Disclaimer: I do not own Shingeki No Kyojin.

NOTE: Dialogue is in italic font.

Her porcelain skin is giving off a pale glow and she pinches her waist thoughtfully, marveling at the little amount of skin that could even be held firmly between her index finger and thumb. Her reflection looks horrible, mirroring her black eyes and doing little to highlight her otherwise delicate features. She resembles a living ghoul thirsting for human blood. Worry is like a plague, descending over her mind, and her skinny build is the least of her 'worries'.

She had not eaten properly for the last few days. Some apples and oranges, mainly fruits, made up for her strict diet. Not that she didn't like eating; she just doesn't feel like eating, and the action itself seems taxing when she puts her mind to it.

I wonder what Eren and Armin would think, she wonders aloud. Her scarf, red as roses and silky as satin twitches on her neck, and Mikasa fingers it with a reverence, loading the memories and hoarding them into the scarf, the fibres heavily imbued with Carla, Grisha and nine-year-old Eren. Their deceased souls, looking down at her from somewhere above.

The bell rings, as if it's pissed by the lateness of the morning. Mikasa quickly grabs her gear, which is hanging precariously from a hook on the wall that over-helpful Jean helped her to install a few weeks back, and dashes out of the dorms like death is on her heels.

…

The dining hall is buzzing with drowsiness and the bell is still showing no signs of stopping. From far, Mikasa sees Armin waving at her, Eren standing beside the blond, his feet tapping on the floor impatiently.

Good morning, Armin greets brightly, as always. He is immaculately dressed in his uniform and his hair is combed straight until she can't see any traces of split ends on that yellow head of his. The same cannot be said for Eren. The boy is radiating sleepiness and irritation, so Mikasa thinks better than to reprimand him for his sour countenance, and manages a meek 'morning' to him before pulling them to a table.

Her stomach growls loudly, but not too loudly to make anyone notice. She fidgets hopefully as the cooks file in from the kitchen, their muscled arms laden with silver trays and silverware. A pitcher of orange juice is deposited on each table. Armin immediately reaches for the mug, filling his paper cup to the brim. He nudges Eren, and Eren nods stiffly. Mikasa does not like the look of the murkiness mixing in with the juice, so she refuses with a light shake of her head.

She waits. The cooks move slowly, placing tray after tray on the long table, arranging and aligning them in neat rows. The smell of bacon and eggs in the air makes the cavernous hole within her open up, and she can barely keep herself sitting still. The hunger hit her with a pang, reminding her of the roast chicken she missed yesterday, and the rare pasta meal she refused the day before that. She will not miss out on today. Not a chance.

The cooks return to the kitchen, and the trainees swoop in for the fill. Like vultures, zooming on to helpless, dying prey. The scene is almost like titans gobbling humans, only this time it is breakfast hour, and they can choose any food they like. Mikasa perches on her seat, the low voices of Christa and Ymir reaching her ears from three seats away, and Jean's unwavering presence beside her. Armin had dragged Eren to the front, scrambling for plates and cutlery.

Sasha pulls her body out from the crowd, her plate heaped with bread and an artful array of colorful fruits. The glutton is already beginning her attack on the bread, munching busily and dodging table corners deftly.

And at that moment, suddenly, Mikasa does not feel like eating, after all.

Perhaps she feels full just at the sight of the greedy glint in Sasha's owlish eyes and the sickeningly heavy, mountainous platter. The juice will have to do.

But it tastes strange. Somehow too sweet and watery for pure orange juice.

Aren't you going to eat? Jean regards her curiously, his hand reaching out for his fork and knife. He had gone and came back within seconds, fearful of his seat being taken by other boys. In hindsight, Mikasa is rather popular with the male population.

Mikasa shakes her head again. The growling and thrashing in her stomach subsides, and she sips the orange juice, her eyes training levelly at Armin and Eren. Eren also glances up at Jean's inquiry, shooting his adoptive sister a questioning look. Mikasa smiles slightly, and nods at him to continue eating, to stop fussing over her. His unexpected concern makes her heart flutter in strange ways, but this is not the first time. Rather, she should be the one worrying about him.

The door bangs open, revealing Keith Shadis, their maniacal instructor. His eyes glitter in a way that makes the trainees' insides clench with dismay and they have now received the menacing hint that today's training will be even worse than yesterday's. Mikasa's eyebrows peak, but she doesn't groan or moan like the other trainees.

You brats, hurry out and get geared! He roars at his eating audience. His answer is a series of coughs and back-slaps, and the glitter in his black orbs intensify.

Mikasa is the first to exit the dining hall, closely followed by Armin and Eren, who are both finally done eating. As they brush past the instructor, Keith gives Armin a pointed glare, and the blond shivers, quickening his walking pace.

…

It is confirmed. The trainees will be doing an obstacle course today.

They are assigned into six-people groups, and their marks will be earned throughout demonstrations of cooperation, teamwork and overall effort.

