Gardez

The eight-hour overnight Finnair flight from Newark Liberty to Heathrow felt like a shot straight in the ass. The ride to the airport and then from the airport home had wrung him dry, and his mood was dropping fast. Through the taxi window, smeared with dirty rain, Zeke watched his hometown wake in brief flashes of light. The driver's navigation screen showed exactly ten minutes to home. This jet lag hell... Zeke rubbed at eyelids that felt like they had tripled in weight. He would have to collapse into bed immediately if he wanted to avoid nodding off at the party thrown in honour of his return. Zeke had left for America as a teenager and come back a man. Doctor Jaeger. His father would be thrilled. Zeke was pretty thrilled with himself too. His father, a famous surgeon, had dreamed of his son following in his footsteps, so Zeke had. He had worked to stay among the best, aimed for the very top. He had gotten into school in America, graduated from Johns Hopkins, collected the phone numbers of every girl on campus, grown a beard, and, now that his residency was over, returned to London to work at his father's clinic, hoping to take it over one day. Eren had had it easier. By the time he was grown, their father had enough money to send him anywhere, even if he turned out to be a complete waste of talent. Zeke, on the other hand, had had to pave his own road to glory. The automatic gates parted, letting the polished car into the courtyard of the luxury high-rise. Zeke got out, took his suitcase, listened to quiet classical music in the lift, and unlocked the door. His father had finally not skimped on him and had bought him this flat as a graduation present, but only now would Zeke have a chance to actually live here, not just drop in during fleeting breaks from training. He cast a quick look around the flat he was now supposed to call home. Zeke left his suitcase in the hall and fell onto the bed without even undressing.

***

It was impossible to shake off a flight halfway across the planet with a few hours of sleep, but Zeke made a stubborn show of being capable of anything. He got up to the alarm he had set in advance, did drag himself into the shower, and tossed a heap of mixed-up clothes into the wash. He would sort it out later. The refrigerator was, predictably, empty. Almost. Apparently, Carla had sent the housekeeper over to leave a container with a sweet note. Zeke was still amused by how hard she tried to make him like her. He had stopped caring years ago, but she still would not leave him in peace. Zeke ate what was there without much pleasure, got ready, and stepped out into the cool air of eternally damp London. After sunny, friendly Baltimore, the familiar streets of old England seemed grey and dank. Zeke tossed his bag into the trunk of an equally grey Suzuki, his own purchase, and slid the key into the ignition. The car rumbled warmly, like a house cat that had missed its owner. Zeke stroked the steering wheel with affection. He had had to ship it home from America. Another pain in the ass. He could have sold it there, and his father would have bought him a new one, but Zeke was sentimental about his first car. It was a long drive to his parents' house. He had wanted a flat farther away himself, and it would have made more sense to take a taxi. And though Zeke would gladly have gone back to his flat after the party, the celebration was supposed to be grand, which meant he would very happily get hammered, and there would be few volunteers willing to haul him into a taxi and then up to his place. Fine. A few glasses of something strong and the hours of sleep debt would knock him out just as well in his parents' house.

***

The house was already lively. Family friends were gathering; Eren was supposed to arrive with his college friends. Things were in motion everywhere: food being delivered, walls being decorated, nonexistent dust being wiped away; in short, everyone was performing frantic usefulness. Carla came out to meet him in a fashionable dress, cheerfully chirping something about the breakfast she had left for him. Zeke muttered an indistinct thank you and allowed Carla to hug him. His father would not be there for another couple of hours; he had not come back from work yet, and the feeling of being home simply refused to arrive. The evening promised nothing especially remarkable. They would sit in a close circle of relatives and friends, discuss the successful residency of the younger Doctor Jaeger, and Zeke planned to spend the entire time drinking whatever landed within reach. His friends, his life, had remained there across the ocean, and today was their funeral. He would sit and mourn everything he had spent years building. Yes, he still clung to the thought that he would definitely keep in touch with his colleagues and classmates from America, but he was old enough now to stop believing in fairy tales about love and friendship at a distance. Gradually, the connection weakens, fades, then dies off, eaten through by time apart. At best, his American acquaintances would become a sentimental atavism, nothing more. "Oh, Zeke! You're already here!" came a familiar voice, and Zeke turned toward his father in the doorway. Warmth flared in his chest. The only face in this house that did not make him feel sick spread into a smile. "Carla said you wouldn't be here for another couple of hours," Zeke said, rising to meet him and offering his hand. Father ignored the handshake and pulled him into a hard hug. "Come on. Did you really think I wouldn't leave work early for this? I'm very proud of you. I'm glad you're back." Zeke gave a skeptical snort and patted his father on the back.

