A Conversation About The Sky (EreMika Fanfic)

A Conversation about the Sky (EreMika Fanfic)

Summary: Mikasa doesn't even notice the tightening of her fingers around his arm, or that her breathing is uneven, or that her legs and arms and her whole body is frozen and she should probably calm her heart down, but the only thing on her mind is he is here, a mantra that keeps on repeating in her head. He's here. He's here. He's here. He's really here. A smile lights up upon his face and it makes her cry even more. "Mikasa." He tries to say it with ease but his voice cracks in the middle as though he hasn't said her name for years.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Warning: Spoilers, Angst, Emotional hurt/comfort, Canonical Character death, References to Depression, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Kissing, Making out.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The back of a head is the first thing Mikasa sees after she opens her eyes and it takes her a moment before she can register that it is an unruly mess of brown hair on the head. It is too familiar, the shape of the head, the thin strands of the hair and how many times she has searched for this specific hair color in a sea of other colors. And she can just about imagine how it would look tied into a little ponytail as though it was a sixth sense in and of itself.

"Eren?"

She shouldn't say his name, because the figure in front of her could be anyone, but she does anyway.

The figure doesn't move an inch.

"Eren?"

His name rolling off of her tongue has always been a naturality on its own right but right now, it feels strange. As if she should have been calling his name all this time.

But didn't I?

Her arm lifts itself up, or maybe it is of her own accord, she doesn't know anything anymore, other than the fact that there is a sudden desire to touch this figure in front of her. To just have a feel of that hair, or cling onto those tattered-looking clothes, or even just a touch of the nape of his neck.

The figure is startled the moment her fingers come into contact with a little piece of his cloth, shoulders jerking up, and his body tenses up.

"Eren?" Mikasa's voice comes out as a whisper, but he nonetheless hears it. The way his ears perk up at the mention of his name remains the same, and she thinks it is as though he might get a command from someone any time now.

Please …

What? Please, what?

I don't know but please …

"Eren?" Her grip is on his arm now, too greedy for her own good but she must satisfy her hunger. She couldn't help it anymore, she has to see his face, so she twists him around and tries to locate those green as grass eyes of his until she realizes that she doesn't have to search. The pair of eyes are staring right down at her.

Mikasa is unable to open her mouth anymore so she leaves it be, her hands coming up to cover them and she can feel the slight tremble of her lips. Her thumb collects a tear that runs off on its own as a noise that sounds like a cry arose from somewhere. It isn't until later that she realizes it came from her own throat.

Those boyish facials she has spent her whole life looking after, taking care of the many scars and bruises it received due to his reckless habit of jumping face first into fights whether it concerned him or not, and the hair she remembers she based her own out of because it was the closest and only thing she could imagine that could guide the scissor in her hand, the mouth that cried out her name and it was the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard.

Eren is here in flesh.

Mikasa doesn't even notice the tightening of her fingers around his arm, or that her breathing is uneven, or that her legs and arms and her whole body is frozen and she should probably calm her heart down, but the only thing on her mind is he is here, a mantra that keeps on repeating in her head.

He's here.

He's here.

He's here.

He's really here.

A smile lights up upon his face and it makes her cry even more. "Mikasa." He tries to say it with ease but his voice cracks in the middle as though he hasn't said her name for years.

Mikasa is vaguely aware of her next movement: the wetness of her hands and cheeks is the first thing she notices but then she finds herself planting her hands all over his face, fingers crawling every nook and cranny, behind the ears, his scalp, under his jaw, half because she wants to make sure this isn't a cursed dream and half because there might be injuries hidden somewhere and she wants to be the one to treat it.

(To read more, go here.)