I wish I could have fleshed this out more but I'm working on something larger and I needed something to do to distract me. Procrastination at its best.

I do not own SNK ect ect

He stared down at his hand, a red string tied securely around his pinky, and he thought.

It was wound around tightly, almost as if it was connected to his skin, entwined with his veins and running along the lines of his muscles. He wondered, while he was thinking, if it also circled around his beating heart, if every time he felt a tug, a lurch, it also affected him as well.

He couldn't remember a time when he didn't have it; it was as if it was born with it.

He thought of the time where he asked his mother what it was. Her face, scrunched up and confused will always stay in his mind, and her laugh, he remembered her laugh and he wanted her take him seriously. He still adored it however; it was something he loved as well.

She sat him down on her lap, and her cool hands played with his warm fingers as his mother told him a story about a string so red and deep, like love, she had said, that it lasted lifetimes upon lifetimes without it fading away.

He was enraptured. The story will stay imprinted on his mind forever, and he will carry it with him until he couldn't remember it anymore.

That time hasn't come yet.

Though, he does remember, when he was just nine, too young to have lost a mother, but still standing above her grave after the funeral; there was a red string on his father's own pinky. It still shone a bright red, still tied so tight he wondered why his finger hadn't gone purple yet. It ran, from where his father's hand was beneath the freshly dug dirt.

His father put a hand on his shoulder, after he had burst into a new wave of tears. It was the same hand that held the precious red string.

He didn't say why he was crying.

He learned to keep this kind of thing to himself, it was better for everyone, that way.

Not for him, however. Many times, he had stopped himself from speaking. With couples with threads that didn't lead to each other, and people whose threads were held so taut that it seemed like it would snap at any moment.

The ones that hurt the most to look at were the people who didn't have one at all. He knew those were the people whose soul mate weren't born in their lifetime. Who would spend their days with partner after partner, who would feel content and happy, but always, always feel like something was missing.

And that's what caused him to chase and chase and chase. He has travelled the world tirelessly, following the red string of fate until he could meet his true love at last.

Sometimes, Eren would sit in the dusty, old and often smelly motels and wondered what they would look like. If they were a man, a woman, or if they were short or tall, thick or skinny, or what their personality was like.

He wondered if they loved the sea, or if they were a cat person, perhaps? He wondered if they would love him back, or they already had someone they were with.

He also wondered if they were dead or not, and it scared him. It physically hurt thinking that he would have come all this way only to stand above a grave.

So, it is when he comes to Japan, he knows he is close. He can feel it in his bones, which have grown weary from travelling so far and so long. He can't speak a word of the language, and he hopes that that they could speak even a bit of English.

He doesn't mind learning, however. Japanese is a pretty language, after all.

The bright lights and busy streets of Tokyo overpower him, and if the crowd wasn't constantly pushing and urging him forward he would've stood all day and admire everything around him.

Then, he saw her.

He could see the string; no matter how tangled it was with the others around him, he could see it so clearly that it took his breath away.

She was starting to walk away, and his throat tightened up and he needed to see her, needed to see her, needed to see her.

So he ran, pushing through the crowd, possibly being cursed hundreds of different ways while he stumbled along.

His fingers grazed her sweater, and with a final push, grabbed her shoulder.

She turned around, and he knew, right then and there, he was in love.

She was beautiful, everything about her was. She had beautiful eyes and beautiful hair and beautiful lips. The way they parted and how her hair moved and the string wrapped around her pinky finger just looked so amazing to him that he just stopped.

"Do you need anything?" She said. He was relieved that she spoke perfect English, but managed to hide it behind a smile so large it almost broke his face.

He tripped and stuttered over his words, and before he had gotten out even a single one, she laughed.

He noted that, of course, her laugh was also beautiful.

Eren finally managed to force some words out, after taking in a few calming breaths. "My name is Eren Jaeger, and I may sound crazy, hell, I already might be crazy but-"

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked in surprise. She had leaned forward; raven black hair tickling his face, and she whispered in his ear.

"Don't worry, I see it too."

He almost screamed. He realized that everything about her was perfect. He wanted to get to know her, every little thing. From her favourite colour to her favourite movie to what type of personality she had. He wanted to find out every side to her, and learn to love them all. He wanted to take her out on a hundred, even thousands of dates and then marry her, and maybe even grow old with her.

He wanted everything.

"I'm Mikasa Ackerman, by the way."

Eren grinned. "I guess we can start with that."