le ruisseau -
In the creek, his lips pressed against hers lightly, innocently.
And, as he pulled back, something warm hummed in his chest.
c'est chaud -
Something warm pressed against his chest.
He coughed, water spewing from his mouth, gasping.
His eyes opened to a room bathed in buttery, golden light, flickering against every possible surface.
It was warm.
A hand brushed against his forehead. Instinctively, he reached to grab it, but it slipped through his grip as soon as he felt skin.
"Rest," whispered a feminine voice.
It sounded so familiar.
Eren tried to sit up, to turn, to face its owner, but as soon as his head was lifted, it felt heavy as lead. He let it drop back into the pillow, groaning.
His eyes scanned the wooden ceiling blankly, his ears barely registering the roar of a nearby fire.
All he could hear was that voice, echoing through his mind.
Rest, it crooned. Gently, softly. Lovingly.
Rest.
When he woke, white light poured through a window to his right.
He sat up, his head still heavy, but bearably so. His legs swung away from their place on the bed, dangling over its edge. He hopped down. His feet, clothed in socks that weren't his, met the floor.
Below the window lay another bed of similar size to his. The sheets were ruffled, but fixed so that the bed was, technically, made.
Something glimmered against the rumpled pillow case.
Eren stepped forward, his eyes straining against the object's reflective light, until he was close enough to understand what it was.
A blond hair, long and relaxed.
"Armin," he exhaled, and he began to run, out the door, shouting the name of his best friend, not bothering to notice the large amount of doors he passed in doing so, or even the cluster of uniformed women that began to follow him, asking him to stop.
It wasn't until his legs gave, sending him sprawling across the floor, that he seemed to realize he wasn't alone in the hallway.
The women gathered around him, collectively asking if he was alright, helping him back to his feet.
"I'm fine," he assured them, his breaths labored. He leaned into one of them, the poor woman nearly stumbling under his weight. "Just….where am I?"
One of them, a rather pretty lady with caramel-colored hair, offered him a soft smile as she answered.
"Le Foyer Inn," she said. "You must be so confused."
Eren nodded. "I am. Last thing I remember is drowning…..in the river…."
The woman's mouth twisted in pity. She waved a hand, maintaining eye contact with her guest. The other women dispersed reluctantly.
"We heard you and your friend's shouts a few nights ago, and took you from the river just as you'd gone under," she explained. "The both of you gave us quite a scare; we were sure we'd come too late. Your friend woke within a few minutes, thank the Lord, but you-"
Eren's heart skipped a beat. "Friend?" he repeated, his eyes wide. "Do you know where he is now?"
The woman blinked, astonished. "Oh….he's in the dining hall, I believe. But please, sir, let me help you get th-"
Abruptly, Eren took her hand in both of his. "Thank you, Miss. I'll see you again soon, I'm sure."
He started on his way, nearly falling over again. She hurried after him, calling, "Sir, please, you're not well yet!"
He stopped. Turned to her.
"Where is the dining hall, exactly?"
She sighed in amused exasperation, taking the opportunity to catch up with him. Eren was startled, but unsurprised, to find his arm draped over her shoulder, her arm supporting him from the chest up.
"I'll show you, sir," she answered once he'd leaned his weight on her. They started on their way.
"What's your name?" he asked her.
"Petra. Petra Ral. And yours?"
"Eren Jaeger."
"That's a lovely name, Mr. Jaeger."
"I could say the same to you, Miss Ral."
She gave him a strange look. "No need to call me 'Miss', sir. I'm a maid; you're a guest. Just 'Petra' is fine."
He grinned lopsidedly at her. "Alright, then, Petra. You can just call me Eren."
Petra made a face. "I'd rather not, sir."
"Well, I'd rather you did."
Petra had to keep her guest from bolting forward once he'd caught sight of his friend.
"Armin!" he shouted, struggling against her secure grip.
Armin's back straightened as he scanned the room wildly for his best friend. When he finally found him, he jumped up from his breakfast, breaking into a sprint, a blond waterfall streaming out behind him.
"Mr. Arlert!" started an employee, reaching after him.
Armin threw his arms around Eren's shoulders, laughing ecstatically. Eren hugged him back tightly, nearly crushing him.
"You're alive!" Armin cheered. "You made it! We made it!"
"I thought we were goners!" Eren agreed, catching his excitement.
"We weren't!"
"Does this mean we're not as stupid as we thought?"
Armin pulled away, shaking his head and chuckling. "It means we're so stupid that God
felt sorry for us and granted us mercy."
An incredulous giggle bubbled from Eren's stomach. "I don't know about you, but I'm going to start praying again."
"Damn straight you are!" Armin agreed. "I've already got my start on it, blessing my food before I eat!"
The two burst into a fit of laughter, clapping one another on the back, their faces flushing, tears of relief springing to their eyes.
Petra turned to the astonished butler. "Marco," she called. He jumped.
"Um, yes ma'am?"
