my green

013 : to you in a distant planet

"sir, i vow to never break her," he whispered at his bedside, eren glanced over his shoulder towards you, "i'm gonna protect her like she's made of glass."

before

the left side of his body has gone numb. he's not even sure if his arms are fully functional. he's held onto you for hours now and he's trivial, how long can i hold her until my limbs go brittle and decay away?

he guesses, his estimate being a few more weeks, perhaps even months, and then, then his arms fall. then he caves and sinks and ceases to exist. then he becomes someone you used to know, someone you allowed to hold you until your brain was kind again, until you were you; dear and driven by the delicate nature that bloomed from the speech you spoke.

eren, with a much fearful heart, blinks his dry eyes wet, their greenness falls flat at the sight below him. he swallows, only capable of capturing this with a shutter of his mind that behaves like a camera.

he wonders, mind being tortured by last nights occurrences, if you are entirely okay, if you are entirely you and not split at your seams all because of the words that were spat your way. he wonders if you dreamt of it, if it replayed over and over again, like a broken record and haunted you in your slumber.

how could he, reiner–anyone, say something so brutal and not feel an ounce of regret. especially towards you, someone who causes sprouts of flowers and weeds after every step they leave behind, someone who only intends to spread gratitude with every touch.

eren breathes, his ribs shake, it's an anxious sigh that causes him a few goosebumps and the flyaways over his golden forehead to prance in a startled way. then he's caught, entranced by the sight below him, hypnotized by this saintly presence that fills their lungs full of him.

your breaths are at his chest, squeezing through the threads of his tee shirt and he wears you so proud. he wears your scent like some expensive cologne. he wears you with a big chest, with the idea that he's superior because you're on him, lingering in the threads of a shirt that didn't seem to matter to him before now, before you existed, before you slept in the comfort of the fabric that he laid under.

your hands; one in the curve of his waist and the other just below your cheek keeping you angled. his are secured in the little space between your body's, chin lifted from the crown of your head, and mind transversing into a thought where last night didn't exist.

he shuts his eyes, veiling them from the burning world that has been that way since he could last remember. he has slept, more than he ever has in his adolescent life. he has felt happiness. he has felt completely mended together by a bond that were your words and actions, and sealed by the look on your face when you had whispered a faint goodnight and smiled for a second that lasted a lifetime to him.

that was the look of someone of who found a reason to think of life as a treasure, as a gift handed to them because they deserved it.

that look on your face was written in his brain in permanent ink, forever in the crevices of his mind to remind him of just how a cure looks like. it's there to remind him that without a doubt, you see no flaws in him, that the scar on his nose belongs to him and it's why you like it, despite the person who gave it to him. that the lavender under his eyes, that the puffiness of them, that his slender build, that the scars he's shameful of, are beautiful and are what makes him unique in every way imaginable.

he swallows hard, breaths gone along with his ability to feel any further tiredness. he's rested, he's energetic off of the seven hours he's had to himself. he's full of an emotion that is hard for him to describe, but he knows that it's a good one because his heart just won't beat normally, he can't seem to keep the aching joy in his joints at bay, and he can't seem to break away from you.