A/N: Enjoy! More notes at the bottom.

Mikasa lifted a lock of her hair, examining it in the small mirror situated in the girl's barracks. Her hair was soft, even with the roughness of the soap she used when she bathed, washing herself all over with the same, sudsy bar. She knew of some people who used different types of soaps and conditioning agents to make their hair softer and more fragrant, but Mikasa didn't really see the point. Why waste money on such a thing? Especially when she did nothing but comb her hair to make it the silky texture it often was.

It shone in the dim, flickering candlelight as Mikasa did just that, the teeth of her comb untangling the loose knots left by the day. She couldn't help but take her time, running her fingers through it, all the way down it's length, then starting again at her scalp and doing it again. She never really noticed before, but she really liked the length it had grown to.

Mikasa pursed her lips and ran the comb through once more.

One of the things Eren noticed about her was her hair. Not that it was beautiful, (a compliment she'd received many times), he more saw how long it was, whether she'd combed it, if she'd slept on it wrong. It was a strange thing to notice, but Mikasa clung to it. If he was going to notice anything about her, she'd take it.

When it had been just Eren, Armin, and herself living together in the landfill, the nights were cold and they all huddled together for warmth as they slept. Eren, more often than not, buried his face in her hair as he slept. And every time she smiled, even if he left it damp from his drool. She liked to feel his soft breath, that reassurance that he was alive still, and it soothed her worried heart.

"Sorry," Eren had murmured, eyes still closed with sleep, as he rubbed at her damp hair groggily. Mikasa smiled though, feeling the warmth in her heart from the gesture, even if it couldn't translate to actual, physical warmth in her body. She'd shivered, bringing the scarf up closer around her mouth.

Armin tended to sleep later than both of them, lying like a log beside them as Eren definitely didn't do his best to clean her hair. Although he wasn't much later than Eren. She was sure, if she let them, they would both stay asleep until the afternoon.

It was a joke she'd would have made before, but not under the current circumstances. Too many people didn't wake up in the mornings, after the cold cold nights on the floor of the warehouse-turned-refugee shelter. And Armin was just so small. She always argued on him being snuggled between her and Eren, so that they could both make sure he was safely warmed. Eren tended to run hot, and Mikasa was strong against the frost of the night. Armin had a strong mind and intuitiveness, but he was physically soft and delicate, enough for the winter chill to devour him whole. But he insisted that they rotate, fairly sharing each other's heat each night.

She'd worry, and hug Armin's tiny frame closer to her, when it was her turn to be in the center, and Eren would curl into her other side. This was when Eren would smash his face into her hair, even if he complained about it itching his nose, he always did it, breathing his warmth onto her neck while Armin's own hair got into her face. These two, they were all she had left. And she had refused the harsh winter's craving for taking them away too.

Mikasa stared, steely eyed at herself in the mirror as she pulled the comb through her long hair once more. Then she replaced the comb with a pair of scissors, holding the blades close to her locks, but not cutting yet.

We'll survive this, she'd thought insistently back then, every morning as they got up to work with barely enough food to call a single meal, and every night as they laid down with far too little blankets covering them. We will survive.

It had been hard to say sometimes, when Armin's shoulders shook against her as he'd wept himself to sleep, murmuring about the recovery mission and how it was systematic murder. She'd held his sleeve through this, gripping onto him as he cried. She had no words to give to him. It was terrible and hopeless to know their own government had betrayed them, and Mikasa only wanted to feel numb.

It was even harder still when her own body had betrayed her. For as small and fragile Armin was, or as reckless and brash as Eren was, neither of them had really gotten sick. No. It had to have been her. She'd gotten so very sick, it was a miracle she'd survived- no, not a miracle. It was because of the dedication and support of her family, or Eren and Armin doing everything in their power to bring her back to health, including Armin selling his golden hair to pay for her medicine.

But she'd survived that. They all had. They'd survived, just as was her mantra

When Eren had gone on and on about the Scout Regiment, hellbent on ripping the Titans apart with his bare hands, that was hard as well. Mikasa couldn't help but imagine exactly that, but rather the Titans to Eren. Eren was weak and he was small, it would be so easy for them. Especially as he ran head first into their grasp. She nearly dreaded every passing day, as it brought them closer and closer to when they were old enough to join the cadets. This had given her a different kind of hopelessness, one that drove her to push on, to be stronger for his sake.

