I
.
"We have lost even this twilight.
No one saw us this evening hand-in-hand while the blue light dropped on the world,
I have seen from my window the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops,
sometimes a piece of Sun burned like a coin in my hand,
I remembered you with my soul clenched,
in that sadness of mine that you know."
~ 'Clenched Soul' by Pablo Neruda
.
Sky.
Earth.
Sea.
Across all the realms there was rarely a sight more extraordinary than the heavens and the ocean. The cerulean waves embraced the shore then languidly receded, the sand cool yet inviting. From a nearby field of grass stood a young man with viridian eyes, so lush and beautiful they mirrored the greenery of Earth itself. He faced the opposite direction for a time, gazing at the vacant barracks behind him. He was presumably the only person around for miles, hoarding the tranquility that came with such solitude.
Before long the waves beckoned him, calling his name in the form of mewing seagulls and surf pounding the shore. His boots, leather bound and buckling near the toe box, were unzipped and tossed aside. From his spot in the scutch grass to the tide pool at the mouth of the sea, was a modest distance of a couple hundred feet. With a black hairtie around his wrist and his hands at his sides, he turned on his bare heels in stride.
When the wind picked up he took a glimpse at the sky as he made his way across the field, laxxing his pace to a saunter to enjoy the view. The variety of clouds were plentiful: some were gray topped pillars puffed with unshed rain; others were ivory cotton fluffs that glowed with silver linings of sunlight behind them. Several appeared to be nearly at ground level—giant amorphous wisps that looked like pictures out of a familiar storybook.
'The lungs of the world.' Eren mused, wiry tension leaving his body as the wind swept past him.
The heavens breathed through him, leaving tingles penetrating down to the marrow of his bones. His shoulders, always wound too tight and knotted in both trapezius muscles, submitted to his will in a gentle forward roll. Yearning to taste the morning crisp in the air, he licked his lips then slid his hands into the hollows of his pockets. Stiff fingers relaxed within the fabric and his change in mood smoothed the wrinkles between his brows. He hadn't allowed himself to feel much of anything in months, not since the night before he disappeared.
Back then he posed an impossible question to the sky, framing his words in such a way that would never guarantee a satisfying answer. It viewed him not as an equal, but as an obligation. As a petulant, zealous, overgrown child in constant need of protecting. As a duty unworthy of examination. As a fool unable to articulate his feelings.
As nothing more than family.
The embers of resentment burned in his gut as suppressed memories rose to the surface. Yet even now as he stood on the grass, glowering and scornful, he couldn't let it go. A sudden gust blew against him, capturing his attention in a whiplash of emotion. He despised it almost as much as he couldn't live without it. He turned away on instinct, initially bristling at the sting to his cheeks. But the wind persisted, sending his unzipped hoodie behind him in a flourish. Eren gazed at the horizon, taking deep breaths as he watched the clouds float across the scape of dawn.
The glow of the velvet morning was breathtaking in its celeste, enticing him to touch the heavens. He'd never been so ridiculous to believe he could reach out and pluck divinity from the clouds but before he could stop himself, the fool freed his hand and extended it toward the sky. Eren halted when his tunic blew back in his face and the crosshatched strings at his neckline scratched his nose. He scoffed in half jest, with bitter viscid pooling at the back of his throat in self-revulsion. His eyes narrowed and glared at nothing in particular, weary of the ceaseless need to prove himself but alas. The clouds were too far above him to ever trifle beneath him. He was but an infinitesimal grist staring into the unknown. It would take a cataclysm for Earth to become one with the sky.
Truthfully, the heavens were too powerful to capture.
Too stunning to behold.
Too merciful to corrupt.
Too virtuous to bend.
Too all-consuming to align with his goals.
Despite his best efforts, he couldn't stop. A zephyr blew his way, billowing his tunic once more and exposing his abs. His eyes grew hazy and taut abs pebbled with goosebumps. His nipples hardened as yet another current of air passed by. Eren closed his eyes at the sweet touches, his lashes fluttering when the top and bottom lids met. His cheeks flushed with heightened arousal. His hair scattered about and danced along his lips, making every strand feel like a kiss. His stomach tightened as the urge pulsed in his loins, bringing him to a stand-still. His hands rubbed the tops of his thighs and then ... he could go no further.
