His visit to his grandparents exceeded his expectations, though not exceptionally so.

They withheld forgiveness for his betrayal of Marley and the sins he had committed. However, they sought to avoid further regret similar to what they harbored for his father, attributing his missteps to their own failings and thereby absolving him of blame. His sins were not forgiven, but they no longer rested on his shoulder in their eyes.

They expressed a desire to maintain contact, to ensure his well-being and revive their once familiar bond with him.

He found himself unable to deny their request to reconcile, despite the pain it caused him to realize they fostered more blame towards themselves than towards him, believing he didn't warrant their anger.

This realization prompted him to reassess his actions, reflecting on every decision made, every sacrifice endured, all in the relentless pursuit of a goal he had eventually abandoned.

He yearned for their condemnation, for their voices to rise in anger, to declare they would never forgive his transgressions. Deep down, he felt deserving of their disdain, and perhaps even more.

However, he was the epitome of cowardice. He was a coward that accepted love when he was the least deserving of it.

Driven by a fear of solitude and abandonment, he lingered for two months on the precipice of understanding the consequences of his futile quest. Reluctant to face the truth of his actions, he hesitated in delving into those memories. Yet, upon reuniting with his grandparents, he could no longer elude reality. In essence, he was a heartless murderer.

Was he to be labeled a murderer when the majority of those he vanquished willingly hurled themselves at him, despite their evident disadvantage? They stood little chance of victory, yet they embraced their demise in pursuit of a futile ambition they would never realize. Could blame truly be laid at his feet in such circumstances?

As he journeyed on the train to Paradis Harbor, haunting images of those he had slain flickered in his mind's eye. The agony they must have endured, he had callously ignored at the time, justifying his actions with the belief that it served a purpose. Had he really convinced himself that sacrificing these individuals was necessary to safeguard all Eldians and the world at large?

In his relentless pursuit, he turned a blind eye to the devastation he had caused. But now...

Now, he must confront the consequences head-on. Their deaths were not noble sacrifices for the greater good; they were the result of his own hands.

But they threw themselves at him! He couldn't be blamed! Not entirely.

He glanced down at his hand, sprawled across his lap, and saw only a crimson stain covering the entirety of his hands.

Zeke leaned forward in his seat, drawing a long, steadying breath, his head cradled in his palms. For two months, he had evaded the truth.

For two months, he had lingered in that fucking cowardice state.

He stood at a crossroads, uncertain of his next move, grappling with the daunting task of righting his wrongs. Wondering what wrongs he had even committed. How many he committed. Doubt gnawed at him – could he even rectify the wrongs he committed, if any? Whom could he turn to for guidance? Yelena? No, she still held him on a pedestal, incapable of seeing his fallibility.

Eren might comprehend, but his own obligations consumed his attention. Then, amidst his turmoil, Lif's image surfaced, and he couldn't help but bark out a wet laugh. Her hate made her the last person who could ever confide in. It struck him then, the bitter reality of his isolation, reduced to only three individuals, one of whom harbored resentment for the very predicament tormenting him. How pitiful, he mused. But he deserved as much.

He then wondered if there was any reason for him to even exist?

Perhaps the only resolution he could envision was to extinguish the very crimson hands that caused all that agony. To let Hell dictate his punishment, as he was incapable of understanding what he deserved himself.

In no time, Zeke arrived at Paradis Harbor. As the vast gray sea unfolded before him, he wiped away the remnants of tears, his focus drawn to the structure where Lif resided, pondering his next course of action concerning her. Initially, he had planned to utilize the journey for deep reflection regarding his intentions for her, but his mind had wondered.

Upon disembarking from the train, Yelena welcomed him, unaware of the inner turmoil concealed beneath Zeke's outward composure, while she provided him with updates on Lif's current whereabouts.

"According to my sources, she hasn't ventured out of her room. And as per your instructions, we haven't assigned anyone to keep an eye on her."

Zeke regarded Yelena, his hands casually tucked in his pockets. "Thank you, Yelena. I understand you may not fully agree with how I've managed Lif thus far, but I value your support." His sincerity was evident. While he couldn't expect impartial feedback from her, he trusted her to execute his directives with little hesitation.

