Official blog for JeanKasa Week 2021! Any work is appeciated. Prompts are applicable to art posts, fanfiction, video edits, snipperts and much more. Don’t forget to use the #JeankasaWeek2021 hashtag to share your content with us!
In the eve before the end, Mikasa has a strange vision.
Ao3
The noise of the barracks would drive her insane. Metal on metal, rattling every couple of seconds alongside the steady trembling of the soil beneath their feet. Mikasa turned to face the wall, shutting her eyes to find solace, to no avail. No matter how tightly she closed her eyes, no matter how many pillows she put against her ears, the passing of the colossal titans was not something that could easily be ignored.
It shook the ground, it resonated in her soul. Amidst the noise of the end of the world, Mikasa could almost hear the voices of the innocent women and children beyond the sea, oblivious to the destruction to come their way.
Her head started thumping in that familiar pain, one she knew. Tears filled her eyes, but this was no time to cry. Not when Hange would come get her at any moment. They had said they would appear a little after one thirty, but there was still a couple of hours for the clock to reach one, and sleep would not come.
Her head gave another thump, and Mikasa pressed both hands against her forehead. If her eyes were open, her senses focused on the grim shadows marching outside, towards the world. If her eyes were shut, her head thumped, as if her body was forcing her to look at what she had caused.
She would give anything to have a moment of respite, she thought as she pressed both palms to her forehead. Just one moment of peace, that’s all she asked for…
“These will be good for you three. It was a good order you made,” a woman was saying. “I’m just glad I caught you when you returned.”
Mikasa opened her eyes and encountered a withered, kind face standing in an empty hallway in front of her. She looked behind her shoulder and encountered a tidy looking room, with large windows facing a city.
On the balcony, a tall man, with long, light brown hair and an elegant stride cleaned the windows.
“Miss Mikasa?”
“Yes?” Mikasa said, turning to the woman and realizing she was holding a bag of ripe pears for her. “Oh, how much do I owe you?”
“Darling, he paid for them in advance this morning. Remember?”
Mikasa turned to look over her shoulder again. He was familiar, the tall man. Where had she seen him before?
“Ah, to be young again,” the woman said as she put the bag in her hands. “Take your pears, go enjoy your husband. I’ll see you and your family this Sunday,”
“Husband?” Mikasa asked, whirling to look at the woman, realizing she was already halfway down the hall. She brought her right hand up to her chest and found no ring. Perhaps she had misheard, and this was all a fever dream, and the man on the balcony hadn’t just given her a wink from where he stood.
Mikasa walked in the kitchen by muscle memory and went to store the fresh pairs in their pantry; her body knew the apartment as well as she knew her own name: the wide windows, the ceramic tiles on the kitchen, the familiar scents of spices and glow leaking through the window.
She closed the pantry and walked towards the hallway. Just a moment ago, she’d been lying in the barracks, trying to ignore the end of the world happening just outside their rooms.
Mikasa caught a glimpse of her reflection on the mirror and froze again; last time she’d had her eyes open, her hair had been styled in a pixie cut, short enough to resemble a man’s haircut. The Mikasa staring back at her had her hair down to her shoulders, shiny and black as night itself.
Also, the Mikasa staring back at her was older. Not old by any means, but she was definitely not nineteen anymore.
“A dream,” she whispered to herself.
But the scent from the pears and recently baked bread was too strong, the sunlight coming from the windows had warmed her skin… and the tune the man in the balcony was whistling was clear in her ears.
Her feet took her back to the living room. Outside, the tall man with the light brown hair was sweeping the balcony. Even from afar she could see how the muscles of his back and arms strained against his shirt.
But what drew her attention the most wasn’t the man, at least not at first.
It was the moving bundle in the crib by the window.
“It can’t be,” she muttered, taking uncertain steps towards the crib. She peeked into it, and the sweetness that filled her heart when those hazel eyes stared back at her was unlike anything she’d ever felt.
The baby moved their tiny feet and arms when she came into focus, almost as if wanting to lift their body up at her. They smiled a toothless grin and made sweet noises that seemed almost like a beckoning call.
