I blame tumblr for making me ship these two. The things I think about at work when I'm starving. Gonna go sit in a dark corner, sob grossly, and eat chocolate now.

This is my first time writing first person in a very very very long time so sorry if its terrible.

I always thought self-preservation was the strongest emotion of them all.

It isn't.

My father once told me if you love something, truly love something, you'll be willing to die for it without a second thought.

I knew why he said something and not someone.

People can die for a cause. People can die for a belief.

I died.

But when I died, I died for you.

Without a second thought.

When you decided not to join the Military Police but the Scouting Legion instead I wondered why.

It wasn't Eren's words. He's a homicidal and possible suicidal maniac. He isn't like you.

Then I knew. You decided to join because of me. I wanted to say, Don't use me like that, asshole, don't make me some sort of heroic sacrifice for you to do good.

But I was wrong.

If I wasn't there, there wasn't any point was there? If you joined the Military Police without me there you'd feel like a caged animal, the type that would gnaw off its own leg to get out. It would only remind you of what could have been. Of the future we had both desired.

And maybe you joined the Scouting Legion because, somewhere inside yourself, you wanted to die. Just a little bit. Maybe you're more like Eren than either of us wanted to admit.

That scared me the most.

Because you wanted to die, I kept you alive. I'm selfish like that.

There's a picture of me you keep. I don't know where you got it from. From my mother, from my father. Maybe from yourself, sneaking photos of me when I wasn't looking. You would do something like that. Too embarrassed to ask for me to pose, too shy to ask for such a memento, or maybe brave enough to take photos without me knowing so you can catch me acting natural rather than something fake like posing.

You keep it hidden underneath your clothes, close to your heart, where all your feelings lie. You only bring it out at night when you're alone, when there is no one around to see it. You don't like sharing.

You've always been like that. Someone who knows what it's like to be weak but hates being so.

I loved you and hated you for that.

You never cry. Not when you're awake. Only when you sleep. Sleep makes us more vulnerable to our fears and weaknesses and you hate showing that when you're awake.

You cry and I stroke your hair.

Life, I know, cannot be spent forever in misery. The future that had been ripped away from us cannot haunt you forever. That future, the one we wanted, is gone, never to be ours no matter how much we wish it so. So I told you.

Let me go. Find another.

You still had nightmares but you stopped crying.

And when you listened to me, I was both happy and devastated.

The courtship didn't last long. Shorter than our relationship. But that didn't make it any less valid.

She makes you laugh. She distracts you from all those what might have been and the what I wanted that plague you. She heals you. Maybe not completely, but enough. I'm glad it's her.

In a way she reminds me of myself. Her laughter, her smile, her way of wanting to please and being afraid she might not measure up. Maybe that's why you came to love her.

I walk beside her as she goes down the aisle. Like the father who gives away the bride.

I'm giving you away.

I wonder what you would have thought of that. Maybe you would have laughed and thought it was stupid because guys aren't supposed to give away other guys. Maybe you would have cried.

Maybe you would have done both.

I can only hope so.

You served potatoes at your own wedding.

You can be a real jackass sometimes.

She's pregnant and big as a house. She complains about back aches. I rub her back to lessen the pain. Faint light touches she doesn't notice. Still she starts to feel better and no one can understand why.

When she gets too close to the stairs, I nudge her away.

You're responsible for not just your own life but someone else's now too you know.

You're going to be a father, Jean. You're going to be a dad. You're going to have children.

It lances like hot knives.

The future I wanted laid out before me, like watching a play about my own life only with different actors.

I wish I could cry.

She looks just like you. Blond hair, dark eyes. Although she has less of a horse face. Good thing that.

She's adorable and exactly what I would have wanted. We never could have had children but we could have adopted. I imagine if we had had that chance it would have been exactly like this one. Or maybe you would have wanted a boy. Who knows. It doesn't matter anymore anyway. That future's gone. This one is here instead.

You hold her in your arms. It's the happiest I've ever seen you. I'm happy for you. If only I had been able to stand beside you.

You name her Marci. I want to hit you. It's a terrible name.

I appreciate the sentiment but really. You're horrible at names.

She's four years old and full of sticky curiosity. Like most parents you're full of responsibility and sometimes you suck at juggling them.