"Always, Zeke," she responded, bowing gracefully. "Always."

He directed Yelena to inform the cooks of his arrival and arrange for meals for both himself and Líf. Yelena promptly relayed that the food was already being prepared. Grateful, he thanked her once more and requested that she instruct the cooks to deliver both their dinners to his room.

With a leisurely stroll, he approached the building housing both his and Liff's quarters, using the time to gather his thoughts. He had no doubt she was exploring up there, perhaps already having done so. Not that he minded. Despite his modest belongings, he hadn't bothered to relocate much yet, save for the ornate chair he requested, intending it as a playful jest.

Yet, once again, he found himself questioning why he kept her close. It felt like another selfish indulgence, a realization that he didn't merit such self-centeredness.

It became clear to him that he needed to cut his losses. She didn't deserve this torment, and keeping her around was a liability anyhow.

Deciding firmly, as he ascended the stairs to her room, he resolved to set her free. He would confess the truth, brace for her wrath, and swiftly arrange for her departure, then erase her from his thoughts.

But when he knocked and opened her door when no response came, he let out a small laugh. He knew where she was.

As he approached his door and swung it open, he found her standing there, her back turned towards him, her gaze fixed on his desk. She wore a flowing yellow dress, her damp, curly red hair pulled up into a insecure high ponytail, ready to cascade down at any moment. With a playful remark about her snooping, he broke the silence, only to be met with her usual retort.

Yet, the moment his eyes fell upon the object in her hand when she turned to face him, all previous thoughts faded from his mind.

She was holding his baseball, throwing it in the air and catching it so casually, so naturally, completely unaware of what the baseball meant to him.

He didn't know how to act, and he forgot why he even sought her out in the first place. Why was she holding that baseball of all things?

She possessed a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, a silent plea for his focus, and he was eager to oblige.

It was a welcoming reprieve from her usual glower.

But it wasn't going to go how she expected. No. He wanted to see her blush.

He initiated a slow striptease before her, relishing in the playful tease. As she voiced her startled surprise, he nonchalantly declared ownership of the room, expressing his weariness and desire for rest. Memories flooded in of her flushed reaction the last time he bared his chest, and he savored the sight of the red staining her cheeks.

And then she did the unexpected.

With a vigorous, full-bodied swing, she chucked the baseball at him with considerable force. He managed to catch it just before it could collide with his chest, the suddenness of the action leaving him momentarily stunned. His teasing ceased as he gazed at her in stunned silence, yet a hint of amusement still danced in his eyes.

He razzed her once more, flinging the ball back in her direction, the act suddenly feeling all too nostalgic. Then, with another retort from her, she tossed the ball back.

Again, she tossed it back.

It was as though she possessed an innate grasp of the profound significance behind their simple exchange. Yet, as she met his gaze, her eyes sparkled with nothing but innocence and merriment. Unaware of the weightiness of the moment for him, she remained blissfully oblivious to its deeper meaning, unable to fathom its impact on him.

She couldn't have known.

He looked down at the baseball in his hand, felt the weight of it, and looked back up at her, stunned. "Tell me something, why throw this ball to me?"

He yearned to unravel its significance to her, if any existed. Was it a magnetic pull or simply a random act?

She suddenly appeared panicked, alarmed. Then, she confessed that she had tried on his glasses and examined his glove. If he didn't think it would ruin the moment or make her flee, he'd laugh. Because, of course, she did. Of course, she tried on his glasses. Of course, she examined the glove. She had probably never seen a baseball glove before.

As he crossed the room and positioned himself beside her, his gaze swept over the contents of the box cradling his most cherished possessions. Sensing the tension radiating from her, he couldn't help but find it endearing that she cared about his reaction to her investigation, undoubtedly inferring the significance of these items to him. Retrieving the glasses salvaged by the Yeagerists following his encounter with Levi, Zeke recounted their original owner and the profound meaning they held, at least to him. After delicately returning the glasses to their place in the box and sliding it toward her, she tenderly nestled the baseball beside the glove, and Zeke restored it to its designated drawer.

He gently reminded her that she had yet to address his question.

