Chapter Text
I like being Mikasa’s roommate. She’s like a shadow I’ve managed to befriend. Her movements resemble that of a dignified swan or a flame dancing atop a candle. I’ve never seen her choose the spotlight but the lights always search for her. She comes in and out but somehow I see her plenty. In the morning with wet hair after taking a shower and late at night with a pink clay mask on her pale skin as she reads a magazine advertising beauty standards. An expression always crosses her face saying ‘who believes girls need this?’ I like that she’s skeptical without judgement.
I’ve never seen someone care so much in such a nonchalant way. She always follows her skincare routine. It’s simple and I’m shocked given how flawless her skin is. I hear her wash her face with the same practiced motion and speed. She doesn’t seem rushed no matter when she wakes up. Everything about Mikasa seems scripted without the sacrifice of authenticity. She really is just… put together. It’s almost like a parody of the ideal person the way that she’s real and this... perfect.
It makes me a little envious. It’s not unusual for me to spend an extra twenty minutes trying to make my hair sit just right. Mikasa never seems to struggle with her hair. She wakes up, brushes it with ten strokes, and she’ll walk out with an aura that stuns everyone. Yet she’s calming. She even makes my heart race while simultaneously encouraging me to relax. She’s like a human lava lamp—someone with a signature that entrances even as she follows the same motions. The more I stare the calmer I feel. It’s been a month and I still find myself rendered speechless sometimes at how she makes me feel.
I like being her roommate despite the daily reminder I don’t think I’ll ever hold a candle to her. She’s intelligent, gorgeous, and her heart is in the right place.
“You’ll have the dorm to yourself tonight,” Mikasa begins to speak as she dries her hair with a towel. She had just showered and the waterdrops sparkled on her skin. Like a dancer they slide to the beat of my heart. I don’t know why my heart speeds up when she speaks to me. Maybe it’s because she feels too cool to be my friend. “Have any fun plans?” She wiggles her eyebrows and I smile at her playfulness. Even when she’s teasing me, even when she’s making a joke, it feels almost maternal.
I shake my head. “Not tonight.” Not tomorrow either, I think to myself. I don’t want Mikasa thinking I don’t have friends besides her. We’re not that close yet and I’d hate it if she thought I was some shunned outcast. Maybe that’ll prompt her to not want to get to know me more.
Mikasa nods with a smile. Her lips are this perfect pink and I wish I could have it as lip gloss. “I’d love for you to come tonight but it’s a really small thing.” When she tells me this I can’t help but fear it’s actually because I’m late. Or maybe not pretty enough. Maybe they’re not mutually exclusive.
“I get it.” My reply is short and I’m worried she’ll think I’m mad.
“Are you going to study at that coffee shop you’re always at?” Mikasa is trying to make conversation. It makes me smile and I feel selfish, egotistical, at the idea of her trying to find footing for a conversation. Maybe she does like me a little.
I nod. She smiles. “Say hi to Sasha for me.” Is she trying to get me a connection? Fuck, maybe she does think I’m a social reject. “She’s a brunette with a farmer’s tan. Her energy is hard to miss.”
Once again, like I always do, I nod. It gives me a lump in my throat to try and talk to her sometimes.
Always sitting in the corner, hidden in the shrubbery of well-kept ferns (a truly impressive feat) and other indoor plants, I’m staring at my blank essay. Ten pages about education techniques due in two days. I should give myself credit for starting the document before the day it’s due. Grant myself a pat on the back when I can.
I haven’t ordered. I’m scared to and I’m embarrassed about being scared. The shop is so busy today and I fear I’ll have to find another spot. This one is a ten minute walk from campus. I’ve gone through the three coffee spots on campus because when there’s too many people I think my heart will stop. It’s never smart to gamble with that sort of thing. What if it’s a silent heart attack? That’s an embarrassment I don’t think I’d ever get over. Granted I survived it.
It takes me twenty minutes, two sentences written just the title and a loose course of action, to rise from my seat. I set my bag down on my chair so if anyone removes it to take my spot I can confront them.
Standing in line is a torture in its own right. The line is long and I’m at the tail end. People walking by can see me even. I feel vulnerable from every perspective. Usually ordering is so quick, I just walk up and there’s maybe one person who could be judging me. I can handle one. Potentially ten, even more considering passer-bys? The world may end.
“Ma’am can I take your order?”
I’m stolen from my anxieties and I want to thank this woman for speaking me out of it. I realize she’s a brunette. Skin tan with a pale line right beneath the uniform’s sleeves. Brunette, check. Farmer’s tan, check.
“I know our menu is big enough to hike across but there’s a line behind you. Do you know what you’d like?” She laughs at her own joke and if I wasn’t a less serious variant of shell-shocked I’d definitely laugh. Despite me being a dick, holding up the line like a douche, she’s nice and playful in her attempt to get me helped.
I nod while apologizing. “I’m sorry.” I tell her my order, my usual I think only I have every thought to order, and quickly step out of line. I don’t even know how to handle my embarrassment and I shun myself for being so embarrassed. I’m just ordering a beverage.
As soon as my number is called I grab my drink. She’s handing me a straw. I see ‘Sasha B’ flipped upside down on her nametag. Confirmation.
“Mikasa says hi.” I blurt it out and I hope it doesn’t sound half as awkward aloud as it did in my head and on my tongue. It seems I spat the words out like a bad taste. Shit, a bad impression.
Sasha’s eyes widen and she grins. “Damn you know Mikasa?” I nod and I feel myself slipping away. Like a liquid when the divider is removed. I’m slipping away and spreading out before Sasha can catch me for longer.
I hate how I am.