“Hey,” Mikasa said, and took a hold of the child automatically. She lifted the baby and brought it against her chest, surprising herself from how perfect they felt in her arms. “Why are you being so loud, huh? Where’s your momma?”
“Ma…ma,” the baby cooed, giving her a toothless smile.
“Yes, mama,” Mikasa agreed, sitting on the sofa by the window and lifting the baby in front of her. “Where’s mama?”
“Ma…ma,” the baby laughed, flailing their little arms at her, kicking with their tiny legs. “Mama!”
“You’re silly,” Mikasa laughed, catching herself off guard.
The muscles in her face relaxed in shock, and Mikasa wondered the last time she had smiled so sincerely. Less than an hour ago, the thought of laughing so easily would’ve seemed obscene. How could she smile, with so many awful things happening? Thousands of children were about to perish because of her, and there she was, smiling as if she lived in a peaceful, beautiful world.
The baby mimicked her expression and, almost as if they were connected, their eyes filled with tears, and their laughter started to turn slowly into whimpers.
“No, no,” Mikasa said. Again, her body acted on its own, and she moved her arms up and down steadily, trying to appease the baby. “Come on, you were smiling a second ago,”
The baby whimpered some more and crumpled up their tiny face, about to burst into tears. Mikasa looked out the balcony, noticing the man had started to serve two glasses of wine on a table.
“Baby, please. Don’t cry. Look, your papa is gonna be mad,” She said. An idea came to her mind then, a thought that came from a distant memory from her childhood. “You’re lucky nobody else is around, baby.”
She puffed up her cheeks and exhaled with her tongue out, making a farting noise, and the baby’s big, hazel eyes settled on her. Alright, she had their attention. Mikasa opened her mouth in a perfect O then closed it, puffing up her cheeks while doing the same steady movements with her arms.
“Mama,” the baby cooed.
“Mama, yes,” Mikasa replied, puffing one cheek and then the other, then twisting her face in one of those funny expressions she recalled from her father. It didn’t take long for the baby’s face to acquire the same happy, adorable expression from a moment earlier. “Where’s your mama?”
The baby laughed, loud this time. “Mama,”
“There we go,” Mikasa sighed in relief, bringing the child closer to her chest. “I’m sure mama wouldn’t like seeing you cry, you know,”
“Hey, someone’s awake,” the man said, coming in from the balcony. Mikasa stiffened as he approached them, overcome by a sudden protectiveness for the child in her arms.
His hand settled on top of her head, and he caressed her all the way to her neck, lifting the hairs on her arms. His hands were big, perfect for someone his size. “I take it we’ll handle that bottle later?”
The baby looked up at the man and laughed. “Ma…ma,”
The man sighed, then took quick steps to sit by her side on the sofa. “I swear I’d give my right thumb to hear her say papa at least once,”
Ah, a girl. Mikasa looked at the baby’s hazel eyes, how they shifted between the two, and a strange realization came to her mind. A little girl who had given her the strangest cravings –buttered crab, pickled pumpkins, cantaloupes with cream cheese—, a little girl that had been her first taste of motherly love on the giving end.
“This…is our child,” she whispered breathlessly. “Little Sasha.”
“Of course, she is,” the man replied, leaning forward to kiss her temple.
Mikasa turned to look at his face, her cheeks hot, her breath heavy and quick.
The face she encountered did not surprise her at all. It was a familiar face, one she’d shared struggles, grief and joy with for almost a decade. His features had grown and settled into adulthood, enhancing the hazel in his eyes and the sharp lines in his face.
“Jean?” She mustered, her voice shaky.
“Hey, are you alright?” He cupped her face, and Mikasa closed her eyes at the contact of his skin on hers. She didn’t understand his gesture, his touch, but her body did. Her chest filled with warmth, and her heart swelled with an affection she had never thought she could feel for anyone other than…
“Mika, are you well?”
“Mika?” She replied, balancing her baby with one arm. Nobody had called her that before. Their child leaned against her, setting her chubby little face against her chest, swelling the affection in her heart even more. “Mika, you look…”
“Surprised?”
Jean smiled at her. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, words stuck in the back of her throat, her eyes watery. Jean’s smile wavered and her heart shrunk in her chest. “Was it the grave?”
