my green

002 : lennie's death

aot_hd : twt

eren had many first times–his first time smiling, his first time crying, his first time speaking a word, sentence, phrase. his first time having a meal. his first time on a date, his first time dating a girl. his first time having sex. his first time falling in love.

he had many firsts just as much as he had many lasts.

he enjoyed every single one of those, although he didn't recall a quarter of them. but that didn't mean he was not proud of them all. eren knew deep down that his infant self, toddler self, and boy self cherished those moments dearly. they're what molded him to be the man he became.

his first time loving someone other than his mother or his friends is one thing he'd never forget, which how could that be possible since he can't remember or forget now? with no senses or nerves to help him function, how can he cease to forget?

eren loved hard.

he loved so hard his chest ached and ribs rattled and crumbled right under his skin. he loved so hard he felt out of breath, he felt light headed and dizzy and he could barely keep his hands from seizing and–i'm lovesick.

i'm so fuckin' lovesick, mom. he'd laugh under his breath and shake his head like a damn fool when you came to mind.

eren loved you as hard as he could, it hurt him in the process.

mentally hurt him. why couldn't he love himself as much as he loved you?

for the life of him, he could not pinpoint exactly why he couldn't do so. is it because i'm sick? is it because i'm not worthy of that? is it because there's a mis-wiring in my brain that stops from doing so?

it was probably all of the above. eren had no idea which reason seemed most valid, so, he chose them all.

six months before

the bell rings, it's loud. it startles each student and armin's body practically takes a screenshot of itself.

"how embarrassing was that? jesus christ." he nervously snickers. his hands are delicate when he closes his notebook and the current book the english class is reading. armin has sweet fingers, they're long with neatly groomed fingernails. a silver band envelopes his pinky.

"yeah, that's pretty loud." you contain your giggles and collect your belongings as well.

"so, what's your next class?" he waits for you at the end of the aisle.

you smooth out a wrinkle in your airy cardigan over your shoulder, "i'm not sure, let me take a look at my schedule."

multitasking wasn't a forte of yours, juggling your school materials and attempting to unfold your schedule with your free hand was a hardy task–you drop the piece of paper and armin ends up undoing the tri-fold.

"social sciences," he says, "hmm."

"you're thinking."

"yes."

"what are you thinking?" you hold your hand out, palm facing the ceiling and wait for the rustled paper to fall into it.