Mikannie one-shots

Violets and Dandelions

Annie Leonhardt
Year 850

It's another one of those nights. The kind of night where everything just feels like absolute shit. The kind of night where everything you liked about your life just falls apart, leaving you scared and desperate. The kind of night that split open wounds in your heart that you thought had healed.

As I lie on my bed, memories flash through my head. Some joyful, others dripping with melancholy. All of them bringing pain. I remember a time when we had hiked up a mountain. The two of us were snuggled together, listening to wolves howl, staring at the green streaks of the Northern Lights. I remember the month where the moon was full twice and we couldn't take our eyes off it. The two of us were sitting lodged in the fork of a tree, staring at the mesmerizing glow of the moon. And I remember the time she danced around in a meadow, in a flowy dress with a smile on her face. The sun cast a golden light on her; she was like a goddess.

We were rivals, enemies, opposites, yet we seemed to understand each other. Bt appernetly not enough. I miss those days in training camp.                                                                                                                                                               

Dark, clouded, skies. A terrifying wind. People drawn in smudged, pastel lines. And me. Alone, isolated; in my own bubble of darkness; drawn in silver pigment and broken charcoal. Quiet, lonely. An accurate description of how I was feeling back then.

As the other girls gossiped, or talked about boys, or braided each other's hair, there I was. Siting in the corner, silently. The other girls had invited me to join them but it was clear they didn't really want me there. So I continued drawing.

Soon, I looked up to see the dark silhouette of another cadet. She towered over me, her eyes burning holes in my chest.

"That's incredible' she had said quietly.

I narrowed my eyes. It wasn't like her to be nice to me. It wasn't like her to talk to me at all.

"What is?"                                                                                                                                                                 "Your drawing."

My face had heated up. I hate when people compliment me, because I never really know what to say to it, but like all people, a little part of me cherishes those compliments. They make me feel like maybe one day I'd finally be good enough.

"Thanks"                                                                                                                                                            "Do you mind if I sit here?"

I paused. Was this a trap? What could she be planning? Curiously, I nodded my head and moved over to make room for her on my bunk.

Mikasa sat down, facing me, her expression unreadable as always.

"You're a great artist"                                                                                                                                                                  "Thanks"  I had managed to say. My voice was scratchy, like a frog was in my belly talking for me.                                                                           

She laughed.                                                                                                                                                              "Ribbit, ribbit" she said quietly.  (does anyone get that reference?)         

"Do you mind if I look at it?" she asked, pointing to my sketchbook.

I hesitated. That sketchbook was filled to the brim with secrets waiting for someone to help them burst out. Every emotion, feeling, and thought was painted on the pages, as clear and vulnerable as an insect under a magnifying glass. Every image that haunted my sleep, everything I wanted myself to be, every memory I desperately tried not to let go of. All glowing treasure in a chest that I would protect with my life.           

"Why?" I had asked.                                                                                                                                                 "Because," she had said "it's the only thing of yours you won't let anyone see."

'So why the hell would I show you?'

She wasn't quite right about that, there were a couple things of mine I wouldn't let anyone see. But for the most part, that statement was correct. And that scared me.

"I'd... rather you not" I said nervously, trying to cover up my fear.

She nodded, hugging her knees to her chest as she watched me draw. We sat in complete silence, to the point where I forgot she was there. I forgot all of it was there. I was completely immersed in the world I was building with my pencil. The grasp I had on the outside world was the gentle scratch of graphite on paper and the distant giggles of the world I had left behind. Then, out of nowhere, I was shaken out of my paper world by the voice of a certain cadet. I can remember that moment clear as day. She had said something so out of character I thought she could be spying on me. Something so bizarre I wondered if she was ill. Something so incredibly out of the blue, that I would never forget it.

"Draw me." she had said.                                                                                                                           "What?"                                                                                                                                                       "Draw me." she repeated.

I looked her in the eyes, she was dead serious. I tilted my head down so she couldn't see how widely I was grinning, but looking back on it she probably saw.

Her voice had been stern and commanding, like she wouldn't take no for an answer. It wasn't a request, it was an order. A really fucking stupid order, but whatever. Sure. Why the fuck not?

"Okay," I had said "hold still."

I unfold my half of the drawing. We had cut it in half and kept a half each upon graduation. It's smudged, and ripped, and stained with blood, sweat, and tears, and you could barely make it out, but I loved it anyway. The drawing shows Mikasa standing in a field of violets and dandelions, sun shining on her face, smiling. Happy.

Tears are welling up in my eyes like crazy. I wipe my nose and take a deep breath before folding the picture and sliding it back into my breast pocket. That settles it, I can't bear being away from her any longer. I clench my eyes shut. "Mikasa," I think "I'm coming back home. I'm coming back home to you."