Chapter Text
Walking into his second class of the day, Eren knows something is wrong.
He hasn’t been feeling right the past couple of days, stress pooling like acid in the pit of his stomach. The week before finals, fighting with his dad, anxiety…
Things were a lot.
So, sitting in his seat, he isn’t particularly hopeful that the day will get better, especially considering that math was his worst grade. He’d been neglecting studying for it because of all the other shit going on, but as exams creep closer, he's seriously regretting it.
Mikasa sits next to him, like she always does, smiling in greeting. “Hey, Eren.”
He nods at her in response, looking back towards the front of the room.
She frowns slightly. “Are you okay?”
Sighing, he turns to her, praying that seeing her would make him feel better. His knee bounces under the desk, restless energy pouring out of him with every movement. The stress has to go somewhere, and drumming his fingers on the table had gotten him into trouble far too many times. “Fine. Kinda stressed.”
Mikasa blinks slowly, cocking her head at him. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
He shakes his head vigorously, tousled brown hair flying into his face. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
The curt fatigue in his tone makes her eyes narrow, but class is starting, so she looks towards the front of the room.
Even as he brings his notebook out to start taking notes, Eren can’t stop moving. He clicks his pen relentlessly, the harsh snap of plastic on plastic reverberating through the room. Up, down, up, down, up…
“Eren, stop,” Mikasa whispers, leaning over to take the pen from him. “You’re gonna get in trouble.”
He keeps repeating the action even when the pen is gone, his finger slicing through the air, surprised when he almost hit the desk. There’s no stopping it, the shift of his tendons comforting in their monotony. The weight of the motion forces his hand to splay out in the air, index finger persistently tapping something invisible.
“Eren.”
His teacher drones on, concepts he doesn’t understand floating in one ear and out the other…
“Eren.”
Why had he said that shit to his dad? He shouldn’t have been so mean, shouldn’t have let his anger get the best of him…
“Eren?”
Drowning, drowning, drowning…
“Eren.”
His gaze snaps to Mikasa.
“Eren, are you okay?”
“No,” He whispers back, wringing his hands together, starting to fidget again. He interlaces them in alternating patterns, creating lattices of his fingers, caging the space in between them.
“Can I…” She stops, studying him, watching his frenzied movements. “Can I hold your hand?”
His hands stop moving.
“W-what?”
Mikasa blushes slightly, still staring down at his desk. “You’re moving them a lot, and I think it could calm you down,” She says. The offer is timid, almost shy, but she wants to help, he knows.
“Sure,” He breathes out, laying his left hand on the table and picking up a spare pen with his right.
Smiling, Mikasa grabs his hand with her own and then turns back towards the teacher.
It’s warm.
Her hand is soft, the skin smooth, the lines scored into her palms fitting smoothly against his own. He runs the pad of his index finger over her knuckles, marveling at the smooth tension of her bones. His finger continues, tracing a path along the back of her hand, drawing nonsense swirls and patterns.
Mikasa stifles a giggle behind her other hand, and he looks up at her, scared he’s done something wrong.
“I, ah, I’m kinda ticklish,” She whispers, holding in her laughter.
He gives her a surprised look before smiling. “Sorry.”
She starts scribbling down notes again, but squeezes his hand in response. The heat of her palm bleeds into his own, spilling into his veins, calming the frantic beat of his heart. His thoughts slow, narrowing to the connection of their hands, shrinking to the infinitesimal space between them, to the atoms crushed between their palms.
He doesn’t feel like he’s drowning anymore, the waves crescendoing in his mind suddenly lulled to the gentle ebb and flow of the tide at dusk, lapping softly at the shore.
Eren feels okay for the first time in weeks.
“Thanks, Mika,” He murmurs, watching her small smile.
“Yeager, Ackerman, could you two stop flirting and focus on the lesson?”
Eren instinctively tries to pull his hand away but Mikasa tugs it back, holding it even tighter. “Sorry, Mr. Ackerman,” She says, voice even. “We’re focusing.”
Their teacher glares but continues, rolling his eyes at his young niece.
Eren and Mikasa hold hands for the rest of class, but refrain from speaking, having faced the wrath of Mr. Ackerman one too many times.
Eventually, Mikasa rips a sticky note out and scribbles something on it, sticking it to the desk where their hands are joined.
Better now?
Eren hurriedly scrawls back, hoping it’s legible but knowing that Mikasa’s the only one who can always read his handwriting anyways.
Thank you, He writes, drawing a small heart to the side.
Mikasa beams at the paper.
Even though he couldn’t concentrate on a word his teachers said for the rest of the day, because of Mikasa, Eren felt okay.
And that was good enough.