Eren
It is late December already, so any day from now the winter break should start. The uncertainty lies in the fact that the school is majorly underprepared in case of a snow fall. If the area suddenly becomes inaccessible to the students, the town hall, local executive council and superintends will all give them a ' who cares? Winter break is coming anyway, let's just go home', and so their schooling is once again a roll of dice.
Does Eren mind?So and so. On one hand, not seeing those morons he has to deal with every day is certainly a blessing; on the other hand, being stuck for three weeks with his parents is an equally painful punishment. He's sure that if it weren't for Mikasa, he would've slammed his head against the wall until he'd pass out. It's just his luck she knows how to keep him busy.
Currently, Eren is enjoying one of those Saturday mornings, when he manages to actually see his father and even make some conversation. They are sitting in the living room, together with Karla that is ironing some clothes and paying attention to some sappy history drama on the TV. Right now the parents sit comfortably in silence, while their child is eyeing Grisha from head to toe, glancing at how he oozes authority with that newspaper he always seem to read.
It's not like Mr. Jaeger has been a bad father to him. The boy vividly remembers happy childhood memories, like riding merry go rounds together and drinking Pepsi on hot summer nights. Grisha is also yelling considerably less than his mother in general. He's still not over the fact that Eren won't become a doctor like him, but other than that, they have semi-functional father-son relationship.
His father is also a smart man, that's the problem. The vast library they own only proves it further, with its books raging on all kinds of different subject, from anatomy, to war history, to Japanese and German dictionaries. And so, Eren stares at their collection and taps his foot impatiently. On the outside, he looks calm, or at least stable. But the boy sometimes wants nothing more than to get up on his feet and scream at Mr. Jaeger:
' Dad, what good did all those reading do to you?
What purpose does all your knowledge serve, if you didn't have the guts to become more than an average person?
What's the use of knowing all about the Ottoman wars, or South American literature, when in the end you still ended up in a hellhole like Shingashina, surrounded by dumb nurses and idiot doctors whose only source of information is some cheap gossip?'
All his life, Mr. Jaegar stayed in the same small town, travelled to the same touristic destinations like everybody else, never excelled in anything, not even in his field.
For that, Eren can't fully respect his dad. Mr. Jaeger could have made it big, perhaps as a great surgeon, or an enthusiastic diplomat, but instead there he is, in a middle-class living room, worrying about winter tires.
The boy is impatiently waiting for his sister to get ready. His gaze shifts between his parents, who, like most of the time, have nothing to say to each other unless it's about the children. His mother is very beautiful and nurturing, but Grisha barely acknowledges her presence around the house unless it's her birthday or their anniversary. And every time Karla scolds him for being a half-dead person, he shows up the next day with some tulips, her favorites, and she has no choice but to forgive him. 'For your sake, children', his mother would always say.
There goes the saying, that for every beautiful woman out there, there's a man who's tired of looking at her. Eren scoffs and swears for the billionth time to not end up like those poor people. He stares absent mindedly at the wall full of pictures, imagining a future where he and Mikasa listen to Nancy Sinatra on the patio of their summer house, stuffing their faces with croissants and expensive champagne for breakfast.
The door to their bedroom opens and closes, signaling that his sister is good to go. Eren jumps out of the green velvet armchair, trailing behind her.
"What the hell took you so long, Mika?" He grunts, under his breath, in an annoyed whisper.
"I couldn't find my earphones, dumbass. Let's go already!" She says back, in the same hushed tone.
"Mom, Dad, we're going out!" Eren announces, grabbing his winter jacket. He really likes it; there's a fur padding around the hood and the neck, sewn by his mother from an old coat. Very chic, if you ask him.
"Where to, kids?" Karla asks, putting some shirts on hangers.
"To high school." Mikasa answers, putting on a red French cap, matching her lipstick.
"On a Saturday?" Grisha wonders, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah. We're heading to Socrate's philosophy club. Takes place every other weekend." Eren responds, chuckling at how funny the cap sits on his sister's head, and, with small movements, fixes it for her. She thanks him with a warm smile.
"Huh, that's what you both need…philosophy. All kinds of nonsense, when in a year from now you'll have to choose universities." Karla huffs with a frown, spraying some pants with water.
"Dear, let them enjoy it. They have all their lives ahead to work their asses off. Children, don't listen to your mother, she skipped her philosophy classes in high school."
'Yeah, because she was busy sneaking out to see you.' Eren wants to add, but with a tremendous effort he manages to hold back.
"Just make sure you don't come home late…" The older woman warns the young teens, and the stern gaze she's holding tells Eren and Mikasa that mother hen is not indeed kidding.
And just before the door slams shut, the girl swiftly grabs a jacket from the hanger that is definitely not hers. Eren is laughing while Mika is proudly putting on her adoptive mother's animal print fur coat.
"You were definitely a thief in a past life, Mikasa." He's saying, matter-of-factly, while scanning her from head to toe. Eren looks in awe, at this young lady whom he has the privilege of calling his girlfriend, but is so much more than that. Today, she chose to curl the ends of her hair outwards, and together with the leopard coat and the scandalous red lipstick, Mikasa looks like a young, French film protagonist.
