ac: blustock_
songs: when the sun hits-
slowdive, big jet plane- angus
& julia stone, fear- current joys.
"thank you all for coming," you stood; watched every person that sat on polished oak and wore the same dark color.
a tear was shed, but you immediately wiped it and gathered the pain in your fist; strangled it and threatened to kill it. hushed threats and muttered pleads to the final thing you had of him: that pain.
"um," you took a deep breath. "my light was the love he loudly, yet quietly, expressed. it powered every city in me."
in actuality, that pain, you didn't wish for it to vanish. you didn't hope that one day you would not feel it anymore, but instead, you prayed that it'd remain with you. you shut your eyes, chanted a prayer to yourself until your brain got sick of those words: this pain is all i have left of him, so let me keep it.
"i'm sure everyone who knew him, could vouch for this: he loved to love," that was when another tear rolled on your cheek—pressed powder washed clean—and landed to be absorbed by the page you wrote. "it was his favorite thing to do."
you let that tear be seen by everyone who sat in rows before you. you wore him—that pain, that tear—how you've always worn him; gracefully.
before
the ripples in the water tell a tale of summer; a prepubescent one with quiet shouts and loud silences. one with fingertips that graze the skin of a boy, that stain his tan complexion with droplets of a warm rain shower. where a girl is greeted by winds that carry the scent of saccharine flower gardens.
in this tale, after the summer shower, all that lies is what's stripped from your pores and what remains of you two. he sees you for all that you are; this cosmic explosion, full of the energy and elements that cause him to exist. eren, he's this newly birthed world; free of malice and full of purities. not ruined, but intact.
his laughter is distant, muffled, crumbled in between your damp hands and safe kept. it is smooth against your palms, heavenly in your ears, erratic in your ribs. the sound of him makes you smile; makes you feel like the approaching season belongs only to the two of you.
the shaven water rocks mold his steps. they curve the arch of his feet, your feet. and your hands are his in this moment, belonging in the gaps of them. the interspaces where you wrap yourself around, you've lived there before. the emptiness that upon reflecting on isn't so empty; not when your radiance nestles in those tight spaces.
"—three, four, five—," he counts.
and you watch a drop of water run along the bridge of his nose, intersect his scar for a split second, before it breaks free from him; it creates a ripple in the surrounding waters.
"—six, seven, eight—," his eyelashes are wet, soaked by the oath to never let this be the last time you experience the end of a spring at a nearby lake.
it's all a silly game he made up on the spot, one you have already forgotten the name of and rules. he enjoys it, your hands slipping with his, your laughter overbearing his with strings of celebratory confetti.
can he feel your eyes linger everywhere but at the ripples around your ankles? how you watch him with gapped lips and wet cheeks; with drenched tendrils of hair that stick to your neck and practically beg to be swept away by him, by his delicate hands?
"—nine, ten—"
"eren?"
"hm?" he blinks towards your already wide eyes. "everything okay?"
you nod, close the gap in your mouth, and share a timid smile when he understands with a light squeeze to your hands. he misses you the second you vanish out of his grasp, he reaches for your wrist, but you already stumble through the mellow streams and trickles of water; towards your striped towels that lay wrinkled and damp on the grassy shore.
eren follows behind, cautious of where he steps, arms spread to help him balance. the sun pours through the empty spaces of the trees above you, creating shapes of all kinds along your back when you bend over to grab at your phone.
those little shapes, he traces. the edge of his nail carves these patterns onto your wet skin. they lead him as if he were blind, and you were his language.
his breath meets your ear when you stand before him, spine rising and scattering with bumps that almost ache. from the ends of his hair, droplets fall to coat you in his ambience and you wear those transparent beads like the pearls on your lobes; beautifully.
when his hand finds the dip in your waist, where your dark bikini ties in a bow, you grip at your phone with a great force, gasp when it is all your body allows you to do. his chest against your spine, you feel his heart, he feels yours, and together they are an infamous orchestra.
"what time is it?" he says, breathless from you.
dirt sticks to the soles of your feet, "a little after 3." you're standing on your toes at his height.
"do you want me to take you home?" he questions, a softness laced in his tone of voice.
you shake your head at him, "i like it here."
