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The other soldiers, the ones hardened by war, by the lives they live, the world they’re stuck in, have become numb to the smallest incidents and the greatest losses. There was a time Yangyang envied them, saw it as a strength of their kind, a way to keep moving, keep fighting even when there seemed to no longer be a point. When all hope was lost, and humanity was left gasping for air, wiped out by forces that even a whole population cannot contend with. As a young boy, he’d wish to carry himself the way they did, with strong shoulders and weary smiles, reassuring the public that they’d live to see another day.
“I’m going to be just like them when I’m grown up!” he remembers telling his older brother excitedly, tugging on the hem of his tunic as the soldiers traipsed back home, past the town.
His brother had frowned down at him, taller and the more careful of the two. “The Survey Corps?” At Yangyang’s enthusiastic nod his frown had deepened, creasing his otherwise smooth forehead. “You can’t. You’d worry mother and father too much.”
Yangyang had pulled away then, twisting his lips into a pout and crossing his arms. He’d never been one to care about what they thought, all they did was yell at him. “But I want to fight! I want to kill titans like those guys do!”
“If you want to join the Military that badly, join the Military Police.” His brother was exasperated, like every other time Yangyang brought up the topic. “It’s furthest from the action and you won’t get hurt.”
“I’m not a coward.” Yangyang held his head high, watching as the final group of soldiers walked down the street. “I’m going to be just like them, you’ll see!”
His brother hadn’t said anything after that, simply dragged them both home to the warm meal waiting on the dinner table.
It took years for Yangyang to realise that he’d been too short to see the pile of bodies the horses had been dragging inside the carts. He’d also been too young to recognise the fear that still lingered in the soldiers' eyes, their whole bodies quivering after coming back from experiencing the horrors beyond the safety of the wall. And that was the core reason for his brothers' worry — that Yangyang would never understand, not until he’d experience it himself. But he’d had a dream, and the dream stuck with him until he was eligible to apply for the military. And join, he did. Experience it, he did.
Now, as he and his comrades march inside the walls, he feels anything but strong. He’d left that on the battlefield, on the numerous other battlefields, on stupid expeditions to find something, anything , to make what they do worth a damn thing. He’s weak, pathetic, swimming in his own cowardice. His eyes are drawn to the cobblestone as he follows his fellow soldiers, the click of hooves as the horses pull the bodies of his friends back to base. His cloak is tight around his shoulders, the wings of freedom nothing but a weight bringing him down, every inhale dry and every exhale a shudder. Heejin is beside him, her fingers weaving around his wrist to steady him, to steady herself.
He can breathe a little easier when reminded he isn’t alone in this.
The townspeople continue their outcry despite none of them listening, merely a whisper in the back of Yangyang’s mind. Everything they shout is something Yangyang has thought about ten times over, every insult another scar on his raw and bloody heart. In front of him Sungchan stumbles, too young in his career to know to hold himself together until they reach the end of the expedition, or know that it’s never over until they make it back home. His little gasps tear at Yangyang, and he grabs the end of Sungchan’s cloak and tugs on it, his hand caked with dried blood and his wrist twinging with the effort. He shakes it off, wincing slightly. Sungchan turns his head, eyes red rimmed and face puzzled.
Yangyang gives him as much of a smile as he can muster, his own eyes watery. It won’t be long now until they’re out of sight, they all just need to keep it together. Himself included. But Sungchan was there — saw it all — the massacre, the comrades they were forced to abandon. He saw for the first time the Survey Corps at their most brutal, desperate to survive. Yangyang is a rubber band seconds from snapping and he has years of experience on the guy. Sungchan is doing well.
Yangyang doesn’t dare search the crowd and risk seeing someone he knows, his brother or his parents. He doesn’t need to see their disapproving faces, or worse, the tears of relief that he’s come back alive while some other unfortunate parent sobs for the child that will never come home, or the only part of them that makes it back a limb or two. No, his eyes draw upwards and ahead, initially to seek out how long they have until they’re free from the performance, the neutral expressions they should adopt for the sake of others. Instead, his eyes find the body of their captain atop his horse.
At first Yangyang can only see his back, his hair caked with dirt and blood — their friends' blood, since any titan blood would have evaporated already. Squad Leader Xiao whispers something into his ear and Yangyang catches a glimpse of his captain’s face, confidence radiating from every single part of him, soft lips drawn into a smile. He’s always been talented at putting on a mask, but if Yangyang were to see his eyes, he’s sure they’d tell a different tale.
