The night is still and quiet in our room and if I didn't know better, I would fall for the illusion of peace. In this little fleeting moment of serenity, here in this temporary refuge, there are no sounds of thundering footfalls, of whinnying horses and shouting soldiers, no screams that stop unnaturally short. The only sounds at this hour are the melodic chirping of crickets, and the soft, even breathing of the boy sleeping soundly beside me as I'm sitting up in our borrowed bed, gazing at the stars outside our window. I lean down to press a lingering kiss to his forehead and I release a long breath as I stand to take a seat at the small table that remains in this scantly furnished room.
The cool air drifting in from the broken window feels pleasant, but the scent of the air within the walls doesn't allow me to forget my inner turmoil.
I can't sleep. The stress of this decision has been weighing heavily on my mind. I haven't presented it to him yet. As well as I think I know him, I can't truly predict how he will react. I think back to the day I first met him and the fire in his eyes when he swore to kill every last titan. I look back over to him now, in the present, after so much has happened since I first took responsibility for his life in the basement that day. He's seen so much more death since then. So much more blood.
I know the guilt has been eating him alive and he's begun to doubt himself. I saw his spirit crack after our last mission, a failed one that cost too many lives, and that's what's cemented this decision in my mind. If there is any chance at all to ease the pain and hopelessness that's replaced what was once insatiable rage, I will take it. To me, there's no longer a point in dying a martyr, if there ever was one at all.
I've begun to think about things from a different perspective. My entire life I've had the same goal: to leave this stinking cage where we exist as nothing more than livestock. To experience true freedom. I look over at the two green cloaks hanging beside the door and hold back a laugh. The wings of freedom. A noble lie. This is the realization that caused my perspective to shift: the wings of freedom have been shackles all along.
They chained us all to a life of fighting and failing, living and dying to obtain a victory that may never come. Wings that allowed me to fly outside the cage toward freedom only to realize that the jesses around my leg were short and held by someone else. I was only allowed a taste of my prize before I was called back to the gauntlet to surrender my victory, leaving me with nothing to show for my efforts. The cause is honorable, just, sincere, and I don't regret offering my heart to the Survey Corps, but it no longer belongs to them. The true wings of freedom lie at rest atop clean white sheets, white now tinted blue in the light of the moon that hangs in the infinite sky outside our window.
The wings of freedom may eventually triumph over the titans, but for both of us, they'll only bring death. Death ended the flights of all others before us, death will strike all from the sky after us, and I'm willing to gamble all I have left if there's any possibility at all that Eren and I can be spared from the same bloody end long enough to fulfill our dream, even if it's only for a short time. From the moment I met him and looked into those burning green eyes, I knew we were two overlapping halves of a whole. His determination, his rage, his monstrous power and my experience, my conviction, and my skill join each other over a shared dream of freedom. Flight is impossible with only one wing.
It's unrealistic to think that either of us have much time left. If I'm going to die, and I am, I want to die happily in the soft grass, breathing clean air, gazing upon an endless horizon unobstructed by walls. Our hands that have spilled immeasurable blood, clean now but stained, perfectly intertwined like those overlapping wings we once wore upon our backs. White over blue atop verdant green, like clouds in the sky above a grassy meadow. How picturesque.
I choke out a bitter laugh at this thought and rise, looking out the window one last time before climbing back into bed. The boy beside me stirs but does not wake. His sleeping face does not look peaceful. It tugs at my heart as I pull his body close to mine, an arm wound around his shoulder, hand gently stroking his wild brown hair, his head placed over my heart. I try not to think about the days ahead, instead I create a vision of laying with him like this beside a crystal clear stream under a canopy of softly swaying leaves as his steady, even breathing lulls me to sleep.
The brightness bleeding in from our uncovered window wakes me from a light sleep. This room is bare and temporary with very few basic provisions, like curtains or even intact glass on the windows, so the room heats quickly and starts to become uncomfortable. The cities within the walls have been in a state of constant turmoil ever since the government was overthrown. As a result of the fighting and evacuation to safer areas, many homes have been abandoned and damaged. We are constantly on the move and take advantage of this situation. The Survey Corps has come under intense scrutiny, even more so than usual.
Some view us as heroes and others see us as traitors, murderers, unnecessary and a waste of taxpayer money. The Survey Corps was never a respected branch of the military, but the general populace had never been openly hostile toward us until now. People who have had the luxury of never being forced to watch as one of their screaming friends, desperately pleading for your help, is ripped in half by a disgusting, twenty-meter-high mockery of a human; their opinions do not matter to me.