"Come on, we're gonna be late!" The girl wails, dragging Eren by the hem of his jacket. The pace is rushed, as the young teens head to the bus station. But Karla is already watching them from the balcony, and there's a big surprise when she sees Mikasa dressed in her mature, unfit for a young girl, leopard fur coat. Behind them, an angry mother screams out the window:
"You're in so much trouble for this stunt, young lady!"
They both laugh in delicious litter snickers, not even turning their head to look behind.
Back in the Jaeger household, Karla sighs, exhausted, leaning on the windowsill.
"This debauchery means nothing but problems, Grisha!"
"Come on, dear, they're teenagers. I'd be more worried if they weren't having an attitude." The doctor points out, walking to his wife and embracing her from behind. An undesired chill runs down her spine, when she feels the cold, skinny fingers of her husband. The touch is formal, calculated, almost impersonal, nothing like it used to be when they were sneaking behind Diana's back.
"Yeah, yeah. But rumors say there's some Scouts roaming around that high school. They should be more careful or they'll get in trouble for being easily impressed." She mumbles, looking down, with concern, at her children.
Because, sometimes, death lies in the final chapter of recklessness. That's what she learned, after years of staring out the kitchen window, at the sloping roads in front of their brick house, where, from time to time, the funeral marches carry girls in their wedding gowns.
"Eren, I'm staying behind for a smoke with Historia, save me a seat in the classroom." Mikasa says when they reach the school gate, breaking their bubble of mutual comfort. A few meters away, behind a strategically placed pine tree, a tiny, pale arm is cordially inviting the brunette for a chat.
"Suit yourself." Eren grunts, unwrapping his arm from her middle and leaving Mika behind. They can't risk being too lovey-dovey out in the open.
The young man is making his way to class with heavy, thumping steps. You see, winter is already making its presence known in the fortress called Shinganshina High school, and the entire courtyard is covered in a nice, clean, sparkling layer of snow.
Eren bites his lower lip and imagines how the staff is probably saying 'not it' each time they pass by this messy situation nature created, otherwise there's no logical explanation why no one has shoved the snow and everyone has to make do with a small path on which they walk in a single file.
And with each concession he and his loved ones have to make, the angrier Eren is at the people in charge.
"Stupid fucking Titans!" he mutters under his breath. This boy will never be able to forgive them, for everything they've done, for everything they've taken away from this generation. His friends are certainly craving for something, but how could they know what they want when they're not even aware of how a normal society looks like; a society where justice prevails, where the lights don't go out at 8 PM and where privacy is an actual thing.
However, the worst part about this whole ordeal is the bathroom situation. Because of the freezing temperatures, there is literally nowhere else to go outside during recess, so you can imagine the sight of twenty-something young people clumped up in a tiny boy's bathroom.
If it weren't for the juicy conversations, not even Eren would endure the suffocating scent of cheap cigarette smoke and fruity perfume. Even more so that now the teachers raid this place like their wage depends on it, trying to catch and punish students.
Just yesterday none other than Mr. Zeke himself, his stepbrother of sorts, busted half of his class smoking in there, including Eren. He also confiscated the book the young boy was reading almost peacefully; Brave New World by Aldous Huxley.
"So that's what you're into now, huh?" The teacher says, waving the book in front of him. "Science Fiction, really, Eren? I've looked over your record, and I believe there are other subjects you should focus on. Like math, for example. A 63% is not exactly a business card for any student, wouldn't you say so?"
But Eren just frowns, with his eyes cast down at the ground and tail between his legs. He hates this part the most, where he has no choice but to be the loser, but the age has arrived when he can pick his fights, and this is one he can't win, no matter how many facts he brings on the table. Submission really doesn't go well with his attitude.
"Come at me by the end of the school year and I'll give it back to you, Jaeger." The older man explains, as Eren's classmates vanish into thin air, not willing to risk detention.
"Please, comrade Jaeger, it's a matter of my honor. Don't take this book; I have to give it back. It doesn't belong to me."
"Where did you get it from, then?"
Eren bites on his lower lip.
From Mr. Socrates.
But he can't say that, or his homeroom teacher will be in trouble and Eren wouldn't be able to forgive himself easily. Mr. Ackerman is really the only thing that prevents him from not completely ditching every class on the schedule. So he swallows down the truth.
"From the local library, comrade Jaegar." He whispers, hoping Zeke will show mercy on him.
But the mercy never comes.
"I'll personally deal with it so as not to stain your honor, Eren." The math teacher says, then turns his back on him, walking down to the teacher's lounge.
The boy sighs, thinking about what happened the other day. He's starring at the window, silent, alone, waiting for the class to start. It's late in the afternoon and he sinks in his desk, simply enjoying a few minutes of contemplation. Mikasa has returned, smelling like a furnace, and is talking to Sasha about birth control, while Armin is showing Connie the latest photographs he took.
The sight of Eren sitting alone in his desk is quite rare, but it's one of those moments when he truly feels like himself. He has to admit, the boy is popular as a consequence of his rebellious attitude. Many students are attracted to the way he does whatever he wants, whenever he wants, however he wants, despite of what the grown-ups have to say about it. They respect him, some adore him, and some masturbate at night to the thought of him, but even so, Eren's not exactly…social. He pretends, of course, because more acquaintances equals more resources for fun, but all this time the boy has been laughing at how the school loves whoever is shouting the loudest.
