Alright guys. I tried. I really did. I tried to resist.

But, alas, I have fallen.

I started writing SnK fanfic. Sorry not sorry.

Anywho, this was inspired by a prompt I saw on the SnK kink meme. Also, if anyone wants to post the link to this fic there that would be awesome because I don't have an account for the site, nor do I plan on making one anytime soon because the sight is confusing as fuck. So yeah, if anyone wants to do that, thanks in advance.

Prompt: "One of the traditions of Eren's family was when you were completely devoted to somebody, body and soul and mind, you carved their name into your skin. Depending on what they were- Life debt, Friend, Siblings, Family, Love, Soulmate, etc.- Is where you carved it. For example, Life Debts get right over the belly where you have to be extremely careful, Friends get your knuckles or palm, Lovers get your heart, and soulmates get to choose where it's put. Forehead, Nape of the neck, lower back, inner knee...

The point being it's supposed to scar and keep their names as a reminder to yourself and all forever.

Exploring this, who does he do it for? Do the scars of his past stay, like Armin and Mikasa? Where are the names? Do any attempts at carving names in not work after a certain point? Does he continue to try, carving the name in every day, deeper and deeper until he scratches bone? Does he try to do it for Squad Levi, before or after they die? Is there a myth or history behind the tradition?

All I request is you keep the heart of the prompt, no need to fill exactly the way I asked for! Cheers!"

Link to prompt (remove spaces): snkkink .dreamwidth 2848 .html?thread =3762720# cmt3762720

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except this story.

ONWARD!

~The Names We Carve In Our Skin~

His parents sit him down when he is eight.

Eight is the number of new life, of love and friendship, of prosperity. It is the number of beginning, his parents explain.

Eren knows this.

He also knows of the marks his parents bear on their skin even though he's seen them so little he only remembers what they look like in his dreams. His parents don't hide them, nor are they ashamed of them. But most people would not, do not, understand. So for the most part, the marks are covered.

But today, his father pulls off his shirt and his mother tugs down the collar of her dress.

And he sees the names.

He sees his father's name carved in purple letters over his mother's right breast and his mother's name carved into his father's. He sees his own name carved in red over his parent's hearts. He sees the titles to.

"It's a tradition," his mother says, a soft smile on her lips.

"The names and their meanings are engraved on your soul," his father explains, "The scars are a physical reminder of what your soul already knows."

Eren nods, eyes tracing over each letter, burning the image into his mind so that he won't forget.

He watches as his mother begins to grind a mixture of herbs together; listening with rapt attention as she explains which herbs and pigments make which colors and what each color means.

"Red," she says, "Represents the blood. It is used for family, which is as constant as the blood that runs through your veins."

"Family is over your heart," his father adds, as he cleans a small knife, "So that you remember who it is your blood ties you to."

"What about the title?" Eren asks, pointing to the word before his name on his father's chest.

"It is your relationship with that name, but in your native tongue. 'Sohn' meaning 'son' and 'ehefrau' meaning 'wife'," his father says, pointing to each word as he explains.

He sits as still as any eight year old can as his father carves his and his wife's names into Eren's skin, right over his heart. He bites his lips and fights back the tears in his eyes. It hurts, but it's a good kind of hurt. His mother hums soothingly and rubs his back to keep him calm. When his father is finished, he cleans the wounds and his mother rubs the pigment into the cuts. His father seals it with a salve and then bandages his chest. Eren runs a hand over the white cloth reverently before looking up at his parents with a wide smile on his face.

For a while, his parents' names are the only ones he carries.

Because they are the only ones that really matter to him.

But then he's nine and there are three dead bodies and a pool of blood and a red scarf and Mikasa is suddenly in his life. Eren doesn't really know what to make of her at first; she's just this strange girl he's never met before. But he sees the emptiness in her eyes. Her blood ties are gone and she has no home to go to. He doesn't know what it's like, but he thinks he can understand, if only a little.