***

The house grew louder. Simple family sitting-around gradually turned into a large reception. His father's imposing colleagues began to appear, and Zeke found himself preparing for defence. He would need his strength; he understood that already. There would be talking. A lot more talking than he wanted. Another table, completely wrong for the drawing room, was brought in from the dining room; chairs and armchairs were dragged over to fit everyone who had come. Zeke could hardly believe Carla had allowed such a mess in here, or that they had not rented an entire hall for an occasion like this. Zeke had not expected to be granted that much honour. It would have been better if none of these people were here. They were all prominent figures, businessmen, investors, and managers, too important for him to wave away their questions. He would have to meet them, talk to them, remember names, remember the ties between them... He knew that sooner or later he would have to wade into the tangled weave of business relationships, but he had hoped to avoid it at least for this one evening. He was desperately short on rest. His father apparently did not agree and summoned Zeke with a wave. Zeke rose lazily from the armchair he had claimed, set his glass of wine on the table, and headed bravely into the crowd. His parents' acquaintances had somehow squeezed into the drawing room and were congratulating him. He could barely keep up with all the handshakes and thought only of the unfinished glass of wine standing alone on a small table. It beckoned. He wanted to throw it down his throat in one go. "No, I wouldn't say Baltimore ever gets especially hot. Only by London standards, maybe. Of course I'm very proud of the degree. No, residency wasn't that exhausting," he said for what felt like the tenth time that evening. He wanted to get rid of everyone as quickly as possible and hide in one of the rooms, but he could not manage to slip away. He did not recognise at least half of these people. Of his school friends, he remembered very few, and he had not kept in touch. He had not even considered inviting anyone. Another portion of the crowd seemed too young to be friends of his parents. Eren's friends, probably. Eren never missed a chance to drag an entire group into the house. Only Eren himself was nowhere to be seen. Zeke could not say he would be especially happy to see his younger brother, but Eren knew how to pull all the attention onto himself, and maybe that would give Zeke a chance to escape unnoticed. As if answering his prayer, Eren finally appeared. He drifted into the drawing room at an unhurried pace, pushing some skinny blond guy ahead of him. Zeke let out a breath of relief and was about to turn away, but something made him stop. With his arm thrown around her shoulders, Eren was leading a girl into the drawing room. Zeke's trained eye recognised a beauty without error. Asian. Tall. Where the hell had Eren picked up someone like that? He did not notice himself starting to study her, and she, as if sensing his gaze, lifted her head. For a fraction of a second her grey eyes rested on him, then slid farther across the room. Zeke realised he was not listening at all to what was being said to him. "Hm? Yes, I'll definitely stop by. Of course, come to me for treatment. Actually, better not end up in the hospital at all. Ha-ha, yes, professional humour," he answered with a smile, but all his attention was already fixed on a beautiful woman's face.

