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Eren leans back against the wall with a tired stare. He absently gathers his hair in a bun his mother would surely call horrid, but he’s too hot to care. Literally. His lab coat must be drenched in sweat and the muttered curse words spilling from his lips.
Damn the broken air-conditioner, the university, the whole entire world, and Jean who’s hogging the only functioning fan in the room. In that order. Eren wouldn’t even be there had it not been for Armin, who’d somehow dragged him from his bed to the venipuncture lesson, and for Hange, the most unorthodox but interesting professor of his year. Who, by the way, isn’t present, so he’s losing all his body’s water supply for nothing.
His brain can’t function, and right now he really wants it to. For some reason, Mikasa’s name persists in his mind, but no clear thoughts beyond that.
He launches a pen which bounces off Jean’s head.
“Hey!” Jean shouts.
“Horseface. Step aside, we need the fan.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’m gonna get over there and kick your ass.” Eren really hopes Jean steps aside because he doesn’t have the strength to move a muscle right now. He pops another lab coat button open, eyeing Armin, tomato-red Armin, who’s buttoned it up to his neck. “You’re gonna overheat and die,” he says.
“It’s protocol,” Armin responds, wiping the sweat from his glasses for the umpteenth time.
“Death isn’t protocol. Look at you, you look like a lobster.”
“It’s what happens to a human body when it’s hot, Eren.” His tone is clipped for some reason, and something tells Eren that the nerves aren’t all there is.
“I’m not carrying you home if you pass out.”
Armin was like that since he woke him up from his very comfortable sleep in their shared apartment, all nerves. He’d busted in Eren’s room carrying laundry, particularly cheerful, but froze once he saw him.
“Are you still in bed?” he’d asked.
“Hmmm,” Eren had groaned.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“Where?”
He’d sighed at that. “I don’t know, you tell me. Did you talk to Mikasa at all?”
Eren wondered what those two questions had to do with one another, but Armin’s mind was vast, and the multitude of his thoughts could fill a bottomless well, so he didn’t ask. “Uhhh yeah. She texted me.”
Armin’s foot tapped against the floor. “And?”
“And nothing. She wanted to go for a run. Who wants to go for a run on a day like that?”
Armin blinked at him. Through closed eyes, Eren could feel the judgement in his stare. “You told her no?”
“Told her I had to go to the hospital for that venipuncture class and we’d talk later.”
“Eren!”
He opened one eye. “What?”
“That’s not what she wanted to—why’d you tell her that?”
“It’s true, isn’t it? We do have class, it’s just that I’m skipping it.”
Armin then pressed the off button of the fan. He did not take the smartassery well.
“Hey!”
“You’re gonna get up and get dressed. You don’t get to lie to Mikasa on top of everything else.”
“Of what else?”
“I don’t know, Eren, if you’re such a smartass, you tell me!” he’d banged the door behind him in a way Armin never does. Eren wished he could say he got out of bed out of free will, but he’d be damned if he didn’t admit fear played some part in it.
Even now, as he sits beside him, frustration emanates from his skin, burning almost as much as the heat outside. Armin never gets that frustrated, not unless Mikasa is involved. Eren hurt her exactly once in their life, when they were children, and that was the day he grew more afraid of a furious Armin than anything else.
Okay, sure. He brushed her off. But it wasn’t like she’ll be that hurt. She’s tried to arrange some sort of meetup between them lately, but Eren never has time—and why is it just the two of them she’s trying to arrange stuff for? Why is Armin never involved? Eren would feel better if Armin was there, to distract him from that weird feeling that overcomes him when he’s alone with Mikasa. Something like stirring in his stomach, but the good version. Somehow. He’d ask Armin about it and what it could mean, but Armin doesn’t look that much willing to talk to him right now.
Just then, the door slams open and Hange steps in, cold coffee in hand, lab coat unbuttoned, crocs squeaking.
“Hellooooo~” she sing-songs as though the heat isn’t bothering her at all. “Who’s ready to knacker some veins?” Her lips are chapped, and Eren guesses she herself peeled off the skin. Blood stains her unsettling grin. It’s not in vain that they call her “the butcher”.
