He's always, always getting himself into trouble. This is nothing new—even from when you were little kids, he's always been prone to throw punches, to speak his mind, to refuse to back down, to rush head-first into potentially dangerous situations without a second thought. In fact, that's kind of how you met him in the first place, isn't it?
But the fact is, things are different now from how they were when you were younger. The kind of trouble he gets himself in nowadays doesn't just end in a bloody nose or a broken bone, or result in a shouting match. The kind of trouble he gets himself in nowadays means losing a limb, or being torn apart, or getting eaten alive, and it's always a matter of life or death.
And yet, no matter how great the risk, he always takes it. He's impulsive—dangerously so—and he doesn't care about getting hurt, doesn't care about putting his own life on the line if it means helping out where he can, putting his abilities to use, not sitting on the sidelines and watching as his friends and allies are slaughtered.
You used to think he had a death wish, that he didn't care if he lived or died—but you know now that that's not quite true either. He wants to live outside the walls one day, and more than anything he wants to be free; he wants victory for humankind, and he wants to be a part of that.
No, he doesn't want to die, but you think that ultimately he'd be okay with it happening, as long as he dies for something meaningful, if he dies fighting for the cause he believes in, if his life doesn't go to waste.
Another part of you thinks that he might think he's somewhat invincible—or rather, that he doesn't really think about the consequences or what might happen if he loses. That he goes into things so determined to succeed that sometimes it doesn't even cross his mind what might happen to him if he doesn't.
Whatever the case may be, you just wish that he valued his own life even half as much as you do.
Because he's almost died more times than you care to remember already, in fact one time you really did think he was dead, and every time it's like someone's sucked the air out of your lungs, like they've punched you right in the gut and ripped out half of your heart and turned your limbs to lead.
And now he's got this huge responsibility to uphold, this power that ensures that he's always going to be in the heat of the battle, that he's always going to be an important weapon in the fight against their enemies, that he's always going to be in danger and that people are always going to be out to get him.
You can't think of a better person to hold this power. Although he's by no means perfect— in fact he's often impulsive to the point of being reckless and he often works tries to take on more than he can handle— there's no one more driven, more determined for humankind to succeed, more willing to put their life on the line and more likely to refuse to give up than him.
And yet, you wish the responsibility didn't have to fall on him, because all you really want is for him to be safe, to be safe with you.
You're afraid that one day, you might not be able to protect him anymore. That he'll leave you for good. And you can't let that happen.
It's not just about repaying a debt anymore, about saving his life because he saved yours—it might have been, at first, but it's so much more than that now. Because you've grown up with this boy, and you've grown to love his determination, his passion, his unbreakable spirit… even his stubbornness, his hard-headedness, his knack for getting himself into sticky situations.
Even more, you love the softer side of him, the side he doesn't often like to show but that you've seen nonetheless, that he could never hide from you.
You kind of hate yourself for cherishing the moments when he's weak, when he's beaten and tired and upset and when he can't stop the tears that find their way to his eyes. Because in these moments he won't slap your hand away if you try to hold his, he won't pull away when you wrap your arms around him and hold him close, listening to the steady beat of his heart and feeling its rhythm against your skin as he cries into your shoulder—because that's all you've ever really wanted: to be close to him. To be by his side, to be his rock, his protector, someone he can let his walls down around.
You love him. And that's why you're so determined to protect him.
You think that there's nothing quite as painful—physically, mentally, or emotionally—than needing someone more than they need you. Except…except he does need you, doesn't he? How many times have you saved him now? How many times have you finished his fights, pulled him out of trouble, protected him at all costs and kept him alive to see another day?
He does need you, even if he'll never admit it he does need you to keep him safe and keep him alive and take care of him when he doesn't take care of himself, but the fact is that he doesn't need you in the way that you need him—the need to have him close, the desire to always want to be by his side, the soul-crushing fear in your heart that he might die whenever he gets hurt, that he might leave you alone in this world to face the unimaginable task of going on living without him—and that hurts even more.
It's not that he doesn't care about you—you know he does, but it's in the same way that he cares about Armin, or that he cared about his mother (at least you think it is). He loves you like a sister, like family—that's all he sees you as, as a little sister, and as a friend, and probably nothing more than that.
And you love him like a brother, you do—he's family, and he has been since the day he wrapped that scarf around your neck, since the day he gave you hope to keep on living. But…but you're starting to realize that he's also something more.
And you're afraid that he may never love you the way you love him.
When he came to your rescue all those years ago, when you were still just a frightened little girl who had to watch as her parents were murdered right in front of her eyes, when you had already resigned yourself to a fate of unhappiness and despair as you laid cold and bleeding on that cold, wooden floor, he didn't just save your life.
He taught you how to fight, how to live, he gave you the strength to move on and he rekindled your hope. Most importantly, he gave you a reason to live. Something—someone—to live for.
And it has always been, and always, always will be him.