***

Zeke dropped onto the sofa, exhausted. At last all the formalities had been observed, and people had left him alone. He watched them lazily as they sorted themselves into little clusters, sipping wine that had grown far too warm. He should have gone to bed already. The long journey, scraps of sleep, and alcohol were making him drowsy. He did not even want to drink that much anymore, and standing around in a crowd with a sour face, feeling sorry for himself, was impossible. But he still could not make himself leave. As expected, Eren quickly became the center of everyone's attention. For a moment, Zeke felt a prick of indignation, then chased the thought away. Over all these years, he had already accepted that he would always lose to his younger brother in everything. Eren was the family's darling, and Zeke had only one option: sit in the back seat of this out-of-control car and watch every one of his achievements fly past the window at insane speed, barely worthy of anyone's attention. He had known it would be like this, but that did not make it any less bitter. He tossed back another glass of wine and poured himself more. Still, his gaze kept searching for his brother and his brother's girl. Mostly for her. She really was beautiful. Zeke looked at her as if she were a painting in a gallery, studying more than simply staring. He watched her, and what he saw both pleased him and did not. Eren barely paid attention to her. Once or twice she left the stuffy room for the balcony. Eren seemed not to care. It was as though he did not notice his girlfriend had gone anywhere. He kept chatting with others as if nothing had happened, exchanging looks with his friends, and then the girl would simply appear beside him again and the conversation would not even pause. She followed Eren like a shadow, and Zeke thought that because of it, no one saw her except him. Strange. So beautiful, so graceful, yet she drew no attention to herself at all. It was almost offensive. Once, he nearly went out onto the balcony after her, but decided it would be too strange, and stayed seated, silently watching them. When Zeke was already about to get up from the sofa, finally feeling pleasantly drunk, Eren suddenly remembered his existence and headed his way with his group of friends. A pleasant thrill rose in Zeke's chest when Eren's girl moved after them. "Impossible to get near you tonight," Eren said with a smile. "Yeah," Zeke answered vaguely, while his gaze kept sliding to the right, to where the girl stood. She noticed him looking at her and lowered her eyes to the floor as if embarrassed, and he had to turn back to Eren. Heat rose to his face as though Zeke had done something shameful. "I just came over to introduce my friends. You look like you're rotting over here." "Tired from the trip." "This is Connie, Jean..." Eren continued, ignoring Zeke's words entirely. These names did not interest Zeke. He did not even try to memorise a couple of them for politeness's sake. Why would he? Tomorrow he would forget these people and never think of them again. He and Eren had never gotten along particularly well even at a distance, and now there was no question of it. They certainly would not be hanging out together. "...Mikasa, my girlfriend." His heart gave a painful little jolt. Zeke had already guessed as much. But why would someone like her choose someone like him? Zeke shook his head. It was none of his business. A shame, of course, that a beauty like that was wasted beside Eren, but what could he do? Loneliness flared up inside him with new force, but he did not show it. If he wanted, he would find someone for himself. It was the alcohol talking through him; in truth, he did not care about Mikasa or who she slept with.

