Everyone was startled when the door to the boy's barracks slammed open, banging noisily into the wall behind it.
Everyone was even more startled when Eren Jager stalked in, lookiong as angry and determined as ever, and fairly flung a penic and paper onto Jean, who was reading in his bunk.
"Write a letter to your mother, you ungrateful horse!"
"Ahh!?" Jean smacked his head on the bunk above him, startled, before he looked up at Eren angrily.
"Why the hell should I do anything you say!?"
"Don't do it for me- do it for your mother." Eren glared down at Jean, arms crossed across his chest threateningly.
Jean snarled, still clutching his head,m but he shuffled both legs over the side of the bunk and grabbed the paper and pencil, glowering all the while.
"Dear Mom," he scribbled angrily, reading as he wrote.
"I'm doing well, except for this IDIOT Eren Jager who keeps pestering me like the dumbass he is!"
He was stopped mid-sentence as Eren smacked him on the head. "You don't cuss in a letter to your mother!"
"It's my letter, dammit, I'll do what I want!"
"You never write letters, Jean." Armin piped up. "Your mother must be worried about you. Please, just make it nice."
Jean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fine, whatever." he quickly erased what he'd written, biting his lip for a moment before tentatively starting to write. It took him a few minutes of scribbling before he folded the paper, looking oddly satisfied.
He blinked, surprised, when he realized the whole barracks was watching him.
"What?"
"Mail it. I'll know if you don't, and I WILL make you write another one." Eren spoke, before he turned and stalked back out of the barracks.
Jean sighed, standing up, folded letter still in hand.
"Freaking weirdo. Who makes someone write a letter to their mother like that?" he grumbled, though he headed out the barracks door, clearly on his way to the mail office. Armin said nothing, his lips pressing into a firm line as he made sure to keep his eyes on the floor.
Eren didn't know what the hardest part was. Losing her, or having the memories he had of her fade over time.
His mother had been his world. He'd loved his father, of course, but when he was will, it'd been his mother who'd wrapped him in blankets, his mother who spoon-fed him broth and talked with him. It was his mother who he helped with dishes.
He could still remember her laugh- the way she'd bring her hand to her mouth and close her vibrant hazel eyes, the perfect mixture of earthy green and coffee brown. Her laugh had sounded like ringing bells. The way she ruffled his hair affectionately, or when she snuck up on him and planted sloppy kisses on his cheek. He'd always wrinkled his face and tried to scrub them off when he was little, but now he was tearing up- he'd give anything to have one more kiss from his mother.
Another painful detail was the fact there was no grave. She'd been devoured alive- he'd watched her blood paint the ground beneath the filthy damned titan, he'd seen her die- but they Hannes had turned the corner, and she'd been gone.
He knew she hadn't suffered. The titans had snapped her neck. But it was no consolation. He wondered if she'd been devoured completely, only to be vomited up later like titans did in some grotesque, demented form of a mass grave, her entrails mixed with so many others.
Maybe she hadn't even been completely devoured. Maybe the titan had been distracted and forgotten her altogether, wanting to chase more live prey. Maybe her legs were still lying on the ground in Shinganshina, near the rubble of their home. He could picture it, actually, how they sat on the ground- the wind and rain taking a toll over them over the years, skin sloughing off bone, flesh seeping into the ground, until all that was left was ivory bone...
He stumbled slightly, stifling a sob and biting his lip to prevent the tears that filled his eyes from overflowing. He doubled over slightly, feeling nauseous even thinking about it, before he quickly straightened up and picked up his pace. He was heading towards the trail to the forest- there was no need to draw unnecessary attention to himself, and he focused on breathing deeply and evenly to keep himself from crying. No need to attract any unwanted attention- the last thing he wanted was another soldier noticing him and inquiring if he was alright. Nobody wanted to hear his sob story, and he was far too bitter to tell it- the world was fucked up enough anyways, without him giving voice to his own experiences.
He finally made it to the cover of the woodland trail and forced himself to smile. He could hardly see, vision blurry due to the tears in his eyes, but he somehow fumbled his way through the trail, fingers reaching out to pick the small wild lilacs and wildflowers he could make out on the bushes.
He tried not to think about how the memories of her were slowly slipping away, eroded away by the acidic waters of time.
Instead he clung to the ones he still had- like the winter he'd been so ill that even his father had been worried. He remembered waking up through his feverish haze, drenched in sweat and too weak to lift his own head. His mother had held him in her lap like he was a baby, wiping the sweat from his brow and whispering soothing words as he rasped for breath, bringing a cup of water to his mouth whenever he managed to pry open his dry, cracked lips.
The first memory he had after his fever broke was waking up warm and safe. He'd been laid in his mother's lap, face buried in her chest, her arms around him, that familiar scent of rosemary filling his nostrils and reminding him of how safe he was.
He'd lifted his hear and blinked sluggishly, and his mother had smiled at him, looking relieved. Her words didn't have that strange echo they did when he was feverish, and he actually understood her when she spoke this time. "Are you feeling better, sweety?"
He'd nodded, exhausted, before he'd pawed at her chest slightly, maneuvering himself upwards, before he was burying his face in the crook between her neck and shoulder, burying himself in her scent, her safety, before he was falling asleep again.
His hands were becoming full of flowers, now, and he walked on, still tearful but still too stubborn to cry.
His mother had been his everything.
He wove his way out of the forest, the seemingly endless tunnel of green foliage on every side. His feet moved soundlessly through the grass, and the breeze tickled the back of his neck warmly. He was at the pond, now, where recruits often swam on days off.
It was cold enough that no one was swimming, today, and he was alone. The sun shyly peered down overhead, bright but not yet warm enough to make the weather pleasant for such outdoor activities.
He blinked, his vision clearing up a little. His fingers wove skillfully through the wildflowers, bending stems and manipulating the leaves carefully. He clung to the memories he did still have of her. He'd been meaning to write them all down, so he could read them again in case he ever forgot.
Mothers Festival in Shinganshina had always been an affair. Children would give their mothers spring flowers and sweets, and take them on walks through the village. The mothers always smiled and praised their children, and it could make even the most abrasive child excited. There were flower petals and daisy chains, as well as flower crowns.
Eren still remembered him and Mikasa, as well as Armin, leading his mother down the streets by the hand on the day of the festival. Mikasa and Armin didn't have mothers, so Eren had agreed to let them share his, and Carla had been excited, laughing when they went out of their way on the tour to show her their favorite stray cat before agreeing he was very nice.
Shinganshina wasn't anything, anymore, though.
Eren was nearly done making the flower crown. He added the last flower before examining his handiwork. It looked neat- much better than the hasty ones he'd used to make as a young boy. Still, his mother had always worn them and praised him for being thoughtful, no matter how poorly crafted they'd been...
But one of the hardest parts of losing her, he realized, was not having a proper grave where he could pay her the honor she was due. That was what he decided, anyways, as he sniffed, tearing up and wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve.
He looked down at the white flower crown beside him in the grass and the clear lake before him and smiled as the breeze ruffled his hair, his green eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"Happy Mother's Day, Mom."