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Snow is no longer the logistical nightmare it once was just a few years ago. Before, it posed a threat to the success of Scout expeditions, a drain on fuel to keep campfires warm, a hazard to the intricate formations that made avoiding Titans possible. Nor does it signal another season of desperation for the poorest of Wall Rose.
Since reaching the sea, snow has become a pretty object, a beautiful sight amongst sprawling farmlands and scattered woods. Last night’s snowfall, however, has put a halt on Shiganshina’s reconstruction efforts. The town has stopped entirely, its pace of work a crawl, townsfolk content to take a break and marvel in the luscious, white powder.
The cold bites at Mikasa’s cheeks. Her fur-lined coat is ample protection for her ears, but the chilly breeze blows against her face. Despite spending most of their time in Trost at headquarters, they’ve been given home leave for the Solstice and the New Year. Mikasa likes New Year’s. Most of their holidays are predicated by the Founder Ymir, but Mama said even her ancestors used to celebrate the New Year.
Still, with Shiganshina improved but not fully recovered from the attack, Mikasa’s been staying in the military offices with Eren and Armin. She knows Eren had been hoping his home would be entirely fixed by now, especially for New Year’s. Mikasa, though decidedly less optimistic than Eren, had also hoped to see the Jaeger family home filled with decorations and returned to its former warmth in time for tonight.
Mikasa hasn’t seen Eren or Armin this morning. Armin is likely holed up in an office, unable to get his mind off the looming threat of Marley even for a few days, and Eren may be yelling at construction workers to get to work. Mikasa sighs. Few people are inclined to work the days between the Solstice and New Year’s, so the snow is a perfect excuse to take advantage of the holidays.
Mikasa heads to the market, full of people finally able to attend. The tantalizing aroma of mulled wine and spices floats through the square. Mikasa stops in front of a stall, its tables stacked with pyramids of baked goods. She shouldn’t, Ymir knows the Scouts don’t pay her enough to spend on frivolous things.
The temptation is strong, and Mikasa’s brief hesitation lets the elderly lady get a glimpse of Mikasa’s face.
“Miss Ackerman! What can I help you with?” she asks.
Mikasa steps back. Though she’s had years to adjust, Mikasa has never been able to shake the discomfort of strangers recognizing her. She knows they mean well, but fame was never Mikasa’s goal when joining Squad Levi.
“I’m quite alright, ma’am. Thank you,” Mikasa whispers, hoping no one else will notice her presence.
“Nonsense!” The lady shakes her head. “I have plenty of samples.”
She takes a knife to the tall, fluffy loaves of bread, each filled with different combinations of dried fruits and nuts.
Mikasa tries the first sample and the taste startles her. Suddenly, she’s transported back to the only New Year’s she spent with the Jaegers, the taste of oranges and this particular bread so specific she hadn’t found it again until now.
Mikasa notices others ordering different pastries from the same stall, with the lady’s relatives helping bag them, but her pride and joy is clearly this bread.
“What is this?” Mikasa asks.
“Panettone,” the lady replies with a smile. “It’s a family recipe.”
The word is unfamiliar, but it sounds nice when Mikasa whispers it to herself.
“I’ll buy one,” Mikasa decides. She hopes Eren and Armin will appreciate a childhood dessert at dinner tonight.
The rest of the shops sell much of the same food, and the handmade trinkets are pretty to look at but unaffordable on a military salary. Mikasa should tell Hange to pay Squad Levi more, but they have enough on their hands without restructuring the entire Scout Regiment budget to fit Mikasa’s needs.
Mikasa doesn’t begrudge the vendors, who are finally able to return to their crafts and be veritable artisans for the first time in many years, but Mikasa does feel a twinge of sadness looking at an ornate snow globe and knowing she’ll never see it again.
She feels a light tap on her shoulder and flinches. Mikasa turns, expecting a Marleyan spy, but she sees Eren, far more content than he’s been the past week.
“Oh, it’s you,” Mikasa says, relief evident in her voice.
“Did you miss me?” Eren jokes, but he looks almost apologetic for having startled Mikasa.
“Mm, yeah.” Mikasa nods, teasing, but she surprises herself with the honestly in her response. She has missed Eren. He’s always had moments where he withdraws from others, lost in the magnitude of his overwhelming thoughts and feelings, and ever since discovering the truth about the world beyond the walls, it’s become worse. Mikasa never thought she would miss the easily riled-up, loud version of Eren, yet this past week of near silence from Eren, with sparse updates on the house’s progress, have been torture.
