The stale stratosphere swathing the equally effeted cafeteria sagged submissively above the overflowing subordinate's shoulders, straining against threadbare cloth and sunkissed skin, supplying a physical weight to supplement the subtle tugs of gravity as though a stringent manifestation of the burdening substance continuing its pilgrimage to override the optimism of all, uprooting what few souls still held optimism within them and replacing them with an almost necessary sense of dread, doubt, and downright despair. Only the insipid, unstimulating so-called 'meals' upon the cadets' trays could even begin to rival such a stagnant situation. Of course, one can only do something so many times in their life before becoming habituated in it.

Three years was long enough.

As always, you sat at the front of the building, shoulders nearly scraping the well-worn, weathered walls behind you, posture somehow remaining vaguely proper despite its dispensableness. You weren't in quite as claustrophobic a place as Eren and Armin, who, seated across from you, had their backs turned to the front door and sat only a few inches apart, table not quite acquiescing more room for either of them. In the horizontal direction, you faced a similar squeeze, although it wasn't much of a problem for you. Something about Mikasa's presence always provided you with a halcyon heart.

It still amazed you, how quick to forgive they all were, especially after the training incident. Then again, there was the matter of you not quite understanding what in particular had set them off, but whatever it was didn't seem to linger long, something you were grateful for. You weren't particularly friendly with most of the others in the 104th - not to say you were anyone's enemy - but more like someone in the background, who many talked about but nobody knew all that well, besides the three you usually found yourself winding up with. Even over the course of all those years, things had remained that way.

You were rather grateful.

Although you weren't quite one to talk a lot, most of that was taken care of by the others, leaving you the comfortable choice of enjoying their company in silence. By now everyone's notions were rather clear to you - Eren wanted to join the Survey Corps, Mikasa wanted to protect him, and Armin, albeit not as ostensibly as the others, wanted to expand his knowledge and finally see the world beyond the walls. As you took the next few bites of tasteless slop, expecting the typical relaxation provided only during times at the mess hall, you found yourself nearly attempting to take a bite of your hand as well.

As per usual, Jean had been taking his typical shot at accounting the joy he would discover during his time with the Military Police, although this time in particular you'd rephrased it as playing the piss-off-Eren game. Diagonally across from you, you could feel Eren tensing, attempting his best to focus on his food and eat ("It's good for you," Mikasa had once said after a previous battle royale between the two opposing forces of nature, clearly attempting to divert Eren's attention, and at no other point had you been so dearly tempted to contradict her), but clearly begrudged by the two-toned boy's words.

Even farther along the rows of the lunchroom, you managed to focus in on Jean's particular conversation, this time seemingly centered around aberrating Marco for no clear reason other than, as the words left Jean's lips themselves, he wasn't 'being honest' about his true intentions for joining the Military Police.  Just as Marco had started to offer objection, however, you felt the table you were connected to shift, sliding your gaze to the source of the movement only to find Eren at his wit's end.  Seemingly everyone else had fallen silent, and all eyes were on the rectangle composing your seated nature next to that of Jean's and Marco's, a vociferous symphony of moratorium consummating the minds of all souls present.  

All except yours.

To you, as someone who'd remained rather a lone wolf throughout your entire journey with the 104th Trainees, you honestly couldn't care less what branch people decided to join, much less for what reason.  Why, if it had been you in Eren's shoes against Jean, you would've simply said 'I'm joining a branch of the military' when questioned and left it at that.  There wasn't some sort of noble cause on your plate.  No thirst for vengeance, unquenchable due to losing loved ones at the hands of titans. 

You'd lost loved ones, yes, but always at the hands of other humans, it seemed.

Instantly you shoved the thought away, and it dissipated as soon as it had been created.  In milliseconds the mass of the intermingled table and benches had shifted, with Eren shooting up, a fire smoldering beneath his beautiful beryl eyes, flames licking upwards from his heart as he strode off, where Jean met him, a cool and casual conniption versus a scorching and strident chagrin.  Their mutual malice was shared, and once more you felt the table shift as Armin reached out, calling to his friend.  

This time was the last time - once more - as the two boys closed in on one another, and eventually, Mikasa swooped swiftly to the rescue, leaving you the sole soul sat on the seat.  She was at Eren's side instantaneously and her calm voice broke through the tense, thick air.  "Stop."  And yet the moment she'd grabbed his hand and tugged him off Jean, Jean had him pinned to the wall in a flash.  Your eyes instantly flew back to Mikasa - had she been caught by that throw, too? - who showed no sign of emotion, besides a small sidestep that your careful eyes just barely managed to cull.

