#youmaynot

A fanfic I wrote, and At the end of Hope translated from Spanish. Enjoy!

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Brat.

It’s three in the morning and you are sleeping by my side. I am holding my cell phone with my left hand, because stubborn as you are, you refuse to let go of my right hand.

It’s odd. Talking to you like this when I can clearly see the rise and fall of your chest, knowing that I could wake you.

I suppose the crux of the matter is that I could not tell you what I want to face to face.

Or maybe I don’t want to, honestly.

It’s not that I can’t, because I know I can look at you in the eye and tell you “Hey, Ackerman, I’m leaving you.” I can lie to you and tell you that I don’t have feelings for you anymore and all the other nonsense that your impulsive brat can say and mean.

But I don’t want to do it. I know you would believe me, because a part of you keeps thinking that I am just cold hearted when I am not. That I am with you because it’s convenient, that it’s easy for me to have someone to cook for me in the mornings and sleep by my side now that I am in the hospital.

Yet, truth is, I not only see how you sleep by my side, I also see the black circles under your eyes, Ackerman, and they are hideous. I am not going to lie to you: you are not pretty right now, you look haggard from the lack of sleep and all the crying you do when you think I am not watching you-no, you don’t fool me, and I know you cry all the time and that you cover your face with your scarf when you suspect that I am going to catch you, when I did after the first tear had barely fallen.

Look, I could go down memory lane and muse about how we met and all those stupid things right now, like how you were trying to drag Jäger out of the bar, and how you emptied a whole bottle of whisky on my head when I refused to accept your apologies for his vomit on my cravat.

But that is not important, because you washed my hair about a hundred times, and that more than made up for it and anything else you could have done. Even if you hadn’t washed it, I forgave you everything the first night that we spend together.

Anyways, truth is I had to prepare you for I am no longer here, and all that bullshit that the doctors are saying that seems to be taken out of a soap opera.

I really don’t care, I don’t do it because they told me, I do it because you are strong, and you don’t deserve lies.

Ackerman, I’m dying. Like, I should burn a whole temple to whatever deity in existence heard me if I make it to next week. I mean if I wasn’t atheist of course.

Still we both know that is not going to happen, and if I make it to tomorrow night it will be a miracle. They already warned me about my organs starting to fail tomorrow, no matter how well I feel right now, and then I won’t be able to talk to you.

So I will tell you right now in this long ass message that cost all the other messages that you had in your cell phone.

I’m in love with you. I’m in love with you and always will be. No, I am not saying this because I’m dying, rather because I am sure the things I love-the few things I do-are permanent. Like lemon ice-cream, damn it I love lemon ice cream and cleaning, ah, that clean smell.

Whatever, you are more important than lemon ice cream and that clean smell and all those other things. Really I am OK with dying if you keep on living.

So I leave with no regrets...

No, fuck that, I regret a bunch of things: I would have liked been able to give you a child, or two, so they could kiss you in the morning like I do, but I am too weak to try, though I would love to.

Shit, I would love to have a family with you and fight with our sons’ teachers and chase away our daughters’ boyfriends. I would love to have to explain to our children that no, we are not killing each other when they hear all the ruckus in our room.

I laugh at the idea. I makes me laugh just thinking about it.

Nevertheless, those are pipe dreams, Ackerman. Truth is I am going to die in a few hours, and you will be without me. And that’s fine, because I know you are strong. I don’t know how much you love me, but if you don’t love me as much as I do...

Let’s not talk about this. It won’t end well. So when you are in front of the mound under which I will be sleeping, I want you to erase this message. You have all the time from when you receive this-whether I am awake or not-until my burial to listen to this message and cry like Armin would.

Then, you are going to erase it. And you will keep the other one, the one you will tell the doctors and your friends that I left you because I don’t want them to curse me when I am on “paradise,” if that shit even exists.

Lies, I don’t give a fuck about what they think or have to say: I just realized, while I push away a few strands of your hair from your face, how pathetic I sound.

You know me, and I know you hear how desperate I am. Even my fucking voice is trembling.

Because I don’t want to leave you alone. I know everyone else has left you alone and in the end, I am no better than them.

But I’m in love with you Mikasa. I love you so much that I feel I’m going to take you with me, and no, don’t misunderstand me: you have to stay and live and fuck some guy who gives you gray-eyed children, each of them with their own red scarf.

I don’t know what else to tell you in this message, I feel like I ruined everything, because I always ruin everything. You already told me that it’s because I’m old, and even if I always make fun of it, truth is that yes: I have an old soul, that feels like a teenager when it involves your lips in mine or your hands wrapped around my neck, or how good your legs feel around my hips.

And I feel like I ruin everything because the deal was that you were going to live about fifteen years more than me, because of the age gap between us, not fifty or sixty years.

I’m sorry. Ah... I’m sorry, I can’t, I... I better move on to the next message, yes? The one that’s for every day...

...

Maybe it was me the one who didn’t want to let go of your hand.

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Mikasa burst out laughing. The man next to her laughed in a similar manner, and tenderly looked at her. She was used to this kind of gestures.

“I can’t believe it...” he whispered against her lips over and over again. “You are going to be my wife... Mikasa Ackerman, my wife... Who would have imagined? My wife... We will have children and a life together. We will even clean the house together, just like you obsess about.”

Mikasa smiled. She was happy. Happy because she loved this man who made her laugh, and kept her warm during the cold nights.

This man who understood that there had been an Eren in her life. That had understood that he was like her brother and not because of that their relationship was in danger.

Yes, Jean was understanding.

There was only one thing that he would never understand.

“I am going out,” she told him, warmly burrowed in his side. “I will be back after dark.”

Yes, only one thing. Because he didn’t know about it.

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Mikasa looked at the tombstone in front of her. It seemed like minutes to her, when in reality it had been hours during which she pressed and pressed the repeat button on her voicemail.

“This is goodbye. I will never be able to forget completely about you, but I can honestly say that I don’t love you like I used to. If it makes you feel better, know that he is a good guy, and I know you would say something like he has a horse face, but he makes me happy. It has been seven years after all... So...yes, this is goodbye.”

But her words were at odds with her actions.

Because she still pressed the button twenty-seven times after her last goodbye.

It was a somewhat cloudy autumn afternoon when the words rang in the air one last time.

And then, Mikasa Ackerman deleted the message.

And Levi’s last words died in her ears.

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