The only other fic I've started has been on hold for almost a year now, and here I am with inspiration to write, yet no thoughts as how to actually progress my original story.

Instead, I've decided to do the opposite and start a new story, little thought, minimal prep, and probably just as low on plot ideas as the first time. Still, Here I am.

Commitment right?

Note: I own no characters used in this story.

Review and tell me what y'all think.

Titans don't exist. Humanity isn't on the brink of extinction.

Sometimes, the world is just…

Normal.

But to most, normal is more than enough.

Sometimes, normality is an escape from fantasy.

Parallels

To You: Right Here, Right Now.

"Are we going home?"

"Yes."

…

"Okay."

…

"But we'll come back right?"

Nails scratch on a scalp. Deep breath. No, a sigh.

"Yes, we… we'll be back another time."

Dark circles. They're black. Black, dark circles. Under eyes. A man's eyes. The dark, black, circles are under a man's eyes, and his eyes are covered by glass.

Funny. He feels like glass. He's sure that everyone else does too. At least, on days like today.

Eye-glasses, windows, mirrors, impossibly intricate ornaments that feign the bravado of wealth.

Normally, these are the things made out of glass. Expensive. Fragile, but replaceable.

But today, right here and right now…

Love, the soul, the future, dreams, family, hope and determination. Today these things are made of glass too. Except these things are cheap. Hard to find, but that's what makes them valuable. They're not supposed to be replaceable.

So then, why? Why do these things now need replacing?

It's because they are broken. Lost. The remnants are tangible, but only as a solemn taunt, a reminder that these things can be placed together, but never whole.

He feels like glass, and he is scared that he too, will break. He is scared he will shatter. Leaving only dangerous shards for the boy who doesn't yet know that he as well, is made of glass.

But then again, the boy knows. He has to know. Isn't that why he's crying? He's crying silently, and the tears that fall trace the cracks in his soul. Preemptively, as if to mock him, the cracks in his soul are being traced, like it is eager to break. To shatter. Because on days like today, everything is made of glass.

"Eren."

The boy straightens his gaze, looking ahead.

"It's time to say goodbye."

And he does.

The boy walks to his left, only 3 paces. He puts a hand on a picture frame. He steels his mind, but his body is shaking. It's trembling hard, betraying him. Yet, he knows it only betrays him because it's how he really feels inside.

"I love you, Mom."

The words are forced, as if they should have never been spoken. His throat tightens like a noose on the last syllable, and he's forced to shudder.

It's suddenly hot. The sun has been shining so terribly bright all morning, and Eren hates it. He hates it because it is a sad day, and the world seems to think differently. Eren knows the world is wrong. He knows it desperately.

The heat cooks the picture he holds. Everything is burning to the touch. The boy is worried that the woman in the picture is too warm for today. The red scarf around her neck just isn't appropriate attire for such a hot day.

He knows this, because he's wearing that same scarf right then and there. Eren swelters underneath it's burdening warmth. He's wearing it tight around his neck because he needs it to keep his sadness down, keep it inside. She would hate to see him cry this hard.

The man behind the crying boy takes a step forward. He leans down and puts a resolute hand on his son's shoulder, and tells the picture that he loves her. And he'll miss her so, so much.

But he also thanks her. He thanks her for everything. For her laugh, for her love.

For their son.

As they stand, turn away, and begin to walk, a stray wind erupts past them both, vigorously shaking Eren's scarf in the wind.

But there hadn't been a single breeze all morning. This blistering, hot, sad, glass morning.

Still, they know who it was, and for one, sweet moment, they feel a pang of relief.

She was watching. She was listening. And she always would be. From here on out…

Just not in person.

Here Lies,

Carla Jaeger

A Mother, so Tender and Mild,

Safe at Home, with her Father she will be,

Oh, to see His Happy Face,

What a Sight to See.

Coming home wasn't the same.

Eren solemnly opened the door to the back seat of his Father's SUV. Eyes to the ground, hands tugging on his Mother's scarf, he trudged along. Where was he even headed? Home? Did that place even exist anymore? Maybe not, but nevertheless, the structure before him looked like his home, so forward he kept.

