A/N: it's a metaphor you guys

Inspired by Just Like You by Celldweller

Alcohol burned the back of Eren's throat as he forced himself to swallow, the continuous scorch of it drawing a grimace. He licked his lips, deterred by the taste, the toxicity of it, but acknowledgement of the poison that he was filling his body with only encouraged him. He set his glass back down upon the coaster and, for the third time that night, waved over a waitress that he was familiar with.

Petra, who had been watching nearby, asked, "You still wanna drink?"

Eren merely shrugged at the question. He lifted the cigarette to his lips, allowed the fumes to fill his lungs with toxins and his head with blissful tranquility. Upon exhaling the smoke in long, wispy ribbons, he said, "I can handle it." With the smoke gone and the dulled pain throbbing at the back of his throat, the void of relentless contemplation - brooding, rather - crept back to fill the empty space. He murmured, "Give me something that'll actually help, y'know?"

"All right." She rest a hand on her hip, quirked her brow up in consideration, then pointed out, "You don't look too good, Eren."

"It's a Friday night. What else is new?"

Petra pursed her lips. "If you say so."

Eren sighed and propped his head upon one folded hand while the other brought the cigarette up to take a long, smooth drag, one that filled his lungs to the brim and sent his mind buzzing with momentary bliss. For some unknown time, he sat there, staring blankly at the green light that blinked methodically on his phone. Then suddenly, it blinked in rapid succession, the urgency of it enough to finally get him to check his unread messages.

Mikasa Ackerman:
Answer me. Please. I'm worried. You're not drinking, are you? I promise it's okay. I'm sorry.
Received 8:38

Mikasa Ackerman:
I'm sorry I provoked you. Don't beat yourself up over this. Come home. Armin's worried.
Received 9:02

Mikasa Ackerman:
I'm sorry. Come home already. It's okay. It's not your fault.
Received 9:37

Not my fault.

The phrase left him with something remarkably bitter, displeasing and painful as if he had bitten down on tin. He threw the phone back down on the table, the loud clunk of metal on wood reverberating loud, pounding echoes in his head. The screen was still bright, still staring right at him, directly into his soul the longer he scrutinized the message. There was no immediate desire to justify himself like there usually was, back when he wasn't so abominable, when he had morals and stuck to them.

The only thing he could bring himself to do now was take another drag of his cigarette, one that, infuriatingly enough, did not leave him floating in a cloud of painless tranquility. It smoldered against his tongue, filled his nose with ash, left him desperately crushing it against an untouched portion of his wrist. He hissed lowly at the burn of it. It would leave lasting marks, he knew, but his head spun too wildly to care. All he could do was bite his lip, press it there until the stinging started to fade, and reach for another.

Petra returned with his drink and set it before him slowly, delicately, as if hesitant with her cooperation. She reluctantly slunk away with a worried glance when Eren ignored her. In his secluded corner, he hid from the world, with smoke filling his head until the world was a haze of pleasurable tranquility. At some point, he had slumped in his chair, sliding down until his shoulders pressed against the lower back of his seat and his knees hit the opposing chair.

Not my fault.

In the midst of the cloud of steadily intensifying intoxication, there was pain, a sharp, stabbing sensation that sent throbbing waves of guilt echoing throughout the empty pit of his stomach. That guilt faded quickly, replacing itself with an unhealthy mixture of spite and anger as he opened the messages Jean had sent.

Jean Kirstein:
whats wrong with you
Received 8:23

Jean Kirstein:
she's pregnant, asshole, you dont do that
Received 8:35

Jean Kirstein:
you should get locked up for this. go fucking die already
Received 9:12

Eren noticed the shaking of his hands, the way he ground his teeth, somehow seeing through the toxicity - seeing, though not thinking clearly. It wasn't his fault his sister decided to run off with some asshole she met at a skating rink. He never got along with Jean, never even bothered trying to, even when she first visited him a year ago with him right behind her. Where did they hit off? It was a question he found himself constantly contemplating. Why him?

she should've aborted that thing while she had the chance

He sent the message, his face burning, his hand shaky as it slammed the phone down against the table, facing downward so he could not see when the next message arrived. He contemplated another cigarette.

Suddenly, in the murky waters of his brooding mind, he heard a voice next to him ask, "Mind if I sit here?"