Then Lif's face contorted with various emotions, reminiscent of when they were in the carriage; her expressions shifted this way and that, unwittingly revealing her feelings like an open book. He wouldn't tell her what she was doing; it was the only way he could gain a glimpse of her thoughts. Because he knew her earlier playfulness was merely a facade.

Her prominent display of disgust had a chilling effect, reminding him why he had sought her attention earlier.

However, as she crossed her arms, a bashful admission of embarrassment the only defense against his antics, a warmth began to seep back in. With a teasing grin, he lifted her chin, both to continue the playful banter and to catch a better glimpse of her blushing cheeks. Once again, her freckles danced within the flush on her cheeks, captivating him.

As memories of their carriage ride flooded back, he couldn't shake off what she had requested of him, especially not with the pleading gaze she now fixed upon him, indicating her recollection as well.

With a heavy heart, Zeke averted his gaze from hers and walked to the left of the room toward the dresser. It was necessary. Revealing the truth would only deepen her resentment, especially if he succumbed to her desire to test her own resolve, her perceived strength. To possess the resilience to harbor resentment towards him while steadfastly upholding her end of the agreement without hesitation.

He understood all too well the potential irreversible nature of a kiss, despite his inexperience in such participation; once their lips met, there would be no retreat from the path he would embark upon.

Would want to embark upon.

He doubted his ability to release her from his thoughts if he pursued that path. Not anymore, especially not after she hurled that ball at him. Furthermore, he couldn't fathom how he knew this particular moment would remain significant to him. It defied reason. And that initial act would only cement its significance.

He couldn't allow that to occur if he intended to set her free tonight. His sanity simply wouldn't endure it.

Zeke methodically sorted through a drawer brimming with neatly folded shirts, his gaze distant and unfocused. A wry comment escaped his lips about smelling like shit, a reflection perhaps of his own inner turmoil, prompting a longing for a cleansing shower. As he tossed the remark into the air, he silently prayed that she would catch the subtle cue to depart. Undoubtedly, she must have puzzled over the sudden shift in his demeanor, yet he chose not to engage with her curiosity, allowing the silence to linger between them.

As Zeke sensed Lif drawing near, he felt her gently rest her head against his back, sending a shiver down his spine. Contemplating whether to gently disengage from her embrace and suggest she retire to her room, allowing him a moment alone to shower and collect his thoughts, he grappled with the impending conversation. Yet, before he could act, she broke the silence, murmuring his name and reaffirming her determination to understand her role in their agreement, echoing the resolve she had demonstrated in the carriage.

He casually noted her use of his name, yet remained largely indifferent to his own words. Later, he inquired about her potential response to his unrequited affection, confident that her internal conflict wouldn't be the same for him — especially not after the unexpected impact of a simple act of catching a baseball would have. It was remarkable how a single, insignificant gesture could profoundly alter his perspective.

His…feelings.

As she replied with the deference of leaving the decision to him, a new strategy sparked in his mind. He realized he didn't necessarily have to disclose the whole truth. Instead, he could wield her hesitation to his benefit.

Knowing her disdain for him, he anticipated her attempt to kiss him and inevitable declaration of disgust. At that moment, he planned to exploit her revulsion, using it as justification to dissolve their agreement and promptly escort her home.

He shifted his gaze to her, finding her head tilted downward, avoiding his eyes. With a gentle touch, he lifted her chin, inviting her to meet his gaze. Her hands lay upon his chest, half on his shirt, half on his bare skin, their warmth a comforting caress he'd never experienced before.

The intensity of her stare spoke volumes, a silent invitation hanging between them. He drew in a deep breath, briefly closing his eyes to collect himself before reopening them. Without words, he sought her consent, silently pleading with his eyes. In response, she inclined her head upward, her soft pink lips parting in anticipation.

She looked memorizing. Tempting him to take a plunge he never took before.

And plunge he did.

But when he went to kiss her, she flinched, and he instantly stopped, ready to say the words he briefly rehearsed, but the regret that shown in her eyes, the pleading to continue, had him hesitating. Those beseeching eyes drew him in, and before he even knew what he was doing, he was cupping her cheeks, watching every minute detail she made, and he made the mistake of leaning in again.

