Breathless •Eremika (Love. Me. Now. Or. Never.)

XX: It's Too Late for Remorse.

Mikasa had never woken up to cries and howls of despair before, until now. Her throat was parched, her cheeks were sore, and her eyes overbearingly refused to open. She tried to blindly take in her surroundings by sound. Mrs. Yeager had never ceased her weeps, though her voice was now worn out, constantly breaking. Eren's father, on the other hand, was the calmest of them all, concealing his tears with the sleeves of his coat.

"What..." Mikasa brought her hands up to rub her eyes, peeling the lids apart. She was no longer in front of the surgical room. Someone had kindly moved her to the waiting chairs outside an intensive-care-unit room, laying her down horizontally. The edges of the chairs dug into her shoulder blades and hip, causing some pain when she tried to prop herself upright with her elbows.

"The surgery's over, Mikasa," Mr. Yeager had taken the seat beside the dreary girl who was still struggling with her senses, having awoken from a coma. "You've been out cold for at least six hours. It was most likely a panic attack."

"W-where's Eren?" Mikasa blurted out, her memories about what had occurred piecing back together. She straightened her back, regaining her composure.

Time check. The digital clock on the wall displayed 10:00 P.M..

"He's in that room," Eren's father jerked his chin towards the room directly opposite to the row of chairs they were seated in. There was a window pane separating them from the patients inside. The pink curtains were drawn, thus there was no way they could identify which corner of the room Eren was residing in, "He isn't out of the danger zone yet."

"D-do you know what h-happened?" Mikasa inquired, craning her head in a futile attempt to spot Eren.

"He fainted while driving... His car rammed into a telegraph pole," Mr. Yeager lowered his head, his steady gaze resting on a wallet he was holding. Mikasa cringed at the word 'rammed', as if she shared Eren's pain at the point of impact. "I'm not sure if you know this already, Mikasa, but he is ill. Very ill indeed. I'm sorry. This wasn't his first time passing out all of a sudden without any prior signs or warnings. It simply never crossed our minds that he would pass out while driving."

"I know," she muttered, drawing her scarf closer around her neck. Eren's scarf. All she pleaded for now was some silent time with him, to apologize for the ways she had mistreated him. To tell him that she would never loathe him. If she only could dance with him one more time, she would play a song that would never end.

And the baby. The baby had left her mind during these hours. Eren was the father. No, she thought, you have to live, Eren, for me, for the baby; for our baby.

"I'm going to go get some fresh air outside," Mikasa's voice cracked. She lifted herself from the chairs and began her tiresome walk to the vending machine.

Then the door to the room where Eren was resting swung open behind Mikasa. She whipped her head around to see a doctor, escorted by a nurse, emerge from within.

"The latest patient we received today from the car accident broke his ribs and thus ruptured one of his vital organs, take note of that," the two stopped in their tracks, allowing Mikasa to eavesdrop on their conversation. Eren. They were talking about Eren, she convinced herself.

"W-will he make it?" the nurse scribbled all relevant information she could gather from the stoic doctor into her notepad obediently.

"The chances are very slim. We haven't told his relatives yet but no, I'm afraid he won't make it past tonight. Not even past the next hour, perhaps."

~

"Please," before Mikasa's mind could even register what her body was doing, she leaped forwards, catching the doctor by his shoulders. He took a hesitant step back, his eyes widening at the sight of her. "Please, let me see him. I h-heard you. You said he isn't going to make it. Please just let me say my goodbyes first, let me talk to him. I want to be the first one to see him, please."