Eren looks good, too good for a casual outing at the market. He’s wearing the only formal clothing he owns other than their military dress. It does nothing to shield him from the cold, Mikasa notes with a frown.
“What are you doing here?” Mikasa asks.
“I had to pick up something from one of the carpenters here,” Eren says, and Mikasa notices the large, wrapped item resting against Eren’s leg.
Mikasa asks, “Do you want me to carry it back?” A flimsy excuse to keep talking to Eren, to make the most of their short holiday together, and Mikasa knows he sees right through it.
Eren blushes. “I’ll be fine. I still have some business to attend to. I’ll meet you back at headquarters?”
“Okay.” Mikasa tries not to be disappointed, but she’d hoped Eren would have time to rest on a public holiday.
She waves goodbye and trudges up the hill in central Shiganshina. Her military grade boots are a blessing because the snow is unrelenting, enough that Mikasa worries someone might have a nasty fall.
Once returned to the warmth of the small fireplace in her lodgings, Mikasa hangs her coat and places the loaf of bread on her small desk. The room is standard, with enough space for comfortable short-term living but little counter space.
Mikasa dons her green regiment coat and descends from the upper floors to the offices. Mikasa imagines those working daily in these offices must have real homes or else they’d soon need to add more floors to the building. Slowly but surely, ranks of trainees have enlisted in the Survey Corps, though the Shiganshina military building no longer serves as the last stop between the walls and the outside world.
Mikasa searches through empty conference rooms and abandoned offices, hoping to find Armin without disturbing any of the closed doors.
She does, after a brief scan of the third floor. “Hey,” Mikasa says.
“Oh, hi Mikasa,” Armin says, looking up quickly from his papers.
“You shouldn’t be working on a holiday.”
“I shouldn’t,” Armin agrees, “but the world’s problems don’t stop because the calendar says so.”
“Well, I say you stop working,” Mikasa insists. “Come on, Eren says he’ll be in soon.”
Armin relents, organizing the paperwork into a neat pile before standing up. “You’ve convinced me.”
Mikasa grabs three mugs from the limited kitchens included in the upper sleeping quarters, stirring in cacao powder. She’s saved it for a special occasion, since Onyankopon brought it from Marley as a gesture of goodwill and finding more would be nearly impossible.
Armin takes his, adding sugar to match his relentless sweet tooth, a recently discovered luxury now that more farmland can be devoted to sugar beets.
Mikasa smiles, watching her friend, but her quiet contentment is interrupted by the sound of boots hitting the small carpet by the door.
“Could you be any louder, Eren?” Armin teases.
“I thought you would be happy to see me.” Eren pouts. He drops the object from earlier at Armin’s feet. “Open it.”
Dutifully, Armin unwraps the item, surprised to find the smoothed wood of a carved sled. Armin beams.
“If you’re still not happy, I’ll leave,” Eren starts.
“Shut up, man.” Armin stands to hug Eren. “It looks just like your old one.”
Mikasa examines the sled and agrees with Armin. The sled is identical to the one Grisha had gifted Eren as a surprise from one of his travels, sleek and perfect for squeezing three small children on.
“I was hoping the house would be done, but I hope this is good enough.”
“It’s perfect,” Mikasa says. And it is, perfectly reminiscent of the New Year’s Eve Mikasa spent with the Yeagers, the afternoon filled with runs on the sled before the countdown to midnight.
“I think it needs a test run, don’t you?” Armin asks.
Eren laughs. “Wow, I’m already wearing my loud, heavy winter boots,” he comments.
Armin sighs. “You can wear boots without stomping all over the place. Wait for me, I’ll go get mine.”
Mikasa watches Armin, a lightheartedness in his step that Mikasa hasn’t seen in years. Armin is only eighteen, with her and Eren to follow in the spring. They’re young, Mikasa realizes, not for the first time, but the last time they had the chance to do this was half a lifetime ago.
As if sensing Mikasa’s sudden melancholy, Eren asks, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Mikasa dismisses quickly.
Eren’s stare lingers as if he doesn’t quite believe her, but he says nothing.
Armin returns as quickly as he’d left, bundled in appropriate clothing for rolling around in the snow. “You forgot your coat,” he says, throwing it to Mikasa.