“T-the grave?” Mikasa replied, her voice a whisper. There were memories behind a locked door, memories that belonged to the body she was in, this grown body that had experienced much more than she had at nineteen years of age…she didn’t want to see those memories.
“Here,” Jean said, his voice soft and sweet as he went to take the baby from her arms. “I’ll put her to sleep and you are getting a warm bubble bath, gorgeous,”
Mikasa hugged her baby, shaking her head, her protective gesture bringing the smile back to her husband’s face. She took a long, shaky breath, trying to understand the information her mind had just thrown her way. Her husband. Jean was…her husband, the man she had a child with.
“She might only say mama,” Jean said, sticking out his tongue and wiggling his fingers in front of their baby girl. He gave her a fleeting look, his smile sincere, showing nothing but boundless love. “But I’m the best at making her laugh,”
He was right in that regard, Mikasa thought hazily. Another wiggle of his fingers, and their little girl was laughing out loud, her innocent voice quenching the panic in her heart. She looked at her now-husband making faces at their child, how their baby laughed with him, showing the little dimples on either of her chubby cheeks, and her eyes filled with tears again.
What was this feeling? The warmth in her chest, she’d never experienced that. No matter how she hard she searched in her memories, she couldn’t think of one occasion in which her heart had felt so light, when happiness had been so undeniable, so unbreakable.
Mikasa kissed her baby’s chubby cheek and whimpered.
“Ma…ma, mama,” her baby replied.
“Yes, I’m your mama,” she whispered, unable to hold back the tears.
“Hey,” Jean said, all his senses focused on her again. He slid closer to her on the couch, enveloping her shoulders with his long arms. Mikasa’s body leaned against him by instinct, used to the comfort of his touch.
What happened? Mikasa thought. Five minutes ago, she’d witnessed the beginning of the end of the world. And now…she was sitting in the most comfortable sofa she’d ever been in, with a bustling, modern city outside their window, with Jean Kirstein by her side.
Jean Kirstein was her husband and the father of her child.
“I know it’s a hard day for you,” Jean whispered, stroking her hair with movements so soft and kind it was hard to picture him as the soldier he’d been only a few hours ago, before they all went to their barracks to sleep. “But I’m here, okay? I’m not going away.”
“Jean, I don’t know what’s going on,” she whispered.
“What do you mean?”
“A minute ago…the pears and you, and…” she looked at her child, her eyes focused on their conversation. Of course, those eyes had come from Jean. She’d never seen another person with eyes as hazel colored as his. “Our baby…Sasha is our baby, isn’t she?”
“She is,” he said. Mikasa turned to look at him, tears spilling down her eyes. Jean furrowed his brow, concerned, and cupped her face. “Honey, you’re worrying me. Mika, come on. Talk to me.”
Mikasa shook her head; he’d seemed so happy before, so immensely happy, the last thing he deserved was her crying in front of him for no reason.
But it wasn’t like she had no reason to cry for. She had no idea where Armin was, where Eren was. As far as she remembered, both Armin and Eren hadn’t had much time left with their titan curse…and how could the city outside be in such a good state, when Eren had sent millions of titans to trample the world? Had the curse ended somehow? Were Eren and Armin living somewhere in that city?
Despite her concern for her friends, the reason for her tears was another. One look into her husband’s worried gaze told her he would understand anything she told him. Even before this strange vision, Jean had a talent to understand others’ concerns. That’s why she’d always thought him a natural leader.
“Is it right, to feel this happy?” she whispered, hugging their baby girl with both arms and kissing the side of her head. “Am I allowed to feel this happy, with everything that’s happened? Jean, can I even—”
Jean’s lips were on hers before she could continue. She had never kissed anyone before, but the body she had been transferred to had kissed Jean before, and kissed him plenty. This Mikasa with long hair knew Jean’s body to his very core.
Her body responded before she could allow herself to protest. Muscle memory was a funny thing, she thought as her lips followed his movements and her mouth parted to allow his tongue inside her.
“Look at me,” he asked, parting from their quick kiss, leaving her with a strange sort of thirst that, much like the happiness and peace in her heart, she had never experienced before. “Mikasa Ackerman, you deserve all the happiness in the world,”
“I do?” Mikasa whispered, then used her hand to cover the baby’s ear that was nearest to her mouth and lowered her voice even more. “Jean, I’m a monster."