Eren glanced up, head spinning just a bit, eyes taking some time to refocus before he saw the man that stood there. The cruel thoughts that whirled in his head skidded to an abrupt stop at the pallid face, oddly illuminated in the dim lighting, and in Eren's mind, so breathtakingly divine. Silver eyes scrutinized him, burning as bright as molten silver, a glassy white shining around his pupils. They were narrow and thoughtful, as sharp as the rest of the features on his face.

Eren sat up to the best of his ability, shaking pathetically as he did so, trying once or twice before he managed to ask, "And who are you?"

The man's countenance remained stunningly insouciant, naught but a hint of irritation on it besides the perpetual furrow in his brow. Thin lips as pale as the rest of him portrayed neither a frown nor a grimace, but his tone was considerably frigid when he deadpanned, "Don't be a shitty brat to someone you just met. I'm offering you company."

Eren deflated a bit, the spite that had reigned in his head now sinking back into the dark recess of his mind. Meek guilt plagued him, and he buried his face into the palms of his hands, rubbing furiously as he murmured, "Sorry. Didn't mean to . . ."

He looked up, but the man wasn't there; instead, he had somehow slipped into the seat in front of Eren, looking almost delicate where he sat, so surreal in his beauty, his enticing glow. He held Eren's drink, swaying it in his hand, sparing its murky contents a disinterested look. Eren was equally as disinterested, seeing that the ice had already started to melt. It didn't seem to matter, anyway. Another glance at his phone, held in the hand with fresh burn marks just a few inches below, and he knew it was time to go.

At this thought, the man before him tilted his drink forward, prompting slyly, "Rough night?"

And for some reason, Eren immediately took it back in a heartbeat, almost mechanical as he downed it within seconds. He clumsily dropped the glass down against the tabletop with a hiss.

"You have no idea."

The man laced his fingers together, leaning forward as he said, "I may have an idea or two."

"Just the two?" Eren asked, slurring just a bit as he did.

The man's lips curled in a nearly imperceptible smile, the softness in it reaching his dangerously enrapturing eyes. They called to Eren, whispered soothing words to him, made him hang on every single silvery word that left his lips; "I can think up a few more, if you give me something worth my time. Why don't we get to know each other?"

"I -" Fire rose in Eren's cheeks, making it harder to breathe as he clumsily replied, "Well, I - I'm not very interesting. Tonight hasn't been - hasn't been, well -" His thoughts muddled, and he stared blankly before blurting out, "good. Y'know?"

"Then make up something more interesting," the man purred, a slight curl in his lip elicited by the lack of eloquence or complete coherency on Eren's end. "Tell me something I haven't heard yet. Surprise me, and I'll give you a reward."

After a few moments, Eren finally processed the prompt, dazedly inquiring, "A reward?"

"Buy us a few drinks and I'll tell you." The thought of more alcohol was unappealing, but as soon as he debated expressing it, the other man taunted with a playful whisper, "Don't tell me you're fuckin' scared. Alcohol's supposed to burn. It's not meant to taste good."

Eren resisted the immediate urge to wave Petra over to urge, "Hey. You never even gave me a name."

Something about the way the man leaned closer with a small chuckle had Eren struggling to breathe. With a low, silvery huff, he replied, "Call me Levi." Levi gestured towards Petra a few tables away. "Go on."

Eren didn't dare talk back to him. The action of calling Petra over was some sort of delusion in the back of his mind that he wasn't really sure he actually did until she returned some time later with the drinks he ordered. While he stared into the murky contents, he started to slip, his thoughts wandering back to more dangerous territory.

Eren started slowly, "She told me it wasn't my fault."

Not your fault, she and Armin would say, please come back, they'd beg. How often it happened was sickening, but what was more revolting than that was the sweet relief that it brought. How often would he relish in it, ride out the damage until he finally calmed enough to accept it. How often he accepted it, accepted that he was wanted and, for some twisted reason, loved.

"What do you mean by that?"

Loved, because that was somehow proven through unconditional forgiveness for his actions. Because somehow, love was what kept them from throwing him out the door, to the point where he could do whatever he pleased with impunity. He justified that it was natural, that it was part of him, that it was something that would always stay because he had never been a good person anyways.

That was what he always told them, anyways. He always admitted it all to them and yet somehow, they still loved him, and they still wanted him to stay. Somehow, despite his wrongs and his actions, he was always welcomed back, and it angered him. He couldn't think when such infatuating poison flowed in his veins, spread up his arms and into his head where it would blind him, make him act without thinking, lash out without seeing.

"What does that make you?"