***

They crowded together in a dense knot by the large screen in the drawing room, trying to shout over Carla singing karaoke. She sang tolerably well, but taking the microphone away from her was impossible. No one tried. The important people, to Zeke's relief, had already left, and the evening was beginning to take on the shape of something genuinely homely. Sleep had vanished as if by magic. Had he simply pushed through it? Whatever the case, Zeke still could not force himself to go to a room farther away and close his eyes. Standing in the company of yesterday's teenagers did not suit Zeke at all. He no longer caught their jokes, and their conversations about college only depressed him. He felt his own time gradually slipping away, and even when Eren's friends included him in the conversation, they addressed him formally. Eren's girlfriend, Mikasa, had said only a couple of words in all that time, and the little group had edged her closer to Zeke. She remained standing beside him, though every line of her body said she was uncomfortable. She kept closer to her own people, not even looking at him, and folded her arms over her chest, hugging herself as if she were cold. But not once all evening did she show any displeasure. It was as though she had accepted a supporting role and did not want to change anything. She stood with a calm expression and listened, practically hanging on Eren's every word. Zeke wanted to take her somewhere away from all this, give her air, talk to her. She interested him, and he would be lying if he said he did not envy his brother yet again. Why was he not paying attention to Mikasa? Eren was arguing about something with another girl. She was considerably shorter, blonde, with a thin high voice. She giggled sweetly at his comments, and Eren bent down toward her, saying something right by her ear. For some reason, Zeke wanted to hit him for it. "I'll step away for a couple of minutes," Mikasa said, and immediately disappeared deeper into the room. Eren only waved a hand. The group's interest in Zeke faded too. He understood perfectly well that there was nothing left for him to do there, but he could not make himself leave while Mikasa was here. Now he definitely could have gone off to sleep, but instead he offered a quick goodbye and stepped out onto the balcony after her. The cold night air of London cooled his face, flushed with alcohol. She stood with her back to him, looking at something below. Zeke knew there was nothing down there to look at except neat flower beds. And maybe he only imagined it, but Mikasa had been going out to the balcony too often to write it off as a love of botany. Zeke pulled a nearly empty pack of cigarettes from his pocket, flicked his lighter, bringing the flame to his mouth, and at the sound Mikasa flinched and turned toward him. He froze. Shining grey eyes stared straight into his as if chasing him away, but that only fed the interest already boiling in him. He thought frantically about how to start a conversation. "Do you smoke?" he finally forced out, and Mikasa gave a short nod, lowering her gaze. "Oh. I wouldn't have guessed." "Would you mind sharing?" She turned, leaning against the pale railing. On her face there was no trace of the sadness that had possessed her only a moment before. "Anything for a beautiful woman. And you can drop the formalities." Mikasa frowned, and Zeke immediately understood his mistake. With an apologetic gesture, he held out the open pack with the last cigarette. "I didn't mean anything by it," he said, and Mikasa lowered her gaze into the pack, hesitated for a second, but still took the last cigarette and accepted the offered lighter. The cigarette was quickly caught between pearly teeth, and the little flare of the lighter painted her face gold for an instant. "Of course. Just a polite compliment," she said, holding the flame under the cigarette, then returned the lighter without looking and turned away. "Just a compliment," Zeke echoed, knowing perfectly well that he was lying. If they had met under different circumstances, if she had not been his younger brother's girlfriend... Zeke stepped closer to the railing. He leaned on it, bending forward. Below, trimmed bushes glistened black with evening damp and the useless work of the sprinklers. Mikasa exhaled audibly, and out of the corner of his eye Zeke noticed that she was studying him. Warmth spread through his chest again. "Thank you." He turned to her, nodded, and lowered his gaze again. "I didn't bring mine. I thought I should make a good impression..." Mikasa continued, and Zeke pushed away from the railing, straightening, grabbing at the straw she had offered. Maybe this conversation could still become something. "On whom?" "Well... your parents," Mikasa said with a shrug, turning away again. "After everything Eren put them through, nothing can surprise them anymore. Certainly not cigarettes," Zeke said with a smirk. Mikasa glanced at him sideways as if she did not understand, and it occurred to him that he and Eren had not really spoken in a long time. Maybe Eren had gotten his act together and stopped behaving like a spoiled, difficult teenager. He had been at college for a few years, after all. Had he actually grown up? "He was a complete mess when I left. I don't think much has changed." "You talk as if you don't get along with him. He's your brother, Doctor." The formality grated on his ear, and Zeke grimaced involuntarily, but did not rush to correct her. "Exactly. He's my brother. I know everything about him," he said with a smile, even though Eren was the last thing he wanted to discuss with Mikasa. "And I'll tell