Eren knelt to the ground and turned to lay face up in a patch of little purple flowers. He remembered seeing them before but couldn't place where. They were vibrant and shaped like bells with five petals a head and short green stems. He watched the clouds darken and form into a burgeoning storm cell. Within seconds, cool rain fell upon him and speckled his clothes. Steam permeated off his skin as the more fervent his desire, the warmer his body grew. Water droplets turned into a drizzle and his breaths quickened in anticipation. He focused on the flowers, taking the petals between his index and middle finger in yearning strokes. Gold flecks of pollen coated his fingertips as he worked the pistil and stamen. He watched through half-lidded eyes, closing them in ecstasy when he tasted his hand and sucked the lightly sweetened powder from each digit.
He strained against the zipper and button of his jeans, but they remained fastened. Shaky hands clawed at the dirt as the rain stimulated him, the cold and heat making him harder than ever. The tip of his length oozed with abandon but he refused to free himself from his jeans. It was a torturous means of exercising self-control and he was testing his limits by going as far as he had.
The drizzle became torrential, leaving him drenched with need. He shuttered as he came, loudly moaning as he bucked his hips. He licked the last bits of pollen off his lips and buried his face in the rainworn petals.
The flowers quieted him but sensitivity made it impossible to lay on his stomach. He rolled over onto his back, causing his shirt and hoodie to ride up and and dirty with mud. His pants and feet fared the same but he didn't care. He was content where he was, bare back undulating for better comfort on the dirt plat. Deep breaths escaped him as his body eased into stillness. The scent of fresh rain cleansed the air and calmed his senses as the final wave of his orgasm covered him like a sheath.
Now that it was over and nothing more than a wet stain on his pants, he was even lonelier than before. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. A name, the same one he almost called out during his peak, left him wanting more. His breaths grew shaky, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he tasted her in every ridge in his mouth. He couldn't stop.
He wouldn't stop.
He had to-
"Stop." He asserted, breathy from another wave of heat. He sighed, took a beat to sit up straight, then admonished himself again.
"Enough."
Rising to his feet in one fluid motion, he looked down at his makeshift resting spot. The storm ended and the wind had simmered to just a breeze he didn't care to notice. The heavens were painted in a wash of pewter smoke and dissipating storm cells. His shoulders wound in place and set, perpetually burning and tense. Welling emotions in his eyes faded as he blinked them away, hardening his gaze and down turning the corners of his lips. He tidied up by flaking off clumps of soil from his hands and clothes, and continues toward the ocean when he was done.
By the time he reached the water, a new thatch of bells had bloomed a dozenfold from the rejuvenated soil.
He banked to his left at the sight of a tide pool surrounded by protruding black stones, and slowed his pace to stop just shy of the flux between sand and sea. He exhaled, practically luxuriating in the scent of saltwater. The wonderment of a child graced his features as he watched the brine pound against the mighty cliffs that formed the inlet where he stood. The area was like the mouth of a lagoon, unblemished by industrialization or war. The gulls flying through the sky were his only company and he couldn't ask for more. Studying the few meters' long distance to the tide pool, he noticed a peppering of multicolored rocks embedded in the sand. In an effort to see without moving any closer he narrowed his eyes, honing in on each shape. They were mostly circular with the occasional oblong gem and appeared smooth to the touch.
The colors varied from taupe and brown, to speckled quartz and onyx. Faint lines at the edge of his eyes softened as the waves grabbed the shore and pulled the top layer of rocks into the deep. Two kernels, one born of captivation and the other of envy, lay dormant in the pit of his stomach as he watched the subtle display of power. In a sense the ocean was strangely logical and the ability to practice temperance was a skill he never mastered.
In many ways he was like the Earth—rigid in his convictions, seismic in strength, and so torrid he'd eviscerate anyone who dared to come too close.
Whereas the sea was adaptable and unmatched in its wit. It covered most of the planet's surface but despite the disparity, all that water penetrated no deeper than the planet's crust. Not even the tiniest rivulet could be found in the mantle and at its center, the solid core burned hotter than the surface of the Sun.
Embraced between the heavens and the ocean he felt their immensity, their inevitability. Still, it was he who resided in the middle as the center of all things. Nothing could stand against him. No obstruction could deter him.
No power could eclipse him, not even the will of his own heart.
