Attack On Titan: Dreams

"What the fuck? What the FUCK?! Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck," he curses under his breath, palms sliding down to cover his face.

He closes his eyes to regain his composure, but doing so only calls to mind the image of his palm sliding up Mikasa's torso-

He opens his eyes again, hands gripping his hair once more, teeth grit.

Guilt.

He is awash with guilt.

And want.

A lot of unwanted want.

And guilt.

The dream had been borne of the simple, chaste kiss she had pressed to his mouth just hours ago. He curses himself for the fact that such an innocent action had spiraled and breathed life into a lecherous and disturbingly detailed fantasy.

Further contributing to his self-loathing was how he had handled the said kiss that had spurred such thoughts. He had only responded with silence that, to her ears, had probably sounded like a rejection.

Yet, here he was, dreaming of kissing her—and about to do far more than kiss her.

He was an asshole.

A true, certified, asshole.

Yet again , he was using her.

Her body was already his weapon, his sword and shield. And overnight, it had become an object for a sexual fantasy.

"Fucking, fuck," he curses, shame swallowing him whole. "Fuck you, Eren," he whispers into his palms.

The guilt.

He falls back onto his mat with a grunt, covering his eyes with his forearm.

Guilt, and the fear of an even more graphic continuation to his dream, prevent him from falling back asleep.

He is a walking corpse the next day.

While his first reflex had been to find Mikasa to help carry her out, he had decided against it, as his current state of delirium made anything possible. Upon seeing her, he could very well let slip that he'd had a vivid and unchaste dream of her—and a loose-lipped and random "I DON'T KNOW I'M SORRY" in regards to their conversation wasn't exactly out of the realm of possibility, either.

So, he decides it is best to walk off the delirium and busy himself with other duties, and avoid her for now.

And, as as he mindlessly turns, picks up maneuver gear, shoves it onto the wagon before him, wash, rinse, repeat, he decides that it is a good idea because this task requires absolutely no thinking, and induces absolutely no awkwardness - both of which he'd had far too much of in the past twenty-four hours.

Finally, he heaves the last supply crate onto the wagon, and stands straight, pressing his hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn.

He stretches his arms out, and turns to find Armin staring at him curiously.

"What?" Eren rasps crankily. The lack of sleep has apparently aged him back to the cadet with a short fuse, of several years past.

The blond arches an eyebrow at him, azures genuinely confused.

"... Sasha and Jean brought Mikasa out already, if you were wondering."

The guilt.

It floods back through him, mild panic filling him by way of Armin's suffocatingly discerning gaze, and it is all very dizzying, because he can feel his best friend attempting to deconstruct his thoughts.

So much for not thinking, and no awkwardness, because, even in his stupor, Eren knows he must come up with a well-crafted reply to fend Armin off, quickly. And conjuring a reply now is a particularly delicate matter, because he couldn't very well tell the truth and admit that he was avoiding Mikasa.

Because Armin would ask why. And then he'd be forced to recount the strange and intimate conversation he'd had with her the night before, which had forced him to reassess his feelings for her - thus resulting in the need to avoid her like the plague until he sorted his thoughts.

And, there was also the matter of the almost-sex dream - which he now decides he will take to the grave.

He knows the hourglass is winding down when Armin's eyes narrow, probing gaze only growing more confused with each passing second, and he knows he must answer now, right this very minute before his suspicion grows even further, so, Eren replies with a:

"Cool."

The way Armin's eyebrow shoots up inquisitively in response tells Eren that his carefully chosen reply has backfired.

Even in his half conscious state, he can tell that it is now painfully evident that something has happened.

He curses inwardly at his own stupidity.

"I mean, thanks," Eren follows up his cold and somewhat boneheaded reply, running a hand through his hair, tearing his eyes from Armin's before he can give anything else away through his apparently very telling facial expressions. "I—I didn't wake up in time. But, I'll go see her. Now."

He turns on his heel quickly, feeling Armin's calculating azures bore holes into the back of his head.

And, a few steps into his not so clever escape, Eren realizes that he has prematurely been forced to face Mikasa. He curses inwardly, hoping he is at least slightly in his right mind—enough to speak actual words to her, and not imagine things in her presence.

He breathes deeply, mentally preparing himself for the confrontation, before he comes across Jean and Sasha, who are already mounted on their horses next to the cart that Mikasa was likely lying in.

"There he is. Took you long enough," Jean says in his usual snippy way, and Eren's temper instantly peaks. He is about to let fly a few expletives and crude ways of telling him to mind his own business, until his horse-faced comrade says, "Way to make Mikasa wait."

The words jar him and knock him down several pegs.

He freezes in place, guilt outweighing the desire to give Jean a piece of his mind.

He elects to turn to the cart and ignore him, eyes falling upon what must be Mikasa's motionless figure. She is lying down, using a cape for a blanket - which he registers must be Jean's, as he is not wearing one.

The deduction fills him with an unfamiliar, and unwelcome sense of unease, but before the feeling can overwhelm and shift his focus elsewhere, he clears his throat and knocks on the cart gently.

"Hi," he says softly.

He watches her figure shift beneath the cape, and she slowly lifts her head, pressing her elbows into the wagon for leverage, and he is afraid of what he will see when her face finally comes into view.

Disappointment? Sadness? Anger?

"Hi"