AN: Your average silly college AU, lmao. Please keep in mind that Mikasa has an anxiety disorder in this AU, so if she seems a little out of character, that's why. The disorder is not equivalent to the personality. Anyway, this one is going to bleed eremika; it's very self-indulgent in that sense. I hope you all enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Attack On Titan or its characters. Cover art by pixiv user em. (pixiv ID 4197633).

PLUVIOPHILIA

one | levels of discomfort

preface

I've never liked sunny days, if I'm being honest.

Don't get me wrong; they're not bad. I'm just personally not fond of them. They're bright, perfect, normal, and loved by everyone else, after all. I can hear kids squealing in the park on sunny days. I can smell barbeques, and it depresses me, because I'm a terrible person who is brought down by others' happiness. With each sunny day, I'm reminded of what I don't have, and I get unreasonably, pathetically sad.

And maybe that's why I'm drawn to him. Maybe that's why he makes me happy, why he's the only one who can bring a smile to my face. Maybe I'm as in love with him as I am because we're so alike, in that sense.

I don't mean to say that he isn't sunny. He is, if you give him the chance to be. He can be anything, if you let him.

But by nature, he is a storm, a torrent, a downpour, inescapable as death and powerful as a hurricane.

Like a hurricane, he relentlessly swirls.

Like a hurricane, he leaves destruction in his path.

Like a hurricane, he is terrifying, from the outside.

And, like a hurricane, there is calm in the center of his being.

When you find yourself in that calm, you find something irrevocably precious and inexplicably moving.

I'm one of the lucky few who have seen it.

Tuesday. 8 PM.

It's cold in my room; muffled music blares from the room nextdoor. My window is open, and the screen is broken. I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling. I should be asleep. But I'm not.

The music is loud and annoyingly familiar. He plays the same songs almost every night, alternative rock constantly humming in the wall between us. I've never really liked rock, and this doesn't make me think any better of it.

It's New Year's Eve tonight; I'd have liked to think this guy would be outside with whatever friends he might have, celebrating. I hoped for quiet. But that's just the way the cookie crumbles, I guess.

And it's not like I can talk, or even complain. I have friends, I guess, and I was invited to that party at Sasha's place. I just chose not to go. I'm not in a festive mood. I haven't been for some time, now.

Still, I'm miserable here, freezing on the carpet of my dorm room, and I know it. I'm hungry, cold, tired, lonely, and, now, annoyed. Because Mr. Linkin Park doesn't know how a volume dial works.

Instead of trying to fix any of these things, though, I just turn over and grab a blanket, pulling it over my shoulders. I don't have the energy to do anything else, really.

The music keeps blaring, and my fingers are cold, but I start growing used to these things. You can get used to just about any level of discomfort, I've learned. Peacefully, I start to get to some level of comfortable.

And then the door opens.

"Mikasa!" shouts my best friend, and I sigh.

I roll back onto my back, and tilt my head toward the door. I see Armin upside-down, his eyes- already huge by nature- wide with concern. His shoulders sag with what I think is relief, but could be exasperation, or exhaustion. It's hard to tell with him, sometimes.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" he asks.

"I think it's dead," I tell him.

"Well then, why aren't you dressed? You said you'd be at the party tonight, and I got so worried when you wer-"

"I decided to stay in," I say, and I feel awful for making him so tired. I hate it when he confronts me like this.

His eyebrows scrunch together; he moves forward to close the window. "All by yourself? In the cold? Just staring at the ceiling?"

"Don't forget the rock music," I mutter.

He looks back at me. "What?"

"Nothing," I say. I finally find the motivation to sit up. "Do you want to stay in with me?"

"No," he answers curtly. "Neither of us are staying in. You're getting dressed, and I'm taking you to Sasha's house for some social interaction."

I frown, but I don't object. I just don't have the energy to.

Instead, I ask, "What should I wear?"

"Your black skirt and red cardigan. Make sure you have something covering your legs."

I snort. "I have leg hair," I offer. Armin rolls his eyes, but says nothing to argue this point.

He simply says, "I'll be back in fifteen minutes to take you, dressed or not," and leaves.

I use my bed to help myself up before heading to my closet. The music from next door stopped playing without me noticing, somehow. I think it's funny that it stops just as I've made plans to leave. I wonder if Mr. Alternative over there can see me, somehow, then drop the thought immediately because it's too creepy to even consider.

