"Do blind Mikasa? So nice eremika anguish over this would be interesting ^^" -Anonymous

A/N: Hello, there. It's been a while.

Rating: K+

Genre: Angst

.: Flightless :.

The firewood crackles with every quiet blink of the flames, which gleam off a heat that shrouds the palms of the hands that outstretch before them. Hands that have callused through the years, that have held weapons and blood and the last, rasping breaths of fallen comrades.

Eren sighs into the night, closing his eyes. It's been so long since he joined the Survey Corps, he can hardly remember who he was before this all began. And growing up in a world consumed by madness has made him hard, has quelled a spirit that once smoldered. For he's lost so much that, in a sense, he's freed. He stands unburdened of the seal that branded him a traitor, the mob that gave him wings. Because that same refuge was so quick to turn against him, to declare all titans must perish, even him. And so it was that Eren finally learned how to fly, fleeing from the bands of angry blades held skyward with a cry, the friendly faces that crumbled into something so hard, so hateful, it made his heart go cold.

Though he may be exiled, he is not alone. The spare mug near the fire reminds him, the shadows of the blaze illuminating the corners her lips had touched, the footsteps that followed into the night and vanished into a room of the abandoned castle they find shelter in. And then, moments later, those very footsteps appear behind him, and Eren doesn't need to turn to look, for he knows it's her. Always her. Only her. She sits beside him.

Her body is lost to him under the blanket she has wrapped around her shoulders, an artifact she found upon arriving here. The remnants of some past life, still carrying the scents of its last owner. Life has a funny way of whispering its remains even long after it has vanished. Eren reaches out to feel her arm, and through the fibers and gently woven thread, he can sense every delicate line of muscle, the soft contours of her flesh, the bluntness of her bones. The reality of her figure by his side.

They say nothing.

But the silence they share is not empty, never empty, not with her. Her eyes are closed and Eren trails the backs of his fingers up her bicep, shoulder, neck, to her cheek. This makes her head turn, gently, to face him.

He eyes the tip of her nose, the individual preens of her eyelashes, and tries to gauge what lies ahead. But the future is bleak in front of them, tainted by the past they've left behind. A past that required her to hold the edges of swords to her friends' throats, to take from the lives that had once granted her safety. For him. All for him. And always without question.

Eren holds her face, and her eyelids flicker before stretching back, slowly, to bare their clouded gaze. Her irises are stark, the color all drained out of them. He thumbs at the scar that stretches from one corner of her eye to the other, a crooked, smiling crevice she bears without the slightest hint of shame. Her lips move, but she is silent, Eren's part with anticipation, the words at the back of his tongue yearning to be released. But he swallows them down. Simply holds her. For someday, he shall posses the courage to thank her, for everything, for all she's done. It is because of him that she cannot see, and it crosses his mind how robbed she has become, how desolate. The two of them. Forever monsters in the eyes of the world.

"Mikasa," her name tumbles out of his mouth, and she blinks. She cannot see him. She will never see him again. She will never be able to gaze at the sun, to watch it set and melt into the ocean, to observe the tiny palms of infant hands she helped create, to watch the essence of life she has breathed into the world around her. But then Eren thinks of how they were not made to experience these things. They weren't built to make, only to take, to flee and fight and seek whatever shelter the cruel world grants them.

Her fingers coil around his wrists. The smile on her lips is faint, but very much there.

And he stares, ever in awe, at the silent strength she so direly possesses. His blind protector. His flightless bird. And he knows that with the passing of time, all their wounds will heal. Even the ones on her eyes. Even the ones in his spirit. But for now, this is enough. The silent heat of his palms upon her skin, the childish ruddiness of the apples of her cheeks, the gentle swell of her breath as she sighs into him, all enough. Because they've been carved out of the barbarity, the fury, the savagery of nature, to find peace, the vestiges of a good life, the ashes of hope scattered around for them to find. Together.