He bites down on the inside of his cheek, uncomfortable with how easy it is to appear unaffected for the higher-ups. Heejin seems to agree as she grips his wrist tighter, a scowl directed at the captain’s figure. It had been their captain who gave the command to leave their friends to die after all, he who had forced them all to retreat. How can someone who gives an order like that return with such courage?
It had been his captain who had saved him at the expense of the other soldiers, who will always do so as much as it infuriates him.
Yangyang shakes his head, dismissing the thought. It’ll only serve to anger him further, encouraging the rising tide inside of him to unleash and drown them all. No, he won’t think about how the captain will always interfere, even as Yangyang tries to do what is right. Who is to say Yangyang’s life is more valuable? Who is to say that abandoning their friends to be devoured by titans is the right call, if they haven’t even tried to save them? Who is to say that he isn’t allowed to die trying ?
“Yangyang,” Heejin shakes his arm. The bags under her eyes are dark, her cheeks hollow. “We’re here. You should get some rest, okay?”
Yangyang hadn’t even realised they’d made it back, but the soldiers who had been walking in a file now scamper around to unload supplies and lead the horses to temporary stables. No one touches the bodies yet.
They’re crashing the district branch at Trost, many of them injured or too exhausted to make the long trip to the outskirts of Wall Rose and back to the main headquarters. No, it’s easier to stay here for a day or two and take care of the people they’ve brought back, including the dead. There weren't many of them who took part in this expedition in the first place.
“I can help,” he interjects.
Heejin shakes her head, dark hair falling in her eyes. “The others have it covered already. Besides.” Her gaze falls on the wrist she hadn’t been holding. “You’re injured. You should get that checked out.”
Yangyang takes a step back, cradling his wrist to his chest. It’s the least he deserves, considering how it happened. In a blur, between life and death he’d desperately tried to pull his comrade out of the titan’s mouth before it was too late. But he couldn’t find anything solid to hold and the screams were ringing in his ear, swiping him of any ability to think. Another titan had approached, slowly like the big lugs they are, and then like clockwork their giant hand was coming down, down to swipe at Yangyang. And he’d thought, maybe it was the end, but at least he’d die doing more than the rest of his team who were racing away on their horses.
But then his captain had grabbed him and pulled him away, away from his terrified, bawling comrade as the jaws of the titan clamped shut, and then Yangyang was screaming in the captain's ear as blood sprayed, had painted them scarlet, his wrist jammed between their chests as the captain gripped him tight enough to bruise, the ODM gear grappling them back to safety on his horse with one last burst of gas.
“You idiot,” Captain had spit at him, expression livid. “You could have died!”
They all could die. Yangyang isn’t any different. He shouldn’t be any different.
At present time, Heejin is still eyeing him warily.
“I’m going to the roof,” Yangyang says, clearing his throat. The dull ache of repressed emotion is beginning, and he’d rather be alone when it all strikes him at once. “If anyone asks where I am, tell them not to bother me.”
Heejin nods. She looks as though she wants to say more, would like to offer him support, but instead she remains silent as he brushes past her. It’s a good choice, because drowsiness is slowly overtaking his system, and he has no will to filter his feelings any longer. He’s tired and he’s angry, and space is the best thing for him at the moment.
The roof in question is not his favourite of the many roofs he’s laid upon during his lifetime. It’s always been a place of solace for him, to clear his head. He’d often get in trouble when he was little and not to be trusted, his mother hissing at him for sneaking out late at night to stare at the stars, and wonder what lies beyond the solid walls blocking everything from view. When he joined the Survey Corps it quickly became a way to keep it together, where he could retch and cry and scream and his voice would be carried away with the wind. They all have their ways of coping with this life, seeing friends ripped apart and losing again and again, fighting for no particular reason, or for reasons undiscovered.
He has down the methods of a select few soldiers. Heejin looks after everyone but herself, for fear of dealing with her own trauma. Ten drinks himself into a stupor to forget the pain. Sungchan cries himself to sleep, homesick and terrified even in his sleep. Squad Leader Xiao and his vice-captain Seulgi bury themselves in journals and books and anything that will give them an answer to something.
Yangyang has a roof, any roof.
