugging at the strands of unruly hair beginning to fall on his shoulder. He doesn't like it. It reminds him too much of the outside. Reminds him that this isn't real, and that outside this path they walk, he's not with her. He's alone, waiting to die.
Mikasa stops her embroidering and stares at him, a hand on her cheek, contemplating. "When did it get so long?" Eren could tell her the exact day, the exact second, but she continues, "Should I cut it then?"
It became so long because I didn't care, he wants to tell her. Because I'm going to die. Because you're going to kill— But instead, he swallows those words down. He doesn't know the ending yet. No one does, except Mikasa. "Yeah. Would you mind?"
"Right now?" He nods. Taps his fingers against his thigh in a nervous dance for her to find the scissors. And when she waves them around in triumph, he says, "Just above my ears then."
"You've never cut it this short before," she comments, even as she starts to snip away. Brushes her nails against the tip of his ears.
"Felt like a change of pace." He never bothered it trim it, after seeing all those visions. There were more important things—liking planning for his death. Planning for this. All this planning, and still he's so lost.
She hums in response. It's a quick affair, the brown strands of split ends drifting to the floor. He feels lighter. Like a tumour has been cut off his shoulder. Or a tree shedding its leaves to prepare for winter. Finally, the sound of snipping scissors near his ears ceases.
Mikasa runs her hand through his now shortened hair. It's a soothing feeling. He wants to fall asleep to it.
"Does it look okay?" he asks, tilting his head backwards to look at her face above.
She nods with a smile. "Yeah."
"I bet you'd say that even if I had a bowl cut," he accuses. Mikasa's not exactly the best judge of aesthetics. It's always been Armin—and while he's loathed to admit it, also the stupid horse-face—that's had the best eye for this kind of thing.
She tugs at his hair in protest, sending pleasant chills down his back. "You were the one that asked," she deadpans, before breaking into a smirk. "Are you pouting?"
"No," he sulks.
She hands him a mirror. It's short. Way shorter than even his haircut during childhood. But it's a good difference. He needs to put more distance between the outside world and himself.
"It does look good," he admits.
"You shouldn't have doubted my cutting skills, Eren."
He pulls at her own hair, black locks spilling onto her shoulders. "Yours is getting long too. Do you want me to cut it?"
"Do you like it shorter?"
He shrugs. "You look good either way," he says bluntly.
Mikasa reddens and buries her face in her scarf. "I'll keep it like this for now. I'll cut it once it gets past my shoulders."
"You don't like it too long?" he asks.
"Just habit. I've always kept it short. It could get caught on the ODM gear."
Right. They're far away from all that right now. Mikasa doesn't need to worry about that kind of thing anymore. Not that she ever had to, now that he thinks about it.
It's while they're getting ready for bed that Eren admits, "You know, I think I was lying back then."
"What?" Mikasa stops brushing her hair in the mirror and turns to face him, a confused look on her face.
"When I said you should cut your hair, because it would get caught in the ODM gear."
"Why?"
"I don't know. You could have probably tied it up instead." He scowls. Having Jean fawn over her was frustrating in a way that he can't place a finger on, back in those days.
"But then I heard horse-face complementing you about your 'beautiful black hair'. It was annoying." He hadn't realized she would be so gullible over his blatant lie—even if he himself had believed it. Or maybe she did it for him.
"You don't like my hair colour?" she asks, frowning.
"No!" Eren immediately says. "It's nice. It's just…horse-face was always looking at you."
"….Were you jealous?" she says softly.
"I don't think I realized it back then," he says. "But yeah."
"You didn't have to worry," she says. "It was always you, Eren."
"I know. Still." He looks away, ears hot. The validation brings a surge of triumph—but also dredges up regret.
Will it be the same after his death? Will she move on and forget him? It's a thought that keeps circling in his mind. He doesn't want her to forget him. He doesn't want her to move on to someone like Jean, who could probably treat her way better than him. Someone who won't burden her. The insidious thought keeps tugging at his brain.
But she needs to move on. All he wants—he exhales, repeating in his mind—is her happiness. With or without him. Definitely without him. He's too far gone.
"Are you done? Come to bed," he says, trying to change the conversation, before he works himself into a frenzy.
