𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 | 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧

𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈 : 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦

There she was, sitting in front of you. That ever-radiant smile stamped so perfectly as her dimples created loving caverns along kind creases. Even when six some-odd years in the past, not a day had gone by the longer you looked into her brown eyes.

She was herself. She was beautiful. She was very much alive.

"Sasha?" you asked the ghost.

"Mhmm?" she hummed in reply, her mouth full and lips covered in pound cake crumbs.

"Can I ask why you said no when Connie asked you to marry him?"

Sasha threw herself back and roared, chewed-up cake flying in several directions. Her laughter shook the sewing studio's tallest table. She nearly knocked your precariously resting dessert spoon onto the ground. Legs kicked her dress like rippling waves on the shore the harder she cackled. She took a break to swallow some mashed-up dessert, only to return to thunderous laughter.

"You think I'd marry a man like Connie?!" she asked, wiping a tear away. "You have so much to learn about love, little one."

"But I don't understand! He's funny! He's nice! He's free!"

"He's also my best friend," Sasha sassed. She pointed her utensil like a dagger aimed at your heart. "He only asked because his mother said she'd disinherit him if he didn't propose to someone before running off to California. He knew I'd say no, so we hammed it up for the family and had a good laugh."

"But why wouldn't you want to marry someone you're already friends with?"

"Would you marry Eren?" Sasha asked.

"Mrs. Yeager said I could have her wedding ring if I did."

"Remind me to have a word with Carla later this week. Promising away rings and children without consulting me. Again," an old voice cut through the fun.

It was Father.

He was himself again, too. Bright and lively with warm-looking skin and even warmer eyes. Crows' feet kissed his corners from full days' worth of smiling while hard wrinkles shadowed his brow from decades of worrying.

"Oh, don't worry, I would never let her make such a big mistake," Sasha reassured your father before turning back to you and flicking her short-pronged fork like a wand. "When you grow up and actually fall in love with someone, you'll regret selling your heart away so young. Now, take a bite of that cake before I do."

You grinned and shoved the sponge into your greedy little mouth. Strawberries embraced your tongue in the sweetest hug. It was unlike the usual bakery cakes Sasha brought along. This one was lighter, the berries juicier, the cream fluffier, as it melted in your mouth.

"Your partner in crime must be halfway to Chicago by now," Father said. He spun around a mannequin with Sasha's red skirt settled snugly on the bottom. "Who will you drive your poor father crazy with now?"

"Well..." Sasha trailed off as her cheeks flowered in poppy petals. "It may be too early to say anything, but I met a man. At a party."

You jumped up from your seat in excitement, causing Father to flinch.

"You did?!" you cried. "Why haven't you said anything 'till now! What does he look like? What does he act like? Where does he–"

"If you slow down, I'll tell you," Sasha said. You leaned forward in anticipation, hanging on every impending word. "He has floppy blonde hair and pretty brown eyes. He's very nice, even more handsome, even if he takes himself a little too seriously, but I'm softening him up. And do you want to know the best part?"