Until you've been showered with the hot blood and entrails of the hopeful young soldier who two heartbeats ago believed they were about to kill their first titan and nudge humanity one step closer to victory, you have no standing to insult the only people who are still trying to save you even in the face of this horror. Some have seen this. Some have looked helplessly into the hysterical eyes of their child as they were plucked from the illusion of safety by a hand as large as their home. Those are the people who now see that there is no point in opining.
Eren was confronted with the harshness of reality at a very young age. He'd seen what a human being looks like broken and lifeless even before he'd seen his first titan. He even had the determination and suicidal bravery to kill two men - as a child! - to save a girl he had never even met. This did not break him. As he watched the titans he'd only heard stories about break through the comforting safety of the walls, he did not break. Even as he saw his mother crushed beneath their equally crushed home, and his irreparably crushed life, he was determined to save her at the risk of his own life. And as he watched her being torn apart and swallowed despite all his hope to save her, he still did not break.
His childhood dream, his present dream as he is still that child now grown, to join the Survey Corps and fight for the freedom of humanity was not crushed. Discovering that he himself was able to transform into one of the very monsters that he hated with every fiber of his being didn't even break him. If anything, his dedication to that dream was made stronger, his determination was made stronger, his rage and his desire and his thirst for freedom were all ignited into an unquenchable blaze. His strength in the face of tragedy is unfathomable and I am so incredibly proud of him.
That brave boy, face still tense in even in sleep, lies still in my arms as I place another kiss on his furrowed brow. The sounds of the chaos outside are drifting in through the broken window and the heat of the blazing sun combined with the heat of our intertwined bodies, now sticky with uncomfortable sweat, have made it impossible for me to go back to sleep. I kiss him once again as I try to wake him as gently as possible. Best not to startle a sleeping titan.
I decided last night before I returned to bed that I needed to confess my sudden change of heart and new objective to him before it was too late. You can never rely on living through the day and hesitation is another luxury that we don't have. You can't know how events will unfold even if you've constructed the most thorough plans and taken every precaution. It's pointless to regret any choice you've made as there's no way to foresee how it will end. Once it's come to pass it can never be undone.
T
his is it. I brush the hair from his forehead as I take in his sleeping face one more time and I squeeze his upper arm to encourage him to wake.
"Eren. It's morning."
His expression changes at the sound of my voice and the pressure of my hand on his arm. I am always composed and unreadable, appearing unmoved even in the face of certain death, but now my heart pounds and my stomach churns as he opens his eyes. His eyelids flutter in a disoriented daze for a moment. He yawns, becomes aware of his surroundings, and as he awakes fully he turns his emotive green eyes up to me. He is never unreadable. My heart once again aches though it doesn't show on my face, and I swallow thickly as he sits up and stretches. I will not turn back. It's time.
"Eren," I'm interrupted as he greets me wordlessly with a kiss on the lips. I don't push him away. I return his kiss, and continue until we part naturally. I've learned over the span of years that moments like this are precious. You really can't take for granted that they will ever occur again, or that anyone will still be alive a day from now or even an hour from now. It is imperative to live in the moment in this cruel and uncertain life.
He closes his eyes against the brightness of the room and rests his head back on my shoulder even though the heat is becoming uncomfortable for both of us. He's learned the same lesson about peaceful moments.
"Eren," I pause and breathe deeply to settle my nerves. "Do you trust me?"
I already know his answer. He has always trusted me. I have not always trusted him. That is different now.
He blinks. We lock eyes. His eyes show the remaining disorientation of having recently awoken, but now there's a hint of confusion in them. Still, he answers without hesitation.
"There's no one I trust more. Why do you ask?" His voice is still thick with sleep but I can tell he's awake enough to understand what I'm about to ask of him.
"Good. Listen to what I'm about to say before you respond."
He does trust me, I know, but he still tenses. My face needs to remain serious in public and he accepts this. Soldiers don't need to know that I feel fear and grief like everyone else, they need to see a strong and confident leader. After all, they've saddled me with the title of "Humanity's Strongest" and the whispers and gossip accusing me of lacking human emotion reinforce this image. I only allow myself to drop this mask in private, and certain emotions are reserved only for him. I know that he notices that I'm wearing that serious expression and I understand the apprehension at seeing it. We mirror each other in this, his anxiety the perfect inverse of mine, a reverse image, one waiting to give and the other to receive. This is the nature of our relationship, each having what the other lacks in perfect opposition yet both images reflect the same being. I speak.