"do you?" eren raises his eyebrows, teases your waist with a finger that you flinch away from. "you ran off, so i figured you got bored or something."
your phone falls from your hands, thuds atop the blanketed earth, and before you can reach for it, eren is embracing your backside. his lips—more of a velvet fabric than anything ever crafted—mutter their deepest desires into the curve of your neck, pool at your collarbone.
"you know that tickles," you squirm around, finding an escape. "and you still do it."
"i just like hearing you laugh," eren finalizes his answer with a kiss to your shoulder blade when he dips his head low enough; the point of his nose not missing a centimeter of your skin when he drags it behind his words.
you scoff at his reply and he loosens his arms around you, "or you like seeing me struggle."
"or i like both," his eyes are prone to you, following each and every move from how you bend to grab at your phone and to the way you sit with outstretched legs on your towel. "one more than the other, though."
your hair still sticks on your neck when you lay yourself back against the wrinkled towel, "and which is that?"
"not telling you," he finds his own hand behind him, picks at some loose skin around his nails.
you veil your eyes, lift an arm to block the bright rays of a young afternoon; forearm prohibiting that heat from kissing your eyelids. inhaling the scent of the lake, grass crunches around you and he groans when he's then sat beside you.
your chest rises and drops with every breath; every inaudible thought you set free. eren watches you live beside him. he watches your arm slung over your eyes and the water that beads on your skin. as you exasperate, he lingers further. his eyes are drawn to your ribs; the cage that protects your heart, but allows him in with no refusal.
if he were as bad as he thinks he is, would you still allow him to hold you? would you allow him to cradle your heart and whisper sweet everything's to it?
further. down to your navel, where water droplets accumulate and where he has caressed with bare hands. this is where you had once felt him; where he almost loomed over and kissed with lust blown eyes. further now. to the effortless bows tied at your hip bones, where he could easily pull those strings free if he caved to what his sinful mind is telling him. further. thighs that were decimals away to embracing his waist; thighs that clung to his wrist and pulled his hand deeper after your muted pleas. further—
"how do you know about this place? it's in the middle of nowhere." you raise your arm an inch, one eye peering at him and his reddened cheeks.
eren clears his throat, shuffles around the area of his beach towel until he's rested on his stomach, "my dad drove by here all the time." his forearms keep him level. "not a huge or special story behind this place."
"did he bring you here when you were younger?" you watch his every move; he rips shards of glass out from the dirt.
he shrugs, frowns, tosses a piece of the earth away, "no. today would be my first time here." a sourness distaste on his tastebuds.
"really?" your arm rests over the bridge of your nose again, world set dark once more. "is there a reason why today would be your first time?"
eren was afraid of everything as a kid. alligators were his greatest fear, and grisha protected him from them—no matter how unlikely it was to be eaten by one on this side of paradis.
and for another great reason, he hasn't visited this lake sooner than today.
"i was afraid of alligators."
"eren."
"i'm serious."
"that's so silly—"
"—whatever," he defends, he turns his head away. "anyway, i wanted to share this with you, i want this to be our place."
"you just want me to protect you from said alligators," the arm that barricaded the sun parts from you, and palm his shoulder blade. you shove him playfully and he doesn't budge.
a subtle laugh leaves his chest, eren is full of boyish laughter in this moment. he misses your hand the moment it lazily slips from him, and he's nudging you to never leave. there are moments where he is sure he'd be able to memorize you just by touch.
now, is one of those moments; when he shuts his eyes, drops his head, and feels bumps raise against his skin. your curved nails—pearly and elegant—carve a foreign language; a message only you could decipher, but he knows that they're sweet confessions for they don't draw blood or sting him. eren rather sighs when you reach his nape, feels his skin prick yet again, and a wave of euphoria surges through his veins; overtakes him in the most beautiful way when he's then inches from you.
there he is again, in the same position from nights prior, only now there are less layers between your bodies, and more want in your pupils.
caught off guard, you're gorgeous. your chest rises and drops with the startle. a smile plays at your lips, tugs at his heart, pulls at his soul, and he gives in easily; says whatever comes to mind first.
a promise, a vow.
"after graduation," he says, breathless as if he ran miles to get to you. "i'll follow you. i mean it."
" 'ren," a mumble, a quiet plead.
"i'm gonna go with you," he nods, reassuring that he isn't just saying this to say it. "i'm gonna follow you." but because he means it.
you swallow down a feeling similar to joy; eyes bouncing to and from every kissable feature of his.