She nods and blows out the candle, before crawling in beside him. He envelops her in his arms, while her ear finds its way to his chest. He's found that she likes to listen to his heartbeat while they sleep.
After a moment, Mikasa breaks the silence. "Eren."
"Mikasa," he parrots her seriousness.
She swats at his arm in fake annoyance, before nestling into him. "Is it really okay for me to feel so happy?"
"Why is it not okay?" His hands feel clammy at her question. Has she remembered?
"We've left so many responsibilities behind."
"You said you'd stay with me," he reminds her. "You promised."
She nods. "Yeah. But all our friends. Armin must be looking so desperately for us. And the war…" She sighs, dejected.
"Hey." He takes her face in his hands and presses her forehead to his. Look only at me. "We only have four years together. Let's just forget about it. Okay?"
Mikasa's eyes cloud over. If she won't forget her worries, he'll make her.
"Don't leave me behind," he begs.
She shivers. He holds onto her tighter. "I won't, Eren. You know I won't."
You will eventually. I'll force you into doing it. I'll force your hand into making a decision.
"Then promise me. Let's not talk about this again."
"All right. I promise."
They stop talking after that. She falls asleep in his arms, and Eren focuses on her breathing to calm himself down. In. Out. In. Out.
He's a selfish bastard, through and through, isn't he? But he wants this reprieve, wants this paradise, before the walls around them shatter again. Before reality finds them again.
Before he dies.
...
They take turns hunting. Well, Eren tries.
"I don't understand," he grumbles. "I can't find any game. And when I do, they immediately run away. Can't they just keep still?"
Mikasa smothers a laugh while he scowls at another failed expedition. The sun is setting on the horizon, casting a soft orange glow on her cheeks. "You're too impatient. It makes you loud. They could probably hear you from miles away."
"I'm not that bad!" he protests. Mikasa rolls her eyes and levels a look at him. He sighs in defeat. "You're probably right. How'd you get so good anyway?"
"We didn't only keep a farm on the mountain. My dad also hunted. He taught me some basics."
"Well, excuse me for being a city dweller."
She's laughing again. It blocks out every other sound and rattles in Eren's mind. Shakes him. Eren has never heard her like this, so carefree, even as a child. It makes his failure somewhat tolerable. At least she's enjoying his misery.
"Well, even without hunting, there's still fishing. Just you wait," he vows. "I'll catch the biggest fish there is. You better be prepared to eat only fish for the next couple of days."
"We'll see then," Mikasa says, still smiling, "You know, my father told me that when I grow older, my husband would be the one hunting for me. But I guess I'll have to be the hunter, huh?"
His heart skips a beat. For a moment, he just stares at her. My husband, she said.
She stares back, confused. "Did I say something wrong?"
"You can't just"—his face flushes at her nonchalant attitude—"say that kind of stuff out of nowhere! Give me some time to prepare first!"
Her eyes widen as she too realizes what she said. And then she too is turning as red as the setting sun. "I-I didn't know—"
And it's just like that day again, on the train with all their friends, when they had stared at each other while blushing. As he sputters, it's Mikasa that speaks first. "Did you dislike it?" she hesitantly asks.
Dislike it? He'd love it, if it didn't almost gave him a heart attack. "No! Just…" He sneaks a glance at her, face tucked into her scarf. The scarf that he's personally wrapped around her, every time she puts it on. "Do you?"
She sinks deeper into the red fabric, face almost matching in its intense colour. "Of course not."
And if this were the real world, they would probably be married, wouldn't they? If the world wasn't so cruel, he'd be asking her father for her hand in marriage.
"Do you want," he flounders for the right words, "to…y'know."
"To get married?" She contemplates his question for a bit, but then shakes her head.
"Oh." His chest sinks. It's fine. It's fine. It's not like they could, anyway, here in the middle of nowhere. He's not disappointed. Really.
"Not because I don't want to," she continues, intertwining her hand with his. "But whatever we have right now, we don't need a ceremony, do we? We don't need to define it. As long as we're together, I'm happy."
She's so sweet, it's unfair. He squeezes her hand in return and wishes he could tell her that it's real. That the world they're in is real. But as long as their feelings are true to each other, it doesn't matter if this world is not real—it hurts a little less when he tells himself this.
"Besides…" Mikasa gives a teasing smile. "I don't know if I want you as a husband, considering that I'll have to do all the hunting and fishing."
