Chapter Text
Rumors usually spread with the speed of lightning around campus, and moved just as similarly; branches arcing away from its source, and the process began again as each person told others. This piece of gossip was particularly electrifying, and since winter break was so close, by lunchtime the majority of campus knew about the latest piece of gossip.
Mikasa was one of the few who hadn’t yet heard, though if anyone were to ask her she would say she was both lucky and unlucky. Lucky, however loosely the term, because if she had been told any sooner, she would have tanked her exam. Unlucky, because… well, that much was clear.
A storm was brewing, literally and metaphorically. Dark clouds had been gathering since early morning, promising rain. Thunder rolls as Mikasa looks over an open textbook, set open on a tabletop in the dining hall. Her eyes are drawn from the pages by a ping from her phone. It was a text from Armin.
> You okay?
She knits her brows together, confused.
> What do you mean?
He couldn’t mean how she felt about her performance during the exam, otherwise his phrasing would be clearer. Did something happen she didn’t know about? Three things happen as she navigates her phone to type a message to ask Eren about whether or not he was okay.
The first is that she receives another message from Armin. In the preview banner at the top of her screen, it says:
> Oh, I thought you had heard already.. Sorry.
The second is that two girls approach and then walk behind her, making their way to get their food. They’re whispering, but not quietly enough to not be heard.
“Is that her? She seems fine.”
“I don’t think she knows yet..”
“Oh my god! Really? Everybody knows by now!”
“Shh! She’s looking, hurry, let’s go!”
They scurry away, nearly tripping in their haste to get out from under Mikasa’s intense gaze. What was she missing?
The third and final is that, while her head was turned to watch the girls’ retreat, Sasha and Connie sit at her table with trays absolutely stacked with food. They exchange glances and then eye Mikasa warily, trying to gauge her mood. It was hard to tell, as it always was, because Mikasa’s face was almost always perfectly devoid of emotional expression. It was a talent.
“Tell me,” Mikasa says flatly, a gentle but firm demand. Whatever was going around, she wanted to hear it.
The duo exchanges another look, communicating without speaking. It’s Sasha who speaks on both their behalf.
“So…” She purses her lips, trying to soften the blow, or at least phrase it in the least crass way. “Well—”
“Historia is pregnant, and we think Eren is the father.” Connie cuts in, saving Sasha from making an already awkward conversation borderline unbearable. “What?” He asks in response to the look on her face. She grabs his hand underneath the table and grips it with such force it makes him wince in pain.
Mikasa sits in stunned silence, eyes glued to the table. Her head spins. She had known it would involve Eren given the way people were trying to note her reaction. But this? This was completely out of the blue to her. It felt like a punch to her stomach, knocking the wind out of her.
There was a certain point in her life where she knew he had to eventually be involved with— or at least interested in— someone, though some small, childish part of her hoped it would be her.
But Historia? Pregnant?
Several emotions rampage within her, her hands balling into fists in her lap. Anger, because Eren was a fool to have not been safe if he was going to be having sex. Shock, because she had no idea he and Historia had a relationship that went past friendship. These emotions wrestled with each other, as if to see which would come out on top and dictate how she reacted.
But the one thing she felt the most was a flash of hot, bitter jealousy. It’s followed by an equal mix of shame and guilt.
“Mikasa?” Sasha asks, her voice breaking Mikasa from her internal struggle.
Now fully in the present, her stomach and heart lurch painfully. “I’m sorry,” she croaks, pushing her chair back and standing. “I have to go.” With little grace and somewhat shaky hands, she gathers her things, shoves them into her bag, and then quickly walks away.
Connie and Sasha dig into their food after watching Mikasa’s retreat. They were untethered to the deep, raw emotions of the situation, and thus could go on about their day. Mikasa envied them. No matter what life might throw at them, they had each other. They weren’t romantically involved— Sasha was talking to a fellow student named Niccolo who was working part-time as a chef for their university— but they were like twins, always together and sharing their laughter.
She herself had always had Armin and Eren, but their courses of study were different; Armin was majoring in anthropology, Eren in medicine with plans to become a doctor and Mikasa had chosen physical therapy, as it was a course she was interested in that had some overlapping classes with Eren’s. She had been making good on the promise she had made to Carla, Eren’s mother, back in her youth. Regardless, their differing majors and classes made hanging out together a little difficult, and even though it felt like having phantom limbs where her childhood friends would be, she kind of enjoyed the solitude.
As fate would have it, the solitude she enjoyed so much was about to become abundant.
In her room— a single dorm on campus with just enough room for a full size mattress, a desk, a closet, a dresser and a few feet of free room in all directions at the center, in which Mikasa stands— she huffs out a breath with so much force that it puffs her cheeks out. She felt absolutely exhausted; physically and mentally drained, and her head was still in a whirlwind trying to comprehend all that she had learned.
Mikasa goes about her typical routine post-classes. Getting un -ready took almost the same amount of time as getting dressed up in the first place. This process was basically muscle memory, but she focused completely on it so she wouldn’t think about anything else, including the more recent and upsetting revelations.
With great effort, she eases herself to sit on the edge of her bed and leans down to methodically unlace her boots. They were one of her several pairs of platforms, and they were all equally as heavy on her feet after an hour of wear. Mikasa pulls one foot from within the confines of a boot and the other follows suit. The boots are unceremoniously kicked under her bed, clunking against the floor loudly. Next to be removed are the rings on her fingers; eight in total, some stacked and some not. All were silver.
She stands, steps closer to her dresser and reaches into a cabinet for some makeup removing wipes. These were typically only used as a last resort, when she ran out of cleansing oil, because wipes were known to be terribly rough on the skin. But she lacked the care and the energy to be bothered today. It took both sides of the wipe to feel like her face was truly stripped of all makeup, but in the end she trudged to the bathroom down the hall in her socks to wash her face fully bare anyway.
Back in her room, Mikasa changes from today’s outfit into some comfortable pajamas and then sits in her bed with her knees pulled up to her chest and an arm wrapped around them. Her chin comes to rest on her knees, and she lets her eyes slide closed.
It was inevitable, really, that she thought about things. Eren. Historia. The rumor that might not even be true, but made her recoil regardless.
Eren didn’t owe her anything, especially not romantic feelings or a relationship. They were childhood friends, best friends for years, almost an entire lifetime by now. Somewhere along the line between then and now, the emphasis has shifted from best friends to best friends.
Despite the rumor being that Historia was not only fooling around with Eren, but might be pregnant? Some petty portion of her was.. jealous. Not of her being pregnant, or even that the two were having sex, but just that Historia even caught Eren’s eye in the first place. Or, if she were to give in to her suspicions, that they harbored affection for one another. The idea of it hurt worse than the simple notion of sex, because sex was simply an activity that could be done without fondness involved.
Mikasa opens her eyes and stares out the window that stretches most of the wall opposite her door. The clouds had entirely obscured the sun, and the first few drops of rain fell against the pavement of the walking path from the dorms to the other buildings on campus. She silently gives thanks to whatever being ensured winter break began the day after her having learned of a scandal involving two long-time friends.
A droplet of moisture hits her knee and she lifts her head to inspect it. She uses her thumb to rub it away, but another falls. And another. After a few stunned moments of confusion, she realizes the source; herself, her eyes. She was crying.
The full weight of her heartache presses down on her, and her bottom lip wobbles while she tries to suppress her tears.
But she can’t. For all the years she had silently suffered, wishing her closest friend would feel the same way she did, she couldn’t hide her pain now that Eren had actually chosen someone that wasn’t her.