"Prepare Mr. Jaeger's breakfast, please."
He glanced at the guests once more before nodding. "Yes, ma'am," he said, hurrying back to the kitchen.
- omelettes et expériences de mort imminente -
"I thought you wouldn't make it," Armin admitted once they were both seated, combing his hair behind his ears before picking up his fork again. "It only took the staff a few minutes to get me breathing right. Then they hauled me off to this doctor's room to give me medicine, while someone was still trying to get the water out of your lungs. When they finally did, you still hadn't opened your eyes, and you still weren't breathing deeply enough. They didn't answer me when I asked if you were going to be alright. I was so scared.
"Then, out of nowhere, nearly an hour later, they said you were perfectly fine. I asked how they knew, and they said some random maid had gone in to check on you, and you'd opened your eyes, and you were breathing just fine. And just about everyone in the room relaxed. The doctor fed you your medicine while you slept, saying you had a fever. You never opened your eyes. I was still a little worried, if I'm being honest. I didn't know how well the medicine would work on you. But here you are, so I suppose it worked well enough."
His lips turned upward into something reminiscent of a smile, trying to mask the restlessness he must've felt, the gnawing anxiety in the pit of his stomach, the tears he had to have spilled.
Eren took a big bite of his omelet, chasing it down with some water, before responding. "I'm sorry for making you worry," he said.
Armin shrugged. "I should've known better than to do so," he dismissed. "Lord knows you'll always find a way to keep irritating me. Even if it takes a miracle."
Eren snorted, taking another bite. "Got that right. I'm here as long as you are, like it or not."
Armin wrinkled his nose at him. Eren imitated the expression, an amused hum following it.
jours de récupération -
Eren's temperature rose and fell as it pleased, which worried the staff, Petra more than anyone. For this reason, he was quarantined to his room, with nothing but a few books to read, to his heavy irritation. Doctor Zoe would check up on him a few times a day, feed him his medicine, and remind him to rest and drink plenty of water. He would nod absent-mindedly, and Dr. Zoe would skip out of the room with a chipper "See you soon!"
Armin spent his time in the innkeeper's library, which was open to all guests, strangely enough.
"There are no towns for miles," Marco explained when Armin inquired him about it. "The innkeeper supposes he can only read so many books at a time, and that his guests could use the entertainment."
Mr. Smith had supposed correctly. Armin was only too fascinated by his collections, content to spend hours in the nook by the library's smallest window, skimming over Mr. Smith's annotations, tracing his fingers along the worn print.
Doctor Zoe, it seemed, also found sufficient entertainment in Mr. Smith's books. Armin saw her, along with a few other guests, scattered across the library almost daily.
When Armin would return to his and Eren's room, for the first few days of their residence, Eren would ask him when he thought they would be heading off.
Armin would avert his eyes and say, "I think we should focus on getting you better, first." Then he would change the topic.
Soon enough, Eren decided that, as long as he was still sick, it was pointless to ask.
seulement toi -
Some nights, when Armin stayed late in the library, and Eren fell asleep in an empty room, he would have extremely lucid dreams.
Ones where the girl in the red riding hood held his face, stroking her thumb across his cheek, a faint smile gracing her lips.
She would sing a song, something close to a lullaby, under her breath. Its tune was sweet, enough so that Eren would feel himself begin to sway with its rhythm, but achingly wistful, all the same. It reminded him of days spent alongside a delivery girl, pestering her as she took quick strides and gave curt answers, blushing as townsfolk teased them. It reminded him of a springtime he'd once known. A springtime that had ended long ago.
When he woke, he would try to recall the melody of her song, if only to fill his terribly empty room with some noise, but he could never seem to get it right. Of all things, he could only seem to remember a single phrase:
Only you.
And when books bored him, and Armin didn't return for lunch, and Petra couldn't be bothered to stay and chat, Eren would hum those few notes to himself, over and over.
"Only you," he'd sing, enjoying how the words felt in his mouth. "Only you."
le visage de la mort -
A few days after his temperature settled, Doctor Zoe gave Eren her permission to leave his room.
The first thing he did was visit Armin in Mr. Smith's library. Armin, oddly enough, turned pale when he saw him.
"Y-you're out of the room," he stammered.
Eren raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Yeah, I am. Doctor Zoe gave me the OK."
"She did?"
He nodded. "Indeed, she did. So, now that I'm better and all, I have to ask: when do you think we're gonna head off? We've lost enough time here, don't you think?"
Armin hesitated. He closed his book, making sure to mark it, and turned to face his friend.
And, before he'd said a word, Eren knew what his answer was going to be.
"I don't think we'll be heading off anytime soon."
"Why not?" Eren's voice had lost any trace of relaxation.
Armin took a deep breath.
"Eren, you and I almost died out there," he said quietly. "If it hadn't been the river, it would've been starvation, or disease, or a wound, or one of those wolves. It was a terrible mistake to go into those woods on such short notice. If we'd waited longer, we might've noticed that the map was a draft, or found a better, completed map to replace it."