His comrades barely notice as he brushes past them inside the townhouse, immediately climbing the stairs with barely a hello tossed his way. They’re all still shaken from the mission, a failure and a particularly gruesome one. Yangyang’s arm trembles as he pushes the door open to one of the rooms leading to the square box of a balcony, the easiest access point to climb onto the gritty tiles. His head thuds as he steps onto the railing and heaves his way onto the roof, uncaring of the ground a measurable distance away or the pain that flares in his wrist, red hot and raw. He’s unable to tell if the thudding is the start of a headache, or the sick memory of the heavy steps of the titan inches away, ready to pounce just as the captain had grabbed him.
Yangyang swallows the lump in his throat, the roof tiles cold on his tailbone as he takes a seat furthest from the ledge. He rests his wrist on his lap, drawing his knees closer to his chest. The wind is particularly brutal at higher altitudes, and nips at his bare skin, but the coolness is refreshing against the flush on his face and the warm tears brewing beneath his bottom lids. The dried blood itches on his skin but he can’t bring himself to scratch it off, the harsh reminder of what they lost today, what he could have saved today, if the captain weren’t so fucking stubborn all the time.
He scowls, laying his head back on the tile. The sky is a murky blue, darker as dusk begins its takeover. He’d like to scream, at the captain, at the titans, at the world they live in. His throat throbs as his efforts to withhold everything turn more unbearable the longer his brain lingers on such topics, and he wishes longingly, desperately, a twisted part of him, that the captain would let him go. Yangyang has no more right to live than any of them. He’s not a gifted soldier when it comes to combat and he isn’t particularly great at logical thinking. He doesn’t deserve to survive more than any of them, not when others could be making the advances he never will.
He’s not even strong like the soldiers he’d seen as a child. A naive, overzealous child.
“Oi, Yangyang!”
Yangyang sits up in record time, his core protesting at the sudden movement. The perpetrator is Squad Leader Xiao, the wide grin on his face not the most suitable for current circumstances. He must be balancing on the railing of the balcony because only his head can be seen. “Heejin said you’d be here.”
Yangyang curses under his breath. Of course she means well, but he’d been counting on her to relay the information he’d told her. “What do you want, sir?”
The squad leader observes him carefully, much like he does a titan in the wild. Mostly sympathy, but a glimpse of fear at the sight in front of him. Yangyang must look like a mess, covered in grime and debating his own pathetic-ness. Undoubtedly a little unhinged.
“Captain is looking for you.”
Yangyang beats back a sigh, clenching his jaw. “I don’t want to see him right now.”
“I’m sensing some anger there.” Squad Leader Xiao’s brow quirks up. “He saved your life today.”
A bitter laugh escapes Yangyang’s throat. “I wish he hadn’t.”
It’s more than he meant to say, but it’s too late to hide the anger and frustration egging him on from the inside, begging to be released and wreak havoc. Particularly at the captain if he still chooses to seek him out after the squad leader passes on this information.
“Yangyang.” The squad leader’s voice is stern, but another’s cuts him off.
“I’ll handle this, Dejun. Go assist Lucas with the supply count.”
Much like the rest of the Survey Corps, his captain has his own way of getting through it all, day by day, faced with the consequences of the choices he makes and the horrific things he sees.
It happens to be Yangyang.
Limited is the list of people who have managed to figure this out for themselves, and it took Yangyang a long time to accept it. In a world where every day is a fight for their lives, it’s not common for soldiers to place their comfort in a singular person, not when nothing is guaranteed and they’re barely hanging on by a thread. And Yangyang hadn’t even been close to his captain, not really. There had been little exchanges here and there, but he’d always been immersed in something else, closer with the higher ranked officers rather than people like Yangyang.
He never really noticed when things started to change.
There’d been a few late nights with Squad Leader Xiao when Seulgi had been out of commission and Yangyang was allocated as his assistant. The captain had joined them, poured over books beside Yangyang who was just as clueless — perhaps that had been the start of it. When Seulgi had gotten better those late nights had become nights on the rooftop instead, a place Yangyang preferred to be in solitude, but felt obligated to invite the captain to.
It was still uncomfortable, long silences stretching for minutes on end and conversation that never really went anywhere. But it slowly became the captain’s place too, in times of doubt, of uncertainty, when the weight of an entire squad was too much to bear. And Yangyang would find him when no one else could, pick up the pieces of a man he can’t understand, a seasoned soldier stronger than he could ever hope to be. They grew close in their own way, away from the bloodshed, the death, the neverending cycle of defeat. And for some time his captain was just that — his captain.