A snicker stirs up his throat. Perhaps that's why Titans are the ruling party.
If only people were not so blind, they could see his screams, shrieks and agitations are one of a wounded animal, desperate to survive. He always feels deep down that he has a wolfish nature to his being, but he hasn't found out yet if the human side of him is hunting down the wolf or the wolf is chasing the human, ready to eat him alive. So is his fate, and it may very well be that it is not a very exceptional one.
There must have been many men out there who have had a good deal of the dog or the fox, of the fish or the serpent inside of them, without experiencing any extraordinary difficulties on that account. In such cases, the man and the fish live on together and neither does the other any harm. One even helps the other. Many men indeed have carried this condition to such enviable lengths that they have owed their happiness more to the fox or the ape inside them than to the man itself.
So much for common knowledge. He will find a way to deal with it, sooner or later, with the help of Mikasa, Armin, Miss Rodin, or who knows who else.
A loud slap against the wood desk makes Eren jump out of his own skin. Apparently, during his daydream, Mr. Ackerman has already entered the classroom. The boy looks around, seeing some of his colleagues sitting down, not moving a muscle. Jean and Connie are sitting in the middle, while Armin and Mikasa browse over the blonde's photographs in the back of the class. Sasha and Historia have just put aside some soggy Cheetos, and that concludes the small group Mr. Ackermann has invited today to discuss authors, influences and debates.
But how did Socrates manage to sneak up on him? Wow, this man is silent as a cat. He could very well work for the Secret Police or something!
Their teacher is leaning slightly against the desk, looking down at the distracted student. His grey eyes are piercing Eren's soul, so much that he turns from the lonely sad wolf to a helpless little whelp. Everything regarding Mr. Ackerman is so intimidating; the white pristine shirts he wears, his posture, how he's never late, it all awakens such respect in his students. And that is even before he opens his mouth. 'Cause after that it's game over anyway.
"Shove those words deep in your thick skull, kid." The teacher's deep voice is stern and echoes in the silent classroom. "Philosophy without math, without physics or chemistry, without practical knowledge about life, is not even worth a frosted onion. I'm really getting tired of defending your bratty, pretentious, irresponsible sorry ass."
Eren certainly is confused at the sudden advice, but then he looks down at his desk. All of a sudden, his eyes start to shine and his whole face lights up. That loud snap from earlier was apparently Mr. Ackerman throwing a book down in front of him. And not just any book…
Brave, New World to be exact. The book he thought he'd never see again. He must've fought like a gladiator with the odious math teacher.
The boy is so ecstatic, he can't hold back a typically rude observation. "Wow, Mr. Socrates, what an advice! Thank you. Did you take it straight from the Party handbook or did you give it a personal touch as well?"
Big mistake on Eren's side. As soon as those words get out of his mouth, a sharp pain hits him. Levi grabs the boy by the hair, fisting his brown locks and pulling really, really hard, until Eren's forced to partially sit up, teeth clenched and eyes watering.
"Learn your place, boy. Unless you want to shove the snow in the entire schoolyard, on your own, after class is over." The older man grunts between his teeth, low and threatening like a hellhound.
"Sorry, Mr. Ackerman, it won't happen again." His student wails in pain.
"For sure it won't." Levi replies as he lets go of the boy, making Eren fall back on the chair with a thud.
"Now class…" Their teacher begins, walking slowly to the front desk, hands clasped behind his back. "This might be the last time we meet this semester….do you know why that is?" Levi pauses, turns around and hops on the desk, legs lightly swinging. He takes a deep breath, fixing everyone's petrified gazes.
"It's because any day from now, the school might get shut down due to the lack of central heating, abundance of snow, stuck roads, or God knows what else. And we will send you home, since, you know what, who cares about two or three school days when we could all be sleeping at home, not doing our jobs? I want to ask you, how do you feel about that? Do you think this is how a civilized country handles problems?"
"Excuse me, sir!" Connie says, raising a hand. "But isn't this politics?"
"Yeah. Should we talk about that?" Jean adds. "It's not our place to question the situation."
"Then whose place is it, Jean?" Mr. Ackerman asks, crossing his legs clad in a perfectly ironed pair of black pants, as per usual. "Tell me. If you don't start thinking with your own head now, what will you do in one or two years, when the Government's decision will directly affect you? Will you shut up and bow down?"
Oh dear, the teens think, it's one of those days when Socrates brainfucks us without aftercare. Jean doesn't respond, but in moments like these it's an audience Levi is asking for.
"Listen, brats, malice aside, I really have something to tell you. Something big. There's a reason I gathered you here today. Don't think it's a pure coincidence that you're sitting in this classroom. Usually, I let Erwin do those honors, since he's a way better diplomat than I am. That's my problem, you see? I tell it like it is. But perhaps that's why he wanted me to give you….a little piece of our minds. Hard and straight to the point. How about that?"
Most of the students are by now, eyes and ears. Eren is practically drooling with curiosity, and even Mikasa and Armin are interested.