"okay?" he asks with a whisper, sincerity woven to his dark eyelashes.
you nod, soft like the warm wind that blows, "okay."
eren leans, his navel pressed to yours. he swipes the pad of his thumb along your eyebrow, brushes it in place, and kisses it. your eyes shut; a reaction that he always pulls from you, a reaction your body involuntarily creates.
and he thinks it's so sweet, so tender, how your hands brace his back. how your fingers spread and memorize every divot, every muscle, every rib beneath his forsaken skin; a blanket torn to shreds by his awful past.
he lifts away, pupils wide when they meet yours, and his nose pokes you. the bridge of his scarred nose intersects yours, his mouth parts, and there he idles to taste every breath you release.
in the second your hands abruptly break from him, you reach behind your neck. your fingers play a game with the strings that keep your bathing suit top in place.
suddenly, you are back to that night in his bedroom. it's all so vivid, so within reach. you're flat on his mattress with a bewitching smile on your lips and an enchanting look in your eyes. he can hear you say—urge—to make you his, to do whatever it is he wishes to. that you wouldn't mind hurting if it were him to cause you the pain.
"remember when i told you i'd let you help me undress?" you mutter with an innocence laced in your words.
eren nods, eyes drawn to the strings tangled around your fingers.
"help me," you say, kissed by his shadow as he straddles your waist.
one hand finds your hipbone. he traces the curve in your waist, the ridges that are your ribs when he hungrily presses his hand into your skin as to strip you of your beating heart. his lips are apart, dry in seconds when he spends his time fathoming how he easily molds to your shape; his missing puzzle piece. he finds your wrist, pulls your hand away, and guides you to rest it on his thigh. you caress him, bunching up the leg of his swim shorts close to where he grows.
his honey dipped fingers pull at the black strings. eren watches how your lips part from each other, dared by his hand to beg him to hurry, to please help me.
eren looms over you, leans once more to peck at your lips and earn a late reciprocation when you are far too intoxicated by him. his nose, draws a line on your cheek—staggered and inconsistent of its path—but it manages to reach your jaw. you tilt your head, turn away, and allow him to explore the emptiness that lives around your neck, your pearl necklace safe kept at home.
he breathes in the aroma of a sweet nectar along your throat, nipping at the skin softly to not create a mark, but to earn a hummed melody from you.
on his thigh, lie the moons you press into him. there lies that same language, only now it is fierce and desperate, ready to be spoken and heard. and he winces when you scratch his skin, close to drawing blood and now stinging. a pretty red rises in a straight and consistent path.
down the valley of your breasts, he inhales. he puckers his lips and kisses your skin deeply, nose pressed into you. his waist moves further down from you, and the crown of his head is what is now within your reach and sight. his shoulders tense as you watch him struggle to remain composed within himself.
when you breathe like you're short of air, practically gasping at his expense, he stops and looks at you.
asks, "are you okay?"
you nod. you say nothing, he says nothing, but his eyes tell a million stories. his hands tell ancient tales of a girl and a boy and how much they quietly loved each other.
your chest is set free with a pull of fabric; thrown onto his towel beside yours. his hands meet your sides, tuck beneath your shoulder blades, and pull you up onto his lips; to suffocate in your skin and not seek an ounce of fresh air. he kisses at your swells, lazily drags his bottom lip to the other, and repeat his actions.
suddenly nature falls quiet and what revolves around him are your tiny pants and gasps and sighs. its your muted giggles and veiled eyes, your bottom lip bit between your teeth, the heat on your face.
he's nothing but quiet grunts and whispered praises; he's nothing but your boy.
"you're so good to me," he mutters in between peckish kisses, fervently biting at your skin.
because you see him in a way no one else has.
"i'm the best version of myself with you," he implants into your collarbone, kiss after kiss, breath after breath.
your knees bend, heels dig into the towel beneath your body. he feels you squirm; feels your hands grab at his hair and tug it loose from the black tie. "eren."
"yes, baby?" he says, the point of his nose trailing through the sinew of your chest and towards your side, to bite at your ribs and feel you flinch beneath his ministrations.
an arm slings around the back of his neck, the other cascading down his shoulder, spine, until your nails scratch themselves back up again. "i want you to stay with me," is a brittle thing spoken as his tongue is flat and licks at your wet skin. "forever," a broken and mere thing said that tethers to his brain.