“We said you wouldn’t talk about yourself like this. You are not a monster,” he said hoarsely, using one hand to rub her cheek while the other went to stroke their baby’s back. “Look at her. She adores you, Mika. Could someone this cute adore a monster? Not at all, right?”
The smile formed on her lips quickly, and she narrowed her eyes in Jean’s direction in a playful expression this body knew well. “You’re being cute again,”
Jean smiled back at her, looking every bit as handsome as women around her had said he was during their years in the military. “I made you smile, though,”
“You’re good at that,” she said. Her body was more relaxed when he leaned forward again and brushed his lips against hers, and Mikasa allowed herself to revel in the touch of his skin on hers, on how he kissed their baby’s forehead when he parted from her, making her laugh again.
“She adores you too,” she said, handing him their baby so he could hold her in his arms. Jean took their child in his right arm and leaned back against the sofa, his other arm outstretched. He gave his left side a gaze, inviting her without words.
Mikasa hesitated a second, still in disconcert by the sudden change of life she’d experienced. She stared at this older Jean Kirstein holding their child and felt drawn to him. This Mikasa, her very own self, longed to be by his side, to kiss his handsome face, to make their child laugh together.
Their baby –little Sasha Ackerman— wiggled her arms in her direction, as if asking her to join their family embrace. Her heart filled with joy again, and it seemed to beat just a little harder by the sight of the family this Mikasa had built.
Suddenly, the memory of the ground shaking beneath her feet felt distant, years distant. The sorrow, the grief and pain were still there, but they were a mere dull throb, buried under hundreds of layers of memories by Jean’s side, by their daughter’s side.
Jean tickled their baby’s cheek and made her laugh again. How this Mikasa Ackerman had moved on from all that pain and fallen in love with Jean Kirstein, she had no idea. But she wasn’t one to question with such an endearing sight in front of her.
She laid back and cuddled against Jean’s side, smiling at her little daughter, feeling at peace for the first time since she had been that child in that mountain. But this time, it wasn’t her the one receiving her parents’ love.
No, this time, she was the one giving love to a child, alongside a man whose affection seemed as deep and powerful as the ocean itself.
“I just want you to know that you deserve to be happy, okay?” Jean waited for a moment to pass before speaking again, his voice acquiring a strange, concerned pitch. “Are you happy?”
When Mikasa spoke again, she couldn’t tell if it was herself, or an amalgamation of her future self and the person she was now. “I am.”
_______________________________________--
When night came and their child fell asleep, she found herself in his arms. Even if she had wanted to, she would’ve been unable to pull away. She was cobalt, and he was an impossibly huge magnet.
Mikasa blamed his way of kissing; it was hypnotizing, it melted the world outside and left the two in a sphere where there was nothing to do but touch each other until their hands hurt, to kiss until they ran out of breath.
Jean’s touch set ablaze her skin, it left hot trails wherever he kissed and stroked. When he parted her legs to place sweet licks and kisses in between her legs, Mikasa hid her face with both hands, unsure how she was supposed to handle the pleasure coursing through her body.
She could not know whether this vision was reality or just a dream; and, no matter what it was, shouldn’t she be feeling guilty that she was giving so much of her body to another man?
No, he wasn’t just another man. He was Jean, he was her Jean. He was her man, and that was as true inside her mind as the fact that the sky was blue.
The Mikasa from this world, that Mikasa belonged to Jean Kirstein. But her nineteen-year-old self realized she wanted to belong to Jean Kirstein, too, to be his one and only, to share her warmth with him alone. The woman she was now knew the past and accepted it, and she embraced the present with open arms.
Jean’s face buried a little deeper, and Mikasa arched her back, closing her eyes and sinking her nails in her own skin. “It’s okay,” he muttered. Without looking up, his arms found hers and pulled them away from her face to keep her from harming herself in the midst of pleasure. “I’m here, you can come,”
“Come?” she said. Her skin prickled as his fingers stroked the skin of her arms and traveled to cup her breasts briefly. Then, they went back to hold her hands and intertwine his fingers with hers.
