The market was alive with colors, smells, and clamor. Fabric stalls fluttered like sails in the wind, spices dusted the air with cinnamon and cumin, and voices mingled in loud bargaining. It was rare for all five of them—Mikasa, Historia, Annie, Sasha, and Hange—to be free of duties. So when Hange proposed a day out in town, no one argued.
"We're buying something fun today," Hange said, pointing at a rack of oversized sunglasses. "No exceptions."
"You said that about the weird scarves last week," Historia said, arms folded. "And then you wore it inside out."
"I stand by that decision," Hange replied proudly.
Sasha was already sprinting toward a stand selling skewers of roasted meat. "I'm starving!" she shouted, ignoring the confused glances from townsfolk.
Mikasa followed at a steady pace, hands tucked into her coat pockets. She didn't say much. She rarely did. But her eyes wandered, cataloging everything with quiet interest: the leather-bound notebooks, the handmade trinkets, the bottles of oils and perfumes nestled in straw-lined baskets.
As the others moved from stall to stall—Annie curiously examining a rack of silver hairpins, Historia haggling over a pair of soft gloves—Mikasa lingered at a small booth tucked behind a curtain of dried herbs. There, glass bottles caught the morning light like captured gems. Jasmine. Sandalwood. Eucalyptus. Orange blossom.
The shopkeeper smiled. "Looking for gifts?"
Mikasa nodded once. "Four bottles. Different scents."
She paid quietly and slipped the small bag into her satchel before rejoining the others, who were now trying to convince Annie to try candied chestnuts.
"I don't do sweets," Annie muttered, though she didn't look especially angry when Sasha popped one in her mouth and moaned dramatically.
"You're missing out," Sasha said, cheeks puffed. "These are life-changing. Literally—my soul is different now."
"Don't say 'soul' around Hange," Historia whispered. "She'll start one of her lectures."
"I heard that!" Hange called from three stalls away, where she was trying on a ridiculous fur hat. "And for the record, souls are probably gas-based and weightless!"
Annie rolled her eyes and wandered off with Mikasa trailing behind her. They didn't speak, but they didn't have to. Occasionally, Annie pointed out a stall or Mikasa paused to inspect something, and that was enough.
By the time the sun dipped lower and the market began to thin out, the girls had acquired a strange assortment of goods: a tiny dagger Historia wouldn't stop admiring, a loaf of sweet bread Sasha carried like treasure, and Hange's fur hat (which she claimed "increased her visibility by 67%").
They walked back toward the barracks slowly, their feet sore but their spirits lighter. As they reached the gates, Sasha sighed dramatically. "I never want this day to end."
"It will," Annie said flatly.
"Rude."
In their shared room that evening, the girls changed out of boots and jackets, settling into a comfortable sprawl. Sasha curled up with her bread. Historia was flipping through a journal she'd bought. Hange tried to balance a spoon on her nose. Annie, ever the loner, was perched on her bunk cleaning her nails with her knife.
Mikasa stood up, rummaged through her bag, and wordlessly approached each one.
She handed Historia a slim bottle with a pale pink tint. "Rose," she said.
Historia blinked, then smiled. "You got us gifts?"
Sasha's eyes lit up as Mikasa gave her one with a bright citrus label. "Sweet orange," Mikasa murmured.
"No way! You're the best!" Sasha held it up to her nose and inhaled deeply. "Oh my god. I smell like sunshine."
Hange's was lavender, of course. "Helps with nerves," Mikasa said.
Hange grinned. "Now I can smell like a functioning adult."
She walked up to Annie last, more slowly. The two stood quietly for a beat too long.
"Sandalwood," Mikasa said, holding the bottle out.
Annie looked at it, then up at her. "You remembered I liked this?"
Mikasa didn't answer. She didn't need to. She turned and went back to her own bunk, leaving Annie staring down at the tiny bottle in her palm.
It was quiet after that. The room was filled with the soft, mingling scents of oils and fresh bread, the occasional rustle of blankets, and Sasha humming under her breath as she massaged the orange oil into her wrists.
Annie held her bottle tightly, not using it—just holding it, quietly thoughtful.
And across the room, Mikasa finally allowed herself a small smile.