They stepped inside, light spilling through the windows and past the open curtains.

It's over now. he thought to himself. He hoped it was over.

Suddenly, a phone rang.

Eren turned to see his father rummaging through his suit jacket, tie loosely knotted, the aftermath of a frustrated man who just wanted to properly breath after what felt like forever.

"Yes?" he answered in an exhale. A grating, hoarse voice echoed from his phone into the entire house. It was just that quiet.

"Grisha-" the voice is interrupted by a cough. "We've been working on the investigation. Come down when you can and I'll walk you through the details."

Grisha Jaeger, Eren's father, and now widower, let loose a desperate sigh. "We just got home. I need to see if... if Eren is..." he groans while running a hand through his swept-back hair. "Damn it." he paused. Grisha looks at his son, and sees a reflection of himself.

How could Eren possibly be okay? Grisha wasn't. How was anything going to be okay now? He's so frustrated. Frustrated at himself, at the heat, at the shitty suit that strangled his body in a vice. The same one that he promised her he'd wear for the anniversary dinner that was 5 days too late.

"I'll call you." Abruptly, he hangs up the phone. Throws his jacket across the sofa, and walks over to Eren.

"Son, your Father has to go soon, I don't want to, and I'll be back before you know it… but… will you be okay for a while?" He stares into his son's irises, a perfect replica of the teal, jeweled gems he had adored. The ones he had buried 6 feet under ground that morning.

"Uh…" A beat. "Mhm. I'll be okay." The young boy sniffles as he takes off the scarf and hugs it tight. Grisha defeatedly bows his head and pats his son on his own. "Love you. I'll be back."

Jacket back on, glasses adjusted, and he's out the door. Eren watches him leave through the window. Scarf snugged up tight against his chest. He turns away, not sure what to do now.

Until he cries. Uncontrollably. Endlessly.

He sprints to the stairs, flies up two steps at a time, and slams his bedroom door. He weeps so arduously and so desperately. Thinking, if he cries hard enough, his Mom might come back. He screams and begs, but to who? It wasn't like anyone was listening. Just, anything to make it stop. His chest hurts, and he feels like glass; how fragile, impossibly delicate he feels. He wants to make this world come to a stop, and eventually, it does.

He cries himself to sleep.

Grisha Jaeger hated the world today. All he wanted was a moment's reprieve with his son. He just wanted to go home, be there for him…

To be honest, he wanted Eren to be there for him as well. At least for today. There was no class, no study guide really, on how to be a truly 'good' parent. He just wanted his son to be… happy. It wasn't like he was completely useless as a father - it just seemed to cross his mind on occasion. He had already made so many mistakes as a young man, and he certainly didn't want Eren to have any of those regrets. There was so much he just wouldn't understand. Grisha Jaeger failed to be a father once, and here he was - failing again.

Traffic brought him back to reality. A sudden stop, red light. One more right turn, and he was there. He pulls the vehicle into a visitors parking spot and hurriedly climbs the stairs of an older, official looking building. Once at the front, a revolving door spun it's course. He slid into the allocated space, and impatiently looked around.

He prefers the hospital over police stations any day of the week. Grisha walks on through, the smell of coffee and leather invading his nostrils, as he takes off his jacket, removes his belt, and places them onto the conveyer belt and into a metal detector.

"Arms up," he's instructed.

Bleep. Bleep.

"Go ahead."

He advances ahead, gathers his things, and continues onward. A short walk later, and he arrives at an elevated, oak platform discolored by the fluorescent overhead lights.

"I'm here to see the Chief."

A dark red beard, on a man whose eyes could use a year of sleep hands him a clipboard. Signing in, he gives it back to the officer and heads toward one of offices on the first floor.

Eventually, the stale scent of the workplace is overcome by what can only be cigar stench. The Chief must have had a long day already. He knocks on the door while opening it, not waiting for permission, and takes a seat while a gentleman behind a large work desk finishes a phone call. He has the same worn voice in person as he did during their phone call.