"forever," he assures with a drowsy nod of his head. "we'll be each others forever."
eren says against your skin. his words sink into your pores, reach your veins and heart in seconds, and he feels just how rapidly it beats against his hand at your back.
in the cusp of his ears, the distant keys of passersby ring. he lifts his head, uses a hand to hold himself up, and you're laying flat once more. he uses his other hand to wipe at his mouth, push away the hair that tickles his pinkish cheeks.
you still caress his back; hook your hand on his shoulder. eren doesn't move, he remains set on the hill that's scattered with green trees and dainty flowers that sprout in pairs. your other hand finds his cheek, it seeks purchase there and strips him from whatever has caught his attention.
"what is it?" you ask in a sweet voice, rubbing at his cheekbone.
he leans into your touch, smiles. "don't be mad at me."
a familiar voice in the distance shouts.
"is that—"
"i mentioned that i would be hanging out with you at a nearby lake and he said he wanted to come," eren lifts himself away, sits himself on his towel, and takes hold of your bra.
you take it from his hand in an instant and begin to tie the strings around your neck, "so much for it being our place, right?"
"oh, come on," he sucks his teeth, positions himself on his knees to lend you a hand. "please don't be mad."
"i'm not mad, eren."
"you said my name, of course you're mad."
"i'm not mad," you reiterate, turning your back towards him.
he ties the strings in a poor bow, placing a tender kiss on your shoulder. "i'll make it up to you."
"it's fine, i'm sure it'll be fun to have them here."
grass crunches in the distance. connie stands at the top of the hill with a cooler in his hand, a portable speaker in the other, and he wears dark shades on his face. the rest of your friends appear beside him in their bathing suits, each hold their belongings, and you wave a hand at them.
you look beside you, eren shields the sun with a hand on his forehead.
"we have the rest of our lives to be alone," you mention, he looks towards you. "it's alright."
-o-
grisha died a mile down the road from this lake. and now eren sits in his parked car staring at the part where the gravel road meets sky—that fine line.
the cold air blows through the vents, his cheeks are like ice. his phone is lit up in his lap; the years old text thread open and his long overdue reply ghosts the side of the recipient.
it's something broken; shattered in his hands. he bleeds, mentally. he feels his palms, how moist they are with the blood of his father as if he were the culprit with a knife in his possessive grasp. but it's just sweat, it's how nerve wracked he is. it's just how stupid he feels for working up a conversation as if he'd get a reply back in seconds.
eren looks down into his lap, at the screen that slowly dims and at his finger that taps it bright—at the stupid construction of simple words. he's left with no remaining choice, but to laugh. he chuckles and scoffs and curses at himself silently for even thinking that there would be a possibility his father would write back.
hey dad.
it read, and a single tear swells. he wipes at his eyelash line with a knuckle and breathes in the funny smell of the car's air conditioning.
there you sit, feet away. on a large rock that was placed on the earth decades ago as makeshift decor. you watch the red taillights of his small car—his beaten, yet loved car—and his silhouette move around inside. he drags a hand through the top of his head, tangling his fingers in the damp strands that have conjoined.
you watch him lean back, he wears an expression unreadable to you, and you're up on your feet the second you realize you can't decipher his motive for parting from laughter and memories.
his engine has a small squeak, only audible if you really shut off surrounding sounds. the gravel crunches beneath your steps and the noise of his car is gone, but he still sits there pondering if he had reached out to grisha a minute prior to his passing, would he still be here?
eren asks himself if it's selfish, careless, shitty, to enjoy himself in the place of death? to drown out grisha? his final moment? in the place he last visited?
no, no. it's not, it's none of those things.
it's beautiful, it's a seed that sprouts, a new memory. it's a smooth voice greeting him and a hand holding his forearm softly. he isn't selfish, he isn't drowning his father out, but instead he's welcoming something new, something grisha would want.
he smiles when you take the empty place in the passenger seat, when you shut the door and suddenly he smells your flowery scent. you still hold his forearm, rub at his skin with a manicured thumb, and search deeply for an answer without much interrogation.
"miki told me you were here."
"miki?" he raises his eyebrows, his heart flutters beneath his ribs, and he recalls the origin of the name.