So he takes Mikasa to see Armin and the three of them talk about the outside world and how big is must be and what the ocean might taste like. And they laugh and dream and Eren watches as Mikasa and Armin come alive before his eyes so he makes them a promise: one day, they will all see the ocean together.

Eren thinks this must be what having siblings feels like. Mikasa is his schwester and Armin is his bruder.

So one day he gathers his supplies and takes off his shirt and carves their names into his skin – along the curve of his ribs on his left side. Under his heart. Because Mikasa and Armin are family even if they aren't related by blood.

Mikasa catches him just as he finishes smearing the pigment into the wounds – cerulean to represent a bond of the spirit.

To his surprise, Mikasa doesn't freak out like he expected her to. Armin had when he had seen the names the first time, though he had calmed after Eren had explained. No, Mikasa just sits down next to him, her dark gray eyes roaming over the letters, and asks him what it means. Eren blinks at her in surprise, but explains the meaning behind the names and the titles and the placement and the colors.

In return, Mikasa shows him her wrist, unwrapping the bandages that she's always had there and revealing the mark carved into her skin that was hiding underneath. She explains what her mark means, how it represents her family.

Eren smiles then because even though it's not exactly the same, he knows that Mikasa still understands. They both have their marks and they both carry them with pride.

Later, after the wounds have healed, he shows Armin, who stares at him with wide eyes as he explains what it means. The blond boy traces his fingers over the cerulean letters of his name like he can't quite believe they're there. Eren just grins and takes his brother and sister by the hand.

They are part of his family now.

And he will carry their names with him always.

Eren doesn't carve anymore names into his skin after that.

Not after Wall Maria falls.

His mother's name burns on his chest. He will never forget the sight of her death, the way she had been so small in the titan's grip, the way he had been so powerless.

His father's name is cold. Eren doesn't know where his father is, doesn't know if he is still alive or not. Either way, he's not here. He wasn't with them when his mother died. He wasn't with them on the boat. He didn't find them afterwards. He simply vanished.

But he still carries their names anyway, despite the absence. They hurt sometimes, but he doesn't expect anything different.

Mikasa and Armin give him knowing looks whenever he reaches up to rub his chest, but they never say anything.

But when he curls his hand around his ribs, palm resting flat against the area below his heart, Mikasa and Armin are always there to remind him that they still have each other. They never say anything, never offer words of comfort or regret. They simply place their hands over his and hold the names that are carved into his skin.

And it's those names, the names of his brother and sister, that never fail to make him feel warm.

And that's enough for him.

He doesn't need any more names.

It's been years and Eren didn't think he would ever feel the need to carve a name into his skin again. Not when he already has Armin and Mikasa.

But the Trost happens and suddenly his world his turned on its head again.

It's not like before, when he watch his mother eaten in front of his very eyes.

It's different and Eren can't really tell if it's worse or not. It's not the same as his mother's death, but it's still so horribly, horribly awful because he's just found out that he's one of them. He's one of the things he hates, one of the things that killed his mother and he doesn't know how, but he knows that his father has something to do with it. Their names are heavy on his chest, but he does not touch them, tries not to think about them.

He tries to focus on how his siblings' names pulse against his ribs, tries to focus on the knowledge that both of them made it through Trost alive. And it calms him. For a while. But then new names come to the front of his mind. Names of those he knows did not survive.

Thomas Wagner.
Nack Teaz.
Millius Zermusky.
Mina Caroline.

And as he learns later, Marco Bodt.

He thinks of the word before he even realizes what he's doing – kamerad – and the need burns under his skin.

He has lived with them, trained with them, eat with them, for the past three years. He has fought with them. They are important, precious. And he can't just sit by and let them slip through his fingers.

So the first chance he gets – after the dungeons and the trial and the Scouting Legion – he slips away. He finds a small knife and gathers the herbs and the pigment. He gets the bandages and the salve. And for the first time in years, he brings the blade to his skin and starts carving names.

