Mikasa held her knees close to her chest, as she solemnly watched the dimly lit wall. She heard the ladder creak, but she paid no attention to it. Eren silently sat beside her, studying her drained features. She had no more tears left to cry, and no energy to mourn.

"I knew you'd be here." he muttered quietly, thinking back to the fact she never missed a sunrise. "I thought that maybe when the sun rose, it would all be over. Like a bad dream." she muttered back to him, her voice muffled into her knees.

"Mikasa-"

"I know that's not gonna happen. I'm not that delusional." she interrupted him.

He nodded quietly, not completely believing her statement. She still watched the sunrise closely, with a gleam of hope in her eyes. He hated her to destroy her spirit even further, but there was something he really needed to say.

"Mikasa, the date on the letter..."

"It's tomorrow right? They'll be six feet under tomorrow?" she asked, her voice hoarse and dehydrated.

He nodded slowly, waiting for her to continue.

"I'm going. I'll talk to the commander after this." she said coldly.

"You should eat something first-"

"No-"

"Stop interrupting me." he snapped.

She didn't react, and continued to stare ahead. The sun was in full circle, and she hadn't woken up yet. A single tear rolled down her cheek, as her last strand of hope snapped.

Eren wiped it away with his thumb, and rested his hand on top of hers. "Don't lose hope." he whispered.

"Right. Unless you want to tell me it was all some sick joke, I don't know what you expect."

He squeezed her hand lightly, "Don't lose hope in . Meaning, don't lose sight of what's in front of you." he explained.

She didn't answer. She heard him, but didn't understand him. If she didn't know anything about herself before, how could she possibly know now?

...

Shortly after, Mikasa found the commander in his office. She explained the situation, and he was surprisingly understanding. He told her that the next wagon could come at eleven that night, if she wanted to take it.

He informed her that she had to be back by the morning of the 28th, which was the day after tomorrow. She agreed, and offered her thanks.

She spent the rest of her day in the cabin, because she simply didn't have enough energy to get through a day of training.

Sasha came by at one point, explaining to her how worried everyone was. Mikasa told her that she'd be fine, she just needed time to be alone. Even though neither of them believed her statement, Sasha nodded and left.

Mikasa didn't show up for dinner that night either, so her other friends had yet to see her.

When everyone was asleep around ten, she packed a few things into a bag, such as clothes and water.

As she rustled through her coats, a small cloth fell from the pocket of her coat. It floated to the floor, and she went to pick it up.

She gazed down at the white table napkin, with embroidered flowers around the sides. Her stomach turned as she thought back to the time her mother helped her sew.

Mikasa's mother was an incredible tailor, and could stitch up any of Mikasa's clothes that wore holes. It was the closest thing to magic Mikasa had ever seen, and made her mother promise that she would teach her one day. If Mikasa's mother could do anything better than sewing it was keeping promises, because she patiently taught Mikasa how to stitch fabric together. Of course Mikasa was only ten, so her stitching was choppy. Her mother only offered to help her, and never criticized her. She helped her embroider pretty pink flowers around the edges of the table napkin, and Mikasa had cherished it ever since.

Her eyes flooded with tears looking back at the sweet memory, and the overwhelming grief caught up with her.

"Mom I don't know what to do..." she whispered, bringing the napkin up to her cheeks. It still held her mother's scent, as if she never left. She wept into the napkin, using the fabric to dry her overflowing tears.

A soft knock was heard from the door, as she jumped at the faint interruption. After quickly drying the remaining tears, she made her way over. She opened the door a jar, and peeped through the crack to see who it was.

She locked her eyes with Eren's, and her eyes slowly drifted down to the two pieces of bread he was holding. An instant rush of hunger rushed over her, as she realized she had not eaten for almost two days.

She stepped out of the cabin, and closed the door behind her.

"You should eat before you go." he whispered.

It warmed her heart that there was someone who cared for her, even if that person happened to be the one that troubled her the most.

"Thank you." she said, taking a piece of bread from his hands. She bit it into it, feeling a rush of satisfaction.

"When do you leave?"

"Twenty minutes." she answered.

Her mind was brought back to the fact she had to see her parents corpses tomorrow, and officially say goodbye. She was scared, really scared. She doubted she could do it, and was afraid that if she left the camp she wouldn't come back.

"Eren?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you come with me?" she asked quietly.

The broken and desperate girl Eren gazed down at now was unrecognizable, and it physically pained him. But he knew if he was strong enough to move on from his parents death, Mikasa would be too.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

Her hand quivered in fear and uncertainty, her mind spiraled. He quickly cupped her small hands in his, instantly stabilizing them.

She slowly nodded, "You can say no... I just... I just really need someone right now." she muttered.

She didn't know why, but there wasn't anyone else in the world she could ask right now. Even if she wanted to rely on Jean or Sasha, she couldn't. It had to be Eren, no one else. She couldn't put her trust in anyone but the spoiled, cocky, and irritable brat. It didn't make sense, that's just how it was.

He nodded, "I'll go. Let me just go get a jacket, I'll be back." he told her, before running across the way to his cabin.

She stepped back inside her own cabin, to quickly stuff the napkin into her bag. She met Eren back outside, his coat hung over the arm that was holding a dimly lit lantern. The lantern flickered in the breeze, yet never blew out completely.