"yeah," you nod. "it's a cute nickname, don't you think?"
eren doesn't answer your question, instead he goes on a mental rant about how grisha used to call her that, "we called her by that name when we were younger."
"why'd you guys stop?" your other hand is reaching at the vents, shifting them away from you as soon as your body scatters in bumps.
he shrugs, hums, watches the goosebumps kiss you in places he hasn't yet, "she outgrew it, i guess."
you press your lips together, leaning back against the cushion of the seat, "i hope you don't outgrow 'ren."
"never," he instantly replies, growing fearful of the thought that one day he'd hear you call him 'ren for the last time.
you settle in the silence that follows short after his reply. his breathing is one with yours, fingers twitching as he anticipates holding your hand, but missing you is one of the most confusing feelings in the world. sometimes he's alright with it, he knows he'll get to you eventually. but sometimes he hates it because it also hurts and god, how much has he grown to despise the never ending ache.
"why'd you leave so suddenly?"
your thumbprints along his skin—like paper against paper—overcomes the whir of the blowing air. he's sure that in complete darkness he'd be able to recognize the grooves and warmth of your hands against him.
"just had to tend to some stuff," he mutters and turns his head to face you. eren is instantly met with your glare.
"stuff like?" the corner of your mouth raises into a timid smile, your eyes watch him how his watch you; adoringly.
"do you really wanna know?"
"i do," you nod, drop your gaze when your face feels warm.
eren dips his head, he plants a tender kiss against your cheek—you're just as warm as you feel.
"i was about to text my dad," he says as if those weren't some the most painful set of words he's ever spoken.
"eren."
"yeah?" he questions, the syllable laying in the small space between his lips and your cheek.
"you didn't have to tell me that—"
"it's okay," he shakes his head. "i wanted to tell you."
"i'm sorry," your hand finds his cheek, fingers pushing away the hair that's damp at his temple.
he curls his lips, gives you a smile that's coated with bitterness, but disguised as sweetness. you of all people know when he's putting up a front; his eyebrows begin to shake into a frown and his eyes suddenly dart elsewhere. your eren isn't your eren if he isn't pretending to be okay.
"he died a mile down the road," he confesses with a whisper. his hand raises and lazily points to that flat line, night approaching and the sky is a pretty lavender shade—a cotton candy sunset.
that's when he hangs over the center console and lands his face into your chest; when you hold him like he's delicate and your possession. his arms embrace you differently, like he's holding on in fear he'd slip off a cliff. eren holds you like you are the branch that saves him from a gruesome accident.
"and i think i wanted to apologize to him," his words cascade down your arm, there's a shutter along his spine, and he isn't sure if he's on the verge of tears. "this is his place of death and here i am laughing with my friends."
"he'd be so happy to hear your laughter, eren," your palm is against his bare back, you count the notches in his spine one by one, climbing it like some latter and your destination is his soul.
but you've reached it already, you've met it already. with open arms, it let you hold it and smother it in words that not even poets could write.
his inhale is sharp, vast in a selfish manner, afraid the petals imprinted on your neck will vanish, "d'you think so?"
"of course," you nod.
he doesn't cry, not even sheds a tear, instead his quietude is bold from your assurance. it's clamorous in the confinement of his small car. and in the spaces where it's dark, his fear and sadness live. in those spaces he does shed a tear, he does weep, cry, shout the loudest he can until his vocal cords are bruised.
but not in your arms, not when he's blanketed by your existence. he's the happiest under you, above you, with you, held by you. there he doesn't worry, he doesn't cry or shout or wish that he were dead. eren loves to live when he's there, he adores the sun rays that pour through his curtains like thick honey, he's enamored by the song the morning bird sings by his window. he loves every detail, every fiber and thread.
eren moves around in your embrace, seeking to be held tighter, closer—to wear you around him like some expensive coat.
"hearing that from you means a lot," he mutters, within his proximity is your bicep, there his lips lie in a hushed peck.
you smile at his words, bloom at his kiss, and say, "you deserve to laugh."