Never one for honoring boundaries, a pair of large feet touched the water. A little hum of pleasant curiosity vibrated in his throat as he basked in the odd sensation of wet, malleable grit between his toes. He took a minute to relish and massaged both feet in tandem to soothe his corns. It was a consequence of wearing those damned boots, the ones abandoned near the barracks behind him. They weren't ideal for years of trudging 'round the island, and were half a size too small after his final growth spurt. Luckily he preferred to be barefoot most of the time.
The metamorphosis of adolescence had suited him perfectly. He'd graduated from a wide-eyed and bumbling little thing, to the steadfast and enigmatic young man who in his dreams, stood at the edge of the World. From primitive fresco to masterful oil, he was nothing short of a work of art. In appearance this was true as well. Where once he'd narrowly capped his shortest former ally, in recent years he'd grown to stand almost head-to-head with a certain enemy of armor.
Vanquished were the days of weeping over piddly issues and crouching with others for support. The whole "motley crew, band of brothers", whatever the moniker ... it was a lifetime ago.
Standing in water up to his ankles, his irises gleamed in the thin bans of sunlight. Eren's features were Hellenic in form and sophistication, and prepossessing in their splendor. He was all honey skin, slender nose, and defined jaw. Tall and strong. Large hands and hooded eyes. Mannerist in his sculpted proportions. By the Gods, he was beautiful. He chuckled to himself in a wryly fashion, his thoughts betraying his intentions as he walked further out to sea. He'd always been a little vain, and hyper-aware of how he was perceived by others. Comparing himself to some unfortunate looking schmuck who was duly his friend and occasional adversary.
His long face, flanked undercut, and brazen attitude reminded Eren of a wild horse. Whether provoked or up for instigating, he often found opportunities to scrap with his "frienemy" and taunted him as they engaged in teenage fisticuffs. He'd call him "Boy" in a show of playful dominance and in return, the Horseface would showboat in front of all their friends. The former took jabs at his looks while the latter postulated that the only reason he'd survived so long was because of ...
A nudge from his pride flicked away memories of proverbial pissing contests with—yet another—former friend. He shut his eyes as his thoughts got away from him, opening up and peeling back like the petals of a rose. Exposing his insecurities to the heavens and ocean; the elements like spectators to his innermost feelings. It forced him to question yet again, much to his chagrin, why he'd spent so much time competing with the jackoff.
It would take ten years to find the answer.
Refusing to indulge it any longer he closed his weary eyes and exhaled seconds later. For a moment he stood in stasis, frozen in place with his arms lax at his sides. Within that time he chose to suppress everything all at once, compartmentalizing his weaknesses with the clench of his jaw and straightening of his spine. His expression seamlessly weaved from pensive to indecipherable, emotionless. Had an onlooker been present his constricted pupils, darkened irises, and glum demeanor might've been perceived as soulless.
Suddenly the wind swept across his back. Eren rebuffed its advances by fluffing his hood to cover the nape of his neck, and when his dark hair blew in his line of sight, his patience scattered to the wind as well. Snatching the black elastic from his wrist, he threw his hair into a loose half-bun. He then shoved his hands in his pant pockets and continued his steps across the wet stones. Salt bubbles, sand, and seaweed sloshed against his lower legs as he approached the pool.
Upon arrival he stood so close that the tips of his toes grazed the jagged edges of rock below. The waves grew larger and rushed in, slightly swaying his stance. He corrected himself in time for the next one, squatting to lower his center of gravity and then pressing his soles in deep for good measure. Anything to lessen his chances of toppling over. The drawback was his hoodie; the bottom was quickly saturated, along with his pant legs but it was nothing more than an inconvenience. Instead he hovered just enough to keep his backside dry and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.
He'd take soaked jeans over the unpleasant sensation of wet sleeves any day. He didn't know exactly what he was looking for but to see anything other than his own reflection, he'd have to bring himself a little closer. So he leaned deeper into the squat as he concentrated, his powerful thighs and hamstrings supporting his weight. He felt the burn in his glutes but kept steady, resting his forearms atop his knees without so much as a groan. He was perfectly level then and within the pool, he saw an abundance of life.
On the sides of the rocks were slugs that were peanut brown in color and covered in tiny warts. He counted roughly twenty as they moved around each other, leaving trails of mucus everywhere. He figured the last wave must've brought them in. Clinging to the bottom he spotted what looked to be several spheres covered in spikes, all violet and black in color.
'Sea urchin.' He thought.