Nobody responds, all of them half-molten over the tables, but Hange isn’t discouraged. She sets the coffee aside and claps her hands.
“Alright! Now who can name the steps of venipuncture…”
A bunch of hands go up, including Eren’s.
“...in reverse order?”
All hands go down except Armin’s. She ignores him. “Hmm, let’s see… Forster! Enlighten us.”
Floch lifts his head from his folded arms atop the table. “Huh, wha—backwards? How would that even be useful?”
“Keeps your mind sharp. Speak! Chop-chop, we’ve got things to do today.”
Floch groans. “That’s a waste of time.”
“Three.”
He frowns.
“What?”
“Two,” Hange continues, a grin spreading across her face.
Two drops of sweat dribble down his forehead, and Eren suspects they have nothing to do with the heat. “Hey, wait—”
“One.”
“No, um, marking the vials! Right? And then…”
He clumsily begins to name the steps. Not so brave now, Eren thinks. He was all bravado before she arrived, talking about how unprofessional Hange Zoe was, for never feeling the vein with her fingers before the puncture. Eren has worked overtime enough beside her to be aware that Hange is simply so good that she doesn’t need to, she can determine a suitable vein with merely a look.
“Good! Nice naming,” Hange says. “Now, let’s see all that in practice.”
Reiner sighs, already taking off his lab coat. He’s the usual lab rat, with his veins nearly popping out of his skin like that. But Hange holds out a hand, stopping him in his tracks.
“Not you this time. I’ve brought someone else to experiment on.”
She dramatically gestures at the door and holds that pose for about four seconds until someone steps in. Mikasa, gulping down mouthfuls of water. She’s in her T-shirt and shorts, straight from training. She nods at Eren and Armin in a brief greeting and suddenly his throat is dry.
“What are you doing here?” Eren asks.
Before she can answer, Hange takes her away. “Mikasa is our victim for today! She’s got two arms, as you can see, so two of you will be the lucky candidates. Armin shall be the one, since Reiner is always chickening out and scaring him when his own arm is put to the test—” she isn’t wrong. For all his stoicism, Reiner isn’t reacting well when someone isn’t absolutely, one hundred percent sure how to prickle his vein. To give him some credit, Armin is really nervous every time, even though he’s the best in the class, and it’s no easy task to handle Armin’s nerves. “—so come on, up you go!”
Eren comfortingly claps him on the back as he stands, walks up to the chair Mikasa has seated herself upon, returns to put on a pair of gloves, then walks back to her, then goes back for his tourniquet, then returns to Mikasa.
“Don’t be afraid now, Armin,” Hange says. “She’s tough, she can take it. Grab a syringe!”
“Syringe?” Marlowe asks. “Won’t we use butterfly needles?”
“Pshhh, what are you, five? Syringe!” she waves her arm around like a magician materialising a rabbit from her hat; only there is no hat and the rabbit is a syringe.
Eren sighs, his mind is too tired to create coherent thoughts.
Mikasa lays out her forearm in front of him nonchalantly.
“Um, hi. Ma’am,” he says, all business, as the protocol dictates, although they’ve known each other since childhood. “Your name is Mikasa Ackerman, according to the referral you gave me.” Yes, according to the referral and not their year-long friendship. This is stupid, Eren thinks. “So, now I’ll have to draw blood for some blood chemistry tests. Any allergies I should be aware of? Medicine you’re taking?”
They engage in some back-and-forth, with Mikasa giving simple responses. It’s white noise in Eren’s head as he watches intently for some reason. Then Armin takes the syringe, tests it and prepares to insert the needle. It slowly sinks into her pale skin, painfully slowly.
Eren breathes. He hadn’t realised he’d stopped.
“Um.” Armin tries to draw blood. The plunger isn’t functioning. “Um. Professor Hange?” His hands have started shaking, with the needle still jammed inside soft flesh. “What do I do?”