"Mhm. Oh, yes. Guess that will do. Thanks Erwin."

Grisha watches him set the desk phone back into place. "Grisha," he starts, then hacks up a cough.

The man, an older, bald, and terribly wrinkled faced fellow, is the Chief of Shiganshina Police: Dot Pixis. He sports a thick, ash-grey mustache, and holds a lit cigar in his right hand like it's a fine glass of wine. He clears his throat.

"Thank you for stopping by, I apologize I couldn't make it to the service."

"Don't worry about it. There were many people in attendance. But, I appreciate you saying that."

The sound of acknowledgement comes out as a subtle 'Mmm,' before Pixis stands up and digs for a file. "Say Jaeger, what ever happened to that accent of yours, eh? Wasn't that little dialect what got Carla's attention at the hospital in the first place?"

"Stop. You ask me every time we meet these days. The answers always the same. Things fade over time."

"Maybe so, but it's no fun anymore, you know - can't impress the ladies with my young, foreign friend if he doesn't sound foreign, no?"

Grisha groans. Pixis just acts younger with every wrinkle he gets.

"I appreciate the banter, Dot, but wasn't there something you needed to show me? I'd much rather be with my boy right now."

Pixis stops rummaging through his stack of files on the desk, and shuts his eyes as he gets serious. Looks like Grisha wasn't going to let him try and lighten the mood.

He sits back down, and immediately opens a drawer to pull out a thick file with sticky-notes and scribbled papers clipped to the front of it.

Grisha half rolls his eyes, annoyed that his acquaintance was wasting time on purpose. He rests his head with his thumb under his chin and fingers holding his temple while leaning into the side of the chair. "Well?" It's a straight question.

Dot Pixis, Chief of Police, makes a bridge with his hands in front of his face. His facade is a stone face. The mood had suddenly changed dramatically. Grisha doesn't like the atmosphere at all.

His ears start ringing after sitting in silence for so long.

"There are things… that have come to light." Pixis's voice is like cold iron.

"Things. Like what?" Grisha, starts to raise his head off his hands. Slowly, unsure of what is about to be said.

A deep breath. "Your wife, Grisha."

His eyes widen. They discovered something. Something had slipped them up. It was supposed to be over with.

Wasn't it?

"We were wrong."

Wide eyes become strained. As Pixis continues to speak, Grisha's brow caves in to shade his visage. He looks down, and as they converse, the Sun continues to shine.

It shines blindingly so.

He doesn't attend school for the rest of the week. His Father got the time off from the hospital, but he always seemed to be busy. He was supposed to be there with him, not whatever was keeping him out of the house. While the weekend went by, Eren dreaded waking up every day. It just wasn't fair, he was by himself most of the day and didn't want to go outside anymore. It wasn't as if he had friends waiting on him anyhow…

Monday morning, he walked into the kitchen, made himself some cereal, and turned on the TV. Munching absently, he didn't even really watch. It was just white noise to fill in empty spaces. Eventually, his father came through the hall. Dressed in slacks, a button up… and medical coat?

Already?

"Dad… can I," Eren started, but stopped as he made eye contact with his Father.

He didn't want him to leave again.

"Can I come with you to work today?.."

There. He said it. His father exhales with his mouth shut, air pushing against the back of his lips.

"I'm sorry Eren. Today, we both have to get back to work."

Eren was quick to protest. "But I hate school, and I've never rode the bus before…"

"You have to," Grisha said with dejection. "I know that this will be hard, Eren. But please, we have to make it work. You'll have to take the bus from now on, and use the money I gave you to buy lunches at school."

Grisha hated this. But such was life. This first day back to the real world was going to be a long one. He continued on in a gentle voice.

"A lot of things have come up, so I'll have to work late for a while. I need you to be sure to keep safe when you get home. You remember my phone number in case anything happens, right?"

"Yeah, yeah… 555-0285," Eren replied in a sing song tone. "Just like you taught me right?"