"You don't know about the fishing part yet," he protests.
"Maybe I should ask Sasha to marry me instead," she muses—
At the sound of Sasha's name, Eren starts, lightning shooting down his spine.
"Yeah. Maybe," he croaks out. Tries to play along with her joke. Please, not yet.
Mikasa's brows furrow. A dazed look crosses her face. "Oh, Eren. You're here. Sasha…Where is Sasha?"
"Far away from here, Mikasa," he says, a hand on her waist ready to guide her back. "Let's go back home."
"Isn't—I saw her—Sasha on the floor, bleeding," she mutters, clutching at her head. "Isn't she dead—"
"Mikasa, let's go home. It's getting cold," he urges, tugging her toward the cabin. But she can't stop. Her bloodline won't let her. She's getting further and further away.
"Eren, where's Armin?" Mikasa says, clouded eyes staring into space. "Where are we? Wasn't I just in the middle of battle?"
"Didn't we promise we'd be together, just the two of us?" he pleads. "You said we should run away, didn't you?"
"Did I say that?" she said dreamily. "But what about Armin? "
The Founder, can she fix this? He presses his forehead to hers, but she's still so lost. "Mikasa!"
Her eyes turn clear. "…Eren? Is something wrong?"
He startles backwards, looking at anywhere but her. "I was worried you had a fever or something. You were a bit out of it."
"But I feel fine?" she says, confused.
"That's good. Let's just go home then."
The sun has almost dipped completely below the horizon. Their shadows almost seem to meld into one. Eren pulls Mikasa back, hand-in-hand, piece-by-piece, but there's a hollow feeling blooming in his chest. The screams are getting louder. He can't block it out anymore. And his tears are falling as she presses a hand to her temple.
"I'm tired... Someone... Save me please... Please I want to rest... Just... Just for a moment... I don't want to be the chosen one... I want to die in her arms... I'm... Tired..."
This castle of sand is crumbling. Brick by brick. Tower by tower. Torn asunder, until it's all washed away. Mikasa can't stay. The tide is coming in, and Eren can only watch as it does.
...
Mikasa keeps a small garden behind the house, a plot of dark soil and small sprouts.
"I'm afraid of over-watering them," she says, fussing over the hydrangeas. They're budding, small green leaves peeking out from their branches.
"It'll be fine." He doesn't bother telling her that, in the end, her worries wouldn't matter. They'd grow regardless, if Eren wills it. If she wishes it.
Even without sunlight, they'd bloom.
"It's strange, being here with you," Mikasa tells him one day while his head is lying in her lap. She's weaving a flower crown, nimble fingers weaving in and out of blue petals. The pollen drifting down makes him want to sneeze.
"What do you mean?" Eren closes his eyes, listens to the soft whistle of the breeze. Is this the essence of love? Soft and slow? Eren's life burns hard and fast, but it is different here, in this fantasy. Mikasa tempers him, cools his blood as he drifts in her gravity.
It's peaceful.
(But hidden within the song of the wind is the deafened sound of final breaths, crushed bones, scattered ashes. A constant hum.)
"I never thought—" her fingers stop moving, and she runs one hand in his hair. He nudges into her hand, sighing at her nails on his scalp. She continues, "—never thought that we'd be together like this."
"But here we are."
She shakes her head. "Armin and I were always chasing your shadows. You always end up so far away. I…" Her eyes glaze over. "I've always thought you'd leave us, in the end. And even now, if feels as if you'll fade away, like maybe this is all something I—"
He sits up. "I'm here," he insists, trying to distract from where her thoughts would lead. "Aren't I? You know I'm here."
The flower crown drops, half-finished on the grass, as he takes her face in his hands. She exhales shakily. Blinks once, twice. "Eren? You're really here?"
"Well…You can see my eyes…" he says, peering into her eyes.
"Yes," she says, as grey and green clash.
"You can feel my hand…" his fingers reach up to trace the delicate curve of her jaw.
"Yes," she says, as she leans into his touch.
"You can hear my voice…" he whispers into her ear, low and husky.
"Yes," she says, as she jerks at his warm breath on her earlobe.