-o-
the night insects approach, and mikasa is the last from the bunch to say her farewells. all while eren and you, just as before, lay side by side. through the open spaces of the trees, white specks freckle the dark sky.
his hands are held above his navel and he blinks up at the stars, the blackened indigo slate. he breathes steadily, catching up to his accelerated heart. and you beside him ponder, if in another timeline, he never experienced agony.
with your knees bent and back flat against your towel, you head falls to its side; cheek looming over the fabric of the beach towel. there he settles, in the in between. eren has his lips slightly parted, dry, mouthing his own deviled thoughts like he recites them to always recall why he is the way he is.
further down, his pointer finger taps at his knuckles repeatedly. he never once stops; never pauses to change the rhythm. your tongue pokes at your inner cheek, lands in between your teeth, and in hopes that he'd turn and say what is consuming him so violently slow, it lolls back in the cavity of your mouth.
"eren," you say placidly.
he hums, turns to face you after an elongated blink.
"what are you looking at?"
his lips twitch, a smile forms for a split second, "the stars, i think."
"you think?"
he nods, disregards what he said, and questions, "what color should we do? for prom?"
you turn away in an instant, smile to yourself, and you can quite feel how your heart squeezes and squirms beneath your ribs.
"something we both like, right? that sounds fair to me," he continues on. he's soft with his words and mannerisms when he lifts one arm and extends it out to nudge you with the ends of his fingers.
you blink when you face him, a soft deadpan to your face, "yeah."
"do you like the color red?" he groans to himself, using the heels of his feet to lift his hips and turn his body on its side to face you.
your lips slant into a short frown, "too vibrant for the kind of event, in my opinion."
"alright, so something darker—blue?"
"no."
"okay," he nods, "you might be a bit difficult to please."
rolling your eyes, you mimic eren and turn to face him, "am not."
"really?" he counters. "i've given you two options already, both were a no—"
"fine then, do you like the color green? emerald green?" you feel how anticipated he is. his boyish, clammy hand nearly gnaws at you, grazing at your wrists and knuckles, and nestling in any space he's able to.
drawing your fist open, eren runs his fingertips through the roads of your palm. he's traveled through them a dozen times and yet, as if he were setting foot in a newly found place, he finds himself lost.
he nods, "i do."
"i do too," because it's the color of the eyes that spellbind you.
but eren remembers his way around the intersections of your palm the moment he lays those eyes on you and watches your mouth curl in amusement. the feeling that scatters him whole—like a swarm of ants—and tickles his skin, reminds him when to stop and where to turn to get to where he needs to be; where he deserves.
the worry that faced the night sky, washes away, and what's left is the adolescent joy he once felt all those years ago; his first time riding a bicycle without training wheels, traveling at high speeds down a suburban hill—what a rush that was, how exhilarating, to have the wind knocked out of you by bliss.
"is that your favorite color?" he questions, watching how the ends of his fingers trace the lines of your open hand.
lazily, you drag your eyes to his touch, mumble a short yeah, and at last you close it to a fist. your hold is firm, fierce in a way that is almost tantalizing. and eren doesn't hurt, he doesn't feel a burn or sting, but instead that same intensity he does when he's with you.
"i want to live in a place like this," you mutter. "it's so quiet."
he's again grasping the creation before him, memorizing her lips without touching them.
a sigh, "and here, i can finally breathe. the air is so crisp."
granting you this one thing would heal the earth.
"this is our spot," he reinstates. "like i said. i swear."
"okay," he feels his blood swim free, his hand is out of your grasp, and there you are looking right at him with a curve sewn to your eyebrows.
in a flashing second, he's lifting his arm and holding the indent of your back, pushing and pulling you to meet his chest and greet his heart with yours. it is when you gasp at how abrupt he is, when you palm his face and thumb at his cheek and bone.
then so willingly—like a leather belt around his waist—your leg envelops him. the hand that held your back, traces a stiff line up your calf. eren feels how even your skin puckers and kisses him, how without a thought you're always so prepared to give him all of you. you are so soft against him; against his rough hand that he's used to slowly break and build himself. it's like when velvet and a cutter meet, it doesn't make sense, but yet again it does.
"oh, sweet thing," he whispers, his words stringing your eyelashes.
long fingers hook in the bend of your knee, thumb caressing your lower thigh, and eren says nothing else. he just astonishingly looks at you, his eyes fleet to and from every feature he swears was kissed by gods.
your fingers trace the angle of his jaw, his earlobe, the shell of it, and then you're holding the hind of his neck, "what were you thinking about?"
