Mikannie Week 2020

Day Seven: Hickies

"It's so sweet that Mikasa has her own friends to stay over with," Carla Jaeger sighed over her latest crochet project. Grisha, her husband looked up from his newspaper.

"She has friends," he said. "Armin, and... er... the girl from her maths class. Sarah?"

"No, I mean her own friends," Carla said. "Hanging out without Eren. She's grown up, Grisha."

Grisha looked over at Carla, a proud smile on her face. Mikasa wasn't theirs biologically, but for the last eight years they'd cared for her.

The married couple's attention was caught by the sound of the front door opening and shutting from down the hall. Soft footfalls crunched on the Turkish rug in the hallway, and the Jaegers' aforementioned adopted daughter appeared in the doorway.

"Hello," Mikasa said softly, looking at both Carla and Grisha in turn. Her face was half-hidden by her signature red scarf.

"Oh, you're back!" Carla said, putting her crocheting aside and getting up to greet her. "Did you have fun?"

Mikasa nodded. "Yeah. I'm going to my room now." She took her bag, and climbed up the stairs to her bedroom.

Carla watched her with pride.

"Did she seem unhappy?" Grisha asked.

"What?" Carla turned around to face her husband. Grisha stood up from his chair.

"I'm going to check on her," he said, concerned. He followed her upstairs and knocked on Mikasa's door.

Mikasa was sitting on the bed when he came in, checking her phone.

"Mikasa, is everything alright?" Grisha asked. She looked up, and immediately pulled her scarf tighter around her. It was something she used to do when she was younger and stressed out. It wasn't a good sign.

"'M okay," she said, voice muffled by her scarf.

"Really? You look a little upset. You know you can talk to us if you need." Grisha walked across the room, and sat down next to her on the bed.

"I'm fine," Mikasa said again, taking the scarf away from her mouth. She tried giving an awkward smile, and played with a loose thread on her quilt.

"Was your sleepover good?" He decided to ask. "Have lots of fun?"

Mikasa looked away. "You could say that," she mumbled.

Grisha saw then a dark bruise on Mikasa's shoulder, barely hidden by her scarf. His fatherly protective instinct activated. Had she gotten hurt? Had someone hit her? Grisha felt angry all of a sudden, at whoever had hurt his daughter, and at himself for letting it happen.

Or she'd just run into a shelf or something, he told himself. It might not be as bad as he'd immediately jumped to believe.

The doorbell rang. Mikasa sat up in attention.

"I'll get the door," Grisha told her, standing up. He left her room, going downstairs. He heard Mikasa get up behind him

Mikasa reached the bottom step by the time Grisha opened the door. On the other side was a girl Mikasa's age, holding a bundled-up shirt in one hand. She looked effortlessly bored, like one of those kids who loitered around shopping malls after school because they thought they were cool. Grisha was one of those kids, back in the day.

"Mikasa's dad?" The girl asked, deadpan. Grisha nodded, about to greet her, when Mikasa pushed past Grisha.

"I'm here," she said. Mikasa shot Grisha a look that he knew all too well; the 'I want privacy' look. With a quick glance back at the girl, to make sure she wasn't going to cause any harm to Mikasa, Grisha went back inside.

"You left your shirt," he overheard the girl say softly as he closed the door.

"Is everything alright?" Carla asked, looking up from her crocheting. Grisha sat down again.

"I think so," he mumbled.

Mikasa came back in a minute or so later. Her face was hidden behind her scarf, but it was clear she was blushing.

And all of a sudden it fell into place. The bruise on Mikasa's neck wasn't a bruise, it was -

Grisha didn't want to think about that. The revulsion that teens feel when the topic of their parents' sex lives goes the other way, too.

"Well, I think she's happy," Grisha said, and left it at that.