Moonless Night, Silent Tears

"Mikasa.... Mikasa!! Mi... Don't... Please don't lea—"

His heavy eyelids fluttered open, beads of sweat framing his face, the weight of exhaustion still clinging to him like a phantom. The world was engulfed in darkness—deep, endless, and unrelenting. He turned his head toward the misty windowpane, staring into the abyss beyond.

It was a moonless night, devoid of even the faintest glimmer of stars. Or perhaps they were there, simply hidden behind the thick veil of storm clouds, threatening to spill at any moment. He couldn't tell.

The cabin was eerily quiet, save for the distant hooting of an owl and the rhythmic chirping of crickets. But amidst those natural sounds, something else reached his ears—soft, stifled sobs.

His gaze drifted toward the corner of the room, where a shadowed figure sat motionless by the window, barely illuminated by the faint glow of the storm-laden sky.

Mikasa.

The dim light caught the streaks of silent tears rolling down her cheeks, glistening before vanishing into the darkness. She wasn't just crying. She was breaking, and he hated it.

He hated this.

Hated how, for months now, the only thing he had given her was pain. How every night, she sat awake, watching over him as his body betrayed him—nosebleeds staining the sheets, hollow, lifeless eyes staring at nothing. There were nights when he sat slumped beside the bed, barely clinging to consciousness, and other nights when he simply collapsed, swallowed by an abyss of nothingness.

And the worst part?

He hadn't woken up for two entire days.

Two days of silence. Two days of her waiting, watching, as if he might slip away at any moment.

He knew her. She probably hadn't eaten. Hadn't slept. Hadn't done anything but sit here, drowning in her own silent agony, waiting for him to return to her.

And just for now... just for now, he felt better.

The searing pain that had burned through his body for weeks had dulled into nothingness. There was no aching in his bones, no bleeding, no exhaustion weighing him down. It was as if, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, his body was his again.

And all he wanted in that moment was to hold her.

To wipe away her tears.

To remind her that he was still here.

His movements were effortless, almost unnatural after so many nights of struggle. His bare feet dragged softly against the wooden floor, his steps silent, but the moment he neared her, the air shifted.

Mikasa flinched.

Her broken, teary eyes snapped up to meet his, wide with shock, with disbelief, with something that looked terrifyingly close to relief.

Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, she stumbled backward, her breath catching in her throat, as if she couldn't believe he was standing before her.

She stared at him, eyes glistening in the darkness, her breath trembling as if she'd seen a ghost. And maybe, in a way, she had.

Since for days, he had been nothing more than a lifeless body in their bed, breathing but not living, lost in a state between sleep and death. And now, without warning, he was standing before her, eyes no longer hollow, face no longer deathly pale.

"Mikasa," he murmured.

Her lips trembled, and she staggered another step back, her hands gripping the fabric of her nightgown as if anchoring herself. "You—" Her voice cracked, barely a whisper. "You were—"

Before she could finish, he moved.

Slowly, carefully, he reached out and placed his hand atop her head, fingers threading into her dark hair, warm against her ice-cold skin. She flinched at the touch, her body going rigid, but she didn't pull away.

Instead, she broke.

A sob tore from her throat, raw and uncontrolled, and she collapsed against his chest. Her fists clutched at his shirt, her entire body shaking as she buried her face against him, as if trying to convince herself he was real.

He held her close, his arms wrapping around her tightly, feeling her warmth seep into him.

"You weren't waking up," she choked between her cries. "I—I thought—" Her voice gave out, muffled against his chest.

She thought she had lost him, and the thought of him sometimes saying, "I think it's better if I die while I'm asleep and you're holding me... It'd be less painful that way..." And she cries even more.

He exhaled slowly, his fingers running through her hair in soothing strokes, his heart aching at the weight of her pain. He had done this to her. Again and again, he had made her suffer, made her watch as he walked the razor's edge between life and death.

"Forgive me... Mika..." he whispered, pressing his lips against her temple, his breath warm against her skin. "I'm not going anywhere... Not today...."

"But… But I wish I could die as soon as possible… Because seeing you like this hurts like hell..." His voice trembles, barely above a whisper. His finger slowly lift her chin up, as he presses his lips against hers and she wraps her arms around him instantly pulling him into her.

She wants to tell him not to say such things. That she would never let him go. But no words come. Because his lips are warm against hers and she doesn't want to pull away and she wishes somehow he just stays there with her forever.

Before she can process it, he moves.

In one swift motion, he lifts her into his arms, cradling her like something fragile. A startled gasp leaves her lips, but she doesn't resist since she's still pressing her lips against his soft and slightly cracked ones. He carries her to the bed and gently lays her down, his touch careful, reverent.

And she's left breathing heavily as he pulls away and a small bridge of saliva connecting them.

For a brief moment, she looks at him, confused, but then his lips find her cheek—soft, lingering kisses, each one carrying the unspoken gratitude he cannot voice. His calloused palm rests against the mattress keeping him upright. His other hand settles on her swollen abdomen, warm and steady.

"Ere—" she starts, but he silences her.

"This…" His voice drops to a whisper, his fingertips tracing the hem of her nightgown. "Take this off."

Her breath hitches, and for a moment, she stares at him—wide-eyed, uncertain. But when she sees the way he's looking at her, the quiet desperation in his gaze, she understands.

Wordlessly, she nods.

And as he sheds his own clothes, she realizes—he isn't asking out of desire.

He just wants to feel alive one last time.

However, even if this was the first time he initiated, just like every single night, he doesn't stand a change against her and gets raped in ways no human could ever expect.

Classic Eren.