Eren rolled his eyes. "But that's all in the past," he said. "We made some mistakes. So what? That doesn't mean we should quit. I mean, what about finding your parents? Or the rest of your family?"
"I don't give a damn about them if it means losing you," Armin snapped. Eren flinched.
Armin took another deep breath, this time to calm himself, before continuing.
"It was a stupid idea to try and make this journey," he said, "and an even dumber idea to head off as soon as we thought we could. In our haste, we left unprepared, just as winter was settling in, and we spent a whole two months wandering aimlessly in the cold, with barely enough food to sustain us. If we're going to leave, we're going to wait until we know where we're going, and then we're going to wait until this dreadful winter ends. I don't know about you, Eren, but I'm just not keen on the idea of dying or losing my best friend out there when we just escaped that exact fate."
Eren, for once, was speechless. Armin's eyes pierced through him, a colder, icier blue than he was used to.
"I would grab myself some lunch if I were you," Armin advised him after some time, opening his book again. "The kitchen's closing in half an hour."
Defeated, Eren nodded and walked away. Armin watched the pale light from the window wash over his retreating back before turning back to Mr. Smith's annotations.
Ironically enough, the first note he landed eyes on read, I agree with Greene here. Failure should not make us afraid, but more resilient. It should fill us with determination, make us eager to confront our problems again. I believe any other ideal to be too timid and, frankly, rather cowardly.
Shaking his head scornfully, Armin reached into his pocket, hoping his pen was still there. He smiled delightedly to discover it was.
Sorry to scrawl on a book I don't own, he wrote, but Mr. Smith, you and Greene are both wrong. The naivete of your ideologies make me wonder if either of you have ever tried to put them into practice.
After all, Mr. Smith, once you see the face of death, you find yourself paying every possible expense not to see it ever again.
une lettre anonyme -
When Eren returned to his room, tired and mildly irritated, he found a crisp, white envelope sitting on his recently tidied bed.
Oh god, he thought, the tips of his ears burning, it must be about how sweaty my sheets are. Shit.
To his delight and confusion, the letter was not about his sweaty sheets.
Far from it.
Mr. Eren Jaeger, it read, if it's not any trouble, I ask you to make yourself scarce in this inn. I saw you walking around the dining hall, and the sight of you brings me pain. You remind me of someone I used to know.
I understand that Dr. Zoe has allowed you to leave your room as you please, but there is not much to do here, anyway. It won't make much of a difference if you stay in your room or wander around. It's unlikely to ease your boredom.
However, if you feel you must make your presence known, don't let me stop you. I'm simply asking a favor, is all.
Have a pleasant stay.
The letter was unsigned. Eren frowned at it in astonishment for a moment.
Then he reached for the nearest pen, placed the paper on his nightstand, and wrote.
Mr./Ms. Stranger,
I think I agree with you when it comes to easing my boredom. An hour out of my room wasn't any more interesting than an hour in it. Stretching my legs did feel nice, though.
Still, I'd hate to cause anyone pain. If it bothers you that much, I think I can stay in my room, for the most part. But on one condition only.
If I stay in my room, you have to write letters to me, and slide them under my door for me to read. I only have my friend Armin and a maid named Petra to talk to, and they're always away. But if you'd be willing to keep me company, I think I'd be a little less bored.
Take your time to think about it. Just know our deal isn't on until I get your response.
Sincerely,
Eren
After checking to be sure no one saw him, Eren placed the letter, folded in its envelope, under his door, just barely peeking out into the hallway.
He proceeded to lie down under his covers, feeling sleepy, but strangely excited, like a child waiting for Father Christmas.
When he woke, the curtains were drawn, and Armin was lighting the lanterns along the walls.
"Did I really sleep that long?" Eren asked, more to himself than to his companion.
"You missed dinner," Armin answered. "I brought you a plate. And there was an envelope under the door, addressed to you."
Eren bolted up. "Where is it?"
Armin gave him an inquiring look. "On your nightstand, next to your plate. Why are you so excited?"
He was met with a dismissive wave of Eren's hand, a gesture that gave him no option but to roll his eyes and take a seat on his bed.
All too eagerly, Eren opened the envelope, his eyes devouring the words on the page once they'd adjusted to the dim lighting.
Mr. Eren Jaeger,
I accept your proposal, and I thank you for your kindness. I do apologize if you find this request burdensome.
You've failed to specify what you'd like me to write about, so I suppose I'll start by telling you a bit about myself.
I'd rather not share my name, or describe what I look like, but I can tell you that I'm an employee here. I've worked at this inn for quite a while, and I'm satisfied with the life I've built here.
My friends are few, but wonderful. I'm actually friends with the maid you speak of, Petra. She taught me to read music and dance. She's very sweet, but I'm sure you've figured that much already. All employees, myself included, see her as a sort of mother figure. We're lucky to have her.