His father smiled. "Yes sir, that's the one. Oh, and don't be scared of the bus Eren… you're almost in middle school now. You're almost done for the year and after this summer-"

"But I don't wanna do that either! I hear bad things about middle school, and Shinganshina Junior High is four years long!"

"Yes, Eren. But so is high school," he chided. "You have a long way to go so try and enjoy it while it lasts."

"Hmpf," was Eren's only retort.

Arms folded, he watched his Dad leave. "Damn," he muttered, then rose up from the dining table and stomped up the stairs, into his bathroom.

He's almost done with Elementary school. He's 10 years old, so he has to be almost done right?

Eren thought of all the things he didn't like about school. Most of it revolved around homework and boring teachers.

Brushing his teeth, he looks at his hair and groans. One hand on the toothbrush, and the other holding a comb, he tries to multi-task and do his hair like his Mom always did. He could still hear her. 'If you want to have a girlfriend someday, you'll have to look nice, and smell clean! That's a promise.'

She would always tickle his neck after she said it too. Every time. Eren looked back up at his reflection in the mirror.

'Don't cry, you baby.'

He gives up on his hair, it's a slightly uniform, but messy sweep of dark brown. He remembers his Mother saying, "It must be made of chocolate!"

Clothes on, clean as a whistle, Eren Jaeger runs out to where his Dad had showed him where the bus would be, but not before running back to the door and remembering to lock it the next time.

Before he knows it, he's out of breath. It's so hot outside.

He's wearing the scarf again.

Coming up to the street corner, it looks like he won't be alone while he waits.

There's a another kid, looks like a girl. Shorter than he, Eren corrects himself when he walks up beside the adolescent in question.

It's not a girl. He recognizes this person. They have long, shoulder length blonde hair. What was their name though? They acknowledge each other when Eren comes to a stop beside them, although the blonde child seems... nervous, perhaps?

Eren looks them over, catching his breath after running to make it on time. He's standing next to a boy. Blue eyes, seems pretty shy. He fumbling with his hands and looking away as soon as Eren shows up.

Well, that's fine anyway. Eren doesn't feel like talking to anyone regardless. He buries the lower half of his face into the red scarf.

But to his surprise, the blonde boy pipes up.

"Uhm… I-It's a little warm out to be wearing a scarf… don't you think?" Eren glances at him with half-lidded eyes. "And? What's it matter if I wear it?" He was already getting annoyed, God he wanted to go home.

The blonde stammers. "W-Well, I don't know, um, it's just that getting too hot isn't good for you, right? What if you got sick?"

Eren seems to think it over. It was really hot out today. Maybe this guy's right.

"Guess so. It is a little warm…" He decides to take it off, albeit reluctantly.

Holding it in his hand, he doesn't know if he can do this. This wasn't fair. It's like the world doesn't care at all. Doesn't everyone know what happened? Why is it so nice outside? How come he has to go to school? Doesn't anyone care? Don't people know what happened?

"Eren, right? E-Eren Jaeger?"

At the call of his name, he looks back up and away from his thoughts. This kid knows his name?

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, thats me. How do you know my name?"

The blonde child to his left darts his eyes around in figgity nervousness.

"Ah, well. We're uh, we're in the same class and all. I'm Armin. Armin Arlert."

Armin. Eren never noticed him before. Well, it's not like he pays much attention in class anyway. He doesn't think he could actually name all the kids in his class anyway. It wasn't like they were all friends or anything.

"Oh, well. Armin. Nice to meet you..." Eren went back to his scarf. Unwillingly, he took off his backpack and put the scarf in it. He could always bring it back out later.

With a sigh, he wondered if everyone else just moves on. He guessed it would have to happen sooner or later. It's not like anyone actually cared. Only his Dad cared about him now.

"And um, I'm sorry, Eren. I'm sorry about your Mom."

What?

Eren turned his head back over, and really looked at Armin for a moment. Did he say what he thought he said? Armin was practically sweating, and had a nervous frown on his face.

Did he mean that? He wasn't sure of what he should say.

"Well... thanks. I'm okay now." he lied.

"The class has been worried about you. Mrs. Berg told us what happened. Are you sure things are... alright?"