"You can smell my scent…"
She hides her face into his neck, takes a deep inhale, holds onto him like she never wants to let go. He understands. He understands too well. "Yes," she says in a small voice, glancing at him, a blushing bride.
"And for taste…"
Her eyes widen, and there's no time to say yes—
"Mikasa, do you want…"
"Please."
She's giggling as he carries her over the threshold to their bedroom. "I can walk by myself," she complains, but makes no move to leave his arms. "You should let me down."
He plants another kiss on her cheek. "I know. But I don't want to." She'll leave him sooner or later, and it won't be of his volition. So before that, he won't let go.
She's still smiling as he lowers her on the bed, and then they're both kicking off their shoes.
"Come here," she says when he leans over her, unsure of what happens next. Black hair spills like an inky waterfall over the sheets. Her eyes are darker, hungrier, and it makes him shudder in anticipation. Her arms link around his neck and she pulls.
And in this world, Eren obeys. Falls and slants his mouth over hers. She moves back, exhales a rough breath, but holds onto him tighter, and he gives chase. At first, they're just exchanging light kisses, but then he nips impatiently at her lips and she moans. Eren deepens the kiss, teeth knocking against teeth in their inexperience. Wants to imprint himself into her. Wants to be consumed.
"Stop, stop," she breathes out, hand pushing his chest back.
"I-I'm sorry," he stammers, reeling back. Was he too rough? Did she want to stop?
"I want you to," she demands, placing his hands onto her—his—scarf, "take this off of me." Her cheeks are red, but her eyes are shining, expectant.
Oh.
Oh.
He can do that. Definitely.
So he does, unravels the red cloth with unsteady hands, eyes fascinated with the creamy skin being exposed with each tug. She's making a soft noise in her throat when he touches her neck that makes him dizzy. And when he's finished, when he tosses the red scarf somewhere on the ground, ignoring her soft protest to be gentle with it, she's trembling.
"Cold?"
"You can warm me up." She tilts her neck and smiles. He can hear the blood pounding in his head, bursting in his veins. She's so—Why is she so—
He feels like he's going insane. Teeth meets skin as she gives that breathless laugh again when he mouths at the vulnerable skin of her shoulder, but it soon turns into gasps as he bites. Her fingers are threading through his hair, and when she tugs, he's the one left breathless.
"Eren," she whispers. Her hands are at the bottom hem of his shirt, tugging it up and up and up. "Please."
He exhales and sits up. Yanks off his shirt, tosses it to who knows where. Who cares.
Mikasa places her palms flat on his chest, skin to skin. He stills under her touch. Lets her explore the expanse of himself. Waits for her move, even when her touch turns teasing in its infuriating lightness. Mikasa trails her finger everywhere, pausing to stroke over old scars.
Some of them he remembers. Some of them he does not. But a good number of them were from recklessly charging into fights that she had to win for him. Ever his warrior, she is. Was.
"I remember these," she says. "Each and everyone of them."
"Mikasa," he begs, unable to keep a shudder suppressed as she burns trails of fire.
She startles, as if she had forgotten where she was in her reminiscence. Her fingers scraping over the sensitive skin.
He lets out an undignified groan and rocks into her, helpless for any kind of friction.
Her eyes widen, a knowing look entering them. Her legs hook around him, and then what the fuck, he's flipping through the air—
All of a sudden, Eren finds himself flat on his back, Mikasa straddling him.
She's glorious like this, a pink blush dusting her cheek, mouth swollen from kisses, shy but still with that determined look in her steel-grey eyes. He can't look away.
"Is—" She lowers her head and peppers kisses over his chest, and Eren is still shocked at the reversal in their roles, but groans when she presses a kisses over his chest. "—this okay? You liked it when I touched here."
"Yes," he manages to choke out through the haze of lust. "Just do something, please. Anything." He didn't expect this from, of all people, Mikasa, but it's anything but unwelcome. Whatever she wants to give, he'll take. Gladly.
She licks her lips, uncertain. Her hands are digging into his arms, holding him down. Eren can feel her smile against his skin. He groans, half-delirious from the pleasure, wants to grind up against her, but then he remembers—this shouldn't be about him. He doesn't deserve this, but she does.
"Let me," he rasps out, pushing against her to sit up. She leans back, confused, but nods. Eren takes her in his arms and paws at the buttons of her shirt, and Mikasa flushes, all that courage from when she had been teasing him gone.
