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The first strike of midnight, and the hour of truth begins. Truth is inevitable, but not in this form, and no one knows what the night will bring. This fateful night where all mouths can speak naught but the truth, and all thoughts have no choice but to be revealed. Will whispered endearments be spoken across velvet darkness, or will tears leave shining tracks down a lover’s face? The city is poised on the brink of something dangerous, oscillating somewhere between redemption and chaos. Or is it possible that the two go hand in hand?
Deep within this city lies a dark alley, and in this dark alley awaits a man. A man with ragged clothes and unclad feet. Whose rough beard grown unheeded does little to hide his sunken cheeks and frowning lines. But as the clock strikes twelve, there is a flicker in his eyes. A bit of movement as his eyebrows draw together and fingers curl into a fist. He pulls himself to his feet, putting a hand up to steady weakened knees.
At the end of the alley is the deserted street, and he shuffles towards it, fingers trailing along the wall. The brick feels rough and cool, and its solid presence is reassuring.
He reaches the corner and stops by the edge of a pool of light cast by a streetlamp. There is no movement along the street, but the silence is everywhere. He steps forward leaving his hand pressed against the wall until only his fingertips remain. One more step and then he is free, hand dropping down to his side, chin tilted up in defiance. He is ready to face the night.
In a bright-lit apartment, there is a knock at the door, and another man stands up to answer it. Who would be calling on this strange night? He walks towards the door, eyes not seeing the pictures adorning his hallway walls. Not seeing the smiling faces and bright grins of friends and family.
His hand reaches for the door, almost of its own volition. And another knock makes him jump back. He knows who is on the other side of this door. Knew it from the moment he heard the first knock. Just a mere foot away, and he is filled with dread. But is that a bit of excitement?
He turns the handle, and on the other side of the door he stands there. The ghost from his past.
The man outside says just one whispered word, and on this night, he knows it is him.
“Levi.”
And even though his face is dirty and hair matted, those eyes still glimmer with the same effervescent hope. Eren.
Levi does not know who moves first, maybe they move together, but a breath, a moment later, Eren is wrapped in his arms. And he in his. Memories of past nights come flooding forward, and for a moment, Levi is lost in a storm of vivid images. Whispered secrets, starry night skies, and a name that only he could know. A name, that by its very utterance on this night of truth must still be true for Eren. How could he have forgotten that Eren’s arms felt like home, and that the steady rise and fall of his chest felt like safety?
A tear rolls down Levi’s cheek, and then another, and another. How can Eren forgive him for what he has done? For the pain he has caused him. Levi can feel his shoulders start to tremble.
Eren pulls out of his embrace, and takes his face between his strong, gentle hands. Their eyes meet, dancing to a rhythm that has almost become a dream. An arm reaches up and wipes the tears away.
“Eren…” Levi begins, but Eren puts a hand against his lips.
“I forgive you, Levi.” His name is spoken with a smile. “I forgive you, and I always will.”
And on this night, when only the truth can be spoken, Levi knows it is true.