in a tea house with Kurusu leaning over the table to look him in the eye and swear to save him over and over and over, pressed up against a wall with a blade in his stomach, drunk on a balcony letting every festering wound of his heart ice over in the frigid air, cleaned up and interrogated over coffee, in and out of that goddamn Amplitheater again and again and again–
and he's been
sat on the couch in a dreamtime facsimile of his office over and over and over, pressed down against the ground with shards of glass embedded in his eyes and a rock smashed against his throat, tipsy in a dimly lit tavern brushing his lips over the back of a graceful and powerful hand, patched up and comforted in a broken down department store, in and out of that goddamn Labyrinth again and again and again–
and he's
with Eren eating lunch on the floor of a cramped counseling office, with Eren in the dusty marketplace of a distant planet that didn't really exist, with Eren in the palm of a Titan's hand, with Eren on a futuristic city's darkened street where he's about to be turned loose, with Eren holding him as he cries and grieves on a castle sofa, with Eren as glassy eyes stare blankly at him through discussions on the value of kindness, with Eren underneath a tree on a peaceful summer day, with Eren on a forest floor trying to breathe as he's stitched back together by shaking hands, with Eren on a forest floor in a circle of flickering lantern light baring the worst of their abilities in kind–
and he's
here–
with Eren.
A beat. A breath. A tremendous smile that breaks out over his face all at once, wide and warm, as an arm hooks around his shoulders in a gesture he neither expects nor needs to be returned. ]
I'd ask what the odds are, but I think we both know.
no subject
in a tea house with Kurusu leaning over the table to look him in the eye and swear to save him over and over and over, pressed up against a wall with a blade in his stomach, drunk on a balcony letting every festering wound of his heart ice over in the frigid air, cleaned up and interrogated over coffee, in and out of that goddamn Amplitheater again and again and again–
and he's been
sat on the couch in a dreamtime facsimile of his office over and over and over, pressed down against the ground with shards of glass embedded in his eyes and a rock smashed against his throat, tipsy in a dimly lit tavern brushing his lips over the back of a graceful and powerful hand, patched up and comforted in a broken down department store, in and out of that goddamn Labyrinth again and again and again–
and he's
with Eren eating lunch on the floor of a cramped counseling office, with Eren in the dusty marketplace of a distant planet that didn't really exist, with Eren in the palm of a Titan's hand, with Eren on a futuristic city's darkened street where he's about to be turned loose, with Eren holding him as he cries and grieves on a castle sofa, with Eren as glassy eyes stare blankly at him through discussions on the value of kindness, with Eren underneath a tree on a peaceful summer day, with Eren on a forest floor trying to breathe as he's stitched back together by shaking hands, with Eren on a forest floor in a circle of flickering lantern light baring the worst of their abilities in kind–
and he's
here–
with Eren.
A beat. A breath. A tremendous smile that breaks out over his face all at once, wide and warm, as an arm hooks around his shoulders in a gesture he neither expects nor needs to be returned. ]
I'd ask what the odds are, but I think we both know.