But she doesn't stop him.
In fact, she helps him with the stupid buttons when his own uncoordinated hands struggle—back noises of amusement at his clumsiness. They manage to take her shirt off, and then comes her skirt, but that's easy with a simple pull, and all the undergarments are also shrugged off too.
Finally. She's bare before him, the red from her face spread all the way down to her chest, and she's so pretty it hurts just to look at her. It is vulnerability on display.
But he doesn't have time—he would never have enough time—to just look, so Eren pushes her back into the mattress as she clutches onto him. Ignites kisses everywhere, not just her neck, but also sucking bruises into her skin in a desperate attempt to leave some kind of mark.
Something of himself behind even knowing it was a futile effort. And then her voices begin to fill the air.
He grins against her skin. The revenge is satisfying; now it's him that's tracing over the wide expanse of her skin, listening to her gasp for him. "I—I," she struggles for words, clamps her fingers around her mouth. "Eren…"
Eren shakes his head. "I want to hear you," he says, asks, demands. "Please?" He wants to hear her say his name, wants to hear how she wants him. Needs it.
She relents with a whimper. Nods, writhing into him in desperation.
She wants him. Him.
Of course he knew she loved him. Even as dense as he is, after all they've gone through, how could he not? But at the same time, the confirmation always manages to floor him, leave him shaken to the core. They didn't have this, outside of the dreams. Family, she'd said.
And hearing his gasp, of course Mikasa would rock even harder into him, legs wrapped tight around his back, pulls him back for more. He's lost in a sea of pleasure, mindlessly rutting into her, forgetting what was it he wanted to do as he chases the heat of her.
When she whines his name—"Eren, Eren, please!"—he's brought back to the present, and when she arches into him, crying, "It's not enough," his mouth goes dry.
"I-I've got you," he promises, a lump in his throat—he's never done this before, but she doesn't seem too bothered as she keens for his touch, hand clenched into the sheets.
"Faster, Eren. Please." He's never seen her so…shaken.
Eren gulps and obliges. He learns her body, movement by movement, note by note. Learns how to read her cries. Learns where to touch and caress to make her sing. Eren feels like he's dying. The ache in his pant intensify, and he can't breathe from how much he wants.
"I love you," he croaks. Leans over to kiss her and swallow her moans. It's mesmerizing, her responsiveness. So uninhibited. The ever-stoic Mikasa is falling apart—from his doing.
"I'm going to—Eren, please." Eren's throat goes dry. "Let go for me, Mikasa."
Mikasa hears his voice and she shudders so hard, grips his arm so tight it's going to leave bruises, and cries, "Eren—" before he goes and silences her with a kiss. His heart is pounding so fast, it feels like it's going to explode out of his chest.
"Was that—" he pauses when she stops shaking. He shifts himself and tries to ignore the discomfort in his pants. "Was that okay?"
"More than o-okay," Mikasa stutters, breathing out hard. "I-It was good. I've never—" she trails off. "It's never been…so intense."
"Oh." He tries not to preen at the praise. "That's good. That you felt good, I mean," he says with a neutral face, trying his best to not look smug.
"Are you…" she stares at the bulge in his pants. "Do you want me to…"
He shakes his head. "Not if you don't want to." He's half lying, because he wants her, so, so bad, that he'd beg for a second of her touch. But it's not about him.
"I want to," she insists, biting on her lip. "If you're okay with that." Her hands wander, from his hard chest, to his abs, down, down, down.
He looks away, blushing, pulse jumping, twitching with each glide of her finger. Her hands are reaching to unbuckle his belt, and he yelps. "I'll do it!" he says frantically. If he sees her stripping him, he's going to combust.
He takes off everything frantically, afraid to even glance at her for fear of his heart sputtering out right then and there. And when he crawls onto the bed, she's staring at his rigid length, clear curiosity in her eyes.
"Can I touch it?" she asks.
He inhales, preparing himself. "Sure."
Mikasa's hands are not soft . They're too well-trained in battle, littered with callouses and scars—because of him, he knows—but the added roughness makes it better, makes him hiss in pleasure, eyes clenched at the way she's so gentle, so delicate with her touch.
"Like this?" she asks. And his thoughts are fucked up.