He's only a little more than half way through when his arm is suddenly warm and steam starts to spill out of the wounds as they start to close. Eren feels cold wash up his spine as he watches in horror as his skin knits itself back together erasing the names he wants to carry with him forever. But then they are gone as if they had never been and he can only stare at the flawless skin of his arm.

It hurts.

His skin burns.

He tries again.

Only to have the same result.

The titans have taken another thing from him.

First his mother. Now this.

His fingers tighten around the handle of the knife until his knuckles are white. Without even thinking about it, he runs the blade over his skin again. And again. And again. Until it's not cutting so much as stabbing. He ignores the pain, the way the blood drips down his arm and onto the floor. All he can see is the steam and the way his skin always stitches itself back together, leaving his arm as flawless as it has always been. But that's wrong. The itch in his blood and the burn in his chest grow stronger with each failure and his slashes become more and more desperate.

He just wants to be able to leave a mark.

He needs to leave a mark.

But his body pays no heed, wounds closing every time.

After a while, he stops, glaring at his arm as if it has betrayed him. He doesn't register the fact that he's now sitting in a pool of his own blood. Doesn't register the way the crimson soaks into his clothes. He just sees the smooth skin of his arm and it hurts.

It's Erd who finds him like that.

Eren doesn't register his presence at first, too focused on the burning itch to notice the elite soldier. But then a hand comes down hard on his shoulder and tugs him around. He blinks up into the blond man's eyes and cringes at the look he finds there.

"What have you done, Eren?" he asks, voice deceptively calm. Eren can see the distrust in his gaze, the way his eyes linger on the blood pooled around him, the way his hands stray towards his gear.

It makes something in his chest twist.

It hurts.

"Nothing," he replies softly.

Erd frowns, his grip on Eren's shoulder tightening.

"Don't lie to me, Eren. Whose blood is this? What did you do?"

Now Eren frowns. Do they really expect this from him? Are they just waiting for him to turn around and kill someone? Is that all he is anymore?

He yanks himself out of Erd's hold and presses himself back into the wall, ignoring the way Erd's hands immediately go to his blades.

"Stop looking at me like that," he growls before he can stop himself, pressing his lips together and looking back to his arm, "It's my blood," he adds, almost as an afterthought.

And then the knife comes up again and it's cutting through his skin and it hurts and there's red – and then a hand is around his wrist like a vice, stopping him from making any more cuts.

Startled, Eren looks up and sees Erd looking at him with a different kind of horror in his eyes. Eren doesn't really understand what he's done wrong this time, but his gut clenches tightly when he feels the heat and sees the steam from the corner of his eyes.

"What are you doing?" Erd asks, voice heavy with disbelief.

Eren's brow furrows in confusion. "Trying to make a mark," he says and then, more softly he adds, "None of them stay anymore."

He glances down at his arm again and he feels Erd follow his gaze. "So you're not trying to kill yourself," it's more of a statement than a question.

Eren blinks. "No…" he trails off in confusion before the realization dawns. He'd heard stories about it from his father a few times; people who cut into their own skin not to leave names but to relieve pain. "I'm not suicidal," he says, staring up at Erd as the man eases the knife from his grip. He hadn't realized he'd been holding it so tightly; his fingers hurt.

"Then what were you doing?" the man asks.

"I was just trying to…I wanted…I wanted to carry their names," he mumbles softly.

Erd just looks even more confused. "What are you talking about?"

Eren sighs. "It's a tradition in my family," he explains, reaching down and tugging his shirt up so that Erd can see the names of his family carved into his skin, "We carry those important to us in our skin. I wanted…I wanted to carry their names with me as well, but…" he trails off, glaring at nothing really, the itch under his skin still there nagging at him.

Erd stares at the four names in his torso for a long moment, not making a sound.

"What do they mean?" he asks after a moment.

Eren is stunned silent for a moment, completely caught off guard that Erd would even ask. But, slowly, he starts to explain the significance of the tradition. Erd listens, asking a question or two every so often.