"nothin' baby," the back of your thigh is his next destination, for he timidly reaches his way up. his long fingers spread against you, gathering every inch of your soul in the cup of one hand.
"promise me," you breathe in the minimal space between your bodies. "then seal it with a kiss."
eren nods, the hem of his t-shirt draping you caught in between his fingers, but, "let me just kiss you."
he can't make that promise, nothin' isn't really nothing. instead it's everything, it's every second he knows something that you don't. it's being aware that your father would soon be in his deathbed and you'd be the last person to find out.
"'ren," you warn, nails scratching softly at his neck.
"can i kiss you?"
"no."
"please."
"don't beg this time," your bottom lip caught between your teeth.
and he must understand what you meant in an instant, for he's cutting all of your air supply short and surprising you with famished lips. your spine tenses and he holds you at your hipbone. he digs so deep at your skin, clawing for a buried treasure that's been lost, only to realize it's already in his possession.
he eases the harshness in his hand, cascades it up and up, until his fingers tangle at the crown of your head and your lips echo in the teenage night. you hum against his mouth, tether yourself closer as if it were possible—you are already engraved on his skin, heart, in between the crevices of his brain, so what more must you want? to live inside of him? to surge through his blood and have him bleed your name? to occupy everything he owns, to be sewn into his clothes?
eren is one hell of a drug.
and you don't see yourself being sober any time soon.
something about this feels tragic, just as much as it feels good. addictions can kill, and although eren never intends to hurt you and you never intend to hurt him, an end could be near.
you pull away, hand on his cheek yet again, and his eyebrow is unkept, "what do you see for us?"
his lips are red and wet, eyes stinging from the cool wind that suddenly blows, "an eternity." he veils his eye the instant you brush your thumb along his eyebrow, "why do you ask so suddenly?"
you shrug, comb the free hairs away from his temple, "it just felt like the right time."
"you should know the answer," he says. "it's what i've always been yearning for." he confesses.
an eternity of happiness, a never ending peace.
"so, are you keeping something from me?" you whisper against the shadow above his lips.
"what?"
"what was on your mind a few minutes ago?" you press your nose against his and set your world dark with an elongated blink.
as he speaks, his warm lips brush yours, "nothing, i told you."
"eren."
"don't ask me again," and he means no harm, he swears he doesn't, but all you feel like is a nagging child who has just been slapped on the hand.
your laugh comes out as an exhale; stout and simple, more of a baffled scoff than anything else.
"i wanna go home now."
eren frowns, watches you sit up and collect everything including the towel beneath you. it's wrinkled, tucked beneath your arm, and your phone and shoes in either hand. the first second that you're not within his reach is composed of confusion, of a bewilderment so extraordinary he feels his brain smoke as he attempts to understand what part of the conversation went south.
on the second, he's up and frantically collecting his possessions like some mad man and as if he were working against time. eren glances up and catches the moment you begin to take the short hill and lookout for any broken branches that may be hazardous.
and on the third second—more so during it—he chases after you. dirt sticks to his feet and he doesn't care if he steps on something sharp—no physical pain can beat the feeling of knowing he upset you.
-o-
the engine runs, he drums against the steering wheel. a deafening silence settles in the midst of him and you, every few fleeting seconds he blinks your way only to be greeting by the back of your head.
you stare at your porch, noticing the approaching death of a bulb. the front door, intact from afar, but up close you remember it being splintered. the wind chime, belonging to your old house, but brought along to this new destination as a souvenir. the steps that creak and groan, that know eren's weight and shoe soles, and that have heard arguments from unwelcome guests.
that is your home now, where you make new memories and where you'll leave some.
with an eager breath, your head turns away, your eyes watch his leave.
"i'm gonna go inside now—"
he barely lets you finish, "—okay."
your hand catches the passenger handle and the door swings open. no farewell is spoken, no explanation as to what happened, what changed. you take what you need and push the car door shut.
eren can't brace onto the idea of not giving you a goodbye kiss or even a promise of forever. so, he puts the car in park and lets his foot off the brake. he slices a crickets chirp in half with the sound of his shutting door. that's when you freeze, relax your shoulders into a slouch, and await a word; an explanation.
his forearms are his leverage, crossed atop the roof of his car. the stubble that grows on his chin pokes at his skin when he rests on his arms.
you're rocking to and from, starting at the tip of your toes and ending on your heels. your hands are occupied, holding everything you've brought along and eren's towel.
he clears his throat, calls your name in a mellow tone, to which you don't turn to, but rather remain facing your porch.