But the roof was theirs, away from expectations and prying eyes, the inevitable judgement. A place to recall what it is like to be human, in a world surrounded by monsters.
“I don’t come here because I like it here,” his captain had whispered into his hair, fingers digging into his thigh. “I come here because I know it’ll lead me to you.”
But Yangyang doesn’t need such a reminder now, as he glares daggers at his captain. He doesn’t budge an inch as his captain hauls himself onto the rooftop, but his hands twitch on his lap. He grinds his teeth as the captain stares, his own black hair covered in blood and muck, his mouth twitching into an unsure smile. Nervous energy is radiating from him, and in a moment of rarity, it seems he has no idea what he’s doing.
Yangyang narrows his eyes. “What do you want, Captain?”
His captain stays on the edge, as unsafe as it is. But if he isn’t stupid, it’s likely he’s gotten the hint that Yangyang doesn’t want to see him.
“It’s just us. You can call me Mark.”
“Alright, Mark. What do you want?”
His captain, Mark, sighs. He chews on his bottom lip, a habit he hasn’t kicked, and his despondent eyes are fixated on Yangyang. “I know you’re mad at me. So just,” he waves an arm. “Get it out of your system. Kick me, punch me, yell at me, I don’t know. Take your pick.”
“I’m not going to hurt you, don’t be stupid.” Yangyang knits his eyebrows together, careless with his words now that Mark is willing to pretend this is like the rest of their nights and rules don’t matter. But it’s still technically light out, and their friends and comrades are moving in and out of the townhouse.
“Please, Yangyang.”
Mark’s voice breaks, and it snaps something inside of him. He doesn’t think before he’s leaning down to grab Mark by his shirt collar and dragging him upwards, away from the edge of the building. His wrist burns with the exertion, but his pained grunt is lost as he focuses all his combat training into slamming Mark against the roof tile, Mark wincing at the resounding crack. Yangyang pushes all of his weight onto Mark’s stomach as he straddles him, leaning close enough to spot the pain in his eyes, the despair. “You don’t get to be sorry, do you understand me? You don’t get to feel pain, not this time.”
Too far. He’s going too far. But he can’t stop himself, haunted by the cries of the dead, the spray of blood, warm and wet and sticky as his friends we’re devoured in front of him. And it’s too much, despite a scene he’s seen thousands of times before, it’s too much.
“You don’t get to decide whether I live or I die.” His voice shakes as he grips Mark’s shirt tighter, tight enough to lift his head. “I could have saved someone, someone better, someone stronger. Do you understand that? You don’t get to decide my worth, that’s my choice, and you took it away from me you asshole.” He hurls the words at Mark, harsh and unforgiving.
A silent tear slips down Mark’s cheek, dipping under his jaw as he stares at Yangyang. “Punch me,” he whispers. “Punch me if it means we’ll be okay.”
And Yangyang listens. He raises a fist, flames licking at the wound to his wrist. And he watches as Mark silently sobs, more tears gathering on his eyelashes, but there’s a determined set to his jaw as he accepts what is to happen. Because Yangyang is worth a punch to him, and for some obscure reason he’s worth saving.
And that’s really the issue, isn’t it? Mark wants to save him. And Yangyang is terrified, because hope is obsolete but god, he hopes Mark makes it through it all.
He drops his fist, the first bit of weakness sliding down his cheek and dropping onto Mark’s shirt. It doesn’t sink in that he’s falling until he feels Mark’s arms wrapping around his waist, securing him in his hold. And that’s how they stay, for seconds, for minutes, for the better half of an hour for all he knows. Yangyang finds safety in Mark’s neck, in the steady rise and fall of his chest.
“I know you hate me for it,” Mark murmurs against his hair, like all the times before. Because while Yangyang has been picking up the pieces of his captain, Mark has been doing the same. “But I will always save you. And I won’t regret it, either.”
Yangyang lifts his head ever so slightly to peer at Mark, whose attention is on the sky above them. “Placing value on people is a weakness in a war against an unfeeling and infinitely numbered enemy,” he says.
“We all have something we can’t bear to lose,” Mark responds, voice quiet. “We fail when we forget what it is we’re fighting for.”