"Are you going to try again?" Erd asks after Eren stops speaking.

"Yes," Eren says without a moments thought or hesitation, "I'll keep trying until I find a way to make the names stay."

Erd nods thoughtfully. "Fair enough," he says, "But whenever you try, you have to be in my presence, alright?"

Eren blinks, brow furrowed. "Alright," he agrees slowly, "I'm really not trying to kill myself," he adds after a moment, because Erd still has that look in his eyes. And while he might like it more than the first one, he still doesn't like it.

Erd chuckles though and gives his shoulder a pat. "I know," he replies, "But that doesn't mean you don't get carried away," he says with a pointed look at all the blood.

Eren feels heat rise in his cheeks as he attempts to splutter a response.

Erd just shakes his head, a slight smile pulling at his lips. "Let's just clean this up before the Corporal finds the mess, alright?"

Eren can't argue with that.

He's surprised how well Erd handles the situation.

The elite soldier doesn't say anything to anyone else. He doesn't complain when Eren comes to him daily, trying in vain to make the names stay on his skin. Erd watches him carve the names into his arm in silence, always stopping him when he gets to frustrated and just starts mindlessly slashing at his arm in an attempt to get a mark, any kind of mark, to stay on his skin.

It still itches. The need burns under his skin and it won't stop. He wants it to leave, wants to be able to carve the names into his skin and have them stay so that the need will go away and he can finally relax.

But he doesn't know how to make the marks stay. No matter how deep he carves, the letters always vanish, leaving his arm a tauntingly blank slate.

Erd is always there to pull him back and he often finds himself leaning on the older man for support.

"It's not fair," Eren grumbles one day as Erd eases the knife from his hands.

Erd gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze. "I know."

And that's all he can really say, because Erd doesn't know how to make the names stay either.

When Eren feels like he's finally figured it out, he doesn't waste any time. He hunts down Erd, practically leaving a dent in the wall with the force he throws the door open with.

Levi's squad – including the Corporal himself – are present and stare at him with wide eyes, startled expressions on their faces.

"What the hell, brat?" Auruo exclaims.

But Eren ignores him, ignores all of them, and looks straight at Erd, holding his satchel with a white-knuckle grip.

"I think I figured it out," he says.

Erd raises an eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest. "And you want to do it now?"

Eren gives him a jerky nod, walking over to the table and arranging his supplies, ignoring the eyes he feels boring into his back. He hears Erd sigh and he feels a little guilty, but if he can get the names to stay, finally, finally, stay, then that's all he wants. He knows Erd will understand.

"What did you do differently?" Erd asks as he sits in a chair at the table watching like he always does.

"Added some new herbs to the pigment," he mummers absently, holding up a jar.

Erd hums thoughtfully then falls silent, content to watch. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Eren is aware of the others' presence as well, but he doesn't pay them any mind. Or at least, he tries not to.

"Jaeger. What are you doing?"

Eren's hands halt of their own accord. He's not allowed to ignore that voice. But he's not about to let it stop him either. He looks up and meets the Corporal's eyes.

"Something important, sir," he says clearly and forcefully, bright green eyes daring Levi to interfere.

But the Corporal just raises an eyebrow, slate eyes glinting.

"It's nothing bad, sir," Erd says.

Levi doesn't say anything, but he makes no move to stop Eren. So he takes the silence as permission and starts to strip off his jacket and his 3DMG straps, tugging his shirt off as soon as they are out of the way. He and Erd decided it would be better just to take the clothes off then try to deal with blood stains.

The others aren't as sure.

"Eren!" Petra exclaims in surprise, "What are you doing?!"

Auruo wrinkles his nose in disgust. "We didn't ask for a strip show, brat."

"Then don't watch," Eren almost snaps in annoyance as he drapes his shirt over the back of the chair.

The group is stunned; Eren's never spoken like this to them. He's always been a little timid but eager to please. Levi's eyes narrow at the kid's tone, but he, surprisingly, stays silent.