"I'm overstepping many boundaries here, as I've done quite a lot with you in the past, but pay attention. Please. For once in your life. What I'm gonna say to you is most likely illegal in the eyes of our dear Party, and for sure, you could file a complaint against me." And Levi's gaze drift to the girls, then the boys, taking once again any necessary precaution." But I've dealt with those types of issues before. Problem is…I do held grudges. And you don't want that with me, I assure you."
'And lose our favorite demented short king? No way in hell!' Sasha thinks, while looking down at her desk. All kind of profanities are written or scribbled, a stark contrast to the carefully picked words Mr. Socrates usually tells them during his classes.
"I know you're at that age when you look at us, the adults, with hatred and superiority. But take a closer look at me, at my colleagues, or your parents. The grown-ups are a defeated generation.
And I beg you still, stop hating on your teachers… I know you think some of us deserve it, but let me tell you, we are all miserable people whose tragedies might warn you of something. We sell our skills for a pitiful paycheck and want you to step into this world knowing something. Stop mocking my colleagues."
Connie rests his head in his palm, looking at his girlfriend from across the room, then back at Mr. Ackerman. He wonders how someone could lead their life with such stoicism, and yet still be so sensible. Because Connie knows, just as Eren, Mikasa, Jean and all the others do, that their dear Socrates cares about them a lot. Even if he never gave them a single smile and sometimes speaks cruelly to them. It's just that Mr. Ackerman is a smart man, and Connie hasn't seen once in his lifetime someone smart that didn't have a certain attachment issue. Just look at Mikasa, who aces at everything and has read twice as much as them, with her big, motherly heart and shit.
They are both called Ackerman, and both are really big softies on the inside. He tries to hold back a snicker at the irony.
"Teenagers can be really mean, to themselves and to others around them. I'm aware of it and I've been in your shoes, but you have no right to despise some of us. We've all worked hard, and it's not our fault your parents did better in the long run. You are not superior to your teachers, because mommy and daddy's money do not represent you. The only thing that does is what comes out of your mouth.
But be careful of what comes out of that nasty mouth of yours. The time of the fist and brutes has passed long ago. If you look beyond the walls, the world out there, that I pray you'll see one day, is more open than ever. English children are learning all day long, and so do the French, the German, you name it." He shifts his upper weight to one hand, with a nonchalance that doesn't quite suit him. But Levi knows, the lack of a stiff ass attitude is how he gets closer to them.
"We've lost the fight." He goes on. "It's clear as a day.
But you…you still have a chance. We settled for some Pepsi and a Depeche Mode record and thought, in our own naivety, that if we read, they will read too. And then we'd all embrace progress with open arms and set this country free from its misery.
We were wrong. Some of us escaped. They are earning a lot of cash in foreign lands and deep down still miss this dumpster of a town, when there's a void of inconvenience between kings and stray dogs.
But you, children, you have a chance. You have the one and only chance to do something good.
Don't think about stealing from the State funds, not even for a second. That is the easiest path, I know. You probably found out it's the most convenient way to get rich. If you own some land or do business with the Titans, you'll be settled for life. You've heard something about tax evasion… or how you might steal from profits and lie in your receipts, but all is still not very clear to you.
That's not the road you wanna walk on, believe me. The more you steal from one another, the less they will built, and the children of your children will inherit a land of debris. All of you are so young, yet none of you have any idea what it means to have a town in which things run smoothly. If you won't find out soon and they keep on stealing, think about your children. There will be no chance left.
The people in charge are not able to tell you who Delacroix is. Or Duchamp. Or Chagall. Those thieves probably think Zarathustra plays for a football team. Very few of them can tell you who painted The Last Supper, or why Visconti chose Thomas Mann's novel to make a cataclysmic movie. The only thing they can teach you how to steal. And this way of living, sooner or later, hits a dead end.
And there's one solution for all of this.
Read, children. Read a lot. Read everything that falls into your hands. At this age, nothing is more important than knowledge. Stop reading only what your teachers tell you to. Read anything, without judgment, beyond what's compulsory.
International literature will help you distinguish between good and evil. Balzac, Stendhal, Dumas, Dostoyevsky, Dickens, Tolstoy, Goethe, they all know the difference between right and wrong. From this poor country's present you can't learn what good is. But you, all and each of you, could be the goodness Paradis is in dire need of. Nothing is impossible. Through fighting for what's right, you'll strangle this evil that's been suffocating us, and your rebellion will be like a plague of locusts on the harvests they don't deserve.
Then, seek yourselves out. Find out which one of you likes the same things, and build up a strong pack. Yeah, just like wolves. Because only in pack can smart people make it. If one of you goes to fight, they will be eaten for sure, but ten, twenty, thirty, of you might get away with the dreams you have."
The students all have questions now. Why is Socrates insisting on this fighting thingie? They are just teenagers after all. Who can they actively fight? The biggest confrontations they've ever done in their life are probably with their parents. Surely he isn't insinuating something bigger, is he? But as for now, their teacher won't take questions anytime soon.
"Brats," Levi goes on, "now's the right time to start thinking about replacing them. Their time must come to an end. You have to dominate those scums. But not by stealing more than they currently do. That's the most simple, brutal way, and it will suffocate the heirs of Paradis.
