Attack On Titan: Goodbyes

Mikasa's POV

Year 851 : September

Days slipped by like sand through my fingers, each one fading before I could fully grasp it. Preparations for our journey to Marley pressed on, with skilled hands busy crafting ships at the harbor, while the Scout Regiment tangled themselves in politics back at the capital.

Eren and Erwin were nearly inseparable, gone from dawn to dusk, off in their own world—a world that felt distant from us. Each morning, without a word, Eren would rise, the light barely stretching across his face before he'd be summoned to Erwin's office.

They'd vanish together, sometimes slipping away to that grand, echoing castle. What were they doing there? A part of me didn't want to know.

But one thing was clear—Erwin was carefully, persistently planting seeds in Eren's heart, seeds that whispered of a future with Historia. That whisper drove a splinter deeper into my heart, making me hate the Commander more each day.

Once, when the ache was too sharp to bear, I spied on their conversation. It was as I'd feared: the Scouts were using Eren, bending his path to fit their vision, and Eren—he accepted it without a flicker of resistance. Watching that passivity stirred a bitter fire within me.

"The years you have left will bring Eldia its savior," Erwin had said, his voice low and certain. "In those years, you'll lead an empire, end the corruption and free Eldia. It all depends on you, Eren."

The words thudded in my chest, each one like a stone, until I couldn't bear it anymore. I fled that place, that awful weight.

Only the nights knew my secrets, when I'd slip away, close the door tight, and let silent tears fall as I pressed my lips to the scarf he'd given me.

To Eren, it was just a piece of cloth he'd wrapped around me that night to keep me warm. But to me, it was more—it was my promise, my symbol of loyalty, the closest thing to an engagement ring. In that single, fraying thread, he was mine.

But there were moments that Eren set aside just for me, small glimmers I hadn't noticed then. Even when he was in a hurry, he'd pause to eat the meals I'd prepared, and if I burned the bread or missed a step, he'd eat it anyway, unbothered, with that quiet patience of his.

Each night, he'd slip into my room with a blanket, carefully draping it over me. It was a habit he'd kept for years, something I'd started to take for granted, expecting him to be there without a thought. And yet, there was always that question nagging at me—why hadn't he told me about this marriage with Historia?

Everyday the words hovered on the edge of my lips so many times, but I could never bring myself to ask. Deep down, I was afraid of his answer, afraid of a truth I might not be ready to hear.

Day after day, I found myself unable to do anything—unable to change the course of our lives, this constant ache. And before I even realized it, the trip to Marley was only two days away. But the idea of that journey felt hollow, a false hope for a peace that could never come.

It was just an ordinary day, and I'd been lost in thought, mentally going over preparations for the trip, when I caught sight of myself in the mirror.

My hair had grown long, brushing against my shoulders in an unruly mess. But as much as I resented this world, there were pieces of it I adored, pieces that made it worth living.

"Hey, Mikasa… would you cut my hair?"

I looked up, startled, as Eren appeared beside me, holding a white sheet draped over his arm and a pair of scissors in hand. It took me a moment to process, but there he stood, his hair wild and grown out, nearly matching mine, his cheeks shadowed with a hint of beard.

He looked… different. Older. A part of me had to admit he looked really, really, really cute like that—he looked like… my type. And, well, my type was Eren, so maybe that made sense.

"O-okay," I stammered, my heart lifting at this tiny, shared moment. But my hands fumbled as I reached for the scissors, suddenly nervous. I'd never cut anyone's hair before, except for my own. What if I ruined it?

"Everything alright?" he asked, noticing my hesitation as I stood there, staring. My cheeks warmed under his gaze, and I nodded quickly, brushing my worries aside.

We walked to his room, where he'd set up a wooden chair facing a mirror. I couldn't help but smile to myself at how prepared he was, always practical in his own way. As he settled into the chair, he glanced up, a trace of vulnerability in his eyes.

"Mikasa… don't cut it too short, okay?" His voice was low, softer than usual. I nodded, feeling the weight of the moment, this rare closeness. Slowly, carefully, I started to trim his hair, my fingers brushing against him, steadying myself as I worked.

In the mirror, I could see his eyes half-closed, a small flicker of peace appearing on his face, I smiled faintly seeing him like that as if my world melted away my thoughts only swirling around Eren.

By the end of the day, with trembling hands and a bit of luck, I somehow managed to give him a decent haircut. It felt like a small victory. But then something unexpected happened—I asked, almost without thinking, if he'd cut my hair too. And to my surprise, Eren agreed.

He was gentle, more careful than I'd ever seen him. His hands brushed against my shoulders as he worked, and the quiet between us felt… peaceful. When he finished, I looked into the mirror, and my hair was short—really short.

"Uh...." I gasped before my gaze shifted at Eren, red-faced and clearly flustered, stood back, stammering a bit before he said, "I think… you look really beautiful with short hair, Mikasa…"

And just like that, he rushed out, muttering something about a meeting with Erwin. But his words lingered long after he'd left, echoing in my mind. Beautiful, he'd said.

I pressed my fingers to my newly cut hair, feeling the warmth of his words sink in. But as the weight of it all settled, tears came—slow at first, then harder, until I was crying so much I could hardly breathe. Why.... Why would he say that?

Why would he give me these moments? Even though one day I'd witness him leave me forever. The pain in my chest deepened, a bittersweet ache, knowing that no matter what, I would never be able to stop loving him, I can't.