As their lips met, a kaleidoscope of sensations erupted, leaving him breathless. Hers were a revelation, soft and delicate, imbued with innocence. The widening of her eyes upon their connection erased all traces of his prior commitments, leaving only the enchantment of the moment: her captivating gaze, the tenderness of her lips, and the sudden allure of her feminine scent that had eluded him until now.

When their lips parted, he silently prayed she wouldn't withdraw, reluctant to relinquish the intoxicating embrace. Yet, to his relief, her lips returned, caressing his top lip and his tenderly grazing against her plush bottom lip. The delicate sensation stirred within him a sudden impulse to nibble, not with force, but with a gentle intensity that would elicit a gasp of pleasure from her. His eyes closed instinctively, embracing this warmth.

His arms found their place, one resting gently at the nape of her neck while the other slipped gracefully around her back. The delicate fabric of her dress whispered against her soft skin, its ethereal touch sending shivers down his spine. Drawing her closer, their bodies fused seamlessly, her curves fitting perfectly against his frame. Her hands mirrored the rhythm of a dance, one tenderly clasping the back of his neck, the other finding solace on his shoulder. With a grip that spoke of both longing and fear, she held him tightly, as though afraid of losing her footing in the swirling depths of their intimate embrace.

As he brushed his tongue against her upper lip, she responded in kind, a tantalizing dance of sensations. Each small movement of her tongue against his sent shivers down his spine, an electrifying connection that left him yearning for more.

Yet, amidst the intoxicating desire, a sense of restraint tugged at him. He knew that if they allowed themselves to continue, he might lose control entirely. And the consequences of such unrestrained passion could be regrettable, leaving her with feelings of resentment towards him.

He couldn't bear the thought of her despising him any more than she already did.

What a peculiar realization this was.

However, as he attempted to withdraw, she pursued him, pressing her lips even more passionately against his. His breath caught as her tongue ventured into his mouth once more, intertwining with his own.

He... he needed to halt this.

With a renewed resolve, he pulled back, his eyes fluttering open. Their parted lips emitted a faint pop as he distanced himself, standing upright with a swiftness that outpaced her pursuit. Towering over her, he watched as she stretched onto her tiptoes in a futile attempt to reach him, her flushed visage etching itself permanently into his memory.

It would have been simple to surrender to the temptation and prolong this intimate encounter, yet he resisted. This situation had stretched far beyond what he had anticipated.

And now, he acknowledged, it was too late.

He couldn't bring himself to release her, not after what transpired. The mere thought was unbearable. He ought to have foreseen the inevitable outcome. Indeed, he was fully aware. However, he cloaked his awareness with feeble justifications, allowing himself to embrace her without reservation.

He made excuses.

How selfish his actions were, but such self-serving tendencies had always defined him. Changing that aspect of himself wouldn't come easily.

But for now…

As her eyes fluttered open, the weight of realization crashed upon her like a relentless wave. A tumultuous whirlwind of emotions swept through her, too rapid for Zeke to discern, yet she swiftly composed herself, donning a guise of indifference.

"Well," Zeke began, striving to maintain composure, though his efforts paled in comparison to Lif's. "I trust that sufficiently addresses your inquiry, Lif."

After she departed following their dinner, he listened intently to the echo of her footsteps down the corridor, punctuated by the resounding slam of her door. Soon, the faint sound of running water filled the air. Zeke quietly entered the bathroom, the subdued murmur of the faucet enveloping him. Leaning against the wall beside the sink, he let his thoughts drift back to their shared kiss, replaying the sensation of her lips against his in an endless loop.

Despite her apparent repulsion, she had still responded to him.

Lost in reverie, he was suddenly interrupted by a gentle thump, thump, thump against the wall, prompting an irrepressible smile to spread across his face. She possessed such a captivating persona, Zeke mused.


Author's note: Apologies for essentially rehashing the previous chapter from Zeke's viewpoint. I believed it crucial to delve into his emotions, current state of mind, etc.

I hope you don't resent me too deeply for it. I considered postponing the release by a week and presenting a longer chapter that advanced the plot, but I'm committed to attempting to update at least once weekly.

Let me know what you think if this fanfic so far!