you, if you want." Mikasa turned fully now, leaned back against the railing, and laughed softly. "No, thank you. I'll leave the conversations about his childhood and the baby pictures to Mrs. Jaeger. She'll probably be upset if I refuse to look again." Zeke turned away and took a deeper drag. Her laugh filled his chest with pleasant warmth, and her words with unbearable bitterness. It seemed her relationship with Eren had already grown solid enough that Mikasa could not be dismissed as just some girl he had brought to a party, not if she was talking about his mother like that. "And you?" "What about me?" "Were you different?" Zeke drew on the cigarette, thinking how to answer. He had been. It felt as though an impassable gulf stretched between them, but he wanted so badly to shorten it... "Maybe. I'm more serious." "What makes you so sure?" "I'm the older brother." "That doesn't mean anything." "Sometimes, no. But in my case..." Zeke fell silent at once. He was not going to complain about his life. He had realised long ago that there was no point hoarding grievances. "Never mind." Only the wind rustling through the bushes broke the silence that settled between them. Heavy clouds had swallowed the black, starless sky. "You have an ideal life, a profession that will let you save people, actually make the world better, and money isn't a problem either. I don't see the point in being too serious. That's a privilege for people whose lives are not so smooth," Mikasa said quietly. "If that's how it looks to you," Zeke said with a shrug. Mikasa clearly wanted to say more than she was showing. But asking about it felt inappropriate, and Zeke crushed down the urge to learn more about her. He desperately wanted a distraction, wanted to talk about nonsense, but no topic appeared. It irritated him. He had always known what to say, had always been able to interest a girl easily, but Mikasa was silent, and he was silent with her. At last he breathed out a pale cloud of smoke. "Do you really dislike being near him so much that you'd rather freeze alone on a balcony?" "I'm not freezing. And I'm not alone. Because of you," Mikasa answered immediately, sharply, and he frowned, asking again. "Because of?" Mikasa lifted her eyes to him, and Zeke could not understand what he saw there. Was she irritated? Upset? Did she truly want to be out here, or was she simply refusing to admit it to herself? "I wanted to be alone." Zeke did not believe her. A girl like that should be the center of attention. She should be laughing loudly with everyone, chattering nonstop, enjoying the party with her friends. Or at least smoking on the balcony in a shared, noisy crowd. "Sorry. I'll finish and go," he said anyway, taking another drag. A cheap trick, but worth trying. Mikasa only stayed silent, and hope faded with every second. "Stay with me a little, please. I'll finish soon too." Her voice wove itself into the silence of the night, mixed with the faint noise of karaoke and conversation drifting from the house, and Zeke understood: she had not wanted to be alone. That was exactly why she had run away from her friends. On the balcony, away from everyone, loneliness gnawed less. You could trick yourself with the illusion that you had a choice, that solitude was what you wanted. Zeke grew bolder. It felt as if he had found the place where she hurt. "Why are you with him?" Mikasa flinched. "That's none of your business," she forced out quietly, but Zeke was hard to fool. She wanted to talk about it; she simply had not found someone who would listen and understand. And now it was difficult for her to speak. Zeke was his older brother. If only she knew how far apart they really were... "Come on. Tell me. What attracts you? Our rich parents? The prospects?" he nudged with a slight smile. "Are you always this cynical?" The corners of her lips lifted in answer, as though Mikasa had taken his words for a joke. "No. I just can't understand what he did to catch a girl like you. He's said two words to you all evening, and you're pretending everything is fine. And it doesn't bother him at all that I'm talking to you alone right now." Mikasa frowned and breathed in the fragrant cigarette smoke again. The air thickened with moisture. It felt as though rain would start any second. "You probably think you're very good at reading people. And right now you think you know everything about me. About Eren too. But you can't know everything." "Oh, I can. When we were kids, we fought like it was the end of the world if I took anything of his." "You haven't been around for years. Maybe he was like that as a child, but not now. He's not bad." "I'm not saying he's bad. But he's not what you need." "And what do I need?" Zeke was silent. He knew exactly what, and the wine in his blood only echoed his stupid desires. He shoved them down deeper, shaping a much more decent answer. "The same thing any woman does. To be something more than her boyfriend's shadow, at least." "Then you're wrong." Mikasa turned away and inhaled so deeply that the red ember shone like a beacon in the dark. Ash drifted down in flakes, and Mikasa tapped the thin fingers of her free hand against what was left of the cigarette, staring at it as if lost. Zeke fell silent. Mikasa seemed like a clever puzzle he could not solve. And now she was angry with him. They would finish smoking together, she would leave, and he still would not understand what he was trying to accomplish on this balcony. "Can we change the subject? Do you have any more cigarettes?" Mikasa asked, and hope filled his chest again. "In the car. It's on the grounds. We can walk." Mikasa gave a short nod.

