[A whimper is punched out of Eren's chest, garbled and watery. He was never supposed to find "home" again; never supposed to hope, never supposed to want, never supposed to have, because he doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve love, conditional or otherwise, and he certainly doesn't deserve to eternally rest in a perfect world with his favorite person, his favorite person. Last night, Maruki made him happy - happy.
[Who is he to be happy?
[Who is he to be happy?
[There are these moments, fleeting but bright, where Eren feels as though Maruki has breathed life back into him, as precious as a new birth. It wells up in him now, and he squeezes his eyes shut tight, throwing an arm over the both of them as his teeth grit and bare.
[The tension explodes into a sob, and then, he's lost.
[Because Eren isn't dead. He isn't cold, he isn't hollow, he isn't empty - no, he's all too full. That well of overwhelming, catastrophic emotion never ran dry - only filled higher, and it pours out of his eyes now, his breath catching over and over and over and over again until he's barely breathing. His free arm gropes and grasps for whatever of Maruki he can reach, fingers clawing, legs shifting, because it feels impossible to remain still. He wants to say "thank you" or "I love you" or "why" or "please" or anything, but he can't.
[He can't.
[All he can do is cry, more violently, more passionately, more wretched than he has in years. It's ugly, snotty, ragged, and raw; he doesn't care, because he can't care.
[Through it all, there is this certainy that Maruki will soon wrap his arms around him, hush him, soothe him - Eren doesn't doubt it for a second; he waits for it, shattered there on the makeshift bed.
we can wrap here or on your next one I feel sick
[Who is he to be happy?
[Who is he to be happy?
[There are these moments, fleeting but bright, where Eren feels as though Maruki has breathed life back into him, as precious as a new birth. It wells up in him now, and he squeezes his eyes shut tight, throwing an arm over the both of them as his teeth grit and bare.
[The tension explodes into a sob, and then, he's lost.
[Because Eren isn't dead. He isn't cold, he isn't hollow, he isn't empty - no, he's all too full. That well of overwhelming, catastrophic emotion never ran dry - only filled higher, and it pours out of his eyes now, his breath catching over and over and over and over again until he's barely breathing. His free arm gropes and grasps for whatever of Maruki he can reach, fingers clawing, legs shifting, because it feels impossible to remain still. He wants to say "thank you" or "I love you" or "why" or "please" or anything, but he can't.
[He can't.
[All he can do is cry, more violently, more passionately, more wretched than he has in years. It's ugly, snotty, ragged, and raw; he doesn't care, because he can't care.
[Through it all, there is this certainy that Maruki will soon wrap his arms around him, hush him, soothe him - Eren doesn't doubt it for a second; he waits for it, shattered there on the makeshift bed.
[He's home. He's home.
[He's home, he's home, he's home, he's home, he's home.
[Thank God. Thank God, he's finally home.]