Attack On Titan: Dreams

"Hi,"Mikasa rasps, as she sits half up.

When her face is finally in full view, he sees that she appears to be her normal, Mikasa self - calm, relatively expressionless. But upon closer inspection, she seems perhaps even more worse for wear than yesterday, the dark circles under her eyes mirroring his.

He wonders if it's due to restlessness from the injury, or if he has anything to do with it - though he's almost certain that she didn't have to grapple with his very particular issue.

He leans forward onto the wagon with both hands, willing away the image of the raven haired minx that threatened to creep back into his mind at the mere fact of her actual presence. It makes him sick to his stomach that such thoughts even arose in front of the injured woman before him.

"How do you feel?" he asks before meeting her eyes again.

"Better," she nods.

She is clearly lying.

"Good," he nods back.

He scratches at the back of his head, studying the wood grain on the wagon.

And then he remembers - her bandages.

That was his duty - to change her bandages.

But that meant touching her.

"Uh, your—how about your bandages? Do you-?"

"Sasha changed them this morning."

"Oh."

Thank god oh thank god. There was no way in hell he would be able to view her bare abdomen in the same light ever again, much less touch it.

"Good," he replies, looking back up.

When he does, his relief sours into that gripping guilt, because there is a slight frown on her mouth, a clearly doleful expression on her face, and she is not looking at him either.

The observation is enough to tell him that what had gone down between them the night before was still fresh in her mind, too, and was responsible for her currently haggard and sleep-deprived state.

He frowns, the ache of guilt spreading through him once more.

But there was nothing he could do about it now—not in front of Sasha and Jean. And, he was in no position to supply her with an honest and well thought out follow up to their conversation, either.

Before his thoughts can spin out more, he awkwardly smacks at the wagon with one hand, breaking the silence, and she reflexively lifts her head at the sound.

"Well. I'll see you when we get back," he says, giving her a formal and curt nod, and he stifles a wince at the robotic and cold formality he has just addressed her with. He looks away, feeling like even more of an asshole.

"Okay," he hears her reply softly, and the sound rips at his heartstrings because she sounds so defeated.

"Bye," he flicks his gaze to, and away, from her, unable to withstand the jumble of emotions her presence is stirring within him.

"Bye," he hears her reply in that small, tired voice.

He chances a look at her face once more and nods, and for a moment, he sees those charcoal blues flash with hurt, her face fighting hard to conceal it all, and, oh, the guilt.

He turns away quickly, not wishing to linger and contribute more to the suffocating silence and awkwardness. On his way out, he exchanges glances with Sasha and Jean, hoping the conversation did not come off as strange.

But, from the puzzlement on their faces, and the eye contact they make with one another before passing arguably judgemental stares down at him, they are definitely onto something.

What that something was, Eren wasn't even sure of himself.

He worries about her.

So he asks about her.

And he checks on her when he knows she is sleeping.

But he wants so badly to see her, and to talk to her.

But he also doesn't—firstly, because there is a strange wall in his mind blocking him from mulling over the topic she had so bravely broached two days ago, now.

Secondly, the imagery of her hands gripping his hair, and her mouth hungrily sucking and tugging at his, is still fresh in his mind.

He has worked to eliminate at least the latter problem by reducing the likelihood of such dreams. To do so, he has fought to stay awake for as many hours as possible, and has thus far done so with great success, as the slivers of sleep that he has caught over the past forty-eight hours have been filled only with a simple, beautiful and dreamless pitch black.

As for the other problem, he has taken to delaying all thought of their conversation. Part of him hopes that he'll never have to bring up the topic, and that with a little time, they will both forget about the conversation, and move forward and pick up where they left off prior to that night.

He also hopes that a third problem will go away on its own within the next few days, as well. Though he has successfully prevented slumber from conjuring new unsavory images of Mikasa.

He still finds himself frequently, and at random, daydreaming about the feel of her abdomen under his hand, her pink lips swollen from his harsh kisses, and the heat of her tongue against his, and her—

Eren slams his head down into the table with a growl.

"Asshole!"

He is luckily alone in the dining hall.

He had been taking meals late and completing errands at odd hours to avoid any run-ins with Mikasa—and Armin, to avoid interrogation, and Sasha and Jean, to avoid their probing gazes—and other people in general.

His life for the past two days had consisted of recalling his Mikasa-related guilt and lecherous thoughts at random moments, which induced socially unacceptable reactions.

With each random reminder, he cursed loudly, and smacked his head against the nearest flat surface in response, as if to will away his thoughts—hence his violent usage of the table before him.

He groans, rolling his forehead against the wood grain.

"You alright there?"