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“You know this counts as cheating.”
Eren shoots Zeke a look. They’re standing at the courtyard in HQ, watching the younger candidates wheeze through their training while Magath and his assistant instructors bark orders in the background. Days before selection, and with Zeke already holding the Beast Titan and Colt preparing to inherit, their generation doesn’t need to be put through their paces as often anymore—or maybe Commander Bruning is just letting them off the hook for the week.
They both doubt that.
Up ahead, Falco trips over an unseen pebble, and Zeke sighs.
“You don’t have to do this, you know?” he says, out of misplaced brotherly affection. Eren appreciates it, but that’s not what he needs right now. “You already have the armband.”
“This isn’t about me.”
“I know,” Zeke raises his hands in surrender, but the playful gesture doesn’t take away the scrutiny in his gaze. For all his levity, he doesn’t once glance away. Eren knows he’s seeing their father in him, trying to decide whether that’s a positive or a negative.
“So?”
Zeke scratches the back of his ear. “You already know you’re in the running for the Attack Titan and the Armored Titan. Porco and Reiner are on your heels for the Armor. As for the Attack Titan…”
Zeke tilts his head in a shrug. Eren exhales, and then nods. “Thanks.”
His brother peers at him, a small smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “Thanks what?”
Eren is grateful, reassured, but not that grateful. “What am I, ten? I’m not calling you big bro.”
Zeke lets out a long-suffering sigh this time, the kind he uses to guilt trip the others into helping him with paperwork at his age. “You used to be such a cute kid.” He’s quick enough to reach over and ruffle Eren’s hair, and then withdraw before he can smack his hand away. “Now you’re all grown up.”
Eren rolls his eyes, but claps a hand to his brother’s arm in earnest. “Thanks, Zeke.”
The man gives him a thumbs up, and Eren belatedly catches a sliver of gold pass one of the windows behind the courtyard ahead of the other girls. His feet take him forward before he can bid his brother goodbye.
“Go on,” Zeke says, right as Eren catches himself almost sheepishly. He goes to her without another thought.
There’s no big to-do when it comes to the selection process. Apart from their generation of candidates, there’s only Zeke, standing to the side with the other instructors who assist the captain, while Magath and Commander Bruning themselves stand together, as imposing as the day they first met.
Maybe a little less now that they’ve earned their stripes, training for a decade with the extension of the war in the South, but Eren can feel the pressure of this moment bearing down on him.
The others have been chosen. They stand at the other side of the room, putting on their most dignified expressions and trying to contain their shock at their commander’s question.
“There remain two Titans, Eren Yeager,” said Commander Bruning seconds, maybe a minute ago. Eren’s mind is still reeling. “Which of them, in your estimation, best suits you?”
“Me, sir?” he had asked dumbly in response. Bruning had only nodded.
It isn’t supposed to happen like this. From the group ready to receive their red armbands, he feels Marcel’s eyes burning into his side. Marcel, who was pulled aside by Magath and Bruning earlier today. Eren expected the same treatment—not this. Is this a test?
Porco and Reiner stand to his left, behind him because he’s stepped forward, and he feels hazel daggers ready to strike at his back. He doesn’t care about them right now. It’s the blue to his right that envelops his all. The air is replete with Historia’s expectation, drowning out all the others in the room. He feels weightless in it, a drop in the ocean that is her existence to him.
Eren knows he could be more. If he gives the right answer, she might just see him as more.
But Historia isn’t the ocean to these people. She’s a tool, or she could be, and he cannot let that happen. Eren remembers the ground under his feet and peers into the commander’s eyes.
“If I may, sir, I believe Braun has always had the most endurance among the candidates,” he says clearly, just like he’s rehearsed with Marcel. He tries not to imagine the way Historia’s stomach drops. “Nowadays he takes Leonhart’s hits like they’re almost nothing. And for myself—I’ve come to specialize in close quarters combat. The Attack Titan would suit me best.”
Reiner sighs in relief not far from him. Porco and Historia are utterly silent. He can’t even hear them breathing.
Bruning and Magath seem not to notice. They only exchange glances, and if they think anything of Eren answering more than what was asked of him, they say nothing.
After a few nods, Bruning turns toward them with pride. “It’s as we thought. I see no reason why we should delay for pointless suspense or further deliberation.” With a small motion of the commander’s hand, Reiner steps forward. “Congratulations, Yeager. Braun. You have earned the honor of becoming the new sword and shield of our great motherland Marley.”
The room erupts with excitement as soon as the Marleyans are surely gone from the hallway. Eren is already headed for the door when Porco tries to grab him by the shoulder.
“Eren, what the hell? You know this asshole isn’t better than me!”
Reiner sneers at him from behind before Eren can even shrug him off. “Apparently the brass knew different, Pock. Don’t take it out on Eren—he only affirmed what they were already thinking.”
Porco growls, turning on Reiner instead, which means it’s going to be one of those afternoons. Eren is happy to turn back for the door—he feels bright blue trained on him now, and it’s all he can do not to scamper for the exit