Chapter Text
"I’m sorry" Eren confessed, his head bowed in a posture of contrition. Fear and shame painted his countenance, his flushed cheeks and furrowed brow mirroring the internal turmoil he harbored.
"You're alright, don't worry," Mikasa reassured him, her voice a soothing balm. Her gaze, soft and tender, sought his in his shrunken visage, her hand resting gently against his cheek. "Truly, Eren." She endeavored to comfort him, unwilling to witness his faltering spirit.
"I don't wish to overstep boundaries... with you," he replied, his hands encircling hers. As he finally met her gaze, his eyes held an innocent, childlike quality, warming a corner of her heart. There was a comforting nostalgia in those eyes, the same ones that had greeted her on their first encounter, welcoming and pure. "Mikasa-"
"You're not," she responded, her voice tinged with desperation yet resolute. "We can continue, I promise." A subtle but genuine smile graced her lips, a gesture that even she found surprising. She felt a blush creeping across her cheeks, a sensation akin to the reddening of a strawberry. Anticipation, eagerness, and a yearning for intimacy coursed through her veins, her palms growing slightly damp. The atmosphere was a whirlwind of emotions, a tempestuous yet exhilarating one.
And so, they resumed their shared kiss. Her senses were ablaze, her hands gliding softly from his cheeks to the nape of his neck. She savored the wet sounds that escaped him, the fleeting gasps against her lips, and the deliberate yet urgent exploration of her mouth with his tongue. She was immersed in the sensation, a euphoric state that threatened to overwhelm her.
As they slowly parted their lips, their foreheads rested against each other, their breaths mingling. With her arms draped over Eren's shoulders, Mikasa lazily opened her eyes, her gaze fixed upon his lips. As she emerged from her trance, a disturbing sight met her eyes: his neck was adorned with blood, as were her own hands.
She could only see a scene drenched in crimson. The repulsive scent, a metallic tang, invaded her nostrils, churning her insides and inducing a wave of panic. She recoiled from him, her hands instinctively covering her face. Horror consumed her, her eyes unable to believe the spectacle before her.
"You didn't hesitate, did you, Mikasa?" His voice was a whisper, barely audible. Turning her terrified gaze to him, she beheld a gaping wound on his neck, fully exposed and deep.
What the hell.
"What... How..." Words failed her, her body frozen in disbelief. Nothing could have prepared her for the horrifying scene unfolding before her.
Eren's face began to contort rapidly, the telltale signs of Titan transformation emerging. His hair grew to a length just below his shoulders, and blood poured from the wound on his neck, staining his body. Mikasa's lips trembled, and she felt a deep wave of nausea. Her vision blurred, and her stomach lurched in a way it never had before, as if her heart had ceased to beat.
The horror intensified as she looked down at her outstretched hands: she was holding his head.
Eren's head. Eren's lifeless, decapitated head. She was holding it.
She let out a scream, a desperate cry that echoed through her being. Hot tears streamed down her face, and her throat ached with the intensity of her anguish. Her screams grew louder, more piercing, until she was gasping for breath, her eyes wide with terror.
There was no head in her hands, no blood. She was now faced with the remnants of a nightmare, her heart pounding in her chest.
"Not again," she pleaded.
Mikasa had a history of recurring nightmares related to Eren's death. Since the tragic events four years ago, she rarely slept without waking up in tears, consumed by despair and haunted by horrific dreams. She had grown accustomed to these nightmarish intrusions, accepting them as an unfortunate part of her existence.
But this dream was the most intense yet. It felt so real, so vivid. She could feel his touch, the floor beneath her feet, the reality of the situation. It was as if she had been transported to that moment, only to be jolted back to her bed.
She felt a sense of sickness, a growing realization that she might be losing her sanity.
While others who had witnessed that horrific event were recovering, rebuilding their lives and creating a new world, Mikasa remained trapped in her own personal hell. Armin, now the commander of the corporation overseeing peace treaties, traveled extensively on behalf of Queen Historia. Others like Connie, Jean, Pieck, Annie, and Reiner were hailed as heroes because of their contributions to the world they now inhabited recognized.
Levi lived peacefully in another city, his missing leg was a constant reminder of the past.