“Don’t get the needle out, or you won’t be able to draw blood from that vein again. Dig around a bit, she can take it. Can’t you, Mikasa?” she asks with a light punch to her shoulder.
Mikasa spares him a glance, snapping out of her thoughts. “Oh, you got it in already.”
“Come on, dig!” Hange grabs Armin’s hand and guides it around until she can pull the plunger freely and fill the barrel with blood. He squeals all the while and Eren’s fingers clench around the seat of his chair. He swallows.
“Very good! Now get the blood inside the vial thingie. So, for our second candidate! Who’s it gonna be?”
Eren pauses for a moment indecisively, twirling a pen between his fingers. Caught between a strange itch to stand up and a stubborn voice telling him to sit. And then Jean’s arm starts to rise and Eren’s shoots up in seconds without a single thought.
Thankfully, Hange gestures at him. “Eren! Come on.”
Eren stands up, unconsciously buttoning up his coat. It’s five strides to Mikasa’s chair, and they seem like an ocean of distance. He crosses it steadily, slowly. Each step a choice, to move closer to her.
Why did they ever fall apart? Why did he ever avoid her?
“Hello,” he greets professionally.
“Your coat is buttoned up wrong,” Mikasa says. She instinctively reaches out, her fingers brush the buttons, and Eren promptly pulls away as if she’d scorched him. Murmurs erupt across the room, and in his head.
Why are you pulling away? he asks himself, and finds he doesn’t have an answer.
His hand is around her wrist, her pulse thrums under his fingertips. He hadn’t even realised he caught it.
Eren sets it down, clearing his throat. “I know.”
He thanks whoever’s out there that his voice comes out steady.
“Which vein are you picking?” Hange asks over his shoulder. “Look, they’re all so nice.”
He has to examine her arm. Right. Right. It’s toned and so pale that blue veins swirl so clearly under her skin. They’re confusing. They all seem perfect.
His finger traces over the path of a nice blue vein residing at the hollow of her elbow, avoiding contact.
“This one.”
“Perfect. Come on, puncture!” Hange urges, and Eren has one lick of brain inside his head to remember that he has to actually touch her skin to locate it.
As in, with his fingers.
You’re wearing gloves, he reminds himself. You won’t actually touch her.
Still.
He applies the tourniquet, ties it around her arm. It must be taking him a painful amount of time because Jean calls out “come on Jaeger, we don’t have all day!”
Eren’s fingers betray him. They settle on her skin, trying to be professional, but it’s Mikasa’s arm and Mikasa’s vein and he doesn’t know how he feels about that but it’s nothing simple. A faint flush has spread down her arm from her shoulder and Eren prays it’s the heat.
He takes the cotton swath, cleaning the skin in a swirling motion.
You gotta stop hurting her like that among everything else.
That’s what Armin had said.
Among what else, he meant? How else has Eren hurt her?
Focus. Now, the needle.
Unlike with Armin, Mikasa watches Eren intensely as he prepares to draw blood. He doesn’t know why. Does she not trust him?
“Clench your fist,” he orders with as much certainty as he can muster, for her confidence.
He centers the needle, good angle and all. Then, some gentle pressure and it sinks in, marring her skin. He tests the pump, hands slightly shaky, and sees blood flooding the barrel, slowly, steadily. Now he can breathe out.
“Unclench,” he orders, loosening the tourniquet. He presses another wad of cotton over the small puncture wound, asks her to press it down. Her fingers meet his for a brief moment. He transfers the blood into a vial and then takes off the cotton, places a small plaster over the wound and sticks it to her skin with a careful swipe of his thumb. Only then does he dare to meet her eyes again.
“Did it hurt?”
Mikasa shakes her head, a notch redder than she was before. Flushed cheeks suit her a bit too well. Bloody beautiful.
Eren swallows, trying to will that invading thought away. “Good.”
“Thank you Mikasa!” Hange declares when the girl stands up. Reiner claps first, Jean follows, the rest go soon enough and she awkwardly offers the tiniest bow.
“Do you need me for anything else?” she asks, her voice slightly hoarse.
Hange waves her off. “No, you can go.”