You're too busy searching for your keys to try and lock the door to notice she's going into the street. Right into the path of a carriage. The carriages come fast here now that there are no more titans and a sprawling population. There are different sorts of dangers besides titans these days.

I take her hand and lead her away.

Animals and children can sense things that adults cannot. The horse shies away just a bit as it rushes by and she laughs. I tug her to the edge of the sidewalk and encourage her to sit down.

It's our little secret.

You finally find your keys. You don't understand why she's giggling, sitting on the edge of the street, and she won't tell you why. You finally chalk it up to some childish game she is playing.

And maybe that wasn't that far from the truth.

Years go by. How old are you now? I don't know. Time is such a murky thing here. Days feel like years and years go by like days. Glimpses at a time.

There's a line of pictures across the top of a piece of furniture in your front hallway that I can't help but look through. Pictures of your wedding, pictures of your wife, pictures of your friends and coworkers, pictures of your daughter (she's so big now).Your life laid out before me in short frozen glimpses.

And my picture lodged amongst them. Sitting in its silver frame amongst all the others. The picture you used to carry around against your heart.

I smile.

You still have it.

You haven't forgotten me.

Life is peaceful but hectic. You're older now and sometimes you'll get tired from your long work days and fall asleep in the afternoon. Today it's out on the back lawn underneath an umbrella that provides shade. Snoring in a lounger with the book you were reading fallen to the grass. A moment's respite for relaxation.

The sun moves and shines on your face. You grunt, disturbed.

I nudge the umbrella until it shades you once again.

Grand children come. Your daughter married, married to someone who looks a lot like Eren. That seems to annoy you but I'm not sure if it's because he looks like Eren or because you're just becoming one of those old people that is always annoyed no matter what. I always pegged you for that type.

Three grand children. Beautiful and bright and happy. They won't grow up with titans. They'll be safe. Their parents will be the walls now instead of the walls we grew up with.

You balance them on your knee and spoil them rotten. Your daughter scolds you for it.

If given the chance I would have scolded you too.

Your hair is thinning. You're becoming bald. Your skin becomes a bit mottled and wrinkled, paper thin. Your eyes become a little filmy and gray. Your fingernails crack.

You're still beautiful.

You don't see too well. You miss the chair a lot. I always stand behind it when you waddle over. You always miss but you never fall. I'm still protecting you. Only this time from much different dangers than titans.

The grand children (they're big now too) bring you sweets instead of the other way around. Now they're the ones spoiling you.

You're going to get fat.

I imagine you saying you don't care. You're old now, you deserve it. You can do whatever you damn well please and no one can tell you differently.

Even after all these years you're still the Jean I love.

Your health starts to fail. Old bones break more easily and your eyesight is almost completely gone. You become confined to your bed.

People surround you. All your grand children and their spouses, your doting daughter, your generous wife. They all come to comfort you, to bring you small tokens, to fawn over you and make sure you are comfortable and cozy.

You won't die young and alone and terrified in some alley with no one there to see it. The future was not ripped out of your hands. Our future might have been but not yours. I have made it so.

Instead you die in the warm comfort of your home, surrounded by all your loved ones, old as dirt. Peaceful and fulfilled. You die happy.

I close my eyes. It's over. My task is done.

No more waiting.

They bury you on a grassy knoll. It is open and nice looking. A good place to be buried.

The ceremony is lovely and there are so many people. You've lived a long life and touched so many lives. There are tears but not heart wrenching sobs. You had a good life.

You won't become a pile of ash to be blown away in the wind, an unidentifiable bone that no one can say who it belongs to. There's a tombstone that people can come back to. A stone that will stand for decades to remember you by. Flowers are placed on it.

I watch the ceremony.

I wait. It seems like you would have come by now but there is nothing.

I have been waiting a very long time. I can stand to wait a bit longer.

I don't know what night it is. The next night or a fortnight. Or further still.

I've waited. So long I've waited. Waited for you.

You're standing by your grave. As young and bright as you were the day I died. Exactly as I remember you the last time I saw you when I was alive. You're almost too much to look at.

It looks like you've been waiting. Have you been waiting for me?

You turn towards me. You smile. Your hands reach out, almost pleadingly.

I've been waiting for you. And you've been waiting too it seems. In your own way you've been waiting.

Waiting for me.

I reach back for you.

You don't have to wait anymore.

Love.

Love is the strongest emotion of them all.