***

In the small parking area by the house, only a few cars remained: his father's stern, practical one, and a couple of simpler ones, apparently belonging to Eren's friends. He did not see Eren's car. He had probably left it in the parking garage. Had Zeke really been wrong about him? Had the guy grown up and started treating his things more carefully? A cold wind rose. The trees rustled louder, and it felt as if rain would pour down at any moment. The Suzuki gave a friendly chirp and flashed its bright headlights when Zeke pressed the button on the key. Mikasa stood beside him, shifting from one foot to the other in a light top with a wide neckline and a not especially long skirt. She had hunched in on herself somehow, arms crossed over her chest, and was obviously cold. "Get in. It's cold outside. I'll start it," Zeke said, opening the rear door for her. Mikasa slipped inside quickly, and he went around the car, inserted the key into the ignition, and pushed it forward. The car hummed softly, blowing warm air from the vents. Zeke reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a new pack of cigarettes, still in the plastic. A fine drizzle began tapping on the roof. Warm air turned the windows white with fog. Zeke glanced into the rearview mirror. The white light of the streetlamps scattered beautifully through the cabin, illuminating Mikasa's equally pale face. She stared vaguely toward the misted glass. He lowered his eyes, feeling as though he were spying on her. "Warm enough?" he asked, turning around, and Mikasa hummed in agreement, visibly relaxing. A faint smile kindled on her lips. He wanted to smile back. "I didn't imagine your car like this," Mikasa said, accepting a fresh cigarette from him. "How did you imagine it?" "Well..." "Like something flashy, like Eren's, so everyone could immediately tell how small his dick is?" "Eren's isn't—" "Spare me the details," Zeke said, waving it off with a smile, and Mikasa suddenly laughed. Her laughter sounded like a little stream running over stones, and he exhaled. The tension dispersed. The awkwardness disappeared, and with it came the feeling that there was nothing wrong about sitting alone in a car with his younger brother's girlfriend. "Can I smoke in here?" "Yeah." "There was something else I wanted to ask. May I?" "What?" Zeke liked listening to her, liked that she wanted to continue the dialogue. He did not mind her questions either, especially when his own head was empty. "Why are you and Eren so different?" "Eren and me? We have different mothers," he said carelessly. "Oh. He never told me." "He doesn't like talking about things that don't concern him." "I've had time to notice that," Mikasa said, and sadness seeped through her voice. It seemed the wall between them had collapsed, and Mikasa had stopped defending herself. She wanted to open up to him; he could feel it. He should have told her about his own family too. About how he still missed his mother, how he had gotten into a prestigious university only so they would be proud of him, so he could leave and say with his head held high that he had studied in America. Instead, Zeke stayed silent, kept glancing at the back seat, and understood he was not the only one dissatisfied with his life. Mikasa did not feel his gaze. He looked at her the same way, in fragments, through the rearview mirror, and her defences lowered. Her shoulders were down, her gaze directed somewhere far beyond the car. What was she thinking about now? How he wanted to climb into the back, pull her to him, say a thousand banal stupid things, and have her be his. He had thought he had outgrown this kind of attraction, that he would no longer suffer because a girl he liked was in a relationship. That he would simply turn his attention to someone else. But his heart had decided otherwise, and it was unbearable to think that something so beautiful was drawn not to him, but to Eren, to Eren again, who did not have to do a damn thing. He was not even trying to keep her. "I think we should go back. They'll notice we're gone soon," Zeke said only to find a reason to part. He did not want to part with Mikasa at all. He was drawn to her, and it seemed she herself would not mind staying with him longer, but they could not remain alone any more than this. Otherwise he would do something stupid and regret it later. Of course no one was looking for them; otherwise they would have called. The thought made him bitter. He was supposed to be the guest of honour, but everyone had already forgotten him. And Mikasa's absence... "Eren definitely won't notice," she said quietly, and at that very moment the sky tore open in a bright flash, and rain crashed down in a sheet onto the metal roof. Zeke leaned back in the seat again with a loud exhale. The damned rain had decided to finish him off completely. Drive him to the edge. He needed to go to sleep and walk Mikasa back, but... "Looks like we'll have to wait a little," he said, barely keeping the pleasure out of his voice. Despite everything, he wanted to keep tormenting himself, to go on talking as if nothing were wrong with the girl who would never be his. "Looks like it. Can I plug my phone in to charge, then?" "Sure. I'll find the cable..." He reached for the glove compartment, and at that same moment Mikasa leaned forward, slipping her phone into the space