Panty hose, I decide, should keep my legs warm enough. I actually doubt they will, but I'm less worried about how warm I'll be, and more worried about how shaved my legs look. If I wear tights or leggings, it'll be obvious that I didn't shave, won't it? And it's not like I really care about whether or not my legs look shaved, but I don't know how much more teasing I can take from Sasha (who is a hypocrite, because she never shaves her legs.)(that doesn't stop her from giggling at me, though).

After I pull those on, I slide on the skirt Armin mentioned, thanking him for suggesting this one. I love this skirt with all my heart, but I hardly wear it. I like to save it for special occasions, despite the fact that it's a plain, generic black A-line skirt. I think it looks nice with my dressier tops, and I like how it looks on me.

I tuck my white tank top into the waist of my skirt before putting on the cardigan, which was Armin's Christmas gift to me and is probably my second-favorite article of clothing now. He says red looks lovely on me, and the material is so soft, I've considered sleeping in it. It goes very well with the skirt and tank, and I silently thank the heavens that I have a best friend who can pick my outfits for me, because there's no way I could have put something like this together on my own.

I meander to the mirror in the closet door, nearly flinching at my reflection. I'm kind of creepy-looking, especially now, with my hair ruffled carelessly around my ears, and my face, thinner than it used to be, pale and worn as it is. Even my eyes depress me; they're steely and sharp, and they remind me of a prison cell. And I hate them, and everything else about me, in this moment. How am I supposed to look presentable when this is my starting point? I'm a mess by nature.

But I try. I brush my hair and apply the tiniest amount of makeup, just enough to make me seem almost human again, and I get a few minutes before Armin returns. I use the time to pack party supplies: a good book, a refillable bottle of water, my phone charger, and a pair of earphones. Armin will get after me for avoiding the other guests, I'm sure, but I know he'll understand. As much as he cares for my mental health, I know he'll be too empathetic of my case to force me to do anything. That's part of the reason we're friends in the first place: our natural, near-crippling introversion.

Sure enough, when he returns, he notices my stuffed bag but says nothing of it. Instead he asks, "I take it you're ready?"

I shrug in reply and turn out my lights. "As I'll ever be," I say, closing and locking my door behind me.

"Look, Mikasa, I know you don't like parties," he says as we walk down the hall. "Or, really, any sort of social event. And that's alright, because I don't either. But you've been cooped up in your room for, essentially, this entire winter break, and it's not healthy or acceptable. You know I don't force you to do many things, but I have to draw the line somewhere."

"I understand," I say, because I do. "Sorry for making you worry."

He sighs and opens the door for me. It's still freezing out, and grey slush that used to be snow lines the pavement. Tugging my coat tighter around my shoulders, I step out into the night. Armin is close behind.

"Don't apologize," he says, catching up to me. "It's my own fault I'm a nervous wreck. Nevertheless, Mikasa, I just want you to promise me something."

I pull my muffler up so that it covers my nose. "What?" I ask.

He glances sideways at me, that old, familiar concerned expression shifting his features. I feel guilty, again.

"As much as you may not want to," he says, "promise me you'll talk to people tonight. That you'll open up."

I look away and shrug. "I'll try my best," I tell him. The tips of my ears sting.

I don't look, but I know he's smiling.

"That's all I can ever ask for, isn't it?"

When Armin rings the doorbell of the Braus household, my stomach twists, and I begin to feel dizzy. I can already hear the music, loud and energetic, humming from the windows and walls, as well as the guests shouting and singing along. My hands are cold in my gloves, and I want to go home.

Armin senses my panic and turns to me. His face, the familiarity of it, its sensitive nature, eases my nerves a bit.

"You can do this," he reminds me. "You'll come out of this better than you went in."

He's making a party sound like some horrific, traumatizing event that takes a large amount of bravery to endure. It doesn't. It's a party. People go to these for fun. These are normal. I'm supposed to be happy.

But I'm not, and I'm not normal, I'm so awful and weird and sad, and I need moral support to go to a damn party, and it's so utterly and unbelievably pathetic and ridiculous, I can't do this-

The door swings open. Sasha pokes her head out. My muscles freeze.

She sees me, and this big, warm grin spreads across her face.

My heart is pounding.

"Well, well, well," she drawls, beaming, "look what the cat dragged in! Finally decided to join us, eh?"