He recalled their taste to be piquant the last time they were prepared by a certain Marleyan chef. Eren described the taste like as fresh, light, adventurous, but a little too salty. Smaller formations stacked on top of one another like underwater cliffs, jutting out from the shadows. Then something at the bottom caught his attention. To the left of the pairs of starfish slinking to the opposite end, and through the blades of seagrass peaked some kind of husk. One hand steadied him against a boulder and the other dipped into the pool. Soon he was submerged up to his elbow—blindly searching when the sun shone directly above him, blocking the path with his own shadow. Furrowing his brows in determination, he maneuvered through the bundle of plants keeping him from the prize.
He moved with haste, forcing the long stalks apart until he found the object. From touch alone he deduced it was a shell; mostly smooth on the tapered bottom but the top had notches that were sharp all around. As he retracted his arm he could feel them digging into the segments of his fingers. He then rose to his feet and examined it.
"Conch shell." He said aloud, turning it over in his hand.
It was large but surprisingly unoccupied. Had the shell been inhabited by its mollusc, its narrow blade-like foot and antennae would've made an appearance the moment the shell was disturbed. Conches were not accustomed to being casually picked up. Whether it was abandoned or the animal had died, it didn't matter. It was his now. Admittedly the shell was something to see: the transition of color between soft pink and light brown, the grooves etched around the spiralling tip, and its in-tact lip made it perfect for a collector. In a different life had Eren been able to take the shell from his dreams and give it to the man he cared for most, he would've in a heartbeat.
He ran his thumb against the lip before closing his eyes and placing the opening to his ear.
BOOM.
The sand hardened into bedrock then fissured all around him as every step violently shook the Earth. Such devastation could only be caused by the sentinels of Gods—they were named Colossals. With widened eyes and blown out cochlear he flung the shell to the ground and shattered it on impact. The fragments revealed a veiny, grayish, and mostly liquified animal inside. Indeed the conch was dead and seconds later it was trampled into oblivion.
He collapsed to the ground and clamped his hands over his ears. The corners of his lips turned upward as trimmed nails drew streams of blood down his cheeks, eyelids, and ears. Fresh skin was caked under his nails. Gore was smeared all over his face. Distorted voices chased him and begged him to stop. Past and present jumped foward, leapt backward then stretched, twisting his mind into something unrecognizable.
The void called to him.
A weathered man stumbled through a field at dusk with eyes clinging to the night sky in a stupefied haze. His cracked lips were agape; tattered clothes steamed from Titan flesh; dark hair slicked down with sweat. He slumped to the grass and threw up his steaming arms in defeat.
"I killed them all, even the children! All except their father!" Grisha yelled until his voice was hoarse.
"Are you happy now?!"
"F-fr-" Eren stammered. "I-I ... I'm free-" he cried out in bombast, speaking nonsense but unable to hear his own words through the reckoning.
Madness glimmered behind his eyelids.
"Is this what you wanted?!" He screamed.
Long, thin cuts were under his eyes and spanned the length of his cheeks.
Eren grit his teeth and grinned with wild, green eyes. He marveled at this world—his realm, with the youthful joy of a babe. His waning sanity leaked from every pore, before completely slipping away.
Screaming infants were shoved from hand to hand in a last ditch effort for survival, only to be hurled off cliffs as a final act of mercy. Adults and teens alike carried their frail grandparents on their backs as they tried to outrun the soles of giants. Families brought their hands together in prayer but their fates were sealed. The light drained from their eyes at the sight of the skeletal demon leading his unholy stampede.
"Was this really the only way?" His tears fell as he stared at his trembling hands.
The oceans boiled and coral reefs roasted on the seabed.
Whales beached themselves to escape the heat while schools of dead fish floated to the surface.
All the oceans bled.
The kick to the stomach knocked the wind out of him and sent him flying back against the wall.
He kept his head down as people trickled in, unable to meet their scathing looks. Captain Levi stood closest, ready to strike him down should he so much as breathe too loudly. A woman came through the door after being alerted to his presence. She regarded him with nothing but disappointment in her one good eye, and her stance guarded as she stood next to the Captain. Her words burned through him.
"Every time you're caught by the enemy, we sacrifice lives to get you back." Ms. Hange spoke to him in a tone rarely heard from her.
It was strangely maternal in its authority, sending a chill through his body. She, and everybody else, looked at him as if he were a stranger. Maybe he always was.
