"Yeah," Eren replied, his tone firm.
A spark was beginning to flicker in the air—barely smoke now, but it was there.
"I remember you… you're that guy who wants to join the Military Police so you can live an easy life, right?" Eren's voice dripped with disdain as he looked at Jean Kirschtein.
Jean didn't flinch. Propping his chin on his hand, he sneered. "At least I'm honest about it. Unlike people who are scared out of their minds but pretend they're brave. I'm just being real, unlike you."
"Are you talking about me?" Eren stood abruptly, his gaze sharp and unblinking. The fire was no longer smoke—it was a flare.
"Hey, c'mon now…" Marco tried to defuse the tension, eyes darting between the two of them.
Jean stood up as well, smirking. "Relax, I didn't mean anything by it..."
But they were already face to face, two tempers seconds away from clashing—until the bell rang.
The sharp clang cut through the rising heat like cold water.
Dinner time was over. All cadets were required to return to their dorms for the night.
"Sigh… my bad. Let's just call it even," Jean offered first, extending his hand.
"Yeah. I was out of line too," Eren muttered, then gave Jean's hand a quick slap and turned to leave.
Meanwhile, Mikasa and I had also finished eating. The bell had rung, and Eren was already heading out. We remembered Carla's words—the promise we'd made to always have each other's backs—so naturally, we followed after him.
Mikasa and I—one with dark hair, the other with brown—passed Jean without a word as we walked toward the door.
Mikasa, walking to my left, was the one closer to Jean. Her jet-black hair swayed gently with her steps. That porcelain skin, those graceful features—Jean was completely entranced.
To him, it was like she had stepped out of a dream. An angel with an icy gaze.
"Hey, uh… you two…"
Just as we were about to walk out, a voice from behind stopped us.
Two girls—one with Eastern features, the other more Western, both with equally cool and noble auras—turned their heads to glance at him, each from the corner of their eye.
Mikasa turned around. I didn't bother, only casting a sidelong glance.
Then, for some reason, Mikasa reached behind her and gently held my right hand. I blinked, surprised.
"I-I just thought… you're both really beautiful. I mean—sorry, uh… your black hair is really pretty," Jean stammered, flushing with awkward shyness. But his eyes were clearly fixed on Mikasa.
"Thank you," Mikasa replied coldly. She let go of my hand and turned back around, then grabbed my sleeve and tugged me along toward the exit.
Once we were outside, she loosened her grip.
We spotted Eren ahead and quietly made our way to his side.
"Eren," I called.
He glanced back at us as we caught up—Mikasa on his left, me on her right.
"Forget it. I'm fine," he said, brushing off the earlier scuffle.
"You always act before you think," Mikasa said flatly, eyes fixed ahead.
Eren sighed. "You're doing this again?"
"Udaleen agrees with me," she added.
"Mmm… yeah, pretty much," I said with a small smirk, watching the annoyance flicker in Eren's expression.
"Anyway, not to change the subject," Eren said, glancing at us both, "but don't you think your hair's gotten a little long?"
We both glanced at our shoulders—our hair had indeed reached that length.
"You might get it caught while training with the ODM gear. Could be dangerous," Eren said with genuine concern.
Noticing Mikasa's stare, I turned to meet her eyes.
"Yeah… it's a bit long," she murmured, brushing a hand through her shoulder-length brown hair.
"Then let's trim it later—together," I suggested, stretching my arms overhead.
"Sure… though, how short should we go?" Mikasa asked, studying the ends of my hair.
"Just a little," Eren chimed in, using his hand to estimate a length—maybe a bit too much.
"That's way too much," Mikasa said, shaking her head.
I snorted. "Eren, want me to give you a buzz cut too? I'm pretty good at it."
"Absolutely not," he deadpanned.
As we chatted and laughed, Jean Kirschtein emerged from the mess hall and caught sight of us.
He watched from a distance—Eren talking easily with two girls, both striking in their own way. In Jean's head, something stupid must've clicked: Eren Yeager… living the dream, huh.
—
That night, Mikasa and I made our way to the washroom.
I sat down on the small bench first, letting her carefully begin trimming my hair with the scissors.
Snip. Snip. The sound of each cut echoed softly in the confined space.
Her fingers moved with care, breathing steady, touch gentle. I felt safe.
"Are you feeling okay?" she asked quietly. She knew I'd finished the last of Grisha's medicine about a month ago. Even if I acted fine, she was always worried.
"I'm good, Mikasa. You worry too much," I said, flashing a smile only she ever saw—an innocent, unguarded grin.
Moments like these were rare for me. And for her.
Once she finished, my hair looked much sharper—trimmed just enough to stay practical, still long enough to feel like me.
"Alright, your turn," I said, patting her shoulder as she stood up and I took her place.
With the same care, I combed through Mikasa's hair. It was soft, smooth, and obedient under my fingers.
I trimmed slowly, cautiously, breathing gently so as not to disturb the calm.
What I didn't know was that—while it might've been a simple haircut to me—it meant something more to her.
Something unspoken.
As my hands moved near her scalp, Mikasa's face began to flush. Her heart fluttered strangely with every touch. She listened to my breathing behind her, her cheeks pink, her chest oddly tight.
Once I finished, we stood together before the small mirror.
"Wow… Mikasa, you really are a beauty," I said with honest admiration.
Her face was stunning, the kind that carried strength and grace no matter the style.
Mikasa quickly turned away, hiding her red cheeks.
"It's late. Let's clean this up and go to bed," she said, scooping water into a ladle to rinse away the stray strands.
"Yeah." I smiled softly.
Not every battle was fought on the battlefield. Some moments, like these, were quiet. Tender.
And somehow, even more unforgettable.
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