"Eren," Erd chastises calmly.

Eren deflates in his chair, clenching and unclenching his hands. "Sorry," he murmurs, "Sorry. I just need to…"

"I know," the blond man replies, "But you know I won't let you unless you're calm."

Eren shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly. His skin itches and his chest burns but he pushes it all away. He'll make the names stay his time. He'll make the itching stop. He takes another breath and slowly opens his eyes, glancing over at Erd. The man nods and Eren reaches for the knife.

"Wait, Eren, what are you doing?" Gunter asks as he holds the blade over his wrist.

Eren ignores him. Blocks them all out. Vaguely, he's aware of Erd's voice explaining something, but he's too focused on his task to hear the words. Carefully he carves his chosen title – kamerad – into his arm. Then, instead of continuing on with the name like he would have under normal circumstances, he rubs some alcohol over his arm and then smears the pigment into the wound. He wipes away the excess and then he waits. As expected, the heat comes, followed dutifully by the steam. But when it clears, the color remains.

He grins.

It might not be the same – there is no scar to signify the depth of the bond – but the letters stayed.

And that's all he wants.

He starts with Thomas. Thomas died first. He remembers that much, but then it gets hazy. He remembers Mina calling out his name, remembers seeing his squad rushing towards him only for it all to end in disaster. He's pretty sure Nack died next, but he can't remember if Mina died before Millius. Still, he carves their names, pausing after each word to add the pigment, into his skin. He carves Marco's name last. He doesn't know when Marco died. But he knows without a shadow of a doubt that he went down fighting. He was one of them. And now Eren will carry on for him. For all of them.

When he finishes, he sighs in relief. The names are finally, finally, carved into his skin. The itch is gone and he can breathe again.

"Eren…what did you do?"

Eren jerks, looking up, startled at the sound of Petra's voice.

He had forgotten that he wasn't alone, that the Special Operations squad has been watching him the whole time. Erd looks unfazed by the entire thing. If anything, he looks relieved that he doesn't have to pry the knife out of Eren's hand before he tries to cut his arm off. Again. The others though, are looking caught between curiosity, horror, and disgust.

"Are you going to explain yourself, Jaeger?" Levi's voice cut through the air and Eren looks at him.

He's not very good at reading the Corporal yet, doesn't know him well enough to be able to tell his moods. But he's leaning back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, arms crossed over his chest and he seems to be looking at Eren in curiosity. Eren manages to hold his eyes for a few seconds before he looks away. The Corporal's eyes are intense and Eren finds he can't meet them.

He wipes his hands on the rag he brought just for that purpose and then grabs the salve, smearing it over the healed but still very tender words.

"It's a tradition in my family," Eren explains as he works, wondering somewhere in the back of his mind how often he's going to have to give this explanation. He seems to be doing it a lot lately.

"It's a tradition to cut yourself up?" Auruo questions in disbelief. Petra elbows him in the side as Eren glares at him.

"No," Eren replies hotly, eyes and tone softening as he turns back to the fresh names carved into his arm, "We don't cut ourselves. It's not meant to harm. I mean it hurts, obviously, but it's not meant to be a punishment. It's meant to be a treasure."

"What do you mean?" Petra asks, the honest curiosity in her voice making Eren glance up at her briefly.

"They're names," he answers, wiping the salve off his fingers and reaching for the bandages, "The bearer carves them into their skin so that they can carry them with them. It can represent a tribute or a bond, a life or a death. It could be anything really."

"That's…really vague," Gunter says.

Eren snorts, amused. Because it's either the really vague version or the really complicated version. And he tells them so.

"Just give us the complicated version, brat," Levi says, sounding almost bored, making the decision for all of them.

Sighing, knowing that he can't refuse, he finishes tying off the bandages. He sits back and gives the squad his full attention.