“You can be loud,” he whispered, pressing his tongue against that particularly sensitive spot in her womanhood. Mikasa arched her back even further, the pleasure unlike anything she’d felt before. “Be loud, honey,”
“Jean!” she shouted, squeezing his hands with hers as the waves of pleasure increased. “Something’s coming, Jean!”
“Yes,” Jean growled against her skin. “Come for me, Mika,”
She screamed his name and for a moment she feared she would wake their child in the other room. But Jean had assured her it would be fine if she was loud. Even before this vision, she had trusted his judgement and advice and she’d accepted his opinions and thought them as valid as Armin’s or any other superior officer, despite that they’d always stood on equal ground.
Her body went limp soon after the last surges of pleasure finished, leaving her in a state of hazy bliss. The happiness from before and the happiness from now differed greatly, but they brought the same peace to her heart.
The happiness from this afternoon had been sunlight, soft kisses on the cheeks, hugs and laughter.
This happiness was a strange, animal bliss; it made her chest lighter, her head dizzy and her skin prickled. This happiness made her want more, and the source of all that was the man hovering above her, smiling at her as he watched her breathing steady.
“I love you,” Jean whispered, pressing part of his weight on her. Mikasa hugged him by the shoulders, wanting his whole body to envelop her like this.
“I love you too,” she whispered without thinking, unsure why saying those words should make her feel guilty, or ashamed. Again, unsure whether this was fully herself or if it was the long-haired Mikasa talking for her.
“Can I?” he asked in a hoarse voice, pressing his manhood against her core.
She looked at Jean in the eyes, basking in the beautiful hazel canvas, and realized this body loved him as ardently as he loved her. Trying to deny it would be folly, it would be like trying to cover the sun with a thumb. She wanted him, she wanted to feel what this older, more mature Mikasa got to experience every day with this Jean.
“Yes, please,” she replied. Jean put his hand underneath her back to lift her a little, and Mikasa parted her legs. She bit her lips in anticipation, and Jean smirked.
“Excited, huh?” he asked, nuzzling her neck.
“It’s new,”
“What’s new?” Jean asked, kissing the back of her ear.
Mikasa bit her lip more, cursing herself. “I…don’t know,”
Jean stopped kissing her and looked at her in the eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay, Mika?”
She didn’t know how to answer that. Part of her mind was certain she’d gone insane; she’d created a hyper realistic fantasy of a life she would never have, for heaven’s sakes, and with Jean Kirstein, of all people.
Mikasa couldn’t even imagine how embarrassed the real Jean would feel if he knew she was thinking about him this way. Yes, he’d had a childish crush on her years ago, but they were comrades now, friends. She could bet anything he had not once imagined a married life with her, not at this point in their life. And of course he had never imagined them in bed like this.
Jean would think her a freak for picturing another friend in this position.
The other part of her mind, however, wanted to give into the pleasure that his body promised, just as how she had sunk into the sweetness that afternoon. They had made dinner together, then they had played with their child’s wooden toys alongside her before putting her to sleep.
Now, she wanted to make love. She wanted to make a second child. She lifted her head slightly, touching his lips with hers. Mikasa knew this body had kissed her husband thousands of times, but she still felt butterflies in her stomach when she initiated the touch.
“Inside me, Kirstein,” she asked in between strokes of their lips. “I want you inside.”
Without waiting, Jean sunk inside her, and Mikasa’s body parted for him without issues. She welcomed him into her warmth as she had a thousand other occasions since their first night together, which now felt like it had happened decades ago.
“I love you,” she yelped when their bodies were fully connected, hugging him with an eagerness that was unlike her. “Jean, another child. I want another one with you,”
Jean smiled, then moved in and out of her with slow movements. “I want another too,” he admitted, and Mikasa put both hands on his face to feel the sharp lines of his chin. “I love you so much, gorgeous,”
This wasn’t her. Or perhaps it was an amalgamation of the Mikasa lying in the barracks and the Mikasa that was now a mother.
Her pain from the scars of the past hadn’t left her, but this house was her little bubble of happiness, the thing she looked forward to the most each day. The child in the other room was her pride and joy, and the man with her in bed was her forever love, the one that was there to stay.