What will you do with millions of dollars in a dead city? What will you buy with stacks of cash? Why should you own a Ferrari if there's no highway to ride it on? Why should you have a three-story house in a neighborhood drenched in floods and mud?
Stop listening to those stupid magazines. Can't you see they don't give two shits about what happens to your generation? In this industry, the dumber their buyer is, the easier it is for them to sell any shit they want. And the shit you buy comes from stupid people paid accordingly. Meaning cheap. Are you cheap?
You shouldn't buy whenever you see a discount, be more selective with your choices, kids. Read the publications you really need, some than truly inform you on the important matters. Although in our country…you know how it is with the freedom of the press.
And please, please, stop drowning yourselves without common sense in alcohol and nicotine. It'll only make it easier for the incompetents in charge to label you as a generation of degraded punks, and the necessary funds for your salvation will end up in their pockets.
There will be a time for tequila and Marlboro, but right now your duty is to learn. Do it while you still can, because soon, after high school is over and we part ways, there will be no more time for that. The life of an adult without any aid is worse than surviving in a jungle. Animals live by unspoken rules, but we live by written laws which are so much worse because they serve no purpose.
Stop making money a major goal in your life. And stop envying the rich people. Dumb, cosmopolite fuckboys shouldn't be your role models. After they can't get it up anymore, all they will have is a list of some holes they've stuffed their pepees into. Those kind of achievements come and go. But you, you have the chance to leave something behind. Money is not the way. Look at where this hunger for money has brought us.
Money must be a means to end. The end is wisdom, children. And the more you will know, the taller you will be. Each book you read, every learned lesson, will be placed under your feet and help you rise above everyone else. Then you can dominate with your intellect alone. There is nothing more beautiful than that. Europe, America, they all buy intelligence. Paradis doesn't, because thieves don't buy, thieves steal. Remember it's your own pockets they are robbing and that should be enough motivation to stop them.
And at the end of the day, history is written by the ones who build empires. You'll hear all your life about Napoleon or Caesar, but I guarantee you, your children won't know who the 7th Colossal Titan was.
I look at each of your faces, brats, you are still so young. Don't think that's a weakness. Your power lays in your innocence. Your soul is pure, they didn't get the chance to stain it yet, but if fighters won't rise from among you, the Party will shower you with the mud of the streets they promised to fix but didn't. Each drop is money that should've been on that road but instead is in their bank accounts. Doesn't that make your guts churn? Stop complaining. The change Paradis wants lies in your hearts, don't you understand that? If you leave this country in the hands of frauds and rascals, your children will have even a bigger mess to clean up.
And don't even think about giving up just because you don't have the means. Any Newton, Dante or Kant would've survived and written their works in any rural Paradisian town. This is the type of person people will believe in. One that doesn't need a background for dreaming, or physical comfort in order to be happy. But, most importantly, this country will be changed by those who want to think regardless of academic environment.
Resigning will lead you nowhere. Rebel, fight, protest. But don't be senseless. A protest without a clear purpose is just straight up barking. Study the laws and the Constitution. Find out what are your rights and obligations. Then you'll know who can kick your ass or not. That's very important. You'll be able to defend yourselves in the long run. Knowledge or information is a battle tactic in itself.
But then you'll find out the laws are stupid, incomplete, bad, and need to change. And changing the system will seem like time-consuming hard work. But goddamn it, kids, you've got all the time in the world and nothing is too hard for you, is it?
I know you. You're good people. I've been in your shoes. Me, along with Mrs. Zoe, Mr. Smith or Ms. Ral. But we've lost the fight. Some of us, me and my colleagues, can help you out. But we've grown soft. Our bones are not as tough as they used to be. The fire in our eyes barely keeps us warm. We're still strong side characters in this silent war, but you have to understand, that you are the heroes of this story. Good things have always come from younger, eager generations. You've got the guts and nothing to lose. And the little you brats could lose will be overshadowed by how much you could win.
Look amongst you and choose your leaders. Choose them and never carry an ounce of envy for them. They'll have the glory, but the nightmares too. A true chief can save us, but in the end they'll have to give up their own self. Start the search for your captains; look every day into each other's eyes, because, when the decisive moment arrives, whether it's me or principal Smith, we will be useless. An old crow cannot lead an army into the battle.
Start thinking with your own heads or you'll die along with us. And then the gates of freedom will be shut once more and they will win once again.
Who are they?
Well, I'm certain you know very well. You see their fat, stupid faces in the daily newspaper. Or on television.
Save us! Save yourselves! There's only one way. The fight for knowledge. And when you'll win it, only then you'll know what you're truly fighting for.
Stop wailing in the present. Save your asses in the future."
And with that, Mr. Ackerman pulls something out of his inner pocket. His stone cold expression never changes as he throws a handful of patches on the front desk. The teens have frozen in their seats. Armin can't swallow the lump in his throat. Jean literally forgets how to breathe. Connie's eyes are sparkling, as if he's about to burst.
Because right in front of them, lay the wings of freedom. The symbol of the Scouts stares back at those young, innocent people. They all feel a heavy burden on their shoulders.
Because it's one thing to complain about school, the roads, or the System in Armin's door room and it's completely another one to be part of this secret anti-Government resistance. Where people die, go missing or get arrested.
