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in this world
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Sasha is good at dreaming.
She dreamed often: about worn down aprons and soft clinking of ladles; potatoes and carrots and steaming pot of chicken soup that cools long after coming home. Creamy stew with goat milk and large mushrooms grown under rich soil of rainy days, marinated colorful herbs and edible pretty flowers. Or a small portion of anything before warm stomach and contented smile; she isn’t picky.
Connie is good at being convinced.
He had faith in everything he wants to believe: hope and assurance and other unnecessary, taboo things in the unforgiving world they live in. Every night he lied there hearing, two bunks away; when Armin quietly read Eren a book of their shared world; when Reiner hushed impossible promises to Berthold. The languages they used were strange, hopeful, enthralling. Every night he listened to his mother’s laugh, right after he falls asleep, somewhere deep in his too-vivid dreams; in his world, they were alright.
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One day, those two meet.
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“Sometimes I feel like seeing it,” Sasha confessed, in the middle of hand-to-hand combat training; brown eyes glinted almost unnaturally under the sun. “I mean, when this titan business ends, and then we have nothing else to worry about. And I’m sure it will end, sooner or later.”
“I know, right?” Connie sighed, standing on his hands while Sasha danced in intricate circular motions around him. The other trainees stared at them oddly. “Just look at them. They are too tense. I’d give my soul to see them just live, like normal people, without titan and tension and shit.”
“And start falling in love,” she added, making large signs with an arm as if elaborating something big and significant. “Or, admitting they fall in love. Get married, live happy and full, have enough kids to fill the whole Maria. I can imagine weddings—” she turned excited, “—big party, spoon-feedings, titanic cakes.”
“Oh God.” Connie laughed and that broke his balance and he fell to the grass. In turn she giggled while rolling on his back, hysterical; the prospect the whole squad’s romance and the hilarity of it all brought tears in their eyes.
Connie was a bit scared of how easy it was to believe in her dreams.
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Those talks became a routine, then. Wherever they had the chance (breakfast lunch dinner trainings errands shouting between bathroom walls) they would engage in long, serious talks about who should get married with whom.
The first had to be Franz and Hannah; that much was obvious. The problem was the second – Sasha couldn’t choose between numerous possibilities of couples, and Connie’s suggestions just added wilder options to her head – not that she needed them. Trainees started getting headache from hearing the two bicker everywhere; and it started to become too much when the people they were talking about were in hearing distance.
It had been a relatively peaceful dinner until Sasha declared Armin and Christa would be oh my god most adorable couple ever.
In horror Armin saw Ymir twitching murderously behind them; teeth bared and inhumanely sharp (what the hell). Eren was gaping visibly – Mikasa saw this as a perfect chance to shove yet another bread down his mouth. And because someone decided their lives were not cruel enough, Connie concluded that since Christa would be with Armin, Ymir would have to marry Eren and Mikasa (Jean snapped his fork at the same second Eren and marry and Mikasa were put together at one sentence).
Armin and Christa shrunk to their respectful seats, already hugging each other in fear. Connie and Sasha high-fived each other at this success; dodging fork spears and knife stabbings aimed their ways down the hall.
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Everything started going even more downhill when Connie declared, in ways anyone could misinterpret, that Jean and Annie had perfect height for each other. It took the combined power of Berthold, Reiner, and Marco to prevent (further) casualties, performing excellent teamwork only seen in most dangerous battles. Their instructor was very proud.
Nevertheless, the deed was already done: the next day Jean and Annie sat closely at the same table, muttering something about revenge and idiots who don’t even deserve to live.
Marco, who intended to join Military Police with them, began reevaluating his choice of life.
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Many nights later passed, just like that; there were about fifty ideas and thirty-seven matchmaking attempts (not counting the “if we really have to say, Marco is already married to Sina, Reiner to Rose, and Berthold to Maria. Seriously they are too dedicated for this,”) before everyone gave up. It was exactly when they became accustomed to it – exactly when the ruckus became familiar, contented part of their daily lives – that Connie and Sasha finally stopped.
For the first time in three years, dinner was silent. Tomorrow, when the first light broke, Squad One Hundred and Four would graduate; their chests filled their stomachs in heavy ways food never did.
Instead of eating, they quietly prayed.
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“Hey, Connie.”
He turned slowly, from the starry night above his head, to see Sasha quietly closing the pantry door behind her.
“How rare of you to finish eating this quick,” Connie greeted as Sasha joined to stand beside him at the balcony. The others were probably still trying to finish dinner, and Sasha flashed their general direction a grin. The darkness made her teeth looked even whiter, and there were tiny shadows lengthening the tip of her lashes. “You nervous too, Connie?”
“Nope,” Connie replied hurriedly, and then realized what she was talking about. “I mean, yeah. A bit. It still feels weird, you know; in few hours we would be up there. As in, real soldiers, actual titan fighting and stuff.”
“I will miss this,” Sasha sighed, and Connie quietly sucked in a breath. “These three years, our friends, every single crazy night I spent here. Not much, probably, but hey—” she smiled in a way that reminded Connie how much of a soldier she was, “—this feels safe, you know? And it’s nice. Makes me hope to come back to this life, later, after we finish the job. Just a couple more years, and that is enough. I'll always look forward for those grand weddings.”
And Connie knew that it wasn’t. She didn’t ask much, but Connie knew how tight she held these dreams, directly to her heart; and it was never, ever enough.
(He could stand a titan. Titans were big, and solid; ironically real. But the future was uncertain, and frightening; it was small things, like this, that made things different to what humans like them were made for –the picture of old photographs, white dresses, promises of forever; tiny reaching hands, warm meal for three – a contented smile, crinkled around the edge and perfect.)
And he believed them. In his world, they were alright.
“Yeah,” Connie finally found his voice steady, reassuring; he was glad he could provide it to her. “Just like Eren said: if we want it, we gonna fight for it; and I know it's gonna worth a million times over. And by the way, Armin and Christa’s baby aside, I still think Mikasa in tuxedo would look cute.” Both of them laughed. “Hey, I know. I’ve got an awesome idea. In the future, when we finish slaying all titans, we would have to remove the Gate.”
“Oh,” Sasha followed his train of thoughts like she always did, “then we start planting roses and vines on the walls, just like Garrison’s insignia--”
“It would make an awesome wedding arch – with bell towers and all, just like Hannah's description.”
“And there will be parties, like, everyday.”
“God.” They choked on their own ideas. “Sometimes you are just so brilliant,” Sasha laughed, the stars glinted on the corner of her eyes, one falling down to earth. “Promise?”
Connie grinned. “Promise.”
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“…Are we done watching those two,” the boys except Armin sighed behind the windows, exasperatedly, but their tone was fond. The girls shushed them, though it was futile; since the whole squad could barely stifle a laugh.
“And all this time, they think they are playing cupid on us.”
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