Historia, the queen of Paradis, was building a beautiful family with her husband and their daughter, who’s was growing up in the world that Eren ended up creating with his own hands.
It was a world far from perfect, a world that would always be plagued by war, death and pure injustice. Eren, despite his efforts, could not have changed it.
Humanity itself was the problem.
The strong would always prevail over the weak, a cycle that would continue until the end of time.
And Mikasa? She remained, a solitary figure haunted by the scars of war. She lived a peaceful yet lonely life in a modest province within the former Shiganshina District, in the old Wall Maria. Mikasa had little to occupy her time, having lost interest in the pursuit of peace. She was a weary soul, her once cherished life shattered by tragedy. There was little to do, and she found it difficult to admit that she was the one who had taken Eren's life. She preferred to leave that burden on Armin, who could make better use of it.
She simply couldn't move on.
Yet, despite her outward appearance, she was not wallowing in self-pity or playing the victim. She accepted her fate, carrying her burdens alone.
Taking a deep breath, she ran her hands over her face to wipe away the tears, then rose from her bed. The nightmare lingered, a heavy weight on her heart.
It was neither too late nor too early; dawn had long since broken. Mikasa made her bed and prepared for breakfast.
For a time, she remained in a daze, her mind replaying the horrific dream. She ate, washed the dishes, and returned to her room on autopilot.
She changed into her usual attire: a white button-down blouse, a light coat, and a long skirt. Her eyes fell upon the scarf hanging on a hanger, a reminder of her blood-soaked hands on the day she had taken Eren's life.
The events of the following days at the time were hazy, mere fragments in her memory. The only clear recollection was the day she carved his tombstone, a task she had insisted on doing herself. It was a symbolic gesture, a way to honor his memory.
"I'm going to visit him today," she said to herself, taking the red scarf from the hanger and wrapping it around her neck. She sighed.
Oh, she was such a mess.
The day unfolded slowly, her thoughts consumed by the past. Hours passed unnoticed as she lounged on the sofa, reading one of the books Armin had brought from his travels. Mikasa had developed a love for reading after her retirement, a shared interest with Armin that brought them closer together.
Armin made periodic visits throughout the years, sometimes as frequently as once a month, but often less often. Regardless of the interval, he would always make the effort to see her if he was in the area. He would visit her home and spend the entire day in her company, engaging in conversation, enjoying drinks, sharing smiles, and visiting Eren. There were times when she missed him deeply. Their bond was exceptionally close, and she held him in high regard. Armin was a special and cherished individual whom she carried in her heart. She often felt a maternal connection to him, sometimes viewing him as a younger brother and at other times as a son whom she felt compelled to protect and support.
Lost in thought, Mikasa was startled by a knock at the door. She put down her book and headed towards the entrance, surprised by the unexpected visitor. Usually, guests would send a letter beforehand, but she couldn't recall receiving any lately.
"Who is it?" she asked.
"Mikasa, it's Jean," a familiar voice replied.
She retrieved her keys and unlocked the door, revealing her former comrade.
Jean had matured, his hair styled differently, his attire more formal. Yet, he was still the same Jean, a bit foolish but in a harmless way.
"Hi," he greeted her, his voice filled with a hint of nervousness. He was alone, a spontaneous visit.
"Oh, hi Jean. I wasn't expecting you," she replied, stepping aside to let him in.
"Thanks," he said, passing her and entering the house. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I was passing by and-"
"It's no trouble. I haven't seen you in a while" she said, clasping her hands together.
"Yeah, it has been…" he replied, looking a bit uneasy. "Are you well? Sorry, I didn't ask."
"I'm fine," she offered a half-smile. He returned the gesture and fell silent, an awkward pause settling between them. "So..."
"Oh yeah… Well, I was passing by and since it's my last day here, I thought it would be nice to see... my old friend," he hesitated before finishing the sentence.
There was something off about his demeanor, a sense of chaos that she couldn't quite pinpoint.
"It's always good to see you," she replied, her gaze dropping to the floor. "Is this your last day here?"
"Yes, I'm leaving on a ship tomorrow morning," Jean said, scratching the back of his neck.
"That's a pity," she said, her voice tinged with melancholy. A contemplative pause ensued as she observed him, his gaze fixed upon her with an enigmatic intensity. "Would you care to sit down or-"
"No, actually I-" He sighed, his words trailing off. "I wanted to ask if you'd be interested in... spending time together this evening, you know?"
