[Eren's forgotten what they were talking about. It takes only that split second, that gentle touch, that sacred area. Static erupts beneath the skin, crawling down his back and over his shoulders. It feels as if a chill could be warm. The inside of his throat feels thicker. Grey-green eyes sharpen - focused, alert, all the things fear has warped itself into for the sake of survival.
[It's too much. It's been too long. Jean and he only touched after it was established that Eren was hated; thereby unwelcome, or so it feels. But Maruki welcomes him.
[And Eren could argue. Eren could remind Maruki that he's a monster, that his true reality is an ocean of pulp and blood - on and on and on and on, Eren could argue, but it won't do any good. He knows it won't do any good. Maruki won't hate him. Eren doesn't want him to. Maruki won't push him away. Eren doesn't want him to. Maruki will keep him safe.
["Safe". As if Eren isn't a god himself. As if Eren isn't perfectly capable of making sure that nothing can hurt him. As if a 300-meter beast with an army of others needs to feel safe, but he does.
[He does.
[If he were still sixteen, he'd fold into Maruki, cling tight, and sob.
[If there was anyone he could cry in front of, it would be this man, but he simply doesn't. He simply can't. Can only stare at Maruki like a cornered animal, eyes dry where they would have once welled up wet. There's nothing to blink away.
[But his palm comes up to Maruki's chest. His fingers curl, pulling together knitted fabric. His brow pinches just the tiniest bit. He turns his head down and glares between them, almost angry - only at himself. Maybe you could merely call it frustration. Maybe pure rage isn't all there is left.
[He uncrosses his arms; "adjusts," but it moves him just an inch closer. He still can't seem to look at him.]
I'm not the same. [He whispers it between them.] I'll never be the same. I'm sorry.
cw: use of the word "pulp"
[It's too much. It's been too long. Jean and he only touched after it was established that Eren was hated; thereby unwelcome, or so it feels. But Maruki welcomes him.
[And Eren could argue. Eren could remind Maruki that he's a monster, that his true reality is an ocean of pulp and blood - on and on and on and on, Eren could argue, but it won't do any good. He knows it won't do any good. Maruki won't hate him. Eren doesn't want him to. Maruki won't push him away. Eren doesn't want him to. Maruki will keep him safe.
["Safe". As if Eren isn't a god himself. As if Eren isn't perfectly capable of making sure that nothing can hurt him. As if a 300-meter beast with an army of others needs to feel safe, but he does.
[He does.
[If he were still sixteen, he'd fold into Maruki, cling tight, and sob.
[If there was anyone he could cry in front of, it would be this man, but he simply doesn't. He simply can't. Can only stare at Maruki like a cornered animal, eyes dry where they would have once welled up wet. There's nothing to blink away.
[But his palm comes up to Maruki's chest. His fingers curl, pulling together knitted fabric. His brow pinches just the tiniest bit. He turns his head down and glares between them, almost angry - only at himself. Maybe you could merely call it frustration. Maybe pure rage isn't all there is left.
[He uncrosses his arms; "adjusts," but it moves him just an inch closer. He still can't seem to look at him.]
I'm not the same. [He whispers it between them.] I'll never be the same. I'm sorry.