My only other friends are a woman named Rico, who is ten years older than me, and a butler named Marco, who is about my age. I'm a rather quiet and stoic person, so the other employees don't approach me often. Still, I know all of their names, and I try to help them when they need me. I don't necessarily care for my subordinates as companions, but I do care for their well-being. I'm not sure why I feel this way; I simply do.
Now you tell me about yourself. I won't be satisfied with anything less than what I've told you.
Sincerely,
your anonymous acquaintance
une correspondance aveugle -
And so, the letters traveled back and forth, ceaselessly.
My anonymous acquaintance,
You're not going to tell me your name? What do I call you, then? 'My anonymous acquaintance' is kind of a mouthful, don't you think?
I liked hearing about your friends. I think Marco is a friend of Armin's. I've seen them talking at times.
I want to be humble and say my life has been uneventful, but that would be a lie. As I'm sure you've heard, Armin and I ended up here after the staff heard us screaming in the river and saved us from drowning.
We'd fallen in that river running from what we thought was a pack of wolves, believe it or not. We'd been hiking in the forest for a couple of months, lost, when they attacked us. They must've been hungry; there wasn't much game out there.
Before we'd gotten lost- well, there wasn't really a 'before'. The maps we'd brought with us were drafts. We'd gone into the woods to go to Rose's country, hoping some of Armin's family might be living there. His grandfather passed away five years ago, and his parents left him before that, when he was five, never to return. He suggested we go to Rose's country to try our hand at finding them.
My life in my village before we left was pretty boring, at least. I'm a woodsman, so I spent my days chopping wood for my father to sell. At night, I went searching for a girl I used to know. Her cousin accompanied me. The girl ran away some time ago, after something awful happened. Her cousin and I, along with my parents, Armin, and some of the townsfolk, miss her a lot. So her cousin and I look for her, every night, even though it's been a while since we've seen her, or even found a clue to her whereabouts. Though I'm sure we'll find something else, eventually.
Now you have to tell me something about your home, okay?
Your friend,
Eren
Eren,
You're very demanding, I must say. Your curiosity seems near insatiable.
But I don't believe I can refuse you. You've shown me immense kindness, and now you've offered me your friendship. How could I deny your adamant requests when you've done so?
You may call me Rose. This isn't my real name, but an alias for you to refer to me as. I hope this satisfies you.
My home is Le Foyer Inn. Like you, I came here injured from a journey. I do not like to recall why I left for this journey, but I do like to remember all that has followed my arrival here.
I stayed as a guest until I recovered. Mr. Smith offered to pay for any further residence I might have had in mind, but I refused him, as that had felt akin to stealing. Instead, I offered him my services as a maid. He accepted them.
I hardly spoke then, as I do now. As I stated earlier, many of my coworkers didn't bother to be friendly to me.
Petra approached me before any of them thought to do so. She took me on as a sort of student, guiding me through my chores and duties. She repeatedly offered me her friendship as she did so, continually striking up unrelated conversations, practically showering me in compliments, asking me to join her for lunch almost every day. I humored her, but ultimately rejected her. I wasn't very open to the idea of companionship at the time.
And then, one night, I had a terrible nightmare. Petra woke me, a glass of water in her hand, and gave me one of her wonderfully secure hugs. I remember all tension leaving my body as she did this, my breathing slowing, as though she had magical abilities of some sort.
She let me cry into her shoulder until I felt better. Then she promised me she would stay with me until I felt safe. And she slept by my side until the cock crowed and morning came again.
After that, I gave up on pushing her away. She became my best and only friend for quite some time.
I will tell you how I came to know Marco in the next letter, but only if you tell me how you sleep.
For example, do you ever have nightmares?
Your friend,
Rose
Rose,
That's a pretty name. I'm glad to call you that, even if it's not god - given.
Nightmares, eh? Yeah, I get them. Not as often as I used to, but I still get them.
The girl I mentioned before, the one who ran away, usually stars in them. That's all I want to say about it.
Other than that, I wouldn't say I sleep well. Since arriving here, I think I've slept better than I have for a long time. Back home, I stayed up late searching for the girl, and I woke early for work. If I was lucky, I'd get around five hours of shuteye.
But I've handled it well, I think. I'm a good woodsman, good enough at least to keep my family in business. My father's going to take my place while I'm gone, which worries me. He can't chop as well as he used to. My family might lose some money.
Still, since I'm not there to eat all of their food, it all might work out. We'll see.
Now tell me how you met Marco.
Your friend,
Eren
Eren,
You seem to spend much of your energy on this girl. If it's really been a while since she left, why don't you move on? I'd hate to think anyone should lose sleep to a fruitless search. Wouldn't it be better for you if you quit searching for her?
Aside from that, I did promise to tell you how I met Marco. So here is his story.
Marco has worked at Le Foyer Inn since he was a child. His mother, who was also an employee, conceived him with a guest. The guest left before she knew she was pregnant, failing to leave an address, or even a town where he might be found. Marco's mother died while birthing him. Mr. Smith adopted him, rather than sending him to an orphanage.