"It starts at age eight," he explains, "Because eight is the number that represents new life, a new beginning. The first names anyone receives are the names of their parents," he says, bringing a hand to his bare chest, drawing attention to the two names there. Those names are always carved over the heart because it represents the physical bond of blood. Names of family members are always over the heart and always in red. This shows that there is a constant tie between the names; that the same blood flows in all of their veins."

"What about those words in front of the names?" Petra asks, nodding towards them, "What do they mean?"

"It's a bond title," Eren answers, "It's a word that is always carved in before the name and always in the bearer's native tongue. Vater and mutter are German for father and mother respectively."

"What about those blue ones?" Auruo asks.

Eren curls a hand around his ribs, tracing the letters with his fingers. "The color and placement of the names holds different meaning. Armin and Mikasa are not blood family, but I still consider them family anyway, so they are on my left side. They are below my heart because we do not share any blood. Since they are family, their bond titles are bruder and schwester, meaning brother and sister respectively. The cerulean represents the type of bond we share; they are my family of choice so the bond between us is spiritual rather than physical."

"What about the names on your arm?" Erd asks, "You never said who they were."

Eren's hands clench and unclench as he unconsciously reaches for his bandaged arm. "They are…my kameraden," he says, trying not to choke on the words, "My comrades. During Trost they…"

He trails off, but he knows he doesn't have to say it. Knows without looking that they understand what happened. All too well. Because Eren knows without asking that everyone in the room has outlived at least one person. He knows that everyone in the room has wondered why they lived and the others died, wondered what made them so special that they got to live and the others didn't. He doesn't need to look up to see any of that.

"What do the names mean, Jaeger?"

Eren's eyes flicker up, startled. Levi's eyes and tone seem…softer. The look in his superior's eyes isn't pity – Eren doesn't think Levi would ever pity anyone – but there is something sympathetic in his gaze. It's gentle in a rough kind of way because the Corporal is a tough, hard man. But if Eren has learned anything in his short time with him, it is that he also incredibly kind, even though he doesn't show it in the most common of ways.

He takes a deep, steadying breath. "Brothers and sisters in arms," he says, taping his bandaged arm lightly with his fingers, easily explaining the placement of the names, "The color a used was dark green. The shade of the color means…" he pauses slightly, swallowing, "The shade means death. But the green means life." He looks up and meeting Levi's eyes. This time, he is able to hold the Corporal's intense gaze. "Because that's what kameraden are. We fight together. We die together. And we live for those who can't."

For a long moment, everything in the room is quiet. Eren holds the Corporal's eyes, determined, and Levi looks right back. Finally, Eren sees something that looks suspiciously like approval.

"Not bad," Levi says softly, leaning back in his chair.

Eren blinks, something inside him uncoiling at Levi's words. A hand is placed on his bandaged arm and jerks, startled, to look up into Petra's kind eyes. There's a small smile on her face and an understanding gleam in her eyes. Glancing around at the others, Eren sees similar looks on their faces. They might not approve or get the tradition engraved into his skin, but they understand the meaning.

The itch under his skin is gone and the burn in his chest has cooled.

He smiles.

He's happy.

Everything is fine.

Eren should know by now that in this world things like 'fine' and 'happy' don't last long.

They never do.

He should know this.

He does know this.

He's known it since Wall Maria came crashing down around his ears and his life as he knew it was brutally ripped away from him.

But knowing it doesn't stop the castle from feeling so empty after they return from their mission. It doesn't stop the sinking guilt in his stomach because he should have been faster, stronger, smarter, anything. He should have made a different choice. But he didn't and now he can't stop the bloody scene playing in his head over and over. Except now, there is no anger, no rage, and there's nothing for him to take it out on even if there was. The Female Titan is gone and so is his squad – again – and all he can feel now is this gaping hole in his chest.

He doesn't even think about it. Not really.

He mixes the color and carves their names into his arm – the right this time, not the left – so that he can carry them always.

Gunter Shulz.
Erd Gin.
Petra Ral.
Auruo Bossard.

Regardless of how long he's known them, they are important. They will always be important.