"Eren?" she asks again.
"Y-Yeah," he stutters, biting back another moan. Her hand is so warm and slick, and the way she's looks so interested in touching him makes his brain stop working.
She smiles at his inattention. Dips her head for a soft kiss. He groans into her mouth.
"Mikasa," he gasps. "I'm going to—"
Her hand stops moving. Eren bites back a whine at being ripped from the peak.
She's trying to kill him.
She hesitates. "Can we—I want you again, is that okay—"
He pushes her down and answers with a frantic kiss. "Yes," he breathes, and she moans.
She's deady. "I want Eren."
She's going to kill him. Tear his heart asunder.
....
He's staring at her and both are exhausted. There are tears pooling in her eyes.
"Do you love me?" he pleads desperately, because what am I to you gave him nothing but a heartache to nurse, and he's still trying to piece himself back together, to mend himself with her love in this dying fantasy world.
"I do," she says, "I do, I do. I love you, Eren Jaeger."
And he's also tearing up, but his pace doesn't stop, and he kisses her one last time. Feeling her writhe in his arms. And finally, the fire consumes everything.
His heart is burning up. Burning out.
A sob rips itself out of his throat and finds itself into the crook of her neck. Through it all, he hears only Mikasa. Mikasa, who's whispering his name —
Eren lets himself fall over the edge. Tears soak into skin—they are his, he realizes, when he touches his cheeks.
It's peaceful. There are no hidden sounds in the blessed silence that follows. A temporary reprieve.
After war, there is peace.
After peace, there is war.
And in the footsteps of war, there are nightmares.
It's a battle, keeping Mikasa inside this dream. She's been slipping in and out, all the while Eren drags her back to him, again and again. They've been both waking up in nightmares.
Nightmares, but Eren knows their true nature.
They're awake in a dream, dreaming of awakening.
"Are you okay?" he frantically asks, woken by her screams. She shakes her head, tearing up.
"I don't know—" She holds a hand to her forehead. "I thought I saw—There was so much blood—You were so far away—"
And for a second, he's stricken by fear again. But he asks anyway, "What did you see?"
She sniffles and hesitates. "Nothing. It's just a nightmare. I can't even remember now."
He knows better. It's her bloodline, trying to pull them out of this trance.
But everything feels so real, doesn't it?
In dreams, Eren sees reality; in reality, Eren sees dreams.
Is he dreaming of being in Mikasa's arms while the world ends, or is he dreaming of the world's end while in Mikasa's arms?
Is he even dreaming at all?
It's hard to tell, dangling on the edge between fantasy and real life, between truth and lie.
To Eren, reality is a dream in a dream in a dream.
…Does it even matter?
"You…" Mikasa shakes her head, voice hoarse when she says, "You're still Eren, right?"
Eren does not answer.
"You wouldn't—" She chokes on a sob, voice half strangled when she asks, "You wouldn't have done those things, right? All that carnage—it's not you. It can't be."
Still he does not answer.
"I saw—blood running like rivers, steam everywhere, death and destruction and your fight with Armin and—"
Eren clenches his teeth and he's broke and just for once he lets it out, his tears fall on her and she looks at him with wide eyes. And he's crying so damn hard, and what pains her even more is that she can see it clearly, she can hear it clearly. His shattered voice, his continuous tears and his face that she always found so charming was conveying everything.
"Sorry... I'm sorry... Mikasa... I'm sorry... I don't... I don't hate you... I love you... In every world... In every single one... I loved you... Please don't hate me... Because... Because from everyone who thinks I am a monster... That... That I am a devil... I don't want you to think of me like that... Please... I beg you... Mikasa... Don't hate me..."
And he slowly rise up and sobs at the top of his lungs and her heart melts and she's also crying uncontrollably because she sees just how fragile he is just how fragile his wish was. He's been through so much. He's seen so much. Hatred from every single person from this world. From Marley. From Paradis'. From small children to old grown ups. Even his own friends. Connie and Jean. Even Armin.
She slowly raises her palm and presses it against his cheek, and each tear that falls from his eyes is filled with regrets, with sorrow, with anger. She leans in and presses her lips against his while her tears fall free against his and he grasps her waist keeping her close.