I sit and stare at my laptop now. Another distraction posed—this drink. Not like it’s bad enough I have an eternal distraction courtesy of having been born. My brain is always playing a movie I don’t want to see.
The coffee shop closes and I realize I’ve barely written a paragraph.
My dorm is empty when I return. Mikasa has probably left for her plans already. Her side of the room is perfectly in order like usual. When Mikasa is trying to build my confidence she’ll leave a sock on her chair or something small to say ‘I’m human too.’ I don’t know why I constructed that patronizing story, she’s never done a thing to tear me down. In fact, Mikasa is all about feminism and supporting other girls.
I find myself looking at her decorations. She’s more minimalist. She’s clean in everything she does it seems. I’ve only seen her eat food good for the mind and body. I don’t know if Mikasa can do anything deemed weird or undesirable by society. She’s perfect and I’m in a mood where I hate it instead of appreciating it.
I’m laying on my bed. I can’t help but wonder what she’s doing. Is she clubbing? I can’t imagine her in that environment. Squashed between sweating people? Boys trying to get her number? I can’t picture it.
“I’m pathetic.” I can’t help but say it. I chastise myself daily. I bet Mikasa doesn't do that. What would she even chastise?
Upon opening my laptop, laid across my bed on my belly, I see a notification. It’s from my online friend. I’ve been ignoring his messages, everyone’s messages, for a while now. I feel bad because I have no excuse. I feel worse because I’m embarrassed. What would I say if I called him while Mikasa was here? Oh yeah, that’s my online friend. We play games and talk about how bad life can get.
I wish I was scared less of being judged.
I feel brave when I open his message.
[the_colossal] hey how’s college? :)
His message makes me smile and another surge of guilt washes over me for fear of judgement about having someone I’ve never met that I care deeply for.
[nerves_squared] it’s okay. my roommate is drop dead gorgeous and i may take that literally
[the_colossal] lol. but don’t. i bet you’re just as breathtaking
I gasp to myself quietly. He’s never seen me and that’s why he can say this, I justify. Another message pops up and I feel a new sort of shame.
[the_colossal] you have the best personality ik that much
[the_colossal] that’s what matters most
Deceptive. The word is deceptive. I feel like I’ve deceived him. Me having the best personality? The person who stares at their screen unable to do a task, thinks of the worst things to say, and doesn’t linger long enough to make a real impression. Maybe it is the best because it’s fleeting. I can be forgotten about.
[nerves_squared] aw, thanks
I can’t say all that. I know it’s anxiety. Or some other beast others will say is just in my head. Isn’t that the problem, that it’s in my head?
[the_colossal] wanna play minecraft?
The next three hours are spent with me and him playing minecraft. I feel like a nerd with my LED headphones and my light up keyboard. It doesn’t seem to matter, somehow, right now as we mine in what seems like an endless ravine. He’s killing spiders while I search for diamonds. He’s never talked much on the phone and I hate how I imagine my voice to sound through the call. Stupid, I know.
“You’re in college now, right?” He asks me out of nowhere.
I nod then realize he can’t hear that. “Yeah, freshman at Liberio.” It may have just been background noise but I swear I heard a gasp. Or maybe gulp.
“I’m a sophomore there.” My eyes widen and I nearly fall into lava. “Maybe we’ll run into each other.”
Maybe? I want to question that maybe. Why is it not certain? We could make it certain. He’s here and so am I. I feel tired and don’t want to seem needy or pushy or clingy or whatever undesirable attribute he could tack onto me.
Can’t ruin my personality, the best thing about me.
“Maybe.” Is all I say as we keep playing.
I’m in a baggy shirt, a band I’ve never listened to honestly, and about to crawl into my lofted bed when I hear a knock. It’s past midnight now. If it was Mikasa she’d just let herself in.
Apprehensively, I crawl down from halfway up my ladder. I look through the peephole to see a guy with brown hair. It’s in a mullet with a few strands rebelling from the whole. His eyes are piercing. They’re predominantly brown with a kiss of green at the center. He has a beard, more than peach fuzz, and I wonder who this man is.
I’m scared to open the door. Not because I’m scared of him but because everything in life seems to act with pessimism.
I open the door and it feels heavier than normal as I swing it open. I see him better now. He has Mikasa’s arm wrapped around his shoulder as he delicately carries her in. My eyes follow him and he gives me a look asking ‘which bed?’
“The shorter one.”
“Good.” The man replies and I chuckle quietly. I hate my laugh. I feel bad for subjecting him to it. I don’t realize I covered my mouth to laugh until he’s walking back to me after tucking Mikasa into her skeanimal sheets.
He’s so much taller than me. I didn’t realize it before since he was crouching down to make moving Mikasa easier. He’s imposing like a skyscraper. I feel my heart pound like something pivotal would happen. I’m not scared of him. I’m scared of what may happen next.
“She drank too much.” The man begins explaining. He’s the epitome of a man. If I was asked to show an alien what a man was I’d pick a headshot of the guy before me. He has a mullet—polished but a little rustic still, a nose I imagine has earned him a reputation, and muscular arms that I imagine could move mountains if he really cared about someone. “I drove her home.”
That tells you the party was probably off campus. He could easily lift Mikasa given how muscular he is.
“I’m Jean.” He reaches out to shake my hand. I feel underdressed even though our outfits nearly match. Well, he’s wearing jeans and I’m acting as if my shirt is big enough to become a nightgown. Both of us sport band tees. His has the Neighborhood on it and I know he’s listened to them. I’ve never listened to the band on my shirt. I hope he doesn’t ask about it.
I shake his hand and want to say something witty. ‘I’m the roommate.’ Ew, lame. ‘Like your pants.’ Hell no.
I end up saying nothing besides “thank you, see you ‘round”