𝐅𝐀𝐖𝐍•ᵉ ʲᵃᵉᵍᵉʳ

34

𝚠𝚎𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚓𝚊𝚗𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝟸𝟾𝚝𝚑

𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐒𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐌 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊 𝐈𝐍. I've been here countless times, yet I still get flabbergasted each time I enter. The room practically screams Mikasa—a fierce blend of grunge and comfort that somehow suits her perfectly.

Her twin bed takes up most of the space, its covers rumpled in a way that suggests both a quick, careless hand and a sense of lived-in warmth. A large leopard print rug sprawls across the majority of the floor, almost swallowing the worn linoleum beneath it. Above the bed hangs her prized My Chemical Romance tapestry, a dark backdrop to the clusters of band posters plastered across her walls, each one bearing the faces of rock icons in black and white or deep, vivid colors.

On her small dresser, makeup products and energy drink cans clutter the surface, their placement both haphazard and purposeful. Stains from previous makeup experiments mark the wood, little traces of her routine that add to the room's character. The smell hits me next, a surprisingly comforting mix of cigarettes and cherry-scented something—a candle, maybe, or the remnants of her perfume. It's familiar, a sensory marker of Mikasa herself, and despite the mess, the smell, and the general chaos, it feels safe here.

We're sitting on her bed, just talking, lost in one of those easy conversations that could stretch on forever. Mikasa's head rests against the small headboard, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders in casual waves. My own head is laid back on the plush mattress, legs dangling off the edge as I stretch out, sinking into the warmth of her comforter.

She absentmindedly spins a ring around her finger, occasionally flicking her gaze over to me as we chat, her dark eyes thoughtful. Her snake bites look so cool in this dim lighting.

There's a quietness in the room, broken only by the murmur of our voices and the low hum of music playing from her speakers—something soft and soothing, a contrast to the heavy rock posters on her walls. It's moments like these that remind me of why I keep coming back to Mikasa's dorm, why this cramped space, with its makeup-stained dresser and cherry-cigarette scent, feels almost like home.

"It's Jean and my three-month anniversary coming up," Mikasa hums, holding her hand out to admire her nails, painted a dark, sultry shade of red wine. Her voice is casual, but there's a softness to it that catches my attention.

I raise an eyebrow, propping myself up on my elbows to look at her more closely. "Three months already? Didn't think you two would actually do the anniversary thing."

She shrugs, a small, almost shy smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah, I didn't either. But he's... different. It feels worth celebrating, you know?" Her gaze flickers to me for a second before she goes back to inspecting her nails, pretending to be nonchalant.

"Well, I'm glad you've found someone good for you," I sigh, a soft smile tugging at my lips as I watch her. There's genuine happiness in my words, but a part of me can't help the pang of envy that slips in, wishing I had that kind of certainty in my own life.

Mikasa looks over at me, her expression softening. "Thanks," she murmurs, a flicker of understanding in her eyes, as if she can sense the tangled mess of feelings I'm carrying around. She nudges my knee gently with her foot. "You'll find that too, you know. Maybe not right now, but... eventually."