Eren remained indignant, keeping his eyes on the floorboards. It had been ages since he'd seen most of these people and after what he'd just done, it was far too late for contrition.
The people once closest to him stood a small distance behind Hange and Levi. He could feel them from across the room, watching him through the veil of their limited understanding. Judging him. Haunting him with blue and gray eyes.
"You put your trust in us and we lost our trust in you." Ms. Hange cut through his thoughts.
The seismic activity was unprecedented and tore the Earth asunder, bringing quakes larger than anything experienced by modern humans. Volcanoes around the world erupted, spewing toxins thousands of feet into the air. Sulphur clouds blotted out the Sun. Pyroclastic flow incinerated any remaining suvivors.
Some little girl—a militant brat, really, snuck onboard and fired the bullet that killed his former friend.
"Meat." Her final word was silly but so characteristically her through and through, he couldn't help but indecorously laugh at the tragedy of it all.
He couldn't feel the weight of her loss - of her blood on his hands. With wide eyes, he grit his teeth and choked back tears that would never fall.
His chest tightened at the sound of panicked running to the adjacent room. He tried to divert his eyes but failed, knowing their footsteps. They wept over Sasha's lifeless body, crying so hard he could hear them through the steel door. Armin screaming through choked sobs and the muffled, soul-shattering cries of ...
He would never say her name again.
He looked out at the devastation from his spot on the mammoth footprint beneath him. Volcanic ash and Colossal steam created a smoke so dense he couldn't breathe. The pungent odor of crushed bodies, entrails and rotting marine life assaulted his nose but it was a mere consequence of the greatest reward. He'd fulfilled his dream. His destiny. His freedom.
"Eren."
But it paled in comparison to the sweet agony of his name on her lips.
"Eren, please ... come home."
He was right. He couldn't face his family anymore.
"Eren. Do you have any idea what you've done?"
She stood over him like so many times before, looking down with the same eyes that frequented his dreams. It was the closest proximity they'd shared in almost a year but the way his pulse quickened made it seem like any time apart was too long. Though his neutral expression gave nothing away, just the sight of her angered him.
"You killed civilians. Children, too."
She never understood him, never knew him. Instead she suffocated him with her mothering and never took him seriously. He hated her.
She knelt down to his level and lamented, "You've done things that can't be undone."
He ignored her tears and diverted his attention back to the War Hammer. He was done listening. He was done with her.
The shift from dreaming to lucid was turbulent. He startled awake deprived of air and rapidly blinking as he stirred, with steam wafting from the healing scratches all over his face. He dragged his head off the mattress and hunched over in a coughing fit. His heart pumping blood in his ears.
He sat on the edge of the bed in silence, massaging his temples with his thumb and forefinger to ease the stress, but the stabbing pain only intensified while he slept. Try as he might, his own touch wasn't enough to ease the stress. Neither Regiment nor Police Brigade supplied pillows to inmates, and the lack of head and neck support exasperated his tension headaches.
He sighed deep in his throat as he sat upright, the cold cement a surprising comfort on his bare feet. His bed was relatively wide but some of the springs were shot to hell, making the mattress lumpy and hard to sleep on. It was also dressed in dingy cotton sheets that were so threadbare, they were almost translucent.
The prison lacked an indicator for the passing of time; he didn't know when he'd fallen asleep or for how long. Deciding to "hurry up and wait", he took a calculated risk on those who followed him. They were a vocal group of hellions who had taken it upon themselves to exalt his name and defend Paradis by any means necessary. Known as Jeagerists, they clamored in full support of his methods. They "gave their hearts" and he gave them validation. He looked up, ran his fingers through his hair and took a glance around the cell.
Eren had never been a patient man. He was tired of glaring at the same brick walls for almost a month now but his cultists had yet to find Zeke. He had to hand it to the Captain—he had been sending them on a wild goose chase for weeks and so far, all they'd obtained were nuggets of questionable information. His brother was a prick and difficult to find, but it was only a matter of time.
On the other side of the bars were mounted torches lining the halls and staircases throughout the facility. Undercover Jeagerists, masquerading as Garrison soldiers, would periodically make their rounds throughout the day and relight them as needed. Occasionally, emboldened female followers would approach the bars. Hoping to wet his appetite they would soften their voices, bat their eyes, and salute him with an arm curled around their breasts. In return he'd say nothing, blatantly ignoring them to show his disinterest.