On his seventh birthday, Marco begged Mr. Smith to let him work as a butler. He had been eager to help since he was old enough to understand how he could. But Mr. Smith refused him.
So Marco asked again. And again. And again. Finally, Mr. Smith got tired of it. He relented, and Marco's been a butler for sixteen years, now.
After Petra had befriended me, Marco tried to follow suit. Despite being so close to Petra, I still hadn't quite opened my mind to the idea of befriending my subordinates. As it were, I'd already deemed myself unworthy of being Petra's friend. Making any other friends felt deceitful to me, somehow.
As a person, I felt worthless. I told myself I was the scum of the earth. That I didn't deserve kindness, or affection. That letting myself accept either of those things made me a liar, or a cheater.
So I pushed him away, more forcefully than I'd denied Petra.
'How selfish can you be?' I kept asking myself. 'How indulgent can you be?'
Then, one day, Mr. Smith came out from his study. He marched right up to Marco and began to reprimand him harshly, in front of the staff and guests. For what, I can't remember, though I do clearly recall the shade of pink Marco's face turned. It made his freckles stand out, as though someone had spilled ink on a flower bud.
After that incident, he daren't speak to anyone for the rest of the day, his head hung low. He looked like a dog with its tail between its legs. It was a rather depressing sight.
At dinner, I watched him eat alone. And something possessed me to approach him, and then to try and comfort him.
It didn't work, at first. He didn't seem to listen to what I had to say, deflecting all my reassurances with dreary, hopeless, self-deprecative remarks.
At one point, he said, "I'm a miserable failure." For some reason, this angered me more than anything he'd said prior.
I heatedly told him he was not, in any way, shape, or form, a failure. I told him I looked up to him, and that his father had no business embarrassing him like he had, and that he was an inspiring person.
My seriousness seemed to get through to him. He thanked me and offered me some of his dessert. I refused him, but he insisted. And after that, I felt I couldn't resist him any longer. We began to talk regularly. I began to refer to him as my friend.
I have one more story to tell. It's not nearly as interesting as the last two, in my opinion, but I feel it's only appropriate I tell it, now. It's about how I met Rico.
But I'll only tell it if you tell me about this girl you're so obsessed with, and why you don't just move on.
Your rather concerned friend,
Rose
Rose,
If you're really that serious, I guess I'll tell you.
I grew up with this girl. Along with Armin, she was my best friend. I was there when her parents died, when Armin left us to be an apprentice, when her cousin adopted her, when she became a delivery girl, and when she killed the man who murdered her parents.
I was there when she left, and I was in love with her.
I still may be.
It would be torturous, Rose, not to look for her. It would kill me.
I would much rather live in her memory than in a world where I pretend she never existed, or where I chose to forget her. Because to me, a life without her isn't a life. It's just an existence.
Looking for her and dreaming of her is what keeps the light in my eyes, Rose. If sleep is the price I have to pay for that, then so be it.
Now. Tell me about Rico.
Your friend (who is content with his life choices),
Eren
Eren,
I didn't expect you to answer me so plainly. Thank you for your honesty and openness. In return, I will tell you about Rico.
Rico and I, much like another subordinate of mine named Annie, avoided one another like the plague. I disliked her because she judged me harshly, and plainly told me why, which felt more offensive than constructive. She disliked me because I did not cooperate well with anyone but Petra or Marco, and if given an order, I was- and still am- prone to ask why that order was issued. I have a tendency to act of my own accord; it doesn't mix well with my work.
Rico and I often got into arguments, which didn't mix well with work, either. It hurt our performance, but neither of us really cared. We were more concerned with proving one another wrong than impressing our peers.
And then Petra stepped in.
An old friend of Rico's she somehow managed to convince her to lend me a few of her books. She said she suspected we had similar tastes.
When I told Rico I'd finished them, she asked me how I liked them. I had enjoyed them, and I told her so. We began to have conversations over them, conversations I found myself enjoying. I discovered she and I were like-minded people. We began to talk about things other than her books. Now, I consider her a friend.
Now that I've told you Rico's and my story, I must confess something.
I lied in my last letter, Eren. I do have one more story to tell you.
But to hear it, you must meet me in the cellar at midnight tonight. The entrance is just outside the dining hall, a few steps to the left of the door.
Should you accept, I will enclose my spare cellar key in my next letter. And I do hope you'll accept.
Your rather nervous friend,
Rose
Rose,
I get to meet you? In person?
What about the person I remind you of? Won't it hurt you to see my face?
What prompted this change? And who is this next story about?
Don't worry; I have every intention of meeting you tonight. I'm just very confused.
Love,
Eren
A long, golden key fell from the following letter's envelope.
Eren,
Yes, you will meet me in person. I'll even tell you my real name.
I will answer all of your other questions tonight. I promise.