“Wait,” Eren blurts out, not minding that everyone’s looking at him suddenly—he started this so he’s gotta finish it. “Don’t you wanna see what we’ll do with your blood?”
“Um. Sure.”
He stands up, beckoning her to the next room. Machines whirr around them in the —thankfully– air-conditioned room. Sasha is idly leaned on a chair, drooling, probably fantasising about potatoes roasting on the concrete outside. She sits up once she sees them.
“Mikasaaa! Hi! Oh, Hange made a victim out of you too. We all go through it, don’t sweat it. I didn’t know you were coming!”
“Levi sent me here. I didn’t have anything better to do anyway.”
“Anything?”
“I did mean to go for a run. But…”
Eren hands her Mikasa’s vials before they can let this become a conversation he can’t be a part of. And because of the guilt. “Show her what your machines do.”
“Alright, most girls prefer you buy them lunch, but whatever, a blood test works as well.” Sasha places the vial inside a machine. It looks like a coffee maker, only much more elaborate and with blood instead of coffee. “Watch,” she says dramatically and then presses a button.
The machine whirrs. Eren’s stomach is churning and he can’t figure out why.
Mikasa’s hand is right next to his, he can feel the warmth of her skin, and on any other day he’d have pulled away because he doesn’t need more heat when temperatures are this high, but this time he wants to be closer.
Sasha is right there. She’s trying to make small talk with Mikasa. She says something and Mikasa turns towards her slightly, her hand is farther from his now. So much farther. He cannot bridge the gap.
The door opens and Armin peeks in. “Sasha, Hange needs you for something.”
“She does?”
“Yeah, she said you needed to come, now.”
Eren knows Armin well enough to tell when he’s lying. Once Sasha is out, Eren tries to telepathically send him a thank you, and Armin mouths “don’t mess it up.”
Then the door closes and it’s just him and Mikasa, and their comfortable silence. Why did he ever ignore that comfort before?
“My test is done,” she says, breaking it.
“Oh, right.” He reaches out to push another button and something like a receipt rolls out. Eren rips it off and studies it. “Perfect, as expected.” She’s always in remarkable shape, so much so it’s unnatural.
“Can I see?”
He nods. Their fingers brush when she takes it and studies it in the dark. Although she doesn’t understand a thing, she seems really intrigued.
It might be dark, but Eren doesn’t miss how her cheeks are aflame. So he takes a deep breath and speaks.
“Look, Mika. I’m sorry I ditched you earlier.”
Her eyes are big and bright and looking up at him. Her voice is quiet, enchanting. “You had class.”
“No, I—it’s not just that. It’s… many things.” I let you down. I made you sad. “And I—you’re important to me. Armin too. But you are important to me.”
He feels like a chimpanzee trying to speak the human language. That’s what confused him about Mikasa, the way she made him feel, react. Now she’s smiling up at him and the darkness is almost lifted. She is bloody beautiful after all.
A smile lifts the corner of his lips and suddenly they're children playing and at the same time confused teenagers and at the same time adults who grew up together and they'll continue growing up side by side. Eren blows her hair away from her face and she pulls away and giggles and he hasn’t heard her giggle in years. His heart is full. He’d forgotten that feeling.
“We can go for a run later. I’ll win,” he suggests, their knuckles brushing.
Mikasa hums in agreement. “I’d like that.” She’ll probably let him win, as she often does, but this time he doesn't mind.
He places the second vial inside, presses whatever buttons Sasha pressed and hopes the building doesn’t blow up. Thankfully, the machines just whirr dutifully.
His pinkie finds Mikasa’s with the same demand as he did when he was a child and he grabbed her hand and didn’t let go until he could show her whatever interesting he found each time. They link together now, in front of a machine in the dark.
They must look like fools, but for the first time in weeks, Eren feels just the opposite. Everything makes sense; and if some things don’t, they’ll find their meaning during that run later, and more after it, if that’s what’s needed.
Sasha is right though; he should probably buy Mikasa lunch afterwards. Make it proper. A proper what, he isn't sure, but he is willing to find out.