Mere seconds later they were back at it again, yelling about clothes for a difference, and a small giggle rose its way into your throat at the sight of the two fifteen-year-old boys, in a world so desperate and desolate as per their reality, fighting about ripping cloth in the middle of dinner in front of a well-spread audience.  Needless to say, all eyes were on the two by now.  

And then, suddenly, there were eyes on you.

Even if only for a small fraction of a second, however fleeting and brief it may have been, Eren had looked directly at you - and it was a look you recognized.  It was all too familiar - after all, it hadn't happened long ago - the way his eyes narrowed, his legs shifted, his arm went for the neck and his leg went as an undercut, the very same move he'd pulled on you, now pulled on Jean, who was none the wiser and fell with a crash backwards.  

Surprisingly, something similar to sympathy had obscured itself in your heart, and in a flash your eyes widened.  Had Jean made the same mistake as you?  Had he, as Mikasa had so coldly stated to you, fought like someone we used to know?  The phrase was still a mystery to you, both in origin and meaning.  The only clear shard you could glean from its shattered clues was that it wasn't something good.

Unluckily - or perhaps for you, astonishingly luckily, considering the great waste of time pouring over the words, repeating them as if on a bad tape or a broken recorder, scritching and scratching at the spaces between the words, searching for some, any, hidden meaning within the white-noised pauses, forever attempting to decode the telegraph without any knowledge of morse code, just waiting, and wishing, and wanting, and hoping that maybe now, after some time, you could figure it out - in that precise moment the door to the cafeteria slid open, and, without another thought, you craned your neck to see who had opened it.

Chilling yellow eyes stared back at you.  

You were barely able to contain your surprise as Armin finally sat down across from you, Mikasa returning to her seat, as well, as if nothing had happened.  Commander Shadis' gaze swept the room once, twice, again, and then, "What was that noise?"

A beat of silence passed, and you had to fight against your reflexes from casting a glance in Jean and Eren's direction.  Mikasa, for once, was the one to break the silence.  "That sound was Sasha's fart."

Wait.

With that Shadis left, and the minute you were sure the door was shut, you burst out laughing.  Of all the things one could come up with, of all the possible excuses to exist in the world, of everything Mikasa could've chosen, it was that.  You couldn't help it as you clasped your hands around your mouth, inadvertently attempting to shut yourself up, as although small giggles flickered up from throughout the room, nobody else seemed to be full-on snorting.  

From beside you Mikasa tilted her head, facing you, a hint of confusion present in her eyes.  The same seriousness that always accompanied her was still there, and none of her coldness had been lost, not even whilst speaking the sentence aloud.  Somehow you found this even funnier.  "Why are you laughing?"

"I've -" you broke off, a giggling mess, almost on the verge of tears, "I've never heard anyone lie so bluntly...!"

And through your small gaze, squinted from the swollen cheeks laughter left upon one's face, you could've sworn Mikasa smiled at you, truly and honestly.

For a moment, the ice around her seemed to melt.

↠

By the time the early-morning chill had receded into its dark recesses, never evolving from its elusive state of hide-and-seek with the afternoon sun, all trainees who had made it through the past three years - who had gone to hell and back - stood together, lumped into the same rows as they had been on day one, precisely proportionate to the time Commander Shadis first looked down upon them all as merely imbecilic infants, excepting the few empty spaces where the air clung low to the dew-laden blades of grass that had flourished in place where previous Cadets had once stood. 

Never had you taken into account how truly harrowing this haunting happening had seemed to others.  To you, it had been a place to hone your skills; to grow as a fighter, a planner, a thinker, a leader, and, to a lesser degree (albeit probably simply due to the nature of your personality), and team member.  But as you cast glances to either of your sides and realized that both comrades who had previously occupied the vacant places beside you were no longer there, you supposed that, for some, this was nothing but the pinnacle of difficulty. 

If it had taken three more years, perhaps you would have begun to feel the same.

But not today.  Certainly not today, not when training had officially drawn to a close, not when you would soon pick your branch of the military, not when the top ten were to be announced in mere seconds.

