[ It isn't a stretch to say this is one of the most phenomenal kindnesses Maruki has been shown in his life, in any reality. Eren holds him, lets him make himself as small and miserable as he feels, lets him repeat that selfish desire again and again, quiet and muffled into his chest until he feels the salt sting of tears beginning to make his throat hoarse.
He goes quiet after a bit. Goes still, heartbeat hammering against his ribs, like a slowly calming prey animal that hasn't yet learned to trust. Breathes, matches his breath to Eren's. He's held. Eren has got him.
They stay like that for some time. Eren would be forgiven for thinking Maruki has worn out already, taken one hit too many and collapsed silently in on himself, held upright only by two strong arms. If the pain was too great for Maruki to speak another word for the rest of the day, he knows that he would be allowed that silence.
But that bottomless despondent pit in his soul wasn't what manifested his persona, neither as a voice in his head in a hospital room, nor as a wavering vision of its true form while the sky above Tokyo turned dark and crimson. Maruki lives in grief, spends every day mired in sorrow – but when the chips were down, it was rage that propelled him forward first. ]
I don't have anything.
[ Still quiet, still muffled into the fabric of Eren's shirt. But it strikes somewhere deep in his chest, steel against flint, and he finds himself sitting up. ]
In the true reality. I have nothing.
[ Somewhere in the very back of his mind, there is a memory of a memory of a memory, like fogged glass submerged in water: Broken and beaten, high above Odaiba, mask thrown away, letting years worth of pain bubble up and burst forth by screaming at the person he trusted most.
The parallels hit him first; the bitter irony hits him next. He's wanted Akira here for a thousand different reasons. Chief among them to ask him about that, on the off chance he came from that future of theirs – to be able to talk to someone who was there for him at the lowest moment that he's yet to experience, who saw him at his worst.
Akira has lived beyond that without ever living it. He'll never know.
And now it's Eren who faces him as he boils over. He's already helped Maruki kill every last one of his regrets. He shouldn't have to do this too.
And yet.
There's no self-pity in his words. Only frustration, pent up tight for years, exacerbated by being in this fucking place, coalescing rapidly into anger. Eren hasn't heard him like this. No one has. ]
I have no family. No friends. No colleagues. No future for my career. No purpose. Nothing. Whether my future is inevitable or not, I'll go back to nothing– you won't be there. Akechi will die. Rumi doesn't remember me.
[ His voice breaks on her name, but it doesn't stop the fury from steadily compounding with every word. Somewhere along the line, he's pushed himself far enough back to face Eren on the floor, no longer wrapped in his arms. One of his hands presses hard into the center of his own sternum. He can't feel it. ]
I threw it all away– for nothing. [ The word has ripped out of him more viciously with every repetition, and it's all bloodied barbs now. ] I thought– if nothing else, there'll always be Kurusu– but even that isn't guaranteed, is it? Is it!?
[ If there was more to come after that, neither of them will ever know. Coherency dies as his rage hits its zenith, and all at once, Maruki buries his head down into his hands, one palm half-clasped over his mouth as he cries out, a sob and a scream all at once.
no subject
He goes quiet after a bit. Goes still, heartbeat hammering against his ribs, like a slowly calming prey animal that hasn't yet learned to trust. Breathes, matches his breath to Eren's. He's held. Eren has got him.
They stay like that for some time. Eren would be forgiven for thinking Maruki has worn out already, taken one hit too many and collapsed silently in on himself, held upright only by two strong arms. If the pain was too great for Maruki to speak another word for the rest of the day, he knows that he would be allowed that silence.
But that bottomless despondent pit in his soul wasn't what manifested his persona, neither as a voice in his head in a hospital room, nor as a wavering vision of its true form while the sky above Tokyo turned dark and crimson. Maruki lives in grief, spends every day mired in sorrow – but when the chips were down, it was rage that propelled him forward first. ]
I don't have anything.
[ Still quiet, still muffled into the fabric of Eren's shirt. But it strikes somewhere deep in his chest, steel against flint, and he finds himself sitting up. ]
In the true reality. I have nothing.
[ Somewhere in the very back of his mind, there is a memory of a memory of a memory, like fogged glass submerged in water: Broken and beaten, high above Odaiba, mask thrown away, letting years worth of pain bubble up and burst forth by screaming at the person he trusted most.
The parallels hit him first; the bitter irony hits him next. He's wanted Akira here for a thousand different reasons. Chief among them to ask him about that, on the off chance he came from that future of theirs – to be able to talk to someone who was there for him at the lowest moment that he's yet to experience, who saw him at his worst.
Akira has lived beyond that without ever living it. He'll never know.
And now it's Eren who faces him as he boils over. He's already helped Maruki kill every last one of his regrets. He shouldn't have to do this too.
And yet.
There's no self-pity in his words. Only frustration, pent up tight for years, exacerbated by being in this fucking place, coalescing rapidly into anger. Eren hasn't heard him like this. No one has. ]
I have no family. No friends. No colleagues. No future for my career. No purpose. Nothing. Whether my future is inevitable or not, I'll go back to nothing– you won't be there. Akechi will die. Rumi doesn't remember me.
[ His voice breaks on her name, but it doesn't stop the fury from steadily compounding with every word. Somewhere along the line, he's pushed himself far enough back to face Eren on the floor, no longer wrapped in his arms. One of his hands presses hard into the center of his own sternum. He can't feel it. ]
I threw it all away– for nothing. [ The word has ripped out of him more viciously with every repetition, and it's all bloodied barbs now. ] I thought– if nothing else, there'll always be Kurusu– but even that isn't guaranteed, is it? Is it!?
[ If there was more to come after that, neither of them will ever know. Coherency dies as his rage hits its zenith, and all at once, Maruki buries his head down into his hands, one palm half-clasped over his mouth as he cries out, a sob and a scream all at once.
And then–
nothing. ]