Although the exercise sounds relatively easy to be carried out, Keith Shadis is an unusually harsh and tough marker. His unpredictable shouts sometimes scare the trainees to death, and this results in poor performance and team coordination. So far, Mikasa has landed on the instructor's good side. She performs outstandingly well in solo practices, and her marks are above average in teamwork. She has virtually nothing to worry about, although she tries to assist Eren or Armin in the most difficult courses, to the best of her capabilities.

Ackerman, Kirschstein, Braus, Springer, Arlert and Jaeger! He raps out names at random on his clipboard. The trainees huddle together with their teammates, their nerves jiggling.

For her part, Mikasa is grateful that she has been assigned into the same group as Armin and Eren. It means that she can keep an eye out for them.

A bout of dizziness overtakes her abruptly, and she closes her eyes, fending off the uncalled-for headache forming at the base of her skull.

Armin notices her chalky complexion. Are you okay, Mikasa? He voices his concern aloud, and Mikasa wants nothing except to deliver a swift punch into his abdomen.

Huh? Jean also leans closer, scrutinizing her pained expression. She wants to push them away, but her body feels as though the strength has been drained away by an unknown force.

Eren approaches her and puts his hand on her forehead. She jumps under his touch.

You're not hot, he replies simply, pressing harder. The warmth of his hand spreads across her cold skin, and her cheeks glow.

You're not hot, Jean mimics, his arms akimbo. She's hot as hell, Eren, and you're blind for not seeing that, he says bitterly. Jealousy is apparent in his behavior, and Eren's hand tenses on her forehead. Mikasa, on impulse, grabs his wrist urgently.

Don't start a fight again, she pleads, her voice toned down to a whisper that only he can hear. There is a breathless second, where everyone stands frozen like statues, and the wind blows by leisurely, whisking the tension away in airy fingers. Eren's arm relaxes beneath her grip, and he retracts his hand.

Let's get this over with. Eren waves a dismissing hand at Jean, who is momentarily thrown by the change in atmosphere. Connie and Sasha hurry after him. In the corner of her eye, Mikasa sees Jean kick the ground with his feet in frustration, releasing a resigned sigh, before trailing after the three in dejection. His shoulders are slumped, and Mikasa pities him. For a brief second.

Armin looks at the advancing group members, turning to Mikasa.

Are you well enough to do this exercise? I can tell Keith you're not feeling good today, so that he can excuse you.

Mikasa does not miss the stutter in the last sentence. Armin, up until today, still retains fear for the instructor. Her eyes narrow at him, and Armin tactfully drops the subject.

…

The team are in the midst of scaling a wall. Mikasa reaches the top first, albeit feeling light-headed and having her vision whiten in a brief flash. She staggers unsteadily, teetering at the edge of the wall. The wall is nine feet high. A shout sounds from below her, and she hastens to pull Connie up. Connie, in turn, hauls both Jean and Armin with ease. Mikasa sighs in relief. Only Sasha and Eren are left. Sasha is making her way up without much difficulty, while Eren remains on the ground. He's distracted by the progress of the other groups. When Connie yells at him, he holds up a hand, telling them to wait.

In her heart, Mikasa is begging him to hurry up. Her body sways, and it seems as if the cells in her brain are congealing into a big knot. Her breathing becomes labored.

The next team is already moving on to the next obstacle: hill climbing. The hill is steep, decorated with rocks here and there. And then there is the next obstacle, and another...

How painful and tiring.

Mikasa's eyes close involuntarily.

Her world turns black and her life whooshes by in a white light. She's falling into a swirling portal, spiraling into the white target center, her face ashen gray and hopelessly blank. Her eyes glaze over and the last thing she remembers is seeing Eren looking up at her, for some reason, and her heart gives another whoop of excitement at his sudden transition of indifference to astonished concern in his countenance, just beyond Jean's looming face...

The thin line of ground disappears on her.

…

Poor dear, she hasn't been eating well, the nurses murmur to each other sympathetically.

Eren's eyes widen at the statement. What do you mean?

The nurses look at each other, crinkling their eyebrows in disbelief. You didn't know? They do not sound happy. Their pens tap ominously on their clean notepads, disapproval marring the lines of their faces. She has been eating virtually nothing since last week. It's a miracle she'd been able to withstand the intense training Keith dished out. Their lips thin. Keith is such a sadist, a younger nurse mutters under her breath.

Eren's arms ache. He'd used them to catch Mikasa when she fell over the wall. When will she wake up? He persists stubbornly.

The head nurse looks at him critically, assessing the meaning behind his question. She's only asleep. We'll provide her with food later, once she wakes up, which might be half an hour or later. The nurse shrugs nonchalantly. How long are you going to stay here?

Eren stands his ground firmly. Until she wakes up.

That is preposterous! The head nurse declares, her pen-tapping routine quickening. Keith will not excuse YOU from training, dear boy.

I don't care. She's my sister, and I'll be- Eren pauses. Using swear words in this situation is not exactly a good idea. He rephrases himself. I'm just worried.

The nurse bites her lip. The sentiment behind his reasoning is true enough. Rolling her eyes, she shoos the other nurses out of the room, and she also takes leave, throwing a glance at the still-standing boy. Do not make any noises, she warns, placing a finger before her mouth.

