the hilt | eren jaeger

t w e n t y s i x - J.D.

She stole glances at me at most hours.

There were not many, but there were enough. Their frequency was wavering, but they always came. Eyelahses would trace my figure as I walked on and forward, cheekbones would exist parallel to my own.

It pulled at the girl's heartstrings to not understand what we were to eachother anymore.

So she lay in waiting, using her irises to convey what words could not emphasize clearly enough.

She'd beg for me to look her way, to smile again in her direction. She was in denial. Utter denial.

She had been loved, at a time, after all. How terrible a feeling it must have been to be no longer. Silence.

Her feet would writhe beneath her as she carried herself across training grounds where grass stained her knees, through kitchens where her nose would be delighted with heavenly aromas, and to her bed each night, only to find that the pillowcases were still tear stained.

She did her best everyday to make her bed. She'd pull the sheets up, and fold one over the other. The comforter would drape across, the fabric semi-scratchy to soft palms. And finally, she would lay her pillow atop of this, at the head of the bed, and worry that someone else would see the unmistakable marks of tears. If she flipped the pillow, it was the same on the other side.

If she flipped the pillow case inside out, the tears would eventually have won out. And they did. There really wasn't any solace for her agony.

She had trouble expressing her emotions—most people do—but she did especially. What good would it do to tell someone that you loved them, when its so clear to the whole world that their eyes desperately follow another?

When gazes are not returned, for one party is too fixated on another that is staring right back, it becomes easy to lose hope. It becomes destitute.

I hadn't wanted her to feel this way. Not now, certainly not ever.

She was writhing in her own skin, wondering when she would be able to feel the release.

Soon. It would be soon. At some point, far too soon, it'd all come to pass, and breath would stop.

But that was her fate and destiny. Not many shared it.

Calamity would wash over her when she realized that at least one of us would be happy in the end.

I'm sorry, Mikasa Ackerman, for ever entering your life, and being a figurehead for your emotions to exist. You did not deserve to suffer in such a way, and for that, I am sorry.

What a painful, grievant love to possess.

*****

An endless expanse of crystalline evaporate. Glowing deep blue. The shine of the sun on the rise of the waves, the cerulean surrendering in the pitfalls. It was a massive, endless experience. It lit up our irises, turning most of them a sea green. The lapis in the waves never thought to give us reprieve from its beauty.

The sand was hot. Small, gritty pieces of rock that had been ground. Some were beige. Others were dark and hoarse raven tones. Beneath calloused feet, it felt pure and delightful. There were crinkling noises as we rubbed our toes together. It had already gotten everywhere, but no one paid much attention to that.

The sunlight was golden and tressed across our nose bridges in delight. We held hands up to shadow our eyes from its intensity. It was a delicious and serene feeling, and we all bathed in the pleasure it brought us. It kissed our cheekbones and caressed our shins. A melodic dream, one that would not be followed with screams into the night.