He doesn't realize he's no longer alone until he starts smoothing the salve over his skin. He doesn't need to look to know that it's the Corporal. He's not sure how long Levi has been sitting next to him, watching him carve the names of their fallen squad into his flesh. He doesn't ask. He doesn't even acknowledge the Corporal until he has finished tying off the bandages on his arm. And even then, he doesn't say anything, doesn't know if he can, he meets Levi's steady gaze head on and waits.

For the longest time, Levi doesn't say anything either. Nor does he move. If Eren didn't know better, he'd say that Levi isn't even breathing he's so still.

But eventually, Levi reaches out and brushes his fingertips across the crisp, white bandages on Eren's arm.

"Eren," he says softly, and the boy startles because this is the first time that Levi has ever called him by his given name, "I want to carry them as well."

Eren's eyes go wide as he stares at the older man. As vague as Levi is, Eren knows exactly what he's asking. It's something no one has ever asked of him before. Even Mikasa, who is the person with the closest understanding Eren has met, has never asked this of him.

"You…you want me to…?" he trails off, still unable to full wrap his head around the idea.

But Levi nods, eyes serious.

Eren releases a breath. "Alright," he says slowly, "Do you have any preferences to placement or color?"

Levi's head tilts ever so slightly as he looks in the direction of Eren's gathered supplies. "I do not know what they all mean," he says, turning expectant eyes back to Eren.

Eren feels a slight smile forming on his lips as he reaches out and places a hand over the Corporal's heart. "The left side of the body is the home of the heart," he starts explaining softly, "It represents physical ties or ties to the living and lives of others. The right side," he says, moving his hand to the other side of Levi's chest, "is the home of the soul. It represents spiritual ties or ties beyond the physical that are carried beyond death."

Levi's eyes don't look away from his. He watches Eren intently and Eren is surprised that it feels…natural. He isn't nervous under the Corporal's gaze like he normally would be. He also wouldn't normally be able to get away with touching Levi like this. But…Levi has lost people too. Maybe he needs the contact the same way Eren does; to reassure himself that the other is still there, still alive.

So Eren keeps the contact going, touching each body part as he explains its meaning. And when he moves onto the meaning of the different colors, he keeps his hand curled loosely around Levi's wrist.

Levi listens attentively and in the end decides to carry the names on his right arm – to represent the bond that exists even in the life after death – just like Eren does, though he chose a blue green mix as a color rather than the dark green Eren picked. The blue because Levi had handpicked his squad; they were – are – his chosen family, the family of his spirit. And the green because Levi will remember them for how they lived, not how they died, and he will carry that life with him.

They are silent as Eren carves the names into Levi's flesh. Only the slightest hitches in the Corporal's breathing let Eren know that Levi is in pain. Eren doesn't think he cares that much. The physical pain is nothing compared to the emptiness inside. And if he feels it, he can only imagine what it must be like for Levi, who knew them for so much longer than he.

Because if Eren knows one thing about the Corporal, it is that he is kind.

And that is something that has been easy for him to see even though Levi tried so hard not to let it be seen, even though Levi always hid behind a blank mask.

It is because of this that he knows Levi is hurting.

So when he finishes bandaging Levi's arm, he cradles it close rather than letting go. Levi doesn't seem to mind because he doesn't pull away.

"Thanks," he says, so softly that Eren would have missed it if it hadn't been the only sound in the room.

Eren doesn't say anything at first. He stares at their bandaged arms, carefully linking the fingers of his right hand through Levi's .

"I'm sorry," Eren says for what be the millionth time since they've returned.

"It's fine," Levi replies almost immediately even though it isn't.

Eren tightens his hold on the Corporal's hand and feels Levi's fingers curl around his in response. The silence is almost stifling and the names on their arms are heavy, but they will move on.

Together, they will survive this.

Yeeeeeeaaaaahhhhh...so this got kinda sad...I might add more onto this later, but for now it's a oneshot. Let me know what you think!

Until next time,

~Elri