”Mikasa, you’re not allowed to get hypothermia,” Eren says.
“I wouldn’t have,” she argues, but both Armin and Eren know she gets cold easily, and save for stubborn children, everyone is wearing a coat right now.
The walk from the town centre to Wall Maria is far quicker than from the outskirts where Eren’s house was, seemingly longer when their little legs once walked the same roads.
Now, they arrive at the foot of the hill in a record time, with Armin’s enthusiastic marching setting a rapid pace.
A tree, now barren with winter’s frost, sits at the top of the hill Eren and Armin had once discovered was perfect for rolling down, and later, they learned to slide down its snowy slope, too.
“Hey, I’ll race you!” Eren shouts, already running.
“Not fair,” Armin says. “I’m carrying the sled.”
“Pass it here,” Mikasa says. “Go get him.”
She runs too, the sled no hindrance as she catches up with Armin. They’re all usually faster, but today Mikasa is happy to slow down and watch Eren struggle against the snow sinking beneath his boots.
He wins regardless, and he makes his satisfaction well known with childish crowing. Mikasa smiles softly, satisfied by his smile.
Armin arrives a moment later, his pants and the hem of his coat lined with snow. Clearly, he fared the same as Eren did.
Mikasa places the sled at the base of the tree, nodding at Armin to get in. “Should I push you?” she asks.
“I think I’m heavy enough now,” Armin laughs, remembering his frustration when trying to start the sled. “I might go flying if you push me.”
“Don’t die,” Mikasa warns.
With a kick, Armin pushes off the ground, the sled careening forwards and sending him downhill. He picks up speed, the sled moving faster and faster until Armin falls off, the sled continuing downhill until it reaches a gentle stop.
Armin chases after the sled, confirming with a wave that he’s unharmed. He begins the trudge back up the hill with the sled in tow.
Mikasa can’t remember the last time the world was this still, a perfect moment separate from the rest of space and time.
“Your turn,” Armin interrupts Mikasa’s thoughts.
“Eren should go. It’s his sled, after all.”
Eren frowns. “It’s a gift for both of you. Mikasa, you should go.”
“Only if you come with me,” Mikasa jokes. She doesn’t want to take from their fun, so she’s rather try after Eren has also gone down.
“There’s no way we’ll fit,” Eren says, not catching on.
“Try harder,” Armin suggests, teasing.
Mikasa clambers on, followed by Eren. He holds around her waist, his chin tucked at the nape of her neck, and Mikasa finds his touch incredibly electrifying in ways she cannot explain. Rather than dwell, she kicks off without warning.
Eren lets out a surprised shout. “Hey!”
Mikasa tries steering the sled, but it’s far too cumbersome to make sharp turns. It follows the tracks Armin made, avoiding the worst of the snow’s backwards spray, but the powder still clings to the fur lining of Mikasa’s hood and coats her face.
They continue to gain speed, but Mikasa is determined to hold on until the bottom of the hill.
“Hold on,” she cries out to Eren.
He does, squeezing her waist tighter, his chest pressed tightly along her back until they skid to a stop.
“Pass the sled,” Eren says.
“I can carry it.”
“I want to carry it,” Eren argues.
Mikasa changes the subject. “Do think we can also fit Armin?”
Eren laughs. “We can try.”
The afternoon slips away as they try and fail to keep the three of them on board, carving new paths down the hill, discovering the slight bumps that make the sled catch air time.
Without Mikasa realizing, the sun begins to dip behind the walls, dusk setting in.
“We should head home soon,” Armin says. “Dinner is nice tonight,” referring to the anticipated meal the mess hall is serving tonight. Usually, Squad Levi partakes in their own celebration separate from the soldiers who are part of the new Survey Corps, but with Mikasa, Eren, and Armin on home leave, their best chance at a proper celebratory meal is nabbing a seat at the mess.
They walk back as briskly as possible to ensure enough time to take hot showers and make themselves presentable, but their steps are weighed down by happy exhaustion.
Mikasa dresses herself in the only nice clothing she owns, a dress, then throws on her green dress coat in case she’s the only one out of uniform. There’s little occasion for fancy dress other than formal Survey Corps business, so Mikasa is unused to the feeling of wearing clothes so delicate.
When she arrives at the mess, she wrinkly spots Armin, also out of uniform. Mikasa breathes a sigh of relief.
Eren joins shortly after, his hair still wet and tucked behind his ears. He, like everyone else, Mikasa realizes, is also in formal clothing, but Eren’s is haphazardly done.
