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It was too bright. The room was crowded - loud. Somehow, Sasha still heard the telltale swish of fabric, the clatter of a gun scraping against the ground. She was moving, even before she’d fully registered the sound. Spinning, she grabbed for her gun and -
There was an explosion of noise.
She stumbled. Pain erupted in her side.
The world was filled with a strange whine, and when she looked down she saw the fabric of her shirt was wet, stained dark. A hole punctured the material. Rivulets of blood poured from the wound.
Oh, she thought distantly.
The world turned around her. She blinked and when she opened her eyes, she was on the floor.
Up, she had to get up. Enemies had boarded the airship. Jean - Connie - they were all in danger. But her arms wouldn’t work. And it wasn’t just her arms - she realized her fingertips buzzed with numbness. She could no longer feel the floor.
She blinked, slow. Darkness encroached on her vision. Suddenly it was hard to think.
She blinked again.
Where was she? What had she been doing?
It was loud - too loud.
Someone was shouting. Why were they shouting?
She felt the brush of skin against her cheek. A trembling hand cupped her face, turning her head.
She blinked again. Connie?
His face filled her vision. His eyes were wide - why did he look so afraid?
It occurred to her that something was terribly wrong. Was he okay? What about Jean? Everyone else? She wanted to ask, but her lips weren’t moving; she couldn’t draw enough air into her lungs.
He said her name.
He sounded impossibly far away.
Why?
His voice was fading.
“Stay with us!”
“C’mon!”
Was he crying?
It was dark. She couldn’t think - couldn’t see.
Distantly, she realized she was dying.
Desperately, she struggled. Straining to remain conscious. To keep her thoughts in line.
She didn’t want to die.
She needed to stay. With Connie. With her friends.
Please, she begged.
But she was tired - so tired.
Please!
Someone was crying, sobbing in great heaving gasps.
Sasha.
It was so dark. She couldn’t see. Someone - please.
“Sasha!”
She jerked up, gasping.
Strong arms were around her. A hand caressed her head while a fumbling thumb stroked her cheek.
She shuddered, heaving panicked breaths. Her cheeks were damp. Tears dripped down her jaw.
“Shhh..Sasha. It’s okay. I got you. I got you.” She felt the press of lips against her hair. Warm breath brushed her forehead. “Shh..it’s okay. It’s okay.”
She took a deep breath - and oh - she knew that smell, knew the deep voice above her, the feel of his lips against her skin.
Connie.
And then she was fumbling, twisting in his grasp, throwing her arms around heated skin.
“Connie.” She shuddered and repeated his name. And then, without meaning for it to, the crying started up again. “You’re here.”
Holding her tight, he rocked back and forth, murmuring a constant stream of reassurances over her head. “I’m here. Of course I’m here. Not going anywhere. I got you. You want some food? I’ll heat up our leftovers. Shhh.. Sasha, it’s okay. You’re okay. I got you. I got you. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Leftovers?” She lifted her head, trying to orient her thoughts.
They were in bed. Soft sheets tangled around them. The room was dark, but a street lamp outside the window cast a pale glow over the space. A portable clothing rack was set up in the corner. An assortment of clothes - hers and his - hung side by side. A dresser and several shelves of books, pictures, and nicknacks filled the remaining wallspace. The room was full without being crowded. Cozy.
“Yeah, we’ve got some mac and cheese in the fridge. Want me to heat it up?” He was already shifting back, starting to rise.
She clutched at him, hauling him back.
“Woah.” Connie braced a hand against the bed, just stopping himself from falling onto her.
Memories were fitting back into place.
Right.
They’d had mac and cheese for dinner…last night. She’d gotten coffee with Mikasa after class - and when she’d come home, she and Connie had made dinner together. She blinked and her life solidified around her.
Connie sank back into the bed. “It was the nightmare again, wasn’t it? It always comes back around this time of year.”
“A nightmare,” she said, and looked up, studying his face. “It seemed so real.” She brushed a hand under his jaw, tracing her fingers up and over his cheek. In the dream, he’d looked the same - from his pointed chin, to his thin, arched brows, to his soft, barely grown-out hair. She ran her fingers through it, combing over the tousled strands that stood at odd angles.
“I died,” she whispered.
He pushed forward, and then he was holding her. Warm hands cupped her face. He stared at her, eyes wide, earnest. “It was a dream - a nightmare.” His thumb traced her cheek, wiping at a stray tear.
She closed her eyes, heaved a shuddering breath and leaned into his touch.
“I need a hard core cuddle session. Right now,” she murmured, and pressed a kiss against his wrist.
“One cuddle, coming right up.” Connie squeezed her face, and pressed a swift kiss to her nose. “You feeling big spoon or little spoon?”
She thought for a moment and answered, “Little spoon.”
Connie rolled back, wiggling into position. Flinging a stray blanked out of the way, he opened his arms.
When she scooted in, he closed his arms, drawing her snugly against him.
She drew in a slow breath.
“I think I’m gonna have to make a coffee run in the morning,” he said, pressing a kiss against her head - and then another against the back of her neck.
She sighed and smiled, wiggling more snuggly into his embrace. Under his touch, the dream was fading.
“Or maybe we can just skip class. College is overrated,” Connie hummed, sleepily.
She lightly pinched his hand and said, “You’ve missed five classes this semester, Con. Professor Hanji’s gonna drop you from her class. I’ll drag you out of bed if I have to.”
“Coffee it is then,” he sighed, sounding only mildly put-out.
Lifting his hand, she pressed her lips against his knuckles. When she closed her eyes, the dream came back in flashes. The girl. The gun. Searing pain. Connie’s panicked shouts.
For a long moment, it was quiet.
“Connie,” she whispered in the dark. “What if it isn’t just a dream? What if it’s a - a memory or…something? It’s just-” she swallowed. Her throat felt tight. “Every time, it’s just so real.”
The arms around her tightened.
“Honestly…” Connie heaved a heavy breath against her neck. His hand found hers and squeezed. “Whether it’s another universe, life, or reincarnation stuff or whatever, I don’t like to think that anything about that dream could be real because -” he squeezed her tighter and breathed out roughly. “Because it means sometime, somewhere I watched you die.” He swallowed audibly and pressed his face against her skin. “And I can’t accept that Sash. It’s - it’s - god, it’s my nightmare.”
“But I’m here - we’re here. Now.”
Connie cleared his throat. “Damn right we are.” He rose up and pressed a kiss against her cheek for good measure.
Smiling, she rolled, dragging him back down for a longer, slower kiss. When she pulled back, she announced, “Now I’m hungry.”
Connie glanced at the clock, then back at her. Nodding resolutely, he tossed back the covers. “Sleep is for the weak. Let’s cook up some mac and cheese.”
He grabbed her, and she squealed with laughter as he lifted her up and out of bed. Spinning her around, he deposited her lightly on her feet.
As she reeled, regaining her balance, she heard his heavy footsteps clattering down the hall, running for the kitchen.
“Hey!” She laughed, stumbling for the door. “I call the first bowl! Connie! I’m starving!”
Connie responded with something inarticulate, and she heard the buttons of the microwave beeping.
“I am very serious!” she called, laughing as she ran for the kitchen, memories of the dream very nearly forgotten.