Love, now is it?
Rose
His stomach and throat filled with a furious swarm of butterflies, Eren wrote a note to Armin asking him to wake him for dinner. He placed it on his bed, and proceeded to curl up under his covers.
He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what his newest friend would look like, ignoring his churning belly and clammy palms, the cellar key tucked safely in his left sock.
Strangely enough, he couldn't seem to come up with a face that fit.
Armin shook his friend awake just as dinner had begun, as he'd been asked to. Eren practically jumped out of his bed, inciting a startled yelp from his roommate, who fell back onto his own bed.
"Eren? What on earth's gotten into you?" he asked, shaken.
Eren's grin was all too wide. "I," he boasted, "am going to meet her."
Armin lifted an eyebrow. "You mean the person who's been sending you these letters? What, is it a secret admirer of some sort?"
Eren shook his head. "Nothing like that. She's just a friend. But I'm going to finally meet her."
"At dinner?"
"After. Now, let's get some food, shall we?"
Armin, somewhat used to Eren's random, sudden outbursts at this point in his life, didn't bother to ask any more questions. Instead, he merely rose and nodded, following his giddy friend out the door.
les heures sont longues -
Time dragged.
Eren scarfed down his dinner, bathed, dressed himself, smoothed down his hair, returned to his room.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
He read part of Treasure Island.
And then he realized he'd read ten pages.
And he'd understood none of what he'd read.
He tried again.
His brain refused.
He tried again.
No luck.
He checked his watch.
A mere sixteen minutes had passed.
It was only half-past ten.
Armin snored lightly beside him.
He tapped his foot impatiently.
Re-opened Treasure Island.
Strained to focus on the meaning of each individual word.
Eventually fell into the story.
Two chapters went by. Three. Four. Five.
He checked his watch.
Five past midnight.
He sighed. Damn.
Wait.
Shit.
Eren fell out of his bed, scrambling to grab his coat and the nearest lantern, and hurried out the door, the cellar key enveloped in his anxious, sweaty grip.
elle semblait familière -
It was freezing outside, snow falling in a flurry. It piled on the ground by a few inches, at least.
But the cellar door was clear and completely visible, ice filling in the cracks in its soaked surface. Eren hurried to fit the key in its lock, turning it the wrong way repeatedly before getting ahold of himself and turning it the opposite way. It clicked. His skin buzzed.
He stepped down the ladder, into the dark, shutting the door above him as he lowered himself.
"Hello?" he called. "Rose? Are you here?"
"I'm here," someone answered.
Their voice sounded familiar.
Eren strode forward, peering into the mass of black surrounding him and his lantern.
"Have you been sitting here in the dark this whole time?"
"Yes. I do this often."
He snorted. "Do you, now?"
"I do. This is my safe haven. The dark is…..comforting."
"Comforting? It's scary, to me."
"I can understand that; I used to be the same way. Now, take a seat."
"Where- oh." Eren knocked his knee into a barrel. He sat on it.
"I told you I had one more story," Rose said. Her voice was quiet. Calm. Still.
"Can I see your face first?" Eren asked, curiosity picking at his mind.
"No."
"Can I at least hear your name?"
"No. Not until I tell you the story."
Defeated, Eren slumped against the wall.
"Alright, then. Who's this story about?"
There was a pause.
And then, silently, almost inaudibly, Rose answered him.
"You."
notre histoire -
Eren's brow furrowed.
"You invited me down here just to tell me how we met?" he asked, his voice dripping incredulity. "Why?"
"Because you don't know how we met," Rose answered simply. "Now, do you want to hear my story?"
Thousands of questions flurried in Eren's mind. Hundreds bubbled in his throat, so ready to make themselves known.
But he didn't let any of them out.
"I'll hear it," he said, and did not speak again.
Rose took a deep breath.
And then proceeded to tell their story.
"When I was seven years old, early one morning, I tried to climb a tree in my family's front yard," she said. "It was an enormous tree. I thought that if I could get to its top, I could see the entire village. I might even meet a bird or a squirrel on my way up.
"I had barely made it halfway up when a branch, a rather thin one, snapped below my foot. I grasped for the branch above me, terror seizing every inch of my body, but I'd already started to fall. I screamed until I hit the ground. All the wind was knocked out of me. My arm burned like it was on fire. I'd broken it.
"And some little boy from my school ran up to me as I cried, his face twisting in panic. He asked me where my parents were, and I said they were still asleep, in the house just to our right. He ran inside and woke them. They burst out our front door and carried me to the nearest doctor.
"The little boy followed them. I slipped in and out of consciousness, catching bits of my parents insisting he go home, bits of him stubbornly saying he wouldn't. Not until he knew I was safe. He held my good hand tightly, even as the doctor worked on my arm. Even when I finally fell unconscious for good.
"When I woke, my arm was in a cast. He was watching me with these bright, curious eyes. I asked him what his name was. He smiled at me. He was missing one of his front teeth. He said his name was Eren Jaeger."