Eren is, however, full of goose bumps. They're the result of an immeasurable excitement.
Finally, he, along with others, can do something about it. About the mess they're all in. The Scouts probably took a look at them and decided a bunch of teens are done with every compromise they have to accept. The left corner of his mouth raises up in a pleased, feline smirk.
"I'm certain you know what those wings mean. You have until the first Monday after winter break to decide. Whoever wants to join in, take one patch and sew it on the inside of your jacket." Levi declares, crossing his arms over his chest.
"We've lost this fight.
What will you do?" He finishes, those blue eyes glancing over each and every one of them.
And with a tired wave of his hand, Mr. Ackerman dismisses the class. One by one, the students go to the front desk to grab their own pair of black and white wings. They walk weirdly, still hypnotized by what they've just been told.
As the last student passes him by and exits the classroom, Levi releases an exhausted breath. He doesn't like how this feels. Erwin had an interesting idea, and by all means those brats really want to fight. Every teacher can see it, it's in their eyes. Still, a hideous thought lingers in the back of his mind. That he is abusing their love for him, their genuine admiration. He and Erwin are exploiting the passion, the determination and the strength of some vulnerable people.
And isn't our dear System doing exactly the same? The Titans generously reward the students in their youth club, and all they ask in return is to be a lying, deceiving snitch. Reiner, Berthold and Annie have been taught to fight for the greater good, to put the trust in their leaders, because if the Titans win they will prosper and live in an utopia full of rationalized loaves of bread.
Cheap chants and promises. Promises and cheap chants.
A thick layer of nasty dirt covers both parties at hand. The Scouts are, sometimes, no better than the monster they face.
Levi looks outside the window. It's already dark outside, and the wind is blowing some snow from the rooftop. He clenches his fists.
'You're a picture perfect demagogue. The worst imposter of them all. That's what you are. A scum for serving them overused, pathetic lines about freedom. The history of mankind, from the crack of civilization until the modern era, is full of those recycled themes about rising from the ashes. And the students call you Socrates. Are you not ashamed of yourself? ' A tiny, nagging voice plague his thoughts. He literally told them nothing about the risks that will come. His speech made it look like joining a religious organization that condemns every small pleasure in life.
Harmodius and Aristogeiton, the Popes that lead Crusades, Robespierre, Benjamin Franklin, Bonaparte, Lenin, Hitler. All of them promised a great, bountiful futures to their followers once the old, outdated power is out of the picture.
And what did they do in the end? Oh, that's right. All of them became just as cruel as the previous leaders.
Levi feels defeated.
'Didn't even the Titans once promised to break the chains holding us down? To free this country from the Marleyan colonisers? Rise and become an independent country? And look where that got us.'
These thoughts continue to linger in the back of Levi's head, long after he turns off the lights and heads back to his cold, white apartment.
No one is speaking as they head outside the classroom. However, one should not mistake their silence for bitterness. Today, a handful of teens walk home with a glowing aura. They are not saying anything because there is no need to.
Have you ever seen a great movie at the cinema, and when you leave the theater room you feel ethereal, like you're dreaming and nothing is impossible? A belief fills you, that with one snap of finger and a well-timed thought, you could lead a life like the main character in the movie.
That's how Eren feels right now.
He, along with his friends, can change the world. The Survey Corps is no longer a myth, but instead, a very real revolutionary group that wants their participation.
Somebody finally trusts him. The people that will bring down the Titans.
Mr. Ackerman has given them those wing patches and invited him and his friends to the fight.
The cat is out of the bag. The rumors were true all along.
'So that was what everybody is talking about, huh?' Eren thinks.
It feels like losing his virginity all over again and finding out about a great secret.
"See you on Monday, doofus?" Armin asks him. Footsteps crunch on the thin layer of snow, as Armin and the rest head to the adjuvant dorms. It is already dark outside, and the public illumination guides the way back.
"Hopefully." The green eyed teen replies, locking eyes with the blonde one.
Jean, Connie and Sasha also halt in their places. Historia is waving an enthusiastic goodbye, but the tension in the air is so thick you can cut it with a knife. Their breaths steam in the cold winter air.
Until Eren is suddenly throwing a contagious laughing fit. For no reason, apparently. It is very characteristic for this theater kid to freely express his random emotions.
But then Armin joins him too.
And so do Connie and Sasha.
Jean follows suit.
Mikasa and Historia also burst out in uncontrollable giggles.
And so, seven younglings are laughing their guts out in front of the Shinganshina high school, under the dim light of a public street lamp. They don't stop until their stomachs hurt. Why should they? They have so many reasons to be joyful. All the snickers and chuckles, the giggles and wheezing, it's their way of saying: Look at me! I'm alive! I feel so much! I'm ready to scream! Why should I be quiet? The sadness is for the grown-ups who have run out of time.
Eren starts grabbing his friends, guiding them into a circle until they can all form a group hug. Sasha is wiping her tears and Jean chokes on his own spit out of the blue.
The teens stay like this for a few seconds, a plethora of arms thrown around their shoulders. When the laughing dies down, Armin breaks the silence:
"Guys, guys, can you believe it? We're gonna be part of the Survey Corps!"
