Just for Yeager

Reflections

Nothing—I felt nothing when she kissed me. Her lips, warm, soft, and gentle, yet I was impassive inside. How cold hearted of me, to feel all but emptiness towards my wife's affection. Or perhaps, I forced myself to reserve emotion, because I felt a bout of guilt whenever I looked into her innocent, kind eyes. That night before she returned from her trip up north, I was being accompanied by a guest. Not a woman, as I firmly admitted, but with Eren. I had invited him to talk, and that night we ended up in the hot springs. That was the first night he pulled me in, and kissed me.

I had felt something then, something more than butterflies fleeting in my stomach, something more than chills up my spine. I don't know how to describe it, nor do I believe words could ever manifest such a sensation. At that very moment I had allowed it to consume me, the passion, the heat of it all. We made love, and it was as sporadic as it was stimulating. But by the next morning, he had already left, and my mind was left rippled. To choose between the two; that was something I couldn't bring myself to do. I truly loved Hange, but I felt passionate for Eren.

Well, at least now I wasn't troubled with such a tactful decision...

As I rode my horse with stride, I continued to ponder on how things were. It's been two weeks since I last encountered Mikasa, and just as long since I went in battle. My undeniably rattled spirit was placed on temporary leave. The commander noticed I was struggling with depression, and it almost fetched my life as its price. Distracted, I couldn't deny that, but a forced leave was the last remedy for it. I became jaded, taking a break from seeking out Eren's killer, and visiting his resting place every night instead.

Just as I closed in, I noticed someone else standing before his plot. I tied my horse down before approaching the figure in black, tossing my hood over my face to combat the wind blowing through my hair. The grass crunched beneath my feet, yet the figure made no motion. Mikasa... no, couldn't be. The hairs on my neck haven't crept up yet.

"Sasha?" It seemed she ignored my presence, her eyes bent over Eren's tombstone. An array of flowers dressed the etched letterings under his name, right next to a bowed-box of what appeared to be her offering.

"Eren used to love those," her shook voice finally addressed me. "I so rarely baked them, but when I did, he would always be the first one to notice me wolfing them down." She chuckled softly, tears filling her eyes. I imparted no comment, simply kept the silence among us still as the night breeze rolled by. She burrowed her cries in her palms, trying to stifle her sorrow.

I in turn, glanced over his grave before jerking my head back. The sensation of pins and needles prickling my back elevated my attention to scout behind us. I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but it seemed my paranoia stalked me at a more or less vulnerable moment. Sasha finally looked my way with a confused concerned face, and I'd let out a sigh of uncertainty. I reached down and snatched her offering, hooking my finger through the bow as I gave it back to her.

"The dead don't eat, neither do spirits. Instead, they watch over us with satisfaction that we are carrying on with our lives, which in turn, keeps them alive. Eren lives on through our memories. I'm sure he would prefer you eat these than have them expire in vain."

I left her speechless, rendered flabbergasted. But then she grabbed her sweets, untied the bow, and cracked open the tin container. She smiled, taking one cookie, then offered me the rest. "You're right. Eren looked up to you Levi. I'd feel better if I shared them with someone he really cared about."