Eren rose, his throat tightening. "There's no way-"
"I'm not done. Sit down."
He sat.
She continued.
"It didn't take me long to love him. He was always showing me something strange he'd found, always running around excitedly, always burning brightly with this insurmountable passion, the likes of which I'd never seen before. A few years after I'd met him, I began to think that this was the boy I wanted to marry when I grew up. I felt silly and romantic for thinking so, but that didn't make me feel any different.
"And then my parents were taken from me. And all I could think anymore was that if I dared to love him, or anyone else, they would be taken from me, too. So I tried my best to keep my heart silent, and my mouth shut. So God wouldn't know. So God wouldn't take him away.
"But God didn't have to do anything; I took him away from myself. Once I'd become a murderer, I realized I didn't deserve him, anyway. I realized I would only drag him down. I may have been going to Hell, but I'd be damned if he were to follow after me. And I knew he would, if I let him. And I knew I'd let him, if I were to indulge myself and stay with him.
"So I didn't. I ran. I left.
"And, after months of stumbling through the woods, I finally found Le Foyer Inn. I was sick, wounded, and starving. They let me in and took care of me. I recovered, became a maid. I thought that I could rebuild myself here. That I could baptize myself, somehow. That I could start anew.
"And then, years later, I'm awoken to help two men that have just been pulled from the river. One fair, one dark. Both painfully familiar. I ran away, retrieving Doctor Zoe, and stayed away from them. My friend Petra would come back to check on me, and she would tell me how they were faring. And within the hour, she told me the darker of the men wouldn't make it.
"I hurried to him, pressing my head against his chest. His heart wasn't beating right. I pressed my palms against his chest, hoping to resuscitate him. I didn't stop until I heard his heart beating rhythmically, calmly. He eventually opened his eyes. I ran from his line of sight, and told him to rest. He did.
"He was sick, but alive. I cried when I heard the news. And when his friend- my old friend- was gone, and he was asleep, I would visit him. I would sing to him. I missed him so much.
"A week or so later, he left his room. He nearly saw me; I had to hide in the kitchen when he was eating his lunch. I went to his room, tidied his and his friends' beds, and left a letter to him, asking him to make himself scarce. And, to my shock, he responded with a deal. A deal I was all too happy to make.
"In one of his letters, he said a life without the girl he'd lost wasn't a life at all. And I realized I felt the same way about the boy I'd left behind. And that's when I decided to stop hiding."
There was a long, disbelieving silence.
Then she said, "You can look at my face now, if you want."
son visage -
With a trembling hand, Eren lifted the lantern, rising on shaking legs to step forward.
The dim light revealed a nose.
Lips.
Cheeks.
Eyes.
A whole face, framed by hair that was much shorter than Eren remembered, that was so, so heart-achingly familiar.
His vision blurred, became watery. Tears spilled onto his cheeks. He sobbed.
"Mikasa."
She smiled sadly, curling her lips inward, holding back tears of her own. She rose. Reached behind her. Wrapped an old, stained cloak around her shoulders. Donned its hood.
Eren threw his arms around the girl in the red riding hood, dropping his lantern, crying loudly, his entire being aching.
Mikasa began to sob, as well, the sound a broken, heavy thing, one that crumpled her face and dug her head into the crook of his neck, that spasmed throughout her stomach and cued a quiet whimper from her lips.
They sounded like children.
And they didn't care.
He didn't care because she was here, she was real, she'd come back to him. This was her, the girl he'd kissed in the creek, the girl that had given him nightmares, the girl he'd spent years scouring the woods for. This was the person he called home, the person he loved most in the world, the person he was sure he'd lost forever, wailing into his shoulder, clinging to him now, and she was alive and present, and she loved him.
She didn't care, because all she could think was that God did not hate her, that God did not seek to take him from her, that she'd been forgiven for her sins. He'd come to her. By coincidence, by joyous miracle, he'd returned to her, and she didn't know how else to express the soaring feeling, the absolute gratitude, the irrevocable ecstasy singing throughout her soul but to cry like she was dying, like someone had shoved her into a fire. He was here, with her, alive and well, holding her to him fiercely, and he loved her. He still loved her.
rouge -
Red was not a color to him. Red was not a thing at all.
Red was a person. Red was a feeling. Red was a spirit.
Red was her.
She was every pulse in his heart, every petal of every rose, every brick of every hearth, every drop of blood the world had spilled, every ounce of humanity's passion.
She sat above the sun as it rose. She followed it as it set.
red -
Red was more than just her color.
Red was the feeling of his lips on hers, his fingers threaded through her hair, his tears on her tongue.
Red was the aching in her chest, the pounding of her heart, the unsteadiness of her hands.
It was the warmth of his skin. The fire in his lantern. The dim light decorating the floor as it defied the darkened room around it.
It was her cloak, stained and tattered, but present. Crumpled and hidden for so long, but not forgotten.