Eren thought for a moment. "It can't be my fault. Right?" He squeezed at the lighter that he didn't remember withdrawing from his jacket. "I don't know."

"No, you do know." A chill ran up Eren's spine. Levi's piercing gaze lingered, almost holding him there, adding with a low whisper, "But you never do anything about it."

He was never subject to any punishment whatsoever, and he began to grow more lenient, more insouciant towards the matter. I'd get away with it anyways, he'd reason - if it could even be considered genuine reasoning given the circumstance. It isn't that bad if they haven't abandoned me yet.

Levi idly ran his finger along the mouth of the untouched glass in front of Eren. "You try, don't you?"

Of course he tried. At least he told himself he did; he frequently said he'd try, said he'd get better, promised he'd make a change, but it was always the same.

"But what if I told you that it wasn't enough?" Eren became keenly aware of the flame of a lighter that flickered brightly, and just before it died out, the absence of its reflection in Levi's glassy eyes. "What if it's because you're not enough?"

Eren couldn't find it in himself to snap back. All he could do was mindlessly reach for the cigarette that Levi offered. But while his actions remained mechanical, his mind ran wildly, endlessly spiraling with thoughts of the past. Of every mistake he made, and every outcome that was always the same, always the same, always the same, and that was okay, it would go back to normal, it would be the same -

"Except this time."

The retort made Eren hiss. This time, it was different, and it haunted him. It echoed in his mind louder than the headache from the hangover usually would, louder than a scream bouncing violently off the walls of a cave, reminding him until his head threatened to burst out of his skull that she's pregnant, you bastard, what's wrong with you -

He crushed what was left of his dwindling cigarette on his wrist, over a burn mark that had already lay aching against his skin. He let out a pathetic little mewl that he couldn't possibly contain, even if he was sober. And he didn't care enough to; even with Levi there, watching every reaction, every pitiful response, the seat before him felt painfully empty.

"You're flirting with me, aren't you?"

Eren would deny it, but the cigarettes, burn marks, and alcohol said it all.

"Tell me about it, Eren." Eren would question how Levi knew his name, but his focus stuck to the hand that slid over his own. "What did you do?"

Eren clumsily squeezed Levi's hand, but all he could feel was the harsh sting of the burns on his wrist. Those thin lips parted to utter something, and with terrifying clarity, Eren could hear was Mikasa's voice. Immediately, Eren pulled away to reach for his glass. This time, when his head tilted back and the alcohol once again tore its way down his throat, he could hear Mikasa's voice, see the tears that welled in her eyes while she doubled over and protectively clutched the swell of her stomach. When he slammed the glass down against the tabletop, he swayed in his seat, the action disorienting him, the world nebulous to him except the way her mouth hung open in a silent cry.

"It wasn't -"

My fault, he would have finished, but then he heard Mikasa question, in that terrifyingly weak voice of hers, "Why?"

But what do you mean, why?

What do you mean?

What -

"You're playing stupid." Eren became keenly aware of the frigid chill that ran down his spine. Just next to him, Levi sat curled into him, a finger hooked into his collar, purring lowly, "If I wasn't careful, I'd think it's cute."

Eren didn't remember when that happened. He didn't feel the seat dip with Levi's weight, nor did he hear the table creak when Levi's free arm rest upon the table, a pale hand trailing lightly over Eren's once more. There was something exquisitely thrilling about the fingers that drew patterns against his chest and the lips that brushed against his neck. Somehow, Eren's hand ended up on Levi's thigh. The burns on his wrist ached, an annoyingly persistent pain, but he only slid his hand up higher.

"What are you looking for tonight?" Levi inquired, almost innocent, were it not for the hand that trailed down Eren's chest.

The desires that pestered most insistently were those of cigarettes, of alcohol, and most importantly, for the events of that night to melt away into history, never to be brought up again. Something ached in his chest, directly over where Levi's hand lingered, and for one agonizing moment, he could faintly hear Mikasa's voice. With that came the thought of returning to her the next day, and instantly, the ache became almost unbearable.

"To forget," Eren finally answered softly. "I just want . . . to forget. . . ."

It may have been shameful, but he couldn't bring it in himself to care; all he could focus on was the man at his arm, staring up expectantly at him, a man he hardly knew but yearned for nonetheless. He could worry about shame later. He could torture himself for it later, when he tended to his burn marks and washed his soiled sheets, and from there the cycle would continue, vicious and unforgiving as always. The ache in his chest weighed him down, brought the beginnings of tears that stung terribly in his eyes, and he concluded, as always, that he didn't deserve any better.