One girl whose name he never learned, had been assigned to bring correspondence from his spies in Wall Maria. Her military garb bore the Wings of Freedom on the front pocket; Scout-turned-Jeagerist seemed more commonplace the longer he remained in custody. He had gotten up to meet her at the door and they briefly locked eyes before the handoff. She extended the letter to him through the bars and upon reception, grabbed his hand and caressed his knuckles with her thumb. His head snapped back and he stared at her with murderous contempt. She quickly faltered, withering before his eyes. When she let go and stepped back, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her toward him, smacking her face on the bars. He'd told her, "don't ever show your face here again," holding his grip on her a pause longer before setting her free.
She had crossed the line of propriety by suggestively touching him and aside from the letter, he wanted nothing she offered. He killed her kindergarten crush in an instant, sending her on her way like a wounded animal. The bizarre encounter took place what must have been a week ago.
Dismissing the memory, his eyes flitted to the two pillar candles flanking the mirror above the sink. He lit them yesterday, he guessed, using them to study his reflection after a much needed shave. He pictured himself standing there with cloudy water spilling over the rim and the rest leaking from the pipes into the jug below, where he was interrupted by someone he once respected. It was a scene not unlike what'd happened with the other girl.
{}
Each day more glimpses of the future were revealed to him, paving the steps in the maze of his destiny. Just when he questioned his purpose then reminded himself to fight, Ms. Hange appeared from the shadows on the other side of his cell.
She wasted no time jumping in at a mile a minute, needling him about way he talked to himself, Historia's safety, even his hair had been a topic of discussion. Truthfully, she'd always been irksome. He wasn't interested in mincing words or listening to her prattle on about how "people didn't normally talk to themselves like that". Such a sentiment coming from a woman like her was ammunition to set her straight.
They were no longer friends, acquaintances, or even allies. She was an encumbrance. He reached between the bars and snatched her up by the collar, forced her against the rusted metal, and gave her the lashing she deserved. Slithers formed under his eyes and crackles of lightning danced like tendrils on his skin, brooking no misunderstanding. It was a warning to leave him be or face his wrath.
She leapt backward and collided with the wall, hiding behind her wit by exclaiming him to be a "pervert", whatever that meant, and scurried off. He knew her better than she thought. After seeing the fear in her eye, he knew she wouldn't return.
{}
He didn't want to be questioned by anyone and she, nor anyone else, would keep him from his freedom. The end was so close, he could see the horizon in his mind's eye.
The power running through his veins.
The bodies squelching beneath his hands and feet.
An angel suspended midair, wielding blades in both hands …
He stood up and lifted his arms in the air, interlocked his fingers and bent from side to side to stretch. Shirtless and sticky in a veil of sweat, he let out an ungraceful yawn and scratched his lower abs. He turned to face the bed and found his shirt thrown across the head of the metal frame. The sheets were messed in a puddle of saliva where his mouth had been, sweat, and streaks of his arousal near the seam of his jeans.
The Scouts had supplied him with a crate of rations in an effort to minimize his contact with other people. The Military Police considered him to be "excessively, if not inhumanly violent", and stacked him with supplies. He recalled seeing the one and only spare set of sheets thrown in somewhere. His expression was passive as he removed the soiled cottons, folded them up and dumped them at the foot of the bed.
Situated at the apex between the bathroom and back wall, was the shipping crate that came up to his hips; its vented lid was propped up next to it, against the wall. Inside were thermoses of stale drinking water, old bread in plastic sleeves, a can opener, varieties of canned meats and vegetables, butane gas and hot plate, books of matches, white rice, dried fruits, cutlery, toiletries and finally -
After sifting through the nonsense for a while then impatiently tossing things out of the way, he found the sheets buried at the bottom. There was even a fresh pair of jeans identical to his own but no extra tunic or underwear, and the supply drop he was expecting was taking too long. He rolled his eyes as he chucked the food back inside, cans clattering and denting without care. In lieu of a laundry basket he picked up the soiled sheets, brought them to the foot of the bed, and dropped them atop the rags he wore in Marley. His jeans were also slipped off and kicked underneath along with the rest of the pile. After the bed was made slapdash he went to the bathroom, naked as the day he was born.