It was her life source. It had been, for all these years. It spread itself to Eren, to Armin, to Levi, to Mr. and Mrs. Jaeger, to Petra, to Marco, to Rico, to all her subordinates, and, finally, from all these people to herself again.
It was love.
Je, je vais t'attendre la.
Viendras tu por moi?
Je vais t'attendre la.
Seulemont toi.
Only you.
- time -
How easily, how swiftly it passes. Like it has no regard for its father, the human. It is an apathetic and calculating thing. It rarely slows down, or speeds up. It is nearly as pitiless and cold as Old Man Winter.
But the girl in the red hood could've sworn that, in the following months, time strolled along casually, without a care in the world. Just as a final favor to her and her woodsman.
Upon their reunion, Armin had fainted, certain he was seeing a ghost. When he came to, he cried his eyes out. He blubbered for nearly an hour about how much he'd missed her, his face so pink and messy, Eren was sure he was drowning in his own tears.
Then he read through her and Eren's letters, not quite able to believe he'd missed this exchange so obliviously. And the three of them sat and caught up, sharing stories on the floor of the boys' bedroom until the sun rose.
After that, Mikasa agreed to return to the village with Eren, once spring came. Armin decided he'd join them, saving his search for his family for a later date. Having Mikasa back was enough for now, he told them. And he was more or less terrified of the idea of traveling through the woods alone.
They spent the rest of the winter together, and neither Eren nor Armin could recall a time when Mikasa had smiled so much. It startled her coworkers, and delighted Marco, Rico, and Petra to no end.
The snow melted away eventually, leaving patches of muddy grass behind it. Flowers began to spring up from the ground. Guests began to fill the inn.
The time came for Eren, Armin, and Mikasa to leave.
Petra, Marco, Rico, Doctor Zoe, and Mr. Smith himself came to see them all off.
"Promise me you'll write," Petra begged, sniffling. "Promise me."
Mikasa nodded, her lips turning upward in a bittersweet expression.
"Of course I will," she promised. "How could I not?"
"Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Smith," Armin told the innkeeper, shaking his hand. "I'll find a way to repay you. I swear it."
Mr. Smith grinned. "The only payment I seek, Mr. Arlert, is your answer to a question I've been meaning to ask you."
Armin frowned. "What would that be, sir?"
The innkeeper reached into his coat, pulling out a familiar book. He opened it to a page annotated in two different types of handwriting.
Armin turned pale.
"Oh, that- I apologize, sir, I-"
"What does she look like?"
He paused. "Sir?"
"Death. What does she look like? Since you remember her face so well."
All meekness left from Armin's face, replaced with wise contemplation.
"Well, sir, she is terrifying. Ugly, to say the least."
Mr. Smith's grin widened. "I agree, Mr. Arlert. But you know something?"
"What's that, sir?"
"I, personally, would not pay every possible expense not to see her again. There are some things I'd rather keep. Neither Greene nor I are naive or inexperienced; we just have something worth dying for."
The younger of the men turned to his companions, who were laughing at something one of them had said.
"In that sense," he said, "I think I feel the same way."
home -
Completed maps were quite helpful, as it turned out.
A mere month after their departure, Eren, Armin, and Mikasa found themselves in their old village, with surplus supplies and less than a few scratches on their skin.
And home was so much more beautiful than Mikasa remembered.
The trees sprouted new leaves. Birds settled back into their nests. The soil was damp and rich; countless sprouts broke through it to greet to world. They were eager to begin their lives, to feel the sun on their leaves for the first time. Mikasa couldn't blame them.
Her old house hadn't changed much since she'd left it. Eren and Armin stood behind her as she knocked on the weathered door, practically bouncing in anticipation.
A short, sour-faced man opened the door.
Saw her.
Saw them.
And, wordlessly, wrapped them all in the tightest embrace he could muster.
"Welcome home," he whispered.
Mikasa found herself crying, yet again. She wondered if she'd ever stop.
"I'm glad to be back."
AN: Part 5 of 5.
And with that, I finish my first story ever. I want to thank everyone who's read this; I've never put so much effort into a story before, and this one's gotten very, very few notes, but I'm grateful for those that have seen this, and have enjoyed it.
I also want to thank natiwati again for betaing me. I know it definitely wasn't easy, and that I'm not necessarily the easiest person to work with- me and my stubborn ass- but she was still an amazing editor, never sparing me advice, praise, or in-depth input, and I'm irrevocably grateful for her. Please, guys, if you enjoy my work, check out hers- it's 1,000 times better. It's a privilege to read her writing, and an even greater privilege to be called her friend. Thank you for all your help, Nat. 3
And to reiterate, this story was, in fact, inspired by lolakasa's great art, as well as the newest reboot Jane Eyre and Sacred Heart by The Civil Wars. All three of these things combined in my head to form many of the concepts and much of this story, and this wouldn't have been possible to write without them.
Please reblog and/or review (in or AO3)! Until next time! :D