I want to be friendly- at least wave or something, because Sasha is such a good friend to me- but I can't. I just can't. Knowing I have to physically walk into her house, with its loud guests and louder music and frequent social interactions, I can't do anything but stare at her.

There's a pause as she waits for my reaction. I begin to panic even more.

Then Armin, my light, my guardian angel, the most important person in the world, swoops in and says something I don't quite register. Still, it must be something good, because Sasha nods and smiles, instead of looking at me like I'm a freak of nature. She opens the door, chattering on about how cold it must be outside or something. Armin ushers me in, even as I stiffen and resist his guiding touch. As soon as I step across the threshold, Sasha takes hold of my elbow.

I only catch the last part of her sentence- "borrow her"- before I'm whisked away from my best friend and into a world of unfamiliar faces and sensory overload.

I'm going to throw up.

She has me say hi to Jean Kirschtein, whom I know and dislike, Annie Leonhardt, Armin's on-and-off girlfriend, whom I also know and dislike, and Connie Springer, Sasha's best friend, whom I know and do not mind.

Then, to my horror and panic, she leaves me with him. He begins to prattle on about something- I can't hear him or my own thoughts above that music- and I am going to throw up.

I must look like it, too, because Connie tilts his head at me. I read his lips, and they either say "party olay" or "are you okay". At the moment, I don't have the deductive reasoning abilities necessary to figure out which, so I just nod like I have been, and he nods back.

And then he leaves.

I must have missed something there, but I don't have the energy or the brainpower to figure out what. Chills run down my back. My head throbs. People begin to close the space Connie left, moving too close to me, and I panic.

I scramble through the people around me- god, there are so many of them, why does Sasha have to be so well-liked- and burst out the back door, down the steps, and under the porch, where there is a crusty, ripped lawn chair and an empty plastic tub. I take a seat in the lawn chair. I am shaking. I am hyperventilating. Sasha took my coat, and now I am freezing.

I curl in on myself in that lawn chair, burying my face in my muffler, my arms wrapped around my legs. I try take deep breaths from my stomach, but they always turn into shallow ones. I feel dizzy again. I'm going to throw up.

This was a terrible idea, and I should have objected when Armin told me to come here. This whole thing was a mistake. I panicked before I'd even gotten past the door, and just now I had a complete freak-out session. It hasn't even been twenty minutes since I arrived.

They have to be talking about me, the crazy girl who runs through people after her friends leave her. The one who bolted outside. They must think I'm insane. There's no way I can go back inside; I'm sure people will stare, or at least talk about me. Someone might even make fun of me. I won't be able to handle it. I can't do this.

Then a voice says, "Hey."

I fall out of my chair.

"Whoa, holy shit," it says in alarm. "Are you okay?"

I glance around wildly, looking for its owner. Then someone takes my hand. Startled, I snatch it away.

"Whoa- sorry." says the voice. I look up.

His eyes are so alive that I am paralyzed.

He kneels down so that we are at eye-level. Half of his face is bathed in shadow, the other half hardly visible from the lights above, but there is something so frighteningly sentient about him that it makes itself known beyond the darkness, and I can't move.

"You okay?" he repeats.

I swallow, feeling like my heart is lodged in my throat, and shake my head.

He takes my hand again. His skin is warm. I begin to forget that he's a real person, so I don't snatch it away this time.

Then he asks, "What's your name?", and I remember again that he is a real person, one who can judge me and who must think I'm crazy, and I do it.

I throw up, all over him.

AN: And so begins a new story! Juli! What the hell are you doing!

Here's the dealio. I really, really, really wanted to write a college AU. Really, really bad. Okay? Okay.

Now, time for an old Juli tradition: apologizing!

I apologize if Mikasa's voice seems a little off; she's very difficult to write, especially from the first person, but like Icarus & I, this story is the sort that kind of has to be told in first person. Still, please, if you can, give me some input on how you might imagine her inner voice to sound.

That being said. I don't want to hear that Mikasa is out of character because she is feeling things or because she is dealing with an anxiety disorder in this AU. All of that has to do with her backstory, and she already feels things because she's a human being. She may be stoic, but that doesn't mean she's a goddamned robot.

Essentially, I ask for feedback, but sensible feedback. And I do very much appreciate your taking time to read this, so thank you.

The next chapter should be up very soon, as it's already written. I may wait for a certain amount of feedback before publishing it, so please review!