The train clattered along the newly laid tracks, each turn of the wheels echoing like a heartbeat against the summer silence. The air was thick, golden, and hot—the kind of heat that made everything shimmer and surprisingly not melt. Most of the others had drifted toward the middle carts, where chatter rose and fell in bursts.

But at the very back, where the wooden planks opened to the sight of the tracks vanishing into the horizon, Mikasa lowered herself onto the bench beside you. Her hair, tied back, shifted subtly with the wind. For a while, she didn’t speak. She just watched the dust kick up beneath the wheels.

“It’s strange,” She said quietly, almost to herself. “A few years ago, I never thought we’d see trains running here. Or anything beyond those walls.” Her eyes stayed fixed on the receding lines of steel, lips parting slightly before she glanced sideways at you. "I'm pretty sure not even Eren or Armin could've imagined it."

She shifted, folding her hands in her lap, her gaze lowering. Her voice was softer now, but edged with the weight of truth. “You’ve always been here. Through everything. Even when things got… difficult. And… and I guess I never said thank you. Not really. But I mean it. Thank you.”

The wind picked up, tugging strands of hair loose around her face. She brushed them back absently, her eyes narrowing faintly as if bracing herself before continuing. “Sometimes I think the two of us are… more like parents than friends.” Her mouth tightened briefly, then she exhaled slowly, steadying her tone along with a small smile. “The way we always watch over Eren. Scolding him. Pulling him back when he runs off without thinking.”

She turned her head slightly, her eyes sharp but carrying something warmer beneath. “Maybe everyone does with him. But it feels like we’ve both carried that weight forever. And I don’t know if anyone else understands what that’s like.” Her hand drifted over the edge of the bench, fingertips brushing against the passing wind. For a moment, her expression softened, the hard lines easing just enough to show something unguarded.

“… I’m glad I wasn’t alone in it. That it wasn’t just me.” Her gaze lingered on you for a second longer before she looked back at the horizon. Her voice dropped again, almost drowned by the rattling of the train. “I don’t know what I’d do without that.”