Categories > Anime/Manga > Attack on Titan
Reassurance
0 reviewsSometimes, that was all one could hope for. Set sometime during Chapter 59. Slight Jean/Mikasa.
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In the days that followed Levi's talk around the campfire, Armin seemed to readjust. Sometimes Jean wondered if the boy really was all right. In the mornings, or in the hours before, he'd snap to a semi-consciousness with a horrible shriek (but they all woke up in a similar fashion from time to time).
He'd saved their lives that day. He knew that. But it wasn't enough, it wasn't nearly enough. So he threw himself into his work with the fervor of a desperate man on the verge of death and shut the world out.
The guilt must be eating him alive. There they all were, fighting and talking and taking the days as they came–and Jean knew by Armin's furtive composure that loathed himself for his inability to do the same.
One particular afternoon, he'd dismissed Jean with a curtness that didn't suit him; it was remarkably difficult to take Armin seriously when he tried to be irritated.
But Jean left him be all the same, because inappropriately humorous as it was to watch Armin snap, he really wanted to be alone.
Jean's solitude, however, was short lived.
"How is he?"
Jean glanced up in surprise. It was the first time Mikasa had spoken to him without the presence of others.
"Armin? He's better, or at least, that's what he told me."
She looked critically at the closed door behind him.
"That's good."
Jean nodded absently. They could have died. Should have, really. It was a God-given miracle they were still here, alive and breathing and fighting valiantly against whatever threat fate deemed to be their newest enemy.
He wanted to get this point across to her. He wasn't sure how to verbalize this.
Jean wasn't really thinking when he took her hand–you didn't think about these things, really–but Mikasa was unaffected save for a quiet glance at him. She didn't slip away, didn't make a move to return the gesture. She permitted his contact.
He was about to draw away, to apologize for his lack of judgment, when he felt her squeeze his hand.
"He'll be all right." she murmured.
And Jean hoped, for all their sakes, that she was right.
He'd saved their lives that day. He knew that. But it wasn't enough, it wasn't nearly enough. So he threw himself into his work with the fervor of a desperate man on the verge of death and shut the world out.
The guilt must be eating him alive. There they all were, fighting and talking and taking the days as they came–and Jean knew by Armin's furtive composure that loathed himself for his inability to do the same.
One particular afternoon, he'd dismissed Jean with a curtness that didn't suit him; it was remarkably difficult to take Armin seriously when he tried to be irritated.
But Jean left him be all the same, because inappropriately humorous as it was to watch Armin snap, he really wanted to be alone.
Jean's solitude, however, was short lived.
"How is he?"
Jean glanced up in surprise. It was the first time Mikasa had spoken to him without the presence of others.
"Armin? He's better, or at least, that's what he told me."
She looked critically at the closed door behind him.
"That's good."
Jean nodded absently. They could have died. Should have, really. It was a God-given miracle they were still here, alive and breathing and fighting valiantly against whatever threat fate deemed to be their newest enemy.
He wanted to get this point across to her. He wasn't sure how to verbalize this.
Jean wasn't really thinking when he took her hand–you didn't think about these things, really–but Mikasa was unaffected save for a quiet glance at him. She didn't slip away, didn't make a move to return the gesture. She permitted his contact.
He was about to draw away, to apologize for his lack of judgment, when he felt her squeeze his hand.
"He'll be all right." she murmured.
And Jean hoped, for all their sakes, that she was right.
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