She hugged her husband, her Jean, and gave herself fully to him, hoping these quiet, peaceful hours could last on forever.
She was lying with her back against his chest, watching the city lights flicker amongst the fog. His chest moved steadily against her back as he breathed in and out, and his breath was warm on her neck. There was a throbbing left by their lovemaking between her legs, but this body was more than used to the sensation.
And Mikasa herself didn’t find it at all displeasing. It was a reminder of what they had done, of how they seemed to have been connected in body and soul.
Whatever this vision was, it was making her forget. The pain was dulled in her heart and the imagery of earlier was barely a blur, a small, dark spot in the middle of a sea of bright, beautiful memories.
The love she had felt for others, for Eren and Armin, was there still, alive in her chest, but now the main objects of her affection were two different people –her husband and child. The priorities in her heart had changed, but that didn’t hurt her, nor did it weigh heavy in her conscience.
“Jean,” she whispered. He pressed his body tighter to her and kissed the curve of her neck.
“Yes?”
Mikasa tilted her head to the side, and Jean plagued her neck with more kisses. “Was this your dream all along?” she asked, her fingers intertwining with his.
“This?”
“A life like this,” Mikasa said, lifting his hand and putting it against her chest. Jean leaned in and kissed her cheek.
“I wanted to be wealthy, live in the inner districts. You remember that, don’t you?”
“I do,” Mikasa said, smiling to herself when recalling Jean’s teenage self. “You were annoying.”
His chest jolted upwards a couple of times. A chuckle, her mind noted. That happened a lot, it added as well. Apparently, she had a sense of humor, and one that made him laugh often.
“Thank you, Ackerman,” he said, kissing her cheek. “I always love your honesty.”
“Answer my question.” she replied, looking at him in the eyes. Jean smiled, then used his strong arms to flip her on her back gently. She laid on her back while looking at him in the eyes, strangely unashamed by the fact that her breasts were out on display in the moonlight.
Jean placed his hand on her navel while he stared at her face. “Yes, I wanted something different, but things changed.”
She recalled Trost, when things had gone awry, the deaths of all their comrades, how their futures had come to an abrupt hall thanks to the claws of death. Amidst all the consequences that had come from the breech of wall Rose, she recalled Jean had been one of those who had been deeply changed by all the carnage.
“When did a life like this become your dream?” she said. Their apartment was fancy and beautiful, the fanciest place she’d ever had to live. But it was no mansion, and it was certainly no luxurious apartment in the inner districts.
In fact, Mikasa realized, she didn’t even know the name of the city they were in.
“My dream isn’t a life like this, Mika,” Jean leaned closer to her, inches away from hers. He cupped her face, then he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “You are my dream, Ackerman. You’ve been my dream for years. If it’s a mansion, or a straw house by the sea, if you are there, that is my dream.”
Tears came to her eyes without warning. When had she ever heard words as beautiful as those? And Jean had said them without any mockery, nor hints of sarcasm. There was no tug of war with him, nothing that made her hesitate his boundless love for her, how much he admired and adored her.
“Jean,” she whispered, reaching out to hold his face with one hand. When she spoke, she knew it wasn’t the older Mikasa speaking. This was her, merging slowly into that version of herself whose heart had learned to heal, to love. “You are my new dream, Jean,”
Her husband smiled, then leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. Mikasa put her arms around his torso and followed the movements of his mouth. His presence was sunlight, the thawing of winter.
This time, Mikasa’s tongue entered his mouth, making him groan in delighted surprise. Jean’s body leaned into hers, and Mikasa welcomed him gladly. She wrapped a leg around his waist, not understanding her desire, but accepting it regardless. It wasn’t only this body that wanted Jean, it was herself. She wanted the happiness that came from being with him, the happiness that came from loving him back fully.
A loud cry from the other room caught her and Jean’s whole attention. He pulled away from her and they exchanged a look before sharing a smile.
“What do you think it is this time?” Jean chuckled, kissing the back of her ear. Mikasa closed her eyes briefly. “Dirty diaper?”
“She’s hungry,” she said a moment later, surprising herself by the mastery of her motherly senses.