Seconds felt like minutes and minutes like hours as you stood stick-straight, posture immaculate and hands hovering cautiously at your sides, ready to slip into a salute at the simplest flick of motion.  So far, attention had not been demanded - rather, Shadis paced back and forth in front the respective lines, a list in hand.  Despite how hard you craned your neck, it all looked like chicken-scratch to you, and from the curious fountain of vehement voices bubbling up towards the beginning of the lines, those closest to the Commander hadn't deciphered his page yet, either.  The buzz of energy in the air was closely tangible, and you could almost feel the hair on the back of your neck rise with anxious excitement. 

 "Cadets!"  Mid-turn, Shadis suddenly spun to a stop amidst his back-and-forth, landing square center at the front of the lines, either side of him a near-perfect symmetry.  As if robots, you and all those around you saluted in tune with one another, as synchronized as serviceable, so very different in comparison to the lopsidedly laughable attempts you had all exhibited to a certain degree on the first day of your military training.  "It is time to announce the top ten!  As you know, only these students can apply to the Military Police."  After a confirmatory sweep of the audience with his eagle eyes, he continued, "Then let us begin."

Almost entirely in unison, the entire student body took in a breath, holding it collectively and waiting, rigid as boards, for the top ten to arise.

"In first place, Mikasa Ackerman."

From a few rows over - you'd memorized Mikasa's position awhile back, sheerly for the sole fact that you could always be sure she was there, as though some sort of admittedly stalkerish coping mechanism during particularly tough days - you saw a familiar bob of black hair swiftly walk to the front, scarf billowing in crimson shades beneath a bright sun behind her, pivoting round to face the rest of the cadets and saluting them.  With her fist over her heart, you were almost startled when you looked up from her gesture to find her cool eyes meeting yours, and you couldn't help but grin for the success of your friend.

"Secondly, Reiner Braun."

With the same trained, bellowing voice as always, Shadis announced the remaining highest ranks in a similar manner, all joining Mikasa front and center, nobody you were particularly close with.  Your gaze simply resided on Mikasa and the way the brilliant sunlight beamed across her body, highlighting her hardened face but showing you the remnants of a soft smile she had offered after every name was called, as if waiting for an inevitable event to occur.

"[Y/n] [l/n]."

The sound of your own name broke you from your focus.

In an increasingly impatient voice, you heard it once more.  "In fifth place, [y/n] [l/n]."

As if moved by an invisible force, your feet were suddenly moving, your arms and legs pumping, and you fell in-step next to the previous contender, Annie, but didn't care too much for her or the empty space by your side; rather, immediately after offering your best salute and a bow, you leaned forwards on your toes, peeking out from your place in fifth and attempting to see the expression that had befell the first.  

Yes.  It was small, but it was there, no matter how subtle, it was there; it was there, and you felt your heart fluttering within you, because, painted in golden sunlight, Mikasa's soft pink lips had formed a smile, eyes glimmering and reflecting the glow of the rays, not looking directly at you but rather at her own feet as though she had developed a sudden fascination within her shoes.  But resistance was futile - you knew full and well that that smile, and yes, it was a smile, not a smirk nor a half-smile nor a questionable mix of emotions, just joy.  

You nearly missed Eren's appearance at your side in sixth place, and everyone who came after, ending with Sasha in tenth, because all your heart pumped throughout your body was not blood but images of that golden smile, and all your mind received were images of straight hair framing a beautiful face, and all your nerves transmitted was warmth, acceptance; your belonging.  Yes.  If Mikasa was here, so were you.  That was correctness at its simplest. 

Soon enough the ceremony ended, and you found yourself out back the cafeteria, with Eren, Armin, and, of course, Mikasa, all sitting on the stone stair steps leading downwards, bathing in the silvery starlight of a day that had peacefully passed.  The was a slight breeze in the air, occasionally ruffling your clothes or hair, but it wasn't cold, simply pleasant.  It carried the group's words to you without needing extensive focus, without necessitating a response.  Eren was still headstrong as ever - no number of rank could change that - and Mikasa still showed him the same immense compassion she always harbored for him.  Armin interjected occasionally to shift the topic from here to there, but you were neither there nor here, simply resting your chin in your hands and gazing up at the clusters of stars collecting within the never-ending navy sky.

You found yourself enjoying their company in silence, albeit you were lying if you attempted to abnegate your accessible attention-perk whenever Mikasa's turn to talk appeared.  The only worthwhile thought wandering its way round your head was a silent acknowledgement that you were going to be joining the Survey Corps.  In part because it was your duty, perhaps, some sort of deep moral acknowledgement.  The other part - well, you were looking at her.

Her and the ice that had only continued to melt.