between the seats. Her hand bumped into his, and the phone dropped, wedging itself between the driver's seat and the cup holders. "Oh, damn." Mikasa reached for the phone, trying to squeeze between the seats and leaning farther forward, and Zeke almost stopped breathing as he watched her fumbling somewhere near his thighs. He gently placed his hand over hers, gathering the last scraps of self-control inside himself. With every second, holding himself together became harder. "Wait, I'll help," he said. Mikasa lifted her head. He looked into her wide-open eyes, at her lips glistening with gloss, and his gaze treacherously crawled lower, into the neckline of her top. Mikasa did not pull away. She looked at him strangely, longer than she should have, much longer. She was unbearably close, close enough for him to catch the faint trace of sweet perfume and the warmth of her breath. Rain hammered hard against the roof, and Mikasa leaned forward slightly, closer, a little more. Zeke could not stand it; he pulled her toward himself, finding her mouth with his. She did not push him away, and his heart leapt in his chest. Her lips were soft, sweet from alcohol, warm and inviting. He stroked her face gently, kissing her with more insistence, and Mikasa answered, deepening the kiss, reaching for him with her whole body, sliding her hand up his cheek and burying her fingers in his hair. Goose bumps ran over his skin. The kiss grew more insistent, turning from a fleeting weakness into a real intent to be close, and Zeke reached for her, touched the delicate line of her neck, moved lower over her shoulder. Mikasa leaned into him, pressing into his touch, making it clear: she wanted this. Wanted to be desired. Zeke broke the kiss. Without thinking for another second, he flung open the driver's door, and a moment later he was at the rear seat, climbing in and forcing Mikasa to move back. He covered her neck with quick kisses, whispering something about that idiot Eren, about how Eren did not deserve her, about his brother being either blind or simply stupid, and Mikasa arched under him as if she did not hear his words, only slid her hand into his hair again, tightening and releasing her fingers as though it pleased even her. The milky-white swell of her breasts tempted him in the neckline of her thin top. Zeke kissed them too, stroking the curve of her hips with his hands, pushing her skirt higher. Mikasa pushed him away. His heart missed a beat. She propped herself on her elbows, a little disheveled, eyes shining, and it seemed to him that she would jump up and fly away now, and all of this would turn out to be a dream, and in reality Zeke had simply drunk too much and fallen asleep on the sofa in the drawing room with thoughts of his younger brother's beautiful girlfriend. But Mikasa did not leave. She shifted closer, making him sit back against the seat, and climbed onto his thighs. Her skirt rode high, revealing her underwear, and Zeke reached for it, touching, caressing. Mikasa breathed harder, bending down to kiss him, pressing to him hungrily, as if trying to dissolve into him, to finally find what she had been missing so badly. And Zeke understood what she wanted. To be seen. To have something be for her. He understood it so well because he longed for the same thing himself. Mikasa reached for the fly of his trousers, deftly unzipped him, and his breath stopped for a moment when she ran her fingers over him, freeing him from beneath the elastic of his underwear. She exhaled quietly when he moved the edge of her underwear aside and touched her in return. So soft, hot, wet. Zeke pushed his fingers inside, imagining how he would enter her, and anticipation made his head spin. With trembling fingers, he dug into his trouser pocket. Please let him not have forgotten to shove his cardholder in there before leaving. The warm leather of the cardholder brought relief. Zeke fumbled blindly over it, finding the condom he had tucked away just in case. Mikasa intercepted it, nervously tugging at the edge of the wrapper as if in a rush, impatient. Zeke helped her roll it onto him, melting under the gentle touch of Mikasa's fingers. She was so malleable, so tender, that he could not hold back. He grabbed her hips and pulled her down onto him sharply. Mikasa moaned softly and immediately began to move. She threw her head back, exposing the delicate line of her neck, the damned triangular neckline of her top. Zeke stroked and squeezed her breast, kissed her bare skin chaotically, tugged the fabric up along with her bra, and closed his mouth over her nipple, biting lightly. Mikasa gave a quiet sob, rolling her hips. She sped up on her own, taking him deeper. Did she kiss Eren the same way? Moan like this with him? Melt in his hands like this? Zeke forbade himself to think about it, emptied his mind, narrowed down to a single point low in his body, gripped her soft hips, dug his fingers into them as if Mikasa might run away somewhere, and thrust up again and again. In that moment everything vanished: the flight, the exhaustion, the medical degree. His entire mind was concentrated on one thing: Mikasa, on her hot body taking him with more and more heat. He suddenly pulled her tight against him, pressed her hips down into his, threw his head back, and exhaled with the wave of pleasure that rolled over him.

