The door clicked softly behind her. Annie leaned against it for a breathless moment, chest rising and falling as if she'd run the entire training field. The quiet of the barracks hallway had offered no comfort—only echoes of what she'd seen. Mikasa's half-naked back, flexed and relaxed under Historia's hands. The sound of faint laughter and soft sighs, the curve of Mikasa's neck tilted back. And that kiss—Historia's mouth on her throat.
Annie had fled before the rest could burn into her mind, but it was too late. The images clawed at her.
She turned the faucet on, letting cold water rush from the tap. Her fingers shook as she splashed it over her face. It did nothing.
She leaned forward, gripping the edges of the sink. Her reflection was pale, her eyes wide with something like fury. Or desire. Or both.
Her body ached in a way she hated. The kind of ache that made her feel out of control—weak. But it was there, curling low in her stomach, pulsing between her legs.
Her hand drifted down, slowly. Almost unwillingly. She cursed under her breath, whispering, "It's just to shut it up. That's all."
Her fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her underwear. The heat waiting for her there was embarrassing. Infuriating. She shut her eyes, letting the memory overtake her—Mikasa's soft moan, imagined now in Annie's ear. The flash of toned skin, glistening with sweat. Annie's breath caught.
She bit her lip hard, stifling a sound. Her other hand braced the sink. The ache deepened. Her fingers moved slower, dragging the tension out, desperate to picture Mikasa turning toward her instead of Historia. That mouth claiming hers. That strength pinning her wrists, forcing Annie to finally surrender, just once—
Another soft sound escaped her lips. Her thighs trembled.
She tried to hold back. But it built like fire behind her eyelids, a cruel pulse of everything she couldn't say. Couldn't have.
She pressed her forehead to the mirror, hand still moving, body tight and trembling. "Damn you…" she whispered, barely audible. She wasn't sure if she meant Mikasa or herself.
Her breath hitched as the tight coil inside her finally began to unwind, fingers moving more urgently, desperate for release. The ache that had gnawed at her softened, replaced by a shuddering wave that washed through her entire body.
Annie's eyes fluttered shut, mouth slightly open as the tension broke free in sharp, trembling pulses. She pressed her forehead harder against the cool mirror, trembling from the mix of exhaustion and release.
Then the dam broke.
Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, mixing with the faint sheen of sweat on her skin. She couldn't hold it back — the frustration, the jealousy, the helplessness all tangled together like a storm.
Silent sobs shook her shoulders as she finally let herself fall apart. Her fingers stilled, resting limply on her thighs, the quiet bathroom her only witness.
"Why…" she whispered brokenly, voice cracking, "why does it have to hurt so much?"
The emptiness beside her was suffocating. She wanted Mikasa. She wanted to be the one with her. Not this ache. Not this shadow of someone else.
Annie wiped at her face roughly, trying to steady her breath, trying to reclaim the control that slipped away with every tear.
But beneath it all, there was a stubborn, aching hope—quiet and fierce—that maybe one day Mikasa would look at her like that. Like she belonged.
For now, though, all she had was the silence—and the lingering taste of ash on her lips.