Eren was one of few inmates who had working plumbing instead of a stool closet. Using a squat toilet to shit was leagues better than pinching one off through a hole in a box. He did his business, just having to piss this time, shook himself dry then depressed the handle with his foot to flush.
There was a maplewood end table to the right of the doorless shower stall where towels and soaps were kept. He grabbed a bar of sweet almond soap from the table top. Uncaring about his water usage, he turned the showerhead to full blast.
'Won't be here much longer anyway.' He thought as he stepped in the spray.
He leaned in deeper, saturating his hair and back. A hot stream of water rolled down his glutes and legs, falling into rippling puddles at his feet. Working up a healthy lather in his hands, he scrubbed his scalp and gradually made his way down, gliding the aromatic bar over his glistening skin. Gods, the soap smelled so good and felt so smooth on his hard body, a carnal hunger made him want to eat it. He turned the faucet more to the left, cranking up the heat and filling the stall with a dense fog. His lashes dripped as he blinked and slowed his pace, mindful of his erogenous zones. His libido was unusually high lately, particularly when he was alone. He had never been with anyone before, not even a kiss, yet it occupied too much space in his mind.
If only she wanted him.
What a fool he was. So astoundingly weak and indebted to his own flesh, even the simple act of bathing fed the war raging inside him. He nearly dropped the soap in a daze but collected himself before he lost control. No matter what, he wouldn't resort to taking himself. The wet dreams were damning enough.
Taking measured breaths he continued to shower in resolution, apathetic to his erection. Wanting to get it over with he sudsed his legs, backside, and feet in rapid succession. The problem between his thighs went down on its own and within minutes he was flaccid again. He was young and virile, hormonal even. It was to be expected he'd randomly "pitch a tent" sometimes. With that in mind, he told himself he was done dreaming.
After turning off the showerhead he looked down at himself, watched rivulets dribble down his abs, and circle the drain. He raised his hands and examined his hands, calling upon his father's vilest memories. His pupils constricted as he tightened and released his fists, rubbing his fingers along the lines on his palms.
There was a current of electricity in the air and tiny flashes of lightning between his brows—a summoning of Titan flesh was waiting to happen. All he had to do was draw a little blood and the entire prison would fall in a matter of seconds.
"Not yet." He whispered, dropping his hands and healing his Titan marks.
Visions alone wouldn't be enough to get what he wanted. He still needed Zeke. He left the stall and snatched a white towel from the end table, mussing his hair as he rounded the corner. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took his time drying himself. Afterwards he went back to the bathroom and threw the damp towel across the maplewood. He grabbed the black elastic on the sink and pulled his hair into a loose bun. Next was the clean pair of jeans that went up and over, one leg at a time. Stick deodorant was exceedingly rare outside Wall Sina so he used powdered cornstarch to dab under his arms. He ran his tongue over his teeth as he went back to the sink to brush, feeling relatively calm from the mundanity of routine.
With his hair pulled back and pants on, his shirt was the final garment. Bunching the old thing in his hands and bringing it over his head, he tugged it down and the fabric settled at his hips-
Footsteps.
Two people walked in tandem—one in a heavy stride and the other in shuffled pattering. Their distinct gaits announced who they were before he turned to face them.
"Eren." Floch spoke first, saluting him with one arm and holding something to his side with the other.
"Mr. Jaeger." Louise said, left fist to her chest and what looked to be a rolled up newspaper in her right.
"As you requested," the redhead stated, turning his arm to squeeze the items he brought past the metal. "With something extra."
Eren skimmed through the folded bundle of clothes and took stock of its quantity: two beige tunics, four pairs of briefs, another pair of jeans, and a knee-length black hoodie. No visible extras in sight.
"Check the pocket." Floch suggested, lowering his tone.
Eren raised a quizzical brow, weary of the conversation already. He placed his hand inside and pulled out a copper skeleton key. Unmoved by the trinket, he slid it back in the pocket.
"Whether you choose to leave this shithole by walking out the front door or blasting through the ceiling," Floch added, sensing the discontent from his master. "You have our sup-"
"What of Zeke?" Eren interjected, his eyes unwavering from the man in front of him.
It was a query wrapped in an accusation of incompetence. He was tired of waiting, of twiddling his thumbs like a kid in timeout. He never liked Floch and long dismissed him as a pompous, bottom-feeding opportunist since the old days of being recruits together. Still, even roaches served their purpose in the cycle of life.
