#These flowers symbolize romance and prosperity along with good fortune!! they really need it tbh lolol poor bbies ;-;

[kaekiro]

That fic you wrote with sleepy Eren kissing Mikasa is golden :D. If you wouldn't mind, I would like to ask for a little sequel to that cos it feels kinda unfinished. Feel free do whatever in it, cos im not the most creative person out there but maybe a confession would be cute ^^

Bloom

Pairing: Eren/Mikasa || Rating: K || Words: 2,313  || [AO3]

Warnings: None

A/N: EEEEEE thank you so much! this is the first time I’ve done a sequel to any of my stories since I started Kaleidoscopes! In case you didn’t know, anon is referring to chapter 23, aka Onlook. I recommend reading that first for context, if you haven’t read it already :) Pls enjoy!

With time, practice, and discipline of her own, the feat of maintaining her composure had become yet another skill of hers, an “art” as Ymir had unsarcastically called it. Even in the moments following the kiss Eren had pressed to her mouth, she was quick to fill the cracks as Jean’s seat tipped and clattered to the floor. Though, perhaps it was only because of their fight that she was able to collect herself, because focusing on breaking Eren and Jean apart was certainly easier than processing his open display of affection.  

His reaction upon realizing what he had done didn’t make it any better. Unlike her, he had the complete inability to hide a single thing he felt, a defining characteristic that set him apart from the rest of them. He is an open book whether he acknowledges it or not; the smiles, frowns, and tears all conveying what couldn’t be properly expressed. But he had seemed to be at a true loss for words as he stared at her then, visage unlike anything she’s seen from him.  

Her shoulder collides with another, abruptly pulling her from the yesterday’s memory and closer into his personal space. Immediately she retracts, cursing their timing as they continue to wade through the crowded market. Eren adjusts his hood a little more over his head, and her, the basket she carries in her arms, neither of them acknowledging her small incident. She isn’t sure if she should be disconcerted by his silence, or if he’s simply taking Hanji-san’s rule of laying low more seriously than she would’ve thought. Either way, she can hardly keep herself from reading into it.

She never dwells on these kinds of matters, the ones that kept other girls in her barracks awake past curfew with glowing cheeks and stories of hands that roamed, proof littering their necks in the shape of bites. Though her mind would curiously drift to Eren, what happened between them couldn’t compare with any story she heard passively. It was chaste, perhaps even accidental, their kiss. Her chest feels heavier at the thought, fingers curling tighter around the braids of the basket because by knowing him, she couldn’t really believe it to be anything but an accident. Although she wills herself to forget, she chances a look at him, realizing then that he isn’t in front of her anymore. There’s a fall in her stomach and she holds back from calling his name, using her slight advantage of height to seek him out.

Her thoughts become more frantic once she reaches a small clearing in the crowd and she chastises herself for becoming distracted here - of all places - with all things -

“You really need to slow down, Mikasa. I can hardly keep up with you.”

Her gaze quickly follows the direction of his voice, and she didn’t know she was holding her breath until it came rushing out of her mouth in relief. The basket lowers in her arms, guilt coming forth as she notes the heavy rise and fall of his chest.

“I’m sorry.”

With yet another influx of people, he waves her off and wordlessly, they move forward. She firmly reminds herself to focus and follow their superiors’ instructions, becoming more alert to their surroundings with the end of the street in sight. In her effort to keep track of him, she makes the conscious decision to stay closer than before, careful not to let someone pass between them should she lose sight again.

“Are you okay?”

Someone steps on her boot and she fights the urge to sigh.

“I’m fine. Just - we shouldn’t risk getting separated again.”

“You keep bumping into me.”

“Sorry -”

“Here,” he interrupts, grasping part of the basket’s handle, gesturing for her to do the same. “We shouldn’t get lost this way.”  

They both fix the weight comfortably in their hands and she becomes less tense, finding his method to be easier, better even. The sides of their palms brush with each step and she silently marvels at how smooth his feel. It makes her self-conscious of her own skin, worn, calloused; everything a woman’s hand shouldn’t feel like. Subtly, she inches her hand away from his, letting him guide as she ensures they have everything Historia had enlisted them inside the basket.

Eren suddenly halts as she continues, his grip tugging her back. They stop in front of a stand decorated with foliage, the blossoms in the lady’s arms catching her eye. The colors bear a close resemblance to the ones that she helped her mother tend to in their garden, seasonal as she knew them. Unconsciously, she searches for their aroma, inhaling softly through her nose.

“Would you like one for your lady?”

She draws a breath, response automated as this is not the first time they’ve been mistaken for a couple, but he turns to her before she can say a word, making any denial knot in her throat when he asks, “Do you want one?”

“Ah,” she fidgets with her sleeve, looking from the flowers to the items they carry, and carefully back at him. “I don’t think we have any more money left over…”

Her voice lowers a notch, speech slow in hopes that he catches her drift. But he doesn’t cause his free hand is patting over his pockets, an explicative lost in between the rustle of his clothing until he makes a small sound of triumph.

“Is this enough?”

He places the coins in the lady’s outstretched palm, watching as she counts.

“Eren -”

“Shh.”

She blinks, not quite expecting him to hush her. Despite being curious at his persistence, she knows they shouldn’t just spend money that was hard to come across in the first place, let alone save.

“…But -”

“It’s okay.”

“You don’t have to -”

“Mikasa.” She pauses, gaping at him. “Shh.”

The saleswoman looks at them with a tender face, amused.

“Which one would you like?”

He nods at the flowers when she looks at him again for reassurance, and she swallows, feeling the weight of his and the woman’s gaze as she reaches for one.

“Those are lovely, aren’t they?”

She holds it to her nose after a moment, humming her agreement into the flower. She’s never seen one of these as big, or nearly as bountiful with petals.