"You don't have to come with me," Eren would say to her, but he was wrong. She knew him and she knew what he would do. She knew he would die with such a drive for freedom. For vengeance.

Those days had passed, and that time was now upon them. They were cadets, officially enrolled. They had been for a few days. From now until their graduation, they would train long and incredibly hard. After that, Eren would enroll in the Scout Regiment. And Mikasa would follow, like she always always would.

Her hand shook slightly as she held the blades against the long piece of hair. It was the last bit of softness she had with her, of her family from before, or her family now. Mikasa could remember the gentle touch of her mother's hands as she wove wildflowers through the dark strands. Her father even would sit down on the ground with her, running her mother's brush through it. She could no longer remember their voices, but the touch of their hands was almost imprinted in her memory. Her hair was from them, as was the rest of her. How could she just cut it off like that?

The long hair which cascaded past her shoulders was one of the last pieces of them she had. She brought the scissors down, holding them between her hands, the metal cold against her skin.

More memories flowed, Carla Jaeger sloppily braiding her hair with less patient fingers than her own mother's. Eventually, she'd give up and pull Mikasa's hair into a loose ponytail, similar to her own. Eren, his sleeping breath warming her in the middle of the night. Or his careless comments.

"It'll cause an accident."

Mikasa bowed her head. It's just hair, she thought. It would grow back.

With a clench of her hand, she held her hair in place and sheared off the first lock, watching as it fell to the ground with moist eyes. Mikasa tried to ignore the pit in her stomach. This wasn't a big deal. It's just hair, she repeated to herself in her thoughts. I'm not cutting away the memories. Still, the feeling it was persisted within her, urging her to throw the scissors down, keep what she still had.

She ignored it though, cutting the long hair until it fell evenly at her chin. A safe length, unlikely to be caught in the gear. This will be more efficient, she thought, assuring herself that it was. This will make me stronger. Mikasa gripped the scissors tighter and sheared off another lock, and she vowed to be strong. Even though she never wanted to be a soldier, she would be the strongest of them all. Strong for the only family she had left.

A/N: I have quite a bit to say in these end notes, so I'll make this bit fast. Thank you for reading and I would love to hear your feedback! 3

Also, that bit about Mikasa's getting sick and Armin selling his hair to pay for her medicine was in another fic that my sister, Arisprite, read (not sure which one) but I liked the idea a lot, so much that I began writing a fic about it. I couldn't help but mention it in here, so hopefully I'll finish that up soon.

Alright so stuff about the significance of hair cutting! Here we go!

I had a lot of thoughts about Mikasa cutting her hair when I watched through the first season very specifically, and I couldn't quite figure out why until I started writing this random free-write. It kinda just turned into Mikasa having all these emotions and surge of memories at the act, which made me wonder why. So I had some thoughts about a few things, and did some research. One of them being the significance of cutting one's hair in some Asian cultures.

For the Samurai, they wore their hair in topknots, and to cut them off was to abandon that societal role, dramatically declining their status. In Confucianism, hair (and the rest of the body as well) is a gift from the child's parents. Having long hair is a sign of filial piety, so to cut it is to be cut off from that. In other customs, to cut one's hair is an act of shame or disgrace, or to leave one's home.

Which comes to my theory of Mikasa's mother and why her hair was relatively short, that maybe when she became separated from her clan/family, she cut her hair as a sign of that grief. Then grew it out once more when she made herself a new home and family with Daddy Ackerman and Mikasa.

One other reason, however, really caught my eye for Mikasa specifically.

Because hair takes a lot of time to grow long, to cut it for any reason, disguise or disgrace, it's a dramatic, even desperate act. It shows the resolve that person has to make a dramatic break with their past, splitting the time between who they were and who they are now.

Which brings me to Mikasa as she cuts off her hair. With that, she has nothing to indicate the little girl who grew up with her loving parents and had not a care in the world. She's a soldier now, having to leave her past behind for practicality.

It's quite symbolic and fascinating to me, so maybe Mikasa was aware of this part of her culture and traditions, but I don't know. Still this sure was a lot of fun to look into!

A couple references:
drama-cutting-off-ones-hair-in-japan/

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