Eren concedes, nodding vigorously.

He pulls a chair and takes his place at Mikasa's bedside. The room is stuffed of aspirins and medicine, reeking of blood and death. He hates the infirmary, but Mikasa's here, and he has to be here too.

Eren finds himself concentrating on the only object of fascination that is worth any attention at all, in this dismal room. Mikasa.

Peering closely, he sees the red scarf he'd owned six years back, peeking out of the blankets. Red and long and reminiscent of the day he saved her from those kidnappers. There was the blood on the hilt of the knife, the choking hold the last living man had on him, and the crushed floor board in the wooden house. There are a number of other events Eren would not have wished to remember, but upon seeing the scarf, the memories flood back in unwillingly.

Vaguely, he pictures Mikasa's nine-year-old self, fitting jigsaw puzzle pieces together. She had been more quiet than now, almost sullen, plowing through life at a snail's pace. At the beginning, Eren was frustrated with her, confused at her hesitance to play games or venture outdoors. It had never occurred to him that Mikasa might have been recovering from her loss and she must have been busy figuring things out on her own. He was a kid and he knew it, though it didn't stop him from getting riled up over her easily.

Then Armin joined them, their happy new group of three. He served as the peacemaker, making amends for Eren, and apologizing for Mikasa. Without him, the two would have fallen apart without knowing the good intentions of one another.

Which brings him back to the present. That scarf, now worn by his adoptive sister.

His gaze travels upwards, lingering a moment too long on her eyelashes. Thick and slender and long, casting shadows on her high cheekbones. Her face is sallow and gaunt, and Eren feels a spark igniting in his heart; again, she neglected to take care of herself. It is strange, considering that she wastes no time fussing over him like a mother hen, and yet, refusing to think for herself. Why does she skip meals, anyway?

Mikasa's lips move then. A barely coherent word squeezes out through the thin parting of her lips.

Eren...

Said person blinks. Is she dreaming of him?

He stoops closer to her, listening intently. There are no more words coming out of her mouth, and her breathing is calm and even. She is sleeping quite soundly.

Her expression reminds him of that one time when the three of them started an expedition. They were navigating their way through the forest in their district. Mikasa herself happened to stumble across this green patch of space, some sort of a meadow, a glade in the evergreen shrubbery. The sun poured golden rays of warmth down upon them, and it's like a drug, isn't it, when their lapse into drowsiness led to them draping themselves over the grass and their eyes sliding shut of their own accord. The most peaceful hours of his life. He dreamed nothing but blue oceans and cackling seagulls.

The block of concern constricting his chest dissolves. Eren sits back and arranges the blankets around her, his mind tuning out and his thoughts in a flurry of red scarves and dreams and a girl sleeping on a white mattress, her eyes shut and her body unmoving. The very being of tranquility.

On the contrary, Mikasa's dreamland is in turmoil.

She never moves while asleep, but lucid dreaming can do strange things to everyday habits.

Signs are showing. Legs are beginning to jerk uncontrollably. Her eyelids flutter, and the girl starts sweating.

It happens, unannounced and unforeseen, that Eren is at a loss with words and actions. He gawks, as Mikasa's body starts twitching and convulsing. The blankets are being wrinkled and the lights overhead are flickering, as though Mikasa's nightmare is shifting from her conscience, and seeping into the real world.

He can't very well let that happen. She might wake up and start screaming. He has to pick a different approach. A gentler one.

So he acts on instinct. Her lips are trembling and he isn't thinking, since he chooses to rely on instinct alone-

His lips collide with hers rather clumsily, at first. He has no experience in kissing whatsoever, and he berates himself mentally for sinking down to the level of a mindless fool. Mikasa won't want this, she'd freak out and he'd try to apologize but knowing her she'd probably shy away from him unless Armin intervenes yet again.

She can't wake up. Not in this moment. The twitches and convulsions ensue, but they have diminished. Slowly but surely, her legs stop knocking together and her body relaxes reluctantly. The temperature in the medicine-suffused room creeps up a few notches.

Eren waits. Her lips are turning lax, and he is about to pull away - though really, it confuses him, when his lips remain latched on hers.

Her black eyes fly open. He reads shock, confusion, trepidation and some unknown emotion swimming in the onyx depths.

It is high; the tension is extremely high.

Shit.

A/N: Well, I just wanted to put this up. This idea just came to me after I finished reading Aimee Bender's book. I'm trying my best to write in a different style, but I can see it's not as good as I mapped it out in my mind... (Note: Check the author out! Her works are amazing, especially if you're a fan of... I don't know, surreal settings and complex plots?)

I know I probably should have proofread it, but if there are errors I see later, I will tear it down and put another chapter in place. Forgive me if Eren seems a little too OOC - it's quite hard to portray his character accurately.

This is a two-shot, at the most. Perhaps three chapters. I'm having my hands full with my other story as of yet.

Con-crit and feedback well appreciated. Flamers, well, of course not.