“Here,” Mikasa says. She reaches out to fix the buttons of Eren’s cuffs, her fingers brushing against his wrist for a second too long. He pulls his hand back, eyes wide.
Mikasa sits, ashamed she’d been so brazen with her affections. They’re no strangers to touch, but today feels particularly charged.
Dinner is festive, even if Mikasa can’t help but sneak glances at Eren. Armin smiles at her like he knows a secret she doesn’t, but Mikasa pays him no mind. He often knows things she doesn’t.
Shortly after, the new recruits file out of the mess to head to town hall, the main plaza surely filling with townsfolk waiting for fireworks. The surrounding shops and taverns are alight with the spirit of the New Year, and those looking for adventure are sure to seek them out.
Mikasa, however, has only known New Year’s with her family, first in her childhood home with her mom and dad, then the Yeagers, then the makeshift families Mikasa’s come to know over the years.
Eren grabs Mikasa’s hand and beckons for Armin, slipping through the kitchen to head back upstairs. Armin, ever diligent, will likely sleep before midnight, so Eren wants to make the most of their New Year’s Eve celebration.
They play cards until the candles run low and talk about wishful plans for the upcoming year — foods to try, places outside Paradis to explore. But when Armin’s yawns are too big to ignore, he hugs them both goodbye and leaves for his bedroom.
Eren watches Armin leave, waiting until his footsteps become silent before turning towards Mikasa.
“I didn’t want to say this before, but now that Armin’s gone, I have a surprise for you. Wait here.”
Mikasa sits, grasping her hands in her lap. She wonders what exactly Eren’s surprise is, why he couldn’t say it in front of Armin.
Eren returns, another, smaller item hidden in his hands. “Happy New Year,” he whispers.
“It’s not the New Year yet,” Mikasa says.
“I know, but what else am I supposed to say. This is for you.” Eren places an ornate snow globe in Mikasa’s palms, its wooden base delicately carved to match the idyllic scenery inside.
The small log cabin inside looks like home, somehow both the home of her childhood and the perfect, imaginary one Mikasa dreams of. Fake snow swirls around as Mikasa delightedly shakes the snow globe.
“Did you stay behind earlier to buy this?” she asks.
“I couldn’t ruin your surprise, Mikasa. I saw you looking at them while I was collecting the sled,” Eren explains.
“This is perfect. I love it,” Mikasa gushes, small tears forming in the corners of her eyes.
Eren beams then quickly returns to a false air of nonchalance. “I didn’t want Armin to accuse me of playing favourites.”
Mikasa laughs. “I think he’s happy with the sled you got him.”
Eren grins sheepishly. “I thought I told you the sled is for everyone. I am playing favourites.”
Mikasa blushes, the thought of being Eren’s favourite anything sending electric shivers down her spine. The word favourite feels like a badge of honour, to be the favourite of a man who loves so deeply and thoroughly a gift beyond words.
“I don’t know what to say,” Mikasa manages finally.
“Don’t say anything,” Eren reassures her, “It’s almost midnight.”
The small clock counts down the minutes to a brand new year, and Mikasa waits with Eren’s hand in hers.
Suddenly, Eren asks, “At midnight, can I kiss you? For tradition.”
”Yes,” Mikasa replies.
At once, volleys of fireworks explode across Shiganshina. Mikasa looks at Eren and finds him already staring, a thousand stars reflected in his eyes.
Oh.
Oh.
Eren’s lips are on Mikasa’s soft and gentle in ways Mikasa has seen so rarely from Eren. He’s incredible. She kisses him back, learning to move her mouth against his, leaning into the soft brush of his fingers against her jaw.
As quickly as it started, the kiss is over, Eren pulling away.
“Happy New Year, Mikasa.”
“Happy New Year, Eren.” Mikasa had forgotten entirely that Eren had kissed her in the name of tradition. But she relishes it anyways, a final confirmation of the type of love slowly building in Mikasa’s heart over the years.
A familial love like coming come from the cold outside world. A familial love like the weathered and true love of a wife and husband. The love borne from knowing someone half a lifetime and still wanting more.
Mikasa loves him, loves Eren. And for the New Year, she knows that the boy who gave her his New Year’s kiss and snow globe to carry with her loves her too. The warmth of knowing both her love and his is enough to Mikasa for the rest of the year.