Work Text:
Summer days in Shiganshina have grown quiet. Mainly because of the heat — the days are too long, and the temperatures are too high for merchants and townsfolk to spend much time in the sunshine, attempting to sell their wares.
But Mikasa also thinks that the city has grown quiet in the summer because, after countless decades, it finally can be quiet. Comfortable. Peaceful.
And it takes some getting used to, this quiet and comfortable existence. Especially considering that Mikasa had spent the first couple decades of her life in the throes of warfare and in near constant fear — not only for her safety, but also for the safety of those she held most dear.
But that was years ago. Decades ago. And the walls have come down, and local and global threats have been neutralized. And Mikasa can finally rest.
They can finally rest. Together.
And so they have been. Resting. Together. Once they were relieved of duty and thanked for their services, without saying a word to one another to confirm their plans, Eren and Mikasa bade farewell to their comrades and returned to Shiganshina, side by side.
That was over fifty years ago. And, even after all this time together, Mikasa sometimes worries that this peaceful co-existence grates Eren’s sensibilities. She knows that, ever since he was a young boy, he always wanted to move. Always wanted to explore something that was out there and not here.
And, over the years, they had their challenges that kept them both on their toes. Challenges that, Mikasa believed, satisfied Eren’s manic tendencies.
First, it was learning to live together, just the two of them, when they were no longer surrounded by other soldiers and dictated by training schedules and scouting missions. Establishing chores. Planting a vegetable garden. Determining who was to go to market and when, who would cook dinner and when. Figuring out how to a run a household, together, in a way that simultaneously felt reminiscent of their childhood and was optimistic for their future.
Next, it was navigating what exactly they were to one another. A painfully awkward dance that lasted weeks, if not months. And it ultimately ended when, one night, after they had already wished each other good night and sweet dreams, Eren stormed into Mikasa’s room, furiously kissed her on the mouth, and burrowed himself under her bedcovers. He has slept there every night since.
Then, it was having (and adjusting to having) a family. Mikasa wasn’t necessarily expecting to have children (although the thought of it always warmed her heart and caused her to mindlessly rub the mark on her wrist). But Eren just blinked at her when she said it wasn’t necessary — and he replied, “Of course it’s not necessary, but I just figured that’s what we would do.” And Mikasa couldn’t overlook how enthusiastically Eren approached their attempts. And how doting he was on her, both times, when her belly started to swell. And how Eren’s brows would scrunch in tired concentration as he rocked their infant girls to sleep or changed their diapers.
As their daughters grew, Mikasa watched as Eren became someone she would only have imagined in her deepest depths of sleep. Someone whose hands tenderly tied soft black waves into pigtails and caressed little sunshine faces at night, after a full day of playing on the hillside. Someone whose fiery passion was no longer directed toward monsters and enemies beyond the walls and across the sea — but aimed at loving his little girls and their mother as fiercely and devotedly as possible. A passion that manifested in clasped fingers and tender hugs and forehead kisses (and promises whispered in Mikasa’s ears, every night after their girls were tucked in bed and fast asleep, that he would take care of them forever and ever).
Now, their children have grown and moved on, building their own lives and having children of their own. Mikasa’s hands are wrinkled and knotted. And, while she still feels strength deep in her muscles, there’s also a deep, pleasant exhaustion that has taken root in her bones — an exhaustion that she recognizes is a privilege bestowed on those lucky few who’ve been able to lead a long, fulfilled life.
And she wakes up every morning to an Eren that, in her youth, she would have been too terrified to imagine (fearful that giving weight to the optimistic image would crush her heart and soul if it didn’t come to fruition). An Eren stooped with age and with silver hair. One whose eyes still shine brightly within his wrinkled face. One who smiles easily, laughs easily, takes her weathered hand in his and kisses her lips so easily.
Despite Eren’s regularly pleasant demeanor, even in their old age, Mikasa can’t help but grow concerned that Eren craves something a bit more adventurous. Particularly on quiet summer days like this one, when the most exciting things they do are reread letters from their daughters who have settled on the other side of the island, review their correspondence from Armin who’ll be visiting them in a few weeks from Marley, check on the carrots and cabbage growing in their patch, and take an easy walk to the market for some freshly-baked bread.
That evening, Mikasa and Eren prepare their dinner side by side: Eren carefully slices their fresh loaf of bread, while Mikasa tastes their stew, checking if it needs more salt or herbs. Eren steals a small spoonful, wordlessly nods his approval — then presses a quick kiss on Mikasa’s leathery cheek before he grabs some clean bowls for their supper.
They quietly eat their warm stew and sliced bread at their little kitchen table, built by their bare hands decades ago and now faded and rough with age. Mikasa watches Eren’s face closely between each bite, and — despite the decades together — she still feels her face heat up when he reaches across the table to thread their fingers together and when he looks up at her with a soft smile.
As they do every night, Eren washes their dishes while Mikasa dries them. Then, when their kitchen is clean and tidy, they retire to their little porch, where they sit in their chairs side by side and look up at the stars and fireflies dotting the night sky.
As she is wont to do in these quiet moments, Mikasa worries that Eren wants something more. She studies his face and tries to glean meaning in his wrinkles. Is he tired? Bored? Underwhelmed with the uneventfulness that pervades their daily routine?
But, despite her near daily doubts, Eren cuts through her thoughts by grabbing her hand in the quiet evening, leaning over, and whispering directly in her ear: “I don’t think anybody would think this, but this is my favorite part of the day.”
And, as she does almost every night, Mikasa grins at him and finally allows herself to cherish Shiganshina's summertime silence.
[fanart of Grandpa Eren and Grandma Mikasa in "her summertime sentiments" by ThreeMasts]