Yangyang hums, blinking sleepily. The other soldiers have fallen silent, either eating dinner or getting rest for another day in an endless battle. Now it’s just them. “And what is it you’re fighting for?”
Mark turns his head. There’s a spot of blood on his jaw. “Freedom. A life outside these walls. An answer.” He pauses as Yangyang rolls onto his side, though his legs stay wrapped up in Mark’s. “More recently, you.”
Yangyang’s breath hitches. It had been something simmering under the surface, the possibility that if things were different, they could be different too. And he thinks about his next sentence, how heavy it is now that everything has been thrown into the open. “I would have died today.”
Mark’s eyes flutter shut. The crease in his forehead hasn’t left. Marked there forever, even in his dreams.
“You know there’ll be a time when you can’t save me, right?”
Mark makes a pained noise. His eyes open again, his hand lifting to cup Yangyang’s jaw, his thumb brushing over his lips. “Maybe,” he agrees. “But I’d prefer if we survived this thing together.”
Yangyang’s heart jumps in his chest. It’s moments like these that he has to remind himself that he’s allowed this, he’s allowed to want this. He’s already in too deep, that he may as well enjoy this for as long as he can. So he leans in and kisses Mark, the taste of blood and tears lingering on his lips. It mixes with Mark’s, a twisted combination of everything they’ve gone through. Yangyang’s hands tremble as he cups Mark’s cheeks, swallowing his sobs. Mark’s fingers dance from his chest to his hips to his thighs and back again, tongue brushing his lips and pulling away just as quick.
It’s Yangyang who pulls away with a hiss, his wrist finally giving in. He’s the first to sit up, rubbing at the spot. Mark follows him, scooting behind Yangyang and propping a chin on his shoulder.
“I told Heejin to make sure you get that checked out,” he mutters.
“She tried,” Yangyang responds, leaning his head against Mark’s. He ignores the part about Mark paying attention to his injury even in a stressful situation like getting back inside the walls. “I’m not a great listener.”
“In the morning,” Mark says. “You’re getting that looked at.”
“Yes, sir.” That earns him a slap on the back of his head.
He leans against Mark, silently enjoying that Mark’s immediate response is to wrap his arms around him and pull him close. One of his hands absentmindedly stretches further to brush over Yangyang’s wrist. It twinges on contact, but it keeps him grounded as everything sets in. They watch the sun slowly sink behind the wall, leaving their world in darkness.
Part of him still struggles to accept that Mark has chosen someone as reckless as him to protect, to be at the side of. There are so many others in their squad he’s been closer to, who would be a better fit, an easier person to care for. And he has limitless options, Yangyang would be stupid to pretend he hasn’t heard the way his fellow soldiers speak about their captain and his pretty face. Even at his most brutal he makes others want to follow his lead, believe in him. Yangyang is a replaceable low-ranking soldier.
Mark is also incredibly observant even away from the action. “Yangyang. I don’t regret any of my decisions.”
Yangyang swallows heavily. “Any of them?”
Mark presses a kiss to his neck, mouthing the words against his skin. “None of them.”
Yangyang smiles, his first since they’d left the safety of the walls in the morning. “I asked you what you’re fighting for.” His heart thumps loud in his chest as Mark nods for him to go on, still pressed against his neck. “I used to fight for the sake of fighting, because I wanted to be cool like the soldiers who came through town. It sounds stupid, I know.” He cringes thinking about it.
Mark pulls away. “Oh?”
“But I think I never really got attached to anyone, like, I don’t even see my family that much anymore, and I like everyone here, but we all know we can’t… we can’t get too close.” He sucks in a breath. He can do this. He can be strong, just this once. Like the soldiers he saw. Like everyone he knows.
“I want to fight for you. For us. Because there has to be something out there, a place we can be like this all the time. There’s got to be something, right? Is it okay to hope for that? Because I — I want that. I want to fight for that.”
Desperation slips through his tone and he can’t see Mark’s expression to know if he’s royally screwed it all. But the arms are still around his waist and then Mark is talking in that soothing tone of his, the one that sends soldiers on high-risk expeditions with grins on their faces. “If there’s something out there, we’ll find it. I promise you.”
Yangyang doesn’t like promises. Promises are a chain tying people down, left with their rotting corpses as they inevitably fall to their enemy. But this one — this one he’ll take.
He turns around and pulls Mark into another kiss.