"Oh," she blurted out, hesitant.
"Oh," he echoed, his expression one of embarrassment.
"Jean, that would be delightful-" she replied
"Really?" His posture shifted, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, surprising even himself.
"Unfortunately, I already have plans for today" she explained, her tone dry yet firm.
"Oh," he replied, his spirits visibly dampened. Her response seemed to have disappointed him.
"Yes, but we could meet up another day when you return. We could even invite Armin and the others too" she offered, attempting to console him. His saddened expression puzzled her.
"Yeah..." he chuckled nervously. "That would be nice." Her confusion deepened as she tried to decipher his intentions.
Silence.
"What are your plans for today? Are you meeting someone?" he asked, his voice laced with shyness.
"I'm going to visit Eren," she replied.
His brow creased, and he opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it, his words remaining unspoken. She was unable to comprehend his hesitation, let alone the strange undertone in his voice. Mikasa had never noticed Jean's feelings for her and had made no attempt to discern them. While she sensed a certain awkwardness in his behavior, it had never bothered her enough to pay close attention. He took a deep breath, his disappointment evident, a sight that saddened Mikasa. She yearned to see her friends happy, but she was simply unavailable that day, her heart drawn to the solace of a quiet evening and the lingering effects of her earlier dream.
If she were to meet Eren, she would meet him alone.
"I would invite you to accompany me, but I have some things I want to say to him and-" she began.
"Mikasa, forget it, it was a stupid idea," he interrupted.
She remained silent, her response predictable. He turned to leave, brushing past her and opening the door. "Well, goodbye Mikasa," he said, glancing back at her and adjusting his hat. She felt a pang of guilt, believing she had let him down.
"Farewell Jean." she replied, watching him depart.
Her thoughts lingered on the encounter, a multitude of emotions swirling within her. She took a deep breath, locking the door behind her. "Am I a bad friend?" she questioned herself.
The thought echoed in her mind.
She knew she was a good friend, yet the distance created by the years apart made her feel guilty. She had chosen solitude, but despite that, her friends continued to reach out to her, offering support and companionship. And yet, she couldn't fulfill a simple request from one of them? Her old friend had extended a heartfelt invitation, and she couldn't even reciprocate. Guilt gnawed at her, weighing on her heart.
The day passed slowly, her mind preoccupied with her thoughts. By four o'clock, she prepared to visit the tree. The path was familiar, a distance she had traversed countless times since her childhood.
She was lost in thought, unaware of her surroundings, until she found herself sitting beneath the tree where Eren's grave was located.
A sense of tranquility washed over her as she gazed at the setting sun, its fiery hues painting the sky in shades of purple and pink. The stars began to emerge, twinkling above her. She counted the familiar constellations, her eyes drawn to the waning crescent moon. It was her favorite phase, though she appreciated all of them. She often spoke to the moon, sharing her thoughts and feelings, finding solace in its silent companionship.
"The sunset is breathtaking today, isn't it?" she murmured, her words lost in the peaceful silence. The gentle breeze was the only sound, a comforting companion. "Today, I dreamed with you," she said, lying down beside the small rock, her head resting on her arms. "It was a terrible dream," she confessed, taking a deep breath. "You used to had nightmares too, didn't you? How did you cope? You always kept your emotions to yourself. I have no idea how you dealt with that." She traced small circles in the grass with her fingers, her guilt momentarily forgotten. Many might find it strange that she maintained a connection with a deceased loved one, but for her, it was a source of comfort. She acknowledged his death but found solace in the memories they shared. She felt closer to him by speaking to him, imagining him present in her life, even after death. Sometimes, she would also speak to Sasha, visiting her grave whenever she returned to the town where she was buried.
A gentle lull descended upon Mikasa as she spoke, and soon, she found herself drifting into a slumber. It was a brief respite, unnoticed until the comforting darkness enveloped her. Her mind remained unoccupied by any dreams. When she awoke, the world outside had been cloaked in twilight, but the familiar darkness held no fear. Rising, she smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt and adjusted the askew scarf around her neck.
“See you later.” she murmured, her voice carried by the night breeze.