"We will take down the Titans!"
"End this Regime!"
"Play Taxi Driver in cinemas!"
"And bring Hershey's to Paradis!" Sasha exclaims.
Mikasa is smiling warmly to their friends. Other than finishing a poem, hugs are her favourite thing in the world. Not that she has the guts to admit it, unlike Eren, the demigod of touch starvation itself.
"Theater kids by day, revolutionaries by night! We're like superheroes!" Connie eagerly declares.
"I tell you Connie, we're the new Batman!" Jean snickers, patting his roommate on the back.
They let go of each other with heavy hearts. But even as the hug ends, a tremendous enthusiasm stays on their faces. Eren pats Armin on the head a few times, then the group splits in half: Eren and Mikasa head to the bus station, while the others go back to the dorms.
No one is out on this Saturday night, the weather is way too cold for an evening stroll. The young teens are all alone out there, as if they're the last people on Earth. They can even hold hands. The sensation is pure bliss.
While waiting for the bus, Mikasa hits the play button on her Walkman. The first track starts, a rhythmic song she knows by heart. The girl taps her feet to the beat, hoping to warm herself up. Eren scrunches his nose at the state of the bus stop. There are three plastic chairs under a shelter, all of them dirty, broken and smelling like piss. Who gives a shit about public property, anyway? Ninety percent of the population is still working under a pavlovian behavior: if there's not a material reward right away, they won't do it.
How can you explain to an uneducated, most likely addicted person that when they're damaging those seats, all the others have to deal with it?
It's a long way to go until the average Paradisian citizen will understand the notion of morality. Until then, Eren prays to escape this Stone Age.
But sometimes it feels like only a meteorite clash could solve all of their problems. He would like to talk to his father.
"Dad, I'm terribly sick."
"Oh, well, good thing I'm a doctor. What's hurting you, son?"
" …"
The boy throws a last look to the dilapidated bus stop. An itch settles in his throat, as if his own repulsed body wishes to spit on the dirty seats. But Eren knows that if you fight fire with fire, you will leave behind only an empire of ashes.
But then he turns his head and sees her. Mikasa, with her leopard coat and curled ends, swaying left and right and humming a song. The red scarf she always wears is puffed up and covers her mouth. And so the boy forgets the problems of their world.
The aches, the piss, his father, Paradis, Socrates, they can wait for all he cares.
The boy goes in front of the girl and grabs her elbows. He mimics her moves and they began to lull together from side to side. Mikasa pulls out one of her earphones and gently sticks it into Eren's ear, sharing the song. The sound glitches sometimes, but it doesn't matter.
"Well, I didn't know Hamlet could be so…electric. You bad, bad girl." The boy says, reminding her of the lie from the other day.
Mikasa sighs and lowers her head in a joyful display of embarrassment. But Eren won't have it today. He lifts her chin up towards him, then slides his fingers, gently, teasingly, down her shoulders, until he guides her limbs around his neck, as greedy palms settle on her waist. Now they're really dancing. He wishes Armin was there, to photograph them swaying in a cold, foggy, dirty bus stop. The shot is probably worth the Pulizer he deserves.
I, I will be king
And you, you will be queen
"I can't believe I'm gonna fight for the Survey Corps, Eren." She sighs. He nods accordingly, capturing her gaze in pure adulation. In this whole wide world there is one pair of slanted, deep, dark eyes. Only two of them. 'How strange!' The boy thinks. There are so many other eyes on this Earth, more slanted, deeper, darker, prettier.
Yet all of these others don't stare back at him. He wants to drown his own gaze solely into the singular pitch black eyes he worships. And that pair is not on the other side of the world. They're right there, in the same town that he is, in the same bed, in the same life. Nothing can break Eren and Mikasa apart. Nothing and everything, like an inexplicable warm mush of melancholy.
"Can you imagine? Leading a revolution? Burning down flags on the Parliament rooftop?" Eren wonders, stuck in the fantasy.
"Well, there's a long way to that. And I don't even know how to sew those patches on our coats." She replies.
Though nothing will drive them away
We can be Heroes, just for one day
"I'll do it, Mikasa. Theater kid, remember? Besides, I'd hate to see your pretty little hands working on something else other than my co-"
"You perverted sexist scumbag!" She headbutts him before he can finish, slamming the crown of her head into his mouth.
"Mmm, I'm sure you weren't saying those things last night!" He moans in sadistic mockery.
"That line is so overused, idiot…" Mikasa grunts, grabbing the fur on his hood.
"Yeah, yeah, love you too." He snickers, leaning in and kissing her forehead.
The song hits is second chorus, as their slow dance in the night continues.
"Do you have any idea on how we can help the Scouts?" The girl asks, pressing their torsos together, sharing the precious body heat.
"Of course I have! Remember the classic play we're doing at the theater club? It's for the annual national contest between bands. Teens from all over the country are gonna be there. And the best part, so is the press. It's all going on live television."
"But that isn't until June!"
"Exactly…gives you plenty of time to write a powerful speech I will deliver on the final act. Then everyone in this country will hear of the horrors they are doing!"