***

Mikasa fixed her underwear, pulled her top down, lowered her skirt, and smoothed her disheveled hair. Zeke watched her lazily: her lips were swollen from kissing, and even in the white glare of the streetlamps, her cheeks showed a pleasant flush. The car windows were hopelessly fogged, hiding them from curious eyes. One more moment, and the magic of their union would hopelessly disappear, and Mikasa would once again become Eren's girlfriend. He needed to say something, but Zeke could no longer find any words. He only pulled Mikasa to him and kissed her demandingly. He did not want to let her go, return her to Eren, pretend nothing had happened. He did not want to lose to his younger brother in a game he had thought he did not even need. Had Eren noticed its beginning? Had he sensed the threat? Hardly. No. It was not even about him. Zeke simply did not want to lose her. Did not want her to choose someone who was not him. Did not want her choosing at all. To hell with games, with thoughts of getting under Eren's skin. Zeke, it seemed, felt truly alive for the first time. The rain gradually quieted. He wished it would drum on the roof forever, so he would not have to open the door and watch Mikasa go back into the house, stand beside someone else again, and pretend that nothing had happened. She was not hurrying either. Her gaze was shyly lowered to the floor. She smoothed the folds of her skirt for a long time, as though she too did not want to leave. The car door suddenly swung open, and Zeke flinched despite himself, looking at the boys and girls clustered outside, hunched against the chill. "See, I told you they'd be in the car," Eren said with a smirk, as if he had not noticed anything. Maybe he really had not. "What are you doing here?" "Came down for cigarettes. Then the rain started," Zeke said. "Oh... Fine. I'm calling a taxi. Are you coming with us?" He nodded toward Mikasa, and she nodded back. Zeke reluctantly climbed out of the car, releasing Mikasa into the coolness of the rainy night. Eren immediately threw an arm around her shoulders with an owner's ease and pulled her somewhere after him. Back into the house or toward the exit, Zeke no longer looked. He found the fresh pack of cigarettes on the seat, tore off the rest of the plastic, and pulled out another cigarette. He turned it between his fingers for a long time before forcing himself to look in the direction Mikasa had just gone. She was already not there. He lit the tip of the cigarette and slowly drew rancid smoke into his lungs. Cold seeped in through the half-open door. And inside him, all at once, he felt empty, lousy, and for some reason at ease.