Imagine school castes jeankasa being friends this way:
Mikasa worms her way out of the crowd, tries to find Eren and Armin but sees them having fun instead. Discouraged, she goes up alone, eager to skulk and find a semblance of peace in the form of a secluded room located in the upper limits of the building. Surely, she isn't gonna find a couple making out and doing god knows what. (She's hopeful, anyway.)
Heaving a sigh of relief once she's gotten away from the stench of high school breath, sweat and the awful overuse of cologne, she finds herself in one of the rooms just like she wanted. With no friends to accompany her, she finds herself listening to music and closing her eyes. She dozes off for some time (Finally, peace.)
But it doesn't last that long. Startled by the sound of the door banging loudly against the frame, she watches as Jean Kirsteinโresident bad boy and most annoying person in the planetโblindly goes into the room without noticing her sitting on the floor, and kicks one of the chairs instead.
She watches it skid across the floor.
"Should I go into another room to gain my semblance of peace back?" She asks, and watches as he lets out a yelp at the sound of her voice. (Which she documents later in her diary for absolutely joyous reasons.)
"Mikasa? Wh-what? Why are you here?" He asks, clearly out of breath, probably physically bruised from his outburst, absolutely bruised emotionally from whatever it is that happened. It's the first time she sees him out of character. (It's intriguing.)
"Could ask you the same thing. Poor chair." She tells him, and she sees the first semblance of spatial awareness go back to his being.
"Oh." He says, then pauses for a while. "I'm sorry. I'll go."
She watches him fidget with his god-awful pretentious jacket, and fail to walk with a manly gait towards the door before she takes pity.
He stops. Turns. Stares. (She stares back.)
He walks. Goes. Stands. (In front of her.)
He looks down at her. She raises her brows.
"Surely, you don't mind sitting on the floor, bad boy? (Awful, I know.) I don't think the chairs would like you going near them right now."
When she said it, she expected a look of indignity, but he actually laughs, and she wonders why it sounds different from all the time that she's heard him laugh before. (She filters this away later in her diary to test out her theory of his character.)
"You have a point." He says, and he moves to sit down next to her, and she watches him sigh.
"I can't believe you aren't cursing me off."
"Only if you tell me what made you hurt a chair like that."
"You don't want to know."
"Why are you here?" "Why are you here?"
"You first." He tells her.
"I just wanted to get away from everyone."
"Oh, cool. Yeah. Of course, you would."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Deflection. Interesting."
What are you listening to?"
"Oh." She answers, and looks down at her playlist full of artists long dead and alive artists long forgotten. She hides away her phone.
He fidgets in his seat beside her.
"I'm not sure why I'm here."
"Do you want to go back downstairs?" She asks.
"Then you can stay where you are and just sit silently with me. Or go. Whatever you want." She tells him, and goes back to listening to music. She closes her eyes and leans her head against the wall behind her.
He watches her and she feels his stare.
"I think I'll stay." He whispers, but she does not hear.
She does not hear, but she sees him the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that.
It becomes their place somehow, this secluded little room that is of no apparent significance to their education, but grows comfortable in the company of one another. Most days, they don't talk. And when they do, it's almost always about inconsequential things or mindless bickering. They still don't know why exactly they go in there, knowing they wouldn't find the quiet they seem to have wanted at first. But after a while, he tells her willingly about the story that preceded his abuse of the chair, and she allows him one earphone to listen to her playlist, and somehow, it's okay.
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