"Eren, you're crazy! You know I'm not good with prose, scripting and shit like that. "
"Nonsense. You are ridiculously good at everything you do. I'm fairly convinced you ate bird shit when you were a toddler."
"But I don't know anything about political manifestos and revolutions! All I've done is some silly angsty poetry."
"Mmm. Bullshit. Look at you, my little revolutionary, with that cute little red cap. You're like a Che Guevara I'm sexually attracted to."
But Mikasa scoffs and looks down at the dirty pavement.
"And where will I learn about what I should say? Even Mr. Ackerman said that protesting without knowledge is nothing but barking. I'm nobody's pup, Eren."
"Please calm down. I trust you completely. Even more than that, I feel like we can't possibly fail. How silly is that?"
"Very. You're naïve Eren. I fear the worst will happen with your big mouth involved."
"I doubt it. There's no losing when I'm with you."
She sighs. A long, exhausted one, and hides her face into the crook of his neck. But Eren doesn't let go. In fact, he cradles her tighter in his arms, pulling her flush against him. If she's by his side, there's nothing he can't do. The song plays in each of their ears.
We can be heroes for ever and ever
What d'you say?
"By the way…"Eren whispers, pulling apart just a little. "I know Christmas isn't for another week or two, but I got you something." He smiles, searching for something in his jeans pocket.
"And do you think now's the right time to give it to me? Eren, what in the name of hell couldn't wait until Christmas mornin- "
But the boy shoves something down her middle finger. A silver armor now encases her pale flesh, from knuckles to the last phalange. At the base sits a beautifully handcrafted sphere with a cross on top of it.
"Oh my god!"Mikasa breathes out, as she raises her hand to examine it, turning her finger from side to side, admiring the unique jewel design. She already knows the grown-ups won't agree with it, but the little punk devil on her left shoulder is currently basking in ecstasy.
"What a pretty ring…" The girl moans.
"Pretty ring for a pretty girl." Eren confirms.
"But…wait a damn minute. This sphere…with a cross on top of it….Oh .God! Eren, is this a Vivienne Westwood ring?"
The face she just made is all the nourishment Eren needs for the next ten years. Her eyes are glowing, while a blush sits on her cheeks, her hands are shaking with delight and a wide smile graces her face. Not even when she cums is she that beautiful.
"Sure it is! Where did you think I was the other day until late in the evening? Armin and I searched all over this town until we made a deal with a smuggler."
"But this is a designer ring! It should've cost you at least four allowances!"
"You're worth way more than I can give you. Don't worry, I know that. You don't have to rub it in my face, baby." He says with a cheeky wink.
"You shouldn't have…"
"Shut up. I remember how you looked all summer at the foreign fashion magazines Miss Rodin had."
Oh we can beat them, for ever and ever
Then we could be Heroes, just for one day.
Mikasa brings her mouth to his, her red dry lips clashing with his equally chapped ones in a welcomed display of gratitude. Eren breathes in sharply, completely taken aback. She's never kissed him first. Not even when they're alone in their bedroom. Mikasa's never been the one to initiate it, always too afraid they would get caught. And now his girlfriend is doing it in public, under dim street lights, her hands clutching onto his jacket like a lifeline.
And it's no innocent peck she's giving him, either. Her tongue almost assaults his mouth, her moves so primal, raw and heated, she's making Eren's head spin. This is heaven on Earth.
In her arms, right now, the future seems like a vague and stupid concept.
The sound of a massive engine scares Mikasa away. His girl is pulling back, turning around to see the bus halting in the station. Its doors creak loudly when they open out of synch, rusty and dirty like everything else the Titans assign to the people. She sighs, disappointed, and gestures for Eren to embark.
His hands, however, keep her in place.
"How about we walk home tonight? We can hold hands all the way back." He suggests with a wide grin, head still dizzy from the kiss.
She freezes as the doors close, and huffs when the bus continues his route once again. They have just missed the only chance to get home on time.
"I thought you hated cold winters like these."
"Eren, do you like cold or hot weather better?" her shaking voice asks in the dead of the night.
"I like warm winters and cool summers." Comes his honest answer.
"huh. That's because you're a coward. You only want the good part of things." Mikasa says, ash falling from the half-smoked cigarette.
"I've changed my mind. I must learn to love things as a whole. The good and the bad." Eren answers, grabbing her hand and holding it tightly. Slowly, they began walking back through harsh winds and dirty, watery snow. He doesn't mind, though. Who knows when they'll get another moment like this?
"Besides, there are some people worth freezing your ass for." He chuckle through chattering teeth.
But when Mikasa stops to wrap half of her scarf around his neck, Eren knows it. That what he feels for her isn't love.
It's religion.
Mikasa is a whole Cosmos of cold, stoic kindness, and the Universe itself, with all its mesmerizing galaxies and fascinating stars, is merely an extension of her beauty.
And so they continue to walk in silence, hand in hand and fingers linked, connected by the scarf around their necks, like the read thread Mikasa has heard in the legends of her people. The moonlight shines down on them.
"I hope you realize this doesn't mean you're getting your dick sucked tonight!" She shouts with confidence.
"Aww, no way baby! You know I'm an equalitarian! You give some, then I give you some."
"You're such a moron… There's no way you'll be the leader of our revolution with this attitude."