"Eren," Levi insisted with a drawn-out groan. "Take me home. Now."

Eren didn't recall the process of leaving, but somewhere in the nebulous memory that was his walk of shame past the bar and out the door, he could see Petra's countenance, laden with a unique sort of pity and melancholy. Down the street he went, stumbling on the occasion, and next to him, hanging dearly on his arm, Levi purred words of encouragement, words that he couldn't process or retain.

The cold air of the night bit barbarously at his eyes, his wrists, his ears, and gradually, he sobered enough to process his surroundings. He came to the dull realization that they hadn't arrived to his apartment - they weren't even anywhere near it, but in the complete opposite direction. Some ways ahead, he heard the muted honk of cars and trucks alike, of tires against the road and the wind that hurtled wildly behind them. Eren neared the railing that stood as a weak barrier between him and, some several feet below, the freeway.

"Why'd you bring me here?"

I don't know.

"Have you been here before?"

I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.

Levi's arms snaked around his waist. His lips brushed against his ear as he said, "No, you know where we are. Are you trying to impress me?"

Eren vaguely remembered it. How far below the cars were, how loud they were when he neared the edge.

Levi emerged next to him on the railing, leaned casually against it, but when he had let go of Eren to do so was a mystery. His eyes, glowing brighter than the moon itself, trained dangerously on Eren, lifeless and dangerously glassy when he asked, "What stopped you?"

Eren's hands clutched harder at the railing, where just a few years prior, both Mikasa and Armin had climbed over in a haste to coax him away from the edge. He didn't realize how terribly he had been trembling until he tried to push away. Somehow, the only thing grounding him was the railing. A useless barrier, truly, but a barrier nonetheless.

"They've done so much for you." Tears welled in Eren's eyes again, and he blinked furiously, wishing desperately that they would stop tormenting him. "They've always been there, haven't they?" He finally let go of the railing, only to dig his nails into his wrists, scratching violently at the youngest marks. "Why do you treat them the way you do?"

I don't know.

"You're lying. You only ever lie. Is that it?"

I know, I know, I know -

"Is that all you know?"

I don't know.

Perhaps it had only been a minute, or a mere second, but it felt like such a painfully gradual process, lifting one leg over the railing and hauling himself over to the other side. Levi didn't bother to follow. Eren watched himself walk over to the edge, his feet awfully heavy, and it was almost confusing. He almost wondered why he was there, when the thought abruptly turned to Mikasa and Armin.

Several years convincing myself that it wasn't his fault, yet punishing himself all the same with any and every kind of torture he could manage, making him . . . what? A hypocrite? A liar? Both, perhaps? He didn't know anymore. There were many things he didn't know, yet one thing remained prominent over the countless times where he found himself back in the same spot, making the same mistakes, hurting the same people with the same excuses and the same faults; in his chest, hollow and cold, was an unmistakable ache that refused to let him go. It burned, frigid and searing all at once, the cruel juxtaposition of it tugging mercilessly at his heart.

"Who else are you going to blame?"

Levi's voice drifted through the air, hauntingly loud in his ear despite how away he was. Eren couldn't find it in himself to look down. Of course, it was his fault and it always had been. As deafening as the admission was, there was no denying it, nor was there an escape from it. And who was he to put Mikasa through that? Who was he to try his damnedest to remain blameless when nothing had compelled him but himself? If he leaned closer, he could feel the curve of the dip, and even closer, he could hear the faint slide of pebbles that dislodged from the edge and crumbled down onto the highway. In his mind, somewhere beyond the cloud of intoxication and loathing alike, he vaguely wondered if he would ever find it in himself to change.

"You won't change." Levi told him, oddly close by, in his ear, settling in his heart, and the ache that Eren felt started to subside. "And that's because you won't learn." Numb, so blissfully numb, and Eren yearned to know what had withheld this kind of tranquility from him for so long. "I don't think you even want to at this point, do you?"

Eren willed himself to speak, but his jaw remained glued shut. His throat swallowed over the inexplicably hard knot in his throat. He felt the rocks beneath him start to crumble, yet still, he remained tranquil, enveloped in a peace he'd never known. He turned to look to where Levi stood, only to find that the space behind the railing was empty. The dried grass and withering wild flowers behind the railing where Levi previously stood remained perfectly untouched.

He stared blankly into the cruel indifference of the night until the rocks finally gave away.