The redhead paused before reopening his mouth to speak. "We've been hearing whispers of Ackerman's group making camp deep in the Forest of Giant Trees."
"How credible is the source? How do we know he isn't onto us?" Eren replied.
"He doesn't know a thing. The chase was taxing for a while, given how frequently he changed locations in the last three weeks. False leaks had been planted to see if we'd take the bait."
"And did you?" His voice hummed low in his throat.
"There have been a series of protests, mostly at HQ." Floch gestured for Louise to hand him the newspaper. "The papers ran a story about the most recent one that happened three days ago. We lost nine men due to some pissant gossiping about your brother's possible whereabouts, and instigating a fight with the Survey Corps. And before you ask, the little troublemaker who started the whole thing is dead."
Hellions, indeed.
Eren scoffed. "You never told me the source of this information."
"It was a collaborative effort. Our best men tracked down a wainwright selling wagons to a butcher on the southwest side of Wall Maria. Every man's gotta eat, right? Apparently supplying traveling Scouts with enough meat to feed thirty at a time. And in order to keep clean and hydrated, they'd have to rely on a water source large enough for a small battalion. It took countless hours and about twenty good men, but we're right on the cusp." A soft sigh escaped Floch as he finished, letting the information settle in the air.
A pause.
"Do you have coordinates?" Eren asked, reaching between the bars to take the newspaper from Floch.
"We're working on it." Floch replied, handing it over. "As I said, Ackerman is constantly on the move. But we're tracking footprints and should have precise coordinates within the next few days, maybe sooner if all goes well with what Zeke had in mind."
Bottles of wine tainted with spinal fluid was a harebrained idea but Eren knew Zeke's hatred for Levi superseded his common sense. There wasn't a Jeagerist alive who could defeat the Captain but the impending slaughter would be a catalyst for his vision. He could see it in larger fragments each day. His prickish brother was a means to an end, and quite an end it was going to be.
Satisfied with what he'd heard but mostly ready to dismiss the pair, Eren stepped back from the cell door.
Floch interpreted the cue and closed with, "I'll be back as soon as I can. Shouldn't be more than three days."
"Good."
He turned away as they saluted him again, walking out of sight after he hung the hoodie on the bedframe. The other clothes were tossed in the rations crate, doubly sticking the landing when his ass hit the mattress.
Hoping to pass the time he laid back with his ankle resting on his knee, unrolled the paper and started reading the front page story. He read the title and byline aloud, squinting in the sparsely lit cell to make out the small print.
"'Protest Turns Deadly: Eren Jaeger's incarceration leads to bloody massacre at the heart of Wall Rose'."
Sensational and wordy. He was sure it sold like hotcakes.
The article detailed the fight: Jeagerists had riled up civilians and convinced them to mobilize outside HQ for the umpteenth time in the past twenty-nine days. They protested his sentencing and the Military's secrecy surrounding the worsening situation with Marley. With tensions so high, it was only a matter of time before things became violent. Five Scouts were killed in the protest-turned-riot and he tried to ignore the pressure in his chest as he read on, searching for names of the dead. At the end of the paragraph was an asterisk that marked an annotation for the following page. There it was, names and photographs of the slain Scouts. None of which he knew. That moment of uneasiness soured his desire to keep reading. There were other things he could do to occupy his mind and judging by his stomach pains, it was time to eat.
He got to work setting up the portable hot plate and butane gas cartridge on the floor, utilizing the open space between the bed and the exit. Rifling through the clothes and edible goods he retrieved a large bag of white rice and canned salmon. Without a strainer he had to get creative; using his one and only plate to wash his rice in the sink, holding it back with one hand as best he could. It made a bit of a mess but most of the rice remained on the plate.
Half an hour later he was sitting against the wall with a thermos of water next to him, spooning over-cooked rice and salmon chunks onto a plate. He couldn't help but judge himself for the dish's lack of presentation and when he tasted it, his tongue shriveled in revulsion. He grimaced at first hunger tricked his pallet. Its lack of flavor made it difficult to eat but he managed to finish, even going back for seconds.
Leaning his head back on the bricks, he imagined owning an acre of land deep in the mountains. He'd build a rustic cabin near the lake where he could catch his own fish. After eating he stayed in that spot for a while, watching the flame from the torches lick the wall. It was so quiet and drafty so low to the floor, but the cold wouldn't last forever.
Nothing ever did.