“Isn’t she always hungry?” Jean joked.
“She was a big baby, remember?” she said, running her hands over the muscles of his arms. “She’s tall like her dad.”
“I’ll bring her to you,” Jean kissed her for a moment before leaving the bed. He searched the room and, while he found his pants, Mikasa’s eyes wandered inevitably to the muscles on his back and chest.
He was years older from what she remembered, and she had rarely seen him without a shirt on in the past, but the shape of him remained the same, the muscles still perfectly defined. Mikasa put her hands on the belly that her abdomen had turned into, a result of her pregnancy, and her eyes went back to her husband’s body.
“Hey,” he went to kneel by the side of their bed. He took her hands into his and kissed her knuckles before he went to kiss her navel. “I love you. We’ve spoken about this, haven’t we? Your body was and is perfect, alright? You’re gorgeous.”
Mikasa smiled at him. “Did you read my mind?”
“I just know you well by now,” he smirked, then leaned forward to kiss the corner of her mouth. Jean straightened to button up the shirt he’d been wearing that afternoon. Mikasa stared at him, surprised by how mesmerized she was by his body. “You’re staring, Ackerman.”
“Shhhh, Kirstein,” she replied, her cheeks burning red. “G-go get Sasha. She’ll be starving now,”
“I’m surprised she even woke up. We had a long day, and a long hike to the grave,” Jean replied, stretching his arms over his head. “They’re turning that spot into a park at a point. We have to think of a way to hide the stone,”
“We need to take her to Armin,” she said, lifting the blanket to cover her chest. “It’s been eight months and he hasn’t met her yet,”
“He’ll visit us next month, remember?” Jean said from the door. “The international commission needed him in Argyle for the accords renewal. I’m sure he’s bringing a lot of presents. He has to, otherwise we won’t forgive him,”
“Peace commission?” Mikasa said. Jean turned to look at her, arching a concerned eyebrow. Mikasa shook her head, attempting to reduce his worries. “In any case, we need to take her to Eren, too. He’ll want to meet her…and he hasn’t…has he?”
“Mika, honey,” Jean walked back to her, and when he sat in front of her, the cries from her baby became muffled in her ears. “Mika, we went today, remember?”
Mikasa swallowed hard. “Today?”
“To the grave,” he said. Jean held her face with both hands. Everything that wasn’t his face was blurry, but Mikasa could not know if that was because of her tears or her mind. “Mikasa, are you okay?”
“What grave, Jean?”
“Is this you I’m this you I’m talking to?”
“Jean, hold me,” Mikasa whimpered and reached out to hold him, but her arms seemed to have shortened, for no matter how much she wanted to touch Jean’s skin, she simply could not reach him. His face became blurry, and the edges of her vision became black.
No, Mikasa thought. I don’t want to leave.
“Mikasa? Mikasa!” Jean called. “Mikasa!”
__________________________________________
“Mikasa!”
Her eyes and pillow were wet when she opened her eyes, but her sight was clear, her mind was back in place. When she looked at the window, she recognized Hange’s features outside. She blinked and sat up, noticing she was back in the barracks with all the other survivors from the crumbling of the walls. The air wasn’t warm anymore, and the cries from that child had vanished.
“Child?” Mikasa muttered. “What child?”
Where had she gone off to?
“Mikasa!” Hange repeated, their voice insistent, urgent. “Come on, we need to hurry. You’re five minutes late and we still need to get Jean.”
Jean.
Mikasa put her hand against her chest, wondering what that nostalgic feeling meant, why it had awakened with the mention of her companion’s name. She tightened the grip on her skin, unable to think of a logical reason why Jean’s name had brought her so much…
“Mikasa!”
“Coming,” she replied.
None of that mattered right now, not with everything happening around them. She severed the strings tying her to her strange, blurry dream and came off the bed. She would make an effort to remember later on, after stopping Eren’s folly and bringing him back to their side.
“Hurry!”
“I’m coming!”
__________________________________________
Jean and she exited their meeting place with slow, miserable steps. They had a grim task ahead and their determination would not prove enough to carry it out. They were going to face the gods of destruction and their leader, and they were going to be on the opposing side.
