Chapter Text
“What do you think I should choose, Eren?” Mikasa flaps around the two separate garments in distress, “The red dress, or the blue dress?”
“Calm down Keanu Reeves, this isn’t the Matrix.”
It’s Friday night, and it’s Jean’s idea that we all go out for ‘celebratory drinks’ - there’s nothing to celebrate, but I don’t partake in activities of the alcohol variety unless there’s some sort of occasion.
I’m a lightweight, get back in your cage.
“I don’t really like either of them. Do you have a coin that I can flip to help me decide? Or is there a third option?”
Sure, girls like asking me for fashion advice. Eren’s gay, he’ll make you look fierce. People need to stop looking at the world through a pinhole. I’m not a stereotypical twink consumed with Vogue magazines and lazing in sunbeds. I can barely put an outfit together, let alone talk fashion.
Mikasa’s an exception though, I’m allowed to be incredibly blunt about my opinion and I think she appreciates it that way.
No beating around the bush.
“I have a black one in the wardrobe that’s the same style as this one…” Mikasa tapers off, holding up the multi textile red and frowning at it.
“Go for that one, black suits you better anyway,” I say, waving a hand dismissively and checking my phone for any notifications.
Since my freshman year I’ve kept up with a fair few pen pals through social media. Mikasa says that I’m obsessed, but I just like meeting diverse people. I love to learn, find out what makes them so different yet so human at the same time.
Human’s a nice way to describe it. We’re all seemingly built-in with the same morals and ideals from birth, though this is mainly attributed to the mechanics of society and religion.
Every once in a while though, you meet someone who doesn’t conform, and it’s these non-conformers who excite me the most. The majority of the time I don’t think they realise how fascinating they truly are, which is a bit of a shame, really.
“But I always wear black,” Mikasa pouts, scrunching the dresses in her hands, “and Jean said that I look good wearing some colour.”
I figure that it must be weird for most guys to witness their sister having an existential crisis over clothing while wearing none at all. I’m used to it.
“I doubt that Horseface would mind,” I don’t bother looking up from my phone, I know she’s going to reprimand me anyway, “Besides, he’s only going to end up taking it off at the end of the night anyway. What’s the prob-OUCH!”
The clothes hanger hits be just beneath my left god damn eye and she doesn’t even look sorry.
“Forget what I said, wear the blue one,” I seeth, rubbing at my abused skin.
The roundest ass you have ever seen - no, I’m serious, it looks like it’s made for promoting squats - turns to me instead as she picks through her wardrobe for the aforementioned dress.
Honestly, there hasn’t been this must commotion over a dress since that shit storm went down on tumblr a few months ago. God, don’t get me started on that.
I stood underneath several different lights (even the fluorescent lights in the supermarket), I stared at a white wall for five minutes before checking it again, and I told myself over and over again that the lighting behind the dress was natural.
The dress never did look blue to me. It was positively traumatizing.
But even then I didn’t get hit in the fucking face by my petulant sister, just because she can’t independently dress herself.
To get my own back, I take it upon myself to rearrange most of her bedroom while she’s in the shower. She won’t notice right away. That’s the beauty of it all, regardless of how hard she’s probably going to punch me in the face later on. Sibling rivalry, am I right?
Once I’m done shoving her socks and underwear into the same draw with a thorough jumbling for good measure I head back across the hall and into the room I share with Armin and Jean, praying to myself that the smell of Jean’s douchebag perfume has faded away like it was just a bad dream.
It’s wishful thinking, but chasing him around with a can of Febreeze for a good 10 minutes definitely raises my spirits.
“What happened to your eye, Eren?” Armin asks from the bed, dousing his cheekbones in peach coloured blusher.
I don’t answer right away, too consumed as Jean helps me try to yank up my skinny jeans. It’s quite the commotion. If you didn’t know what we were doing you’d probably assume it was some extra aggressive sexual activity.
“Mikasa threw something at me because she’s incapable of accepting the truth,” I gasp out, laid on the bed with my legs against the wall. Trying to wiggle my hips while Jean pulls at the waistband.
“Fuck, Eren,” the two-toned grunts, sweating slightly at the brow, “They’re not going to fucking fit!”
A whine escapes me and I dig my thumbs under my waistband to try and assist him.
“They do! I’ve managed to get them on before!”
The zipper had a habit of falling down, so of course my superior intellect came to the conclusion that it would be a great idea to forgo having one altogether. I sewed them closed, and now I’m left with a feeling like someone has gone at my thighs with a cheesegrater due to Jean’s long-ass finger nails ‘needed’ for playing guitar as we struggle to get them on.
I feel sorry for Mikasa’s coochie.
I use up the rest of my miracles for this lifetime getting the obtrusive material over my hipbones. It takes a good ten minutes of shaking my ass at Jean in an ‘I told you so’ dance before I realise I won’t be able to piss without literally tearing them off.
The stupid Horse nearly pissed himself enough for the both of us at the hilarity.
“I-I can’t believe it,” He wheezes, rubbing a stray tear from his eye, “For a guy who get’s straight A’s you do some really stupid shit sometimes.”
It speak several unheard prayers to the Holy Trinity so I can calm myself down and not attempt to throw a punch at him while Mikasa’s still in the apartment.
When I get Jean alone though, it’s going to be a god damn free-for-all.
Mikasa’s protective of Jean, I don’t think he realizes just why she is.
It used to be me who got all the attention in highschool, right up until I told her that I’m only into dick and reality hit her in the face like a particularly wet fish.
I knew she’d been crushing for a long time, but as my adopted sister it felt too insestial for me to feel remotely ‘okay’ about it.
I owe Armin for telling me how to go about that one. He’d transferred to our school when we were sophomores and it had taken him a while to realize that it wasn’t ‘sisterly love’ she’d been devoting herself to.
I guess I owe Horseface too, for being her love interest after that. Even though he hadn’t the faintest clue... He’s totally into her as well, but I think Mikasa would cut my head off if I told him how she felt.
“If it happens, it happens. Don’t rush and spoil things.”
Yeah, they’re going to be really fucking old before they admit their feelings to each other.
After a change of jeans and Armin’s few minutes to parade around the apartment in his latest dress with our undivided attention, we finally leave.
We’re only going to one of the bars in Sina, so we take the last bus at 8:15pm. We’ll probably get a taxi back if we decide that walking is a bad idea, and I’ve a feeling that tonight, with the heels Armin’s wearing, it probably will be.