Well. This was unexpected. The class was… worried about him, huh? People cared after all?

"Um, I don't know right now. But thank you, Armin. Thanks."

"Sure thing."

There was a moment of awkward silence as the two young boys thought of what to say next. Maybe Eren was wrong about school. Perhaps, somewhere in his heart, things were going to be okay. It's not like everyone had lost someone close. What was he to think, that he was some special circumstance in the plethora of life's tragic shortcomings? It seemed as though he'll have to keep moving forward, but doesn't know how. It was like trying to walk when you no longer had legs. Every day will come and go, just not always with the same people. Armin spoke again.

"I didn't know you took the bus. I haven't seen you here before."

That's 'cause Mom would always take me.

"Yeah well, I do now."

Armin looked around again, thinking of how he could maybe phrase his next question. "Well, I take the bus everyday. We could, you know... ride together in the mornings and after school if you'd like. What do you say?"

Making eye contact again, Eren thought about it, but by the smallest of smiles adorning his face, he had seemingly already made up his mind. He could use a friend now.

"Yeah. I think that'd be cool. Thank you."

Definitely. He could definitely use a friend now.

"Oh-um, of course, Eren! Glad to have you back."

Back, huh? It probably looked that way to him, but Eren already knew better. This was no temporary departure, not a promise of returning to a point of origin, but there was no way of expressing this to Armin. Even if he wanted to, Eren lacked the ability to translate his gut feelings.

He would come to find that missing piece in himself exists to be filled by others, whether temporary or permanent. There would be no consolation in the acknowledgement of another's pain, just a hollow sense of camaraderie. Sewn together by mutual feelings of angst, of wanton sadness, but also, the hope that something new can be salvaged from the wreckage.

So for him, Eren Jaeger, that first step onto the unassuming yellow bus was all he needed to focus on. After that, he'd take things as they come. He'd trust the future version of himself when he needs to. After all, that's what life was supposed to be, right? That's how he was ever created.

And at the very least, that's how he got to enjoy the time he shared with his Mother in the first place.

Maybe, just maybe, he could make the most of it. He'll trust this version of himself too.

Sometime… In the distant future…

To You: In The Distant Beginning

He wonders if there is such a thing as omnipotent as fate. He questions his reasoning, impossibly overconfident and curious for a such a naive boy. At once, he had lost that which was most precious to him. Yet, at the same time, stood at the threshold of what creates destiny itself:

Bonds.

The act of love is not solely exclusive to fragile, temporary human existence. In time, we all come to a certain conclusion. To each their own, but to some, it is their entirety - their very existence that becomes marketable. We live for little purpose, as a purpose fabricated for purpose' sake is of no real value. In truth, that purpose is created for the benefit and sacrifice of others.

It is 'they' who we live for. It is 'us' who they live for. People live, all will perish, but some may never cross the river of demise. The value of their being has been placed on a pedestal so elevated, it sometimes elicits the devotion of other's entire existences. Through those bonds, lives are worth living. Through those bonds, lives are worth dying for.

When the naivete is long since buried under the crushing weight of reality, the boy will understand. The girl will understand. All who fervently announce their existence shall understand.

So when that day comes, it will be important to find the root of your decisions. It will be important, because it will be necessary for one's life to find meaning. In his case, it was on this day, unbeknownst to him, just as it is unbeknownst to all. No turbulent danger or imminent conflict of being, only a gesture was needed for him to understand. That is why those bonds become important. Because when you come to the end of the long bridge you dared to traverse so long ago, you must look back, reflect, and decide,

Was it worth it?

Would you do it all again?

What is your answer?

For him, on his day of decision... His answer:

.

.

.

No.

AN: Alright, cool. So, after a lot of thought, I actually found a plot that might work. Like a lot of writers, I guess I'm just thinking of a story that I would personally like to read. Of course, there are benefits to reading as well as writing. I'm just spoiling the story for myself for the odd chance I surprise myself and write something I wasn't even expecting... myself.

So, if you'd like, tell me what you think. Appreciate the view regardless, so as always, thank you! - TC