“We need to start planning,” Jean said, clearing his throat to hide the hint of fear in his voice. “Are you alright?”
“I’ll be fine,” Mikasa replied. “Do you have anything in mind, for our plans?”
“A couple of things. I’m sure Hange and Armin will chip in with the rest,” he said. Even in the badly lit alleyway, she could see the glint of his hazel eyes focusing on her. “Are you sure you’re fine?”
“I’m fine,” she reassured him, thinking he would not be convinced by her words.
Instead of countering, Jean leaned back against the brick wall and sighed. “It’s times like this I wish I hadn’t given up smoking,”
“You smoke?” Mikasa asked, reluctant to go lean against the wall next to him, more focused on digging through her memories. There was no point to it; it seemed that whatever she had dreamed, it had been flushed away from her memory during their meeting with Hange.
“I used to,” Jean said with a bitter smile. “It was such a short time you barely noticed.”
“It’s good you quit,” Mikasa said, folding her arms. She’d never been good for small talk and, for some reason, her social skills became worse when Jean was involved. Perhaps he was too good at conversation, and she was too terrible. “I don’t like cigarette smoke.”
“I know,” Jean smiled again, this time a bit more amusedly. “I know you don’t like the smell.”
“Are you okay?” Mikasa asked.
“What do you mean?”
“When you came to us…you seemed upset,” Mikasa finished saying, unsure how to explain the expression she’d seen on his face. “Like you’d just lost something,”
“I lost my faith that things could get better,” Jean quipped.
Mikasa dropped her arms at her sides. “Jean,”
He sighed deeply, then combed his hair back in a gesture so utterly familiar that Mikasa had to wonder when and where she’d seen him do that, and why it felt as if she’d seen that movement a million times already.
“I thought I’d seen something,” he admitted, closing his eyes and covering the side of his face that was nearest her. “It turned out my mind was playing tricks on me.”
“You too?” Mikasa asked.
Jean straightened against the wall, his brow furrowing. “Did you see anything?”
She nodded, unsure why her tongue felt like lead in her mouth.
“What did you see?” Jean asked, his voice urgent, desperate to find some sort of meaning to whatever he had seen. “Was it clear? Was it…was it like being there?”
“It was,” Mikasa said, looking away from him.
“What was it?” Jean asked. “Was it Eren? The rumbling?”
“I can’t remember,” Mikasa said, clearing her own throat to drive away the nostalgic feeling that blurry dream brought to her. “It wasn’t the rumbling,”
Jean looked at her for a long time in silence, and something told her he was trying to read her, and he was having a hard time with it. He was good at reading her, that he had proved when they’d been locked underground, when his words had made the dull ache from Eren’s words diminish, but he was not perfect at reading her. At least not yet.
“Yet?” she blurted out, more confused than before.
“Huh?”
She looked back at him, setting her attention on the hazel of his eyes. The color reminded her of something, of someone of extreme importance that hadn’t come to be. Mikasa took a hesitant step in his direction, then another. “Jean—”
“It’s dangerous to be standing out in the open,” Hange’s voice hissed from behind the half-opened door. “Disperse, and stop risking the operation!”
They exchanged another look, now both fully focused on the task ahead. There was no time to exchange vision stories, no time to find sense to what had happened. “He played with the paths, when he undid the walls,” Mikasa whispered as they advanced hidden in the shadows. “Maybe that made us see funny things.”
“Smart. Yeah, maybe that’s what happened,” Jean said with a shrug, burying his hands in his pockets. “I wonder what the others saw.”
“Others?”
“Yeah, Connie and Armin,”
Mikasa frowned. For some reason, she had just assumed it had just been her and Jean the ones to have visions. “Was yours nice?”
“It was…wonderful,” Jean admitted, exhaling and pointedly looking away from her. “And yours? Can you remember anything about it?”
A tiny smile formed in her lips. She looked away from Jean, although she was sure he had noticed the blush on her cheeks. And while she knew he would think it was a vision of Eren and Armin, Mikasa herself couldn’t understand why she was smiling the way she was.
“I can’t remember a thing,” she said, giving him a brief, sideways glance. “But it was a beautiful dream.”
