The door bursts open with enough force to rattle the fragile panes of glass guarding the piles of worn books and loose papers.

"Those ungrateful PRICKS. Just who do they think they are," she fumes, crossing the threshold in three long strides. "They deserve a good punch in the face, and so help me I will make sure they get it one day."

He sighs, checking the door for loose splinters before closing it quietly behind them. "Mikasa, surely you've gotten used to interacting with them by now. They are simply... poor... at comprehending the true situation."

The ends of her red scarf dance violently as she whirls around to face him. "Are you kidding me, Armin? After all that we – that EREN – has done for humanity, after all the sacrifices and pain, after all of that – THIS is what we get?" The officious paper is thrust abruptly forward, forcing him to take a step back to avoid getting his nose caught in her fist.

His second sigh is more empathic than the first. "But the King's orders are absolu-"

"I will not accept this!"

"It will only be a temporary arrangement. I'm sure the Commander is already working on a solu-"

"We have sacrificed our lives every day for YEARS so that they can keep their heads. The Legion has far more important things to attend to!"

"Yes, and-"

"And Eren is not a circus performer on hire for their little freak show! I REFUSE to allow- mmmph!"

A strangled protest escapes her as a warm pair of lips swallow the remnants of her fury. She struggles to push her hands up between them, but he confronts her thunderous eyes with limpid rivers of his own while carefully enfolding her in a secure embrace.

As he finally breaks away to rest his chin on her shoulder, she is left stilled and bewildered within his fortress of calm.

"A-armin...? What... Why...?"

He releases her then, gently pushing her her shoulders away. "You weren't listening to reason, so I had to fight emotion with emotion." He steps back, smiling slightly while tapping his finger against his temple. "It's all part of the strategy."

Mikasa eyes him warily; her friend's gradually increasing confidence over the years had brought out a mischievous side to his personality that she was not quite sure she understood, yet.

"I think... I should get us some chamomile tea," he declares, turning towards the door. "And then, we can talk properly about this whole mess with the new King's coronation parade."

She can only stare at the flaxen strands pulled neatly to the back of his head as he exists the room, and wonder who was the first to discover that such innocuous blooms had tranquilizing properties.