“It looks kind of like a cabbage.”

Both her and the woman look at Eren with expressions that make him shrink back before the latter laughs.

“I’ve never seen it that way until you pointed out, young man. It does, doesn’t it?”

He gives a kind of nervous chuckle, evidently relieved and her lips twitch upwards at the sight.

The woman thanks them for business and soon they are walking again, both of her hands now full. She studies the flower, becoming quite preoccupied until he leans over to touch the petals, clearing his throat.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

She tilts her head at the apology and he elaborates, looking off to the side.

“For yesterday morning.”

Her blood warms, stomach twisting and heart beginning a familiar race. The memory had already started to clear from her thoughts, and just like that, she’s tossed back in.  

“I must’ve taken you by surprise,” he says, a hand cupping the back of his neck. “And you have the right to be upset with me.”

Upset?

“It’s just -” he pauses, grimacing and clearly struggling to gather his thoughts. “My mind was hazy from the tests I did with Hanji and, well, that’s never really happened to me before. But - I won’t use that to excuse myself.”

So it had been an accident. She feels that pang again, confused at her disappointment when she had already seen it coming. Something must show on her face because he frowns, lips setting into a straight line.

“I hope you can forgive me, Mikasa.”

She wills herself to calm, builds the courage to look at him as she replies.

“I was never upset with you.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Oh.” They turn away from one another. “I thought you were walking fast earlier because you were mad. I thought you didn’t want me to come with you here.”

“I don’t feel that way. It was an accident, so… so don’t worry about it, Eren.” It doesn’t come out as casually as she wanted it to, some sadness leaking into her voice. She feels that she shouldn’t, to spare herself more pain, but for a brief second, she wonders if he noticed the hints of melancholy, wonders what he’d do if he did.

“The flower is beautiful. Thank you, Eren.” She forces a smile with the change in subject, his eyes widening a fraction before he casts them off to the side.

“Y-yeah.”

They finally start to reach the end of the street and the lack of people there is nothing short of relieving for her, and she welcomes the wave of nostalgia. Her and Eren returning home from the market, the slight winds in the road, the scent of spices and hum of the crowd as it quiets; it all reminds her of Shiganshina; the monotonous routine she never thought she’d miss so much.

They’d often walked in a comfortable silence then, but now, it feels like there’s something tense about it; she couldn’t name what it was or if it was even there to begin with. But before she can begin to think about it, her attention is caught when she sees movement in her peripheral and she slows their pace, her grip on the basket slackening.

“What is it?”

He stands beside her, trying to follow her eyes.

“Can you see it?”

“No? See what?” He searches in the wrong direction, and she tugs on the handle, prompting him to turn towards her.

“There, over there,” she says, guiding his gaze with the blossom.

The tree stands completely alone, growing where the hill begins to curve, just like to the one back in Maria. Two children chase each other around its base and she smiles. She can see herself sitting next to Eren, watching his eyes move beneath their lids as he slept.

“That… that looks like the old tree from back then!”

“Mm.”

His sigh is light, his words hardly loud enough to hear over the breeze. “I hope we can see that tree again some day.” It’s the quietest she’s heard him speak in a long time. There’s a lowness, a sort of tone that’s unique to him. It reminds her of when that same voice lulled her to sleep when she was restless, the same voice that consoled Armin when they lost his grandfather not too long after the fall. For someone impulsive and at times brash, he could be so unbelievably gentle and caring.

“We will. You’ll get us there,” she reassures, hoping he’ll believe it as much as she does.

“How can you be so sure? Everything seems to be going so wrong… what if I can’t?”

While he was overconfident in certain areas, he also had a knack for self-doubt. And who could blame him? He was right. Their problems are more complex and bigger than man-eating monsters, their enemies only increasing in number. But after everything they’ve already overcome, she supposes it’s only right to feel optimistic. It’s something he’d taught her after all, even when she thought him to be gone forever. She angles her head to the sky and with such conviction and honesty, she says, “I have faith in you.”

For the second time, he turns to her and she to him. It’s as if he’s looking for something as he studies her face, but then his eyes fall to her lips and she stiffens, becoming completely void of thought when he pulls back his hood and fills the short distance between them. The only thing she can recall with clarity is the slow second that passed when teals glanced back up to meet grey, and her lids fell permissively, blood warming and undoubtedly coloring every inch of her skin.

She finds that his lips are as soft as his hands, if not softer and it’s careful, the way they mold to hers. He pulls back some and she thinks it’s over, but then he lifts a free hand to cup her jaw and his kiss is firmer, more passionate than the last. Her hands ache to wrap around his wrist, to skim the length of his chest and neck as they become less hesitant, but she only tightens her grip on the basket and the stem, trying to find a rhythm through the clumsiness.

Goosebumps prickle her skin when he whispers her name, and with as much confidence as she can muster, she responds with a bump of her nose against his. He doesn’t move far, skimming his palm down her arm to loosely cuff her wrist with his fingers.

“Everything’s a mess right now. And I don’t always say or do the right things. But… ah, I didn’t really think this through,” he says, huffing an amused breath.

“Do you ever?” she can’t help but ask, unable to keep from teasing him. He lifts his hand to tug at her bangs, ignoring her question. He becomes serious again, clearing his throat.

“But this,” he continues, reaching down from her hair to thumb over the corner of her mouth. “I meant it.”

Her lips curl up beneath his thumb and she gives a single nod, understanding. “I’m glad.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

While his lips on hers makes her heart beat fast, almost painfully so, the kiss he presses to her cheek is endearing and leaves her head spinning, and though she buries her face in the cabbage-like flower to hide the intensity of her blush, for that moment she decides that she wouldn’t trade the feeling for anything.