She feels his lips quiver against hers, his hands shaky against his and it hurts so so much. She slowly pulls back and presses her forehead against his. "I won't... I can't Eren. How can I ever do that. I love you so, so much. My Eren. You're my most dearest. My most beloved. Come here. Don't cry." And she embraces him and he cries in her arms for hours.
"Sasha... Hange... and everyone else... Died... because of me... But... I didn't want that... Everything I saw in dad's memories was happening... It was inevitable... And I... I became a slave to it... I tried... I've tried... but in every single world... I failed... Mikasa... I'm tired... I... I just... Forgive me for everything." and she hushed him with her lips. He too closes his eyes and violently kisses her.
Violence is all he knows. All he does.
"…What did I see? What did I just say? I shouldn't have said that... I'm pathetic."
Eren sleeps with Mikasa, entangled in her arms, and she cries and cries kissing his forehead, his hair, his palms, his body, before closing her eyes, and sees his dreams of flying above the clouds, a child in glee at in the vast expanse of nothingness.
This is freedom, right? he wonders, even as the world is ground to dust under the heels of marching Titans. Flesh paints the earth red. Shrieks of the soon-to-be-dead echos. The smoke rises higher and higher.
Eren keeps moving forward. Leaves nothingness behind. The nothingness of violence.
I love you, she said. Is this really who she loves? Does she love what he's become? He doesn't know, but he can't stop.
Was this all for our sake, Armin had asked, but Eren could not answer him. Could not bring himself to answer. The flow of destiny is too strong a pull, the vision of freedom too enticing. It is in his nature.
But Eren will lay his life in Mikasa's hands.
The end—his end—is her choice.
It has always been her choice.
That night, when his nine-year-old self had been on the verge of death, it was Mikasa who chose to act. Mikasa who stained her hands to save him. And so it repeats: in his search for freedom, he will save Mikasa; then, once again, it will be her blade that saves him, and kills him... Over and over again. But that killing is also saving him... Yet that killing is also pushing him to restart this cycle of death.
Eren knows when the end is coming. The air sparks with hidden electricity.
It's the same as the jolt he feels before becoming a Titan—
The same as the silence right before lightning strikes earth—
The silence before his head separates from his neck.
...
Mikasa is dozing off outside their cabin, their home, and Eren is worried. He needs her to wake up before—
The air crackles. Illusions morph out of his control into smoke and ash. The clouds are not clouds. The grass is not grass. Screams pierce, a needle through cloth. Everything ripples.
"Wake up, Mikasa." He shakes her shoulder. "You'll catch a cold."
Where am I? When did I fall asleep?
It's hard to hear her, but he tries to answer. Tries to lie. "I managed to catch a big fish after all," he finishes nonchalantly, but dreads her reply.
I feel like…I've just had a long dream.
She's crying.
He rambles on about trivial things, about their escape, about their promise. He fights a losing battle. "Wasn't it you who suggested it first?"
She pauses. Then smiles.
Ah.
And he knows.
I'm sorry. I know I promised I wouldn't bring this up.
"Will you make me one more promise?" He says softly, as she wraps her arms around him. "Throw out this scarf once I'm dead."
Mikasa does not answer.
"You have a long life ahead of you…So forget about me."
Even after I die…I want to be at the front of her mind for a while, he'd said to Armin—Armin, his best friend, pushing him back, resisting, even now. In the end, he chose his path, and it's time for Mikasa to choose hers. It is all in the palm of her hand. She will save him. Save them all.
"Please, Mikasa…" He holds her in his arms, one last time. Pretends that he's not shaking. At last, he'll knows how it ends. "Forget about me."
Still she does not answer. (I'm sorry, Eren. I can't—)
He tries to pull on memories, but they slip from his mind, grains of crystalline sand through shaky fingers. When he dies, he wants to die still. It'll be easier that way, for him and her.
He feels himself sitting down, but his body is not his. Nothing is his. He's tired. He closes his eyes. Is he waking up, or is he falling asleep? But it doesn't matter. All that matters is—
Come find me, Mikasa.
There is a beginning to this story, so there must be an end. Eren opens his eyes, sees her gentle smile and a red thread trailing in the wind, and hears this:
"See you later, Eren."
.
Her smile is gentle; her blade gentler still.
.
.
He closes his eyes.
.
.
.
His end is Mikasa.