the hilt | eren jaeger

s i x t e e n - J.D.

[TW: Graphic Depictions of Violence and Gore]

[Read at your own discretion]

"It doesn't matter anyways."

Eren grumbled as he looked over to his two best friends, a look of hurt and treason so deeply etched into his eyes that it was nearly written on his soul.

The three of them sat around a campfire they had started near the outskirts of the Survey Corps Headquarters. The flames danced around in the dark, the rest of the camp asleep. The night was crisp and cold, but it was only filled with anxiety— Tomorrow was the day where Eren would be brought to Stohess, but to him, it was just another day in this wretched life.

Calloused hands held themselves up to the fire, trying to keep them warm, but to no avail. The rise and fall of the purple veins casted shadows in the ridges, and illuminated his knuckles— But he just wanted a hand to hold, yet that hand was one he believed to be lifeless.

In his dreams he'd see flashes of how awful I had looked in death. Possibilities of the way my body could have been splayed out, crushed underneath the foot of the titan would flush in at all times. Whether he closed his eyes or not, he couldn't get rid of the sights.

He'd think about how the Female Titan could've crushed me with her own palm, how she could've twisted my head off, leaving the Survey Corps to only find a body with no face, an unidentifiable pariah.

He'd envision the trails of blood and the struggle I went through. The crimson fingerprints trailing as I would try to pull myself away to safety, but to no avail. He could clearly see the fear of death and terror in my eyes as I would be confronted with my own mortality. He saw pain and hurt, agony and death.

It'd play on repeat inside his head, each rerun a bit more graphic and disturbing than the rest, yet the worst part was that after every scenario would finish, he'd have to wipe a solemn tear or two from his water lines, determined to not let them fall.

He'd ponder if he had accidentally killed me, in his own fit of rage.

He felt guilty for the fact that he didn't know the truth.

He could see Mikasa finding my own head in the forest, and not having the heart to tell him that she had seen it in the first place. He could feel her surmisable guilt, even if this had not been the case.

He imagined the countless scenarios of me perishing in that forest, and he could only look at his own hands as if they were the ones dripping with my blood, nothing else. It was all he could focus on in the light of the fire, in the chill of the night.

For I was out of reach, and it'd remain that way. It wasn't ever meant to be anything more.

Of course, none of these were true, but overthinking was his only coping mechanism— Yet it only made him feel worse.

These thoughts were choking him, leaving him unable to breathe, nor function.

His voice was cold as he spoke into the night, "She's dead now. Are you guys happy? Are you fucking happy? That I was finally able to admit it?"

Armin simply looked to the ground. He knew that Eren was hurting the most out of the three, but the blond had cared for me as well. We'd grown rather close, enough to the point of calling him a friend— A luxury many did not receive.

Long talks about the depth of the world had graced our ears many times, and now he was left feeling empty, the remarks often made had gone silent, as if they were never even there in the first place. He'd have to shake himself out of it, he was in a state of denial.