"don't be so cruel with me," eren says. "i can't stand it."
"cruel?"
"yes, cruel," he emphasizes. "i hate when you're upset with me."
a grin forms on your lips, "i hate when you snap at me."
"snap?"
"yeah," you finally turn. "don't ask me again," there you stand facing him from feet away.
eren sucks his teeth, groans to himself, and pushes away from his car to walk around the hood, "i really didn't mean for it to come out so snobby."
"well, it did," you nod at him, watching how he then leans against the passenger side. his car parallel parked in front of your home.
he drops his head, smooths some wrinkles out of his shirt—an extra he brought along. "i'm sorry, alright? i really, really am sorry."
eren settles into the ambience, the cold although it's nearly summer ambience. goosebumps feel different this moment, they aren't the aftermath of your nails grazing his most sensitive parts. his hands find the pockets of his swim trunks, the mesh of them wrinkled.
you shrug, "why is everything a secret with you?"
"what's a secret, please tell me." he counters.
"really?" your eyebrows raise at him. "eren, from the moment i met you, there's always been a secret."
he's humming, looking down at his shoes—the shitty converse he can't seem to let go—and forcing a breath out through his nose.
in the beginning, you thought it was alright. you would look at him, admire every detail about him, and make various conclusions. you'd study him like some book, like some piece of art and attempt to understand his way of being without a question, without a single remark because it wasn't your place to ask him: why are you this way?
"and i always strayed from asking—i never asked, until i became your girlfriend because i refused to date someone i barely knew—"
but you began to date reiner without a single ounce of knowledge about him.
"really?" eren looks up in an instant, it almost hurts his neck. "refused to date someone you barely knew?"
you're taking steps forward, "don't bring that up, it meant nothing."
"i didn't bring anything up," he defends, he strips one hand from the depth of his pocket and holds it out as he protests. "but i think you shouldn't say that."
"say what?"
"forget it."
"sweetheart," a tender voice calls from behind you.
you turn, face her with all your things held before you. eren is waving a hand at her, greeting her with the lovely smile she knows well.
"yeah?"
"come inside, it's getting late," she says, a heavy weight on her shoulders.
"just one second," and she nods after your reply, shuts the door. you face eren again and he's already looking at you, a soft frown on his face.
"it's getting late," he says now, scratching at his neck. "i don't want your mom angry at you or me."
"you'll call me?" a whisper sewn to the night breeze.
he nods, "always."
"okay."
"are you mad at me?" because he couldn't bare that, if that were the case.
"never," you shake your head.
and, "alright." he tells you.
maybe you should've stayed longer, maybe you should've never came home and walked up the steps of your house. or walked into the living room, kicked the door behind you, and found your mother sat on the couch with a tissue in hand and some lying around.
if you had stayed, if you had never had that small argument with eren, you would probably be in his arms feeling as though every piece of you was still in place; that not even a crumb was spilled. you'd have a gentle look in your eyes, he'd have one full of endearment, and together the world would look intact through them.
but the world is definitely not intact, it isn't as bright as he makes it. not as warm either. it's cold and dark and scary. it's so scary and you shake and find a place to hide so you won't be able to hear your mother mumble her apologies, her explanations, her cries. you shake and cover your ears because it's so loud, it's suddenly so loud. a world that with him is mellow, is now so loud that you can't even hear your thoughts, you aren't even sure if you're crying.
are you? because your thighs are suddenly wet, droplets bead on them, and when you blink your eyelashes are drenched with salt. your shoulders are tense, aching, but from being curled over? curled into yourself? you don't even remember getting into bed, laying underneath the covers with your phone lit in your hands.
you don't even recall his caller i.d. coming through, but there you are silent on the call as he talks about how sincerely sorry he is for what did and said. how can a silly argument compare to what you were just told?
"my dad is dying, eren," you confess.
and his sigh is in your ear.
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hiiii, late update and im sorry :( editing just took longer than i expected!!
i hope u enjoyed this, love uuuuu and i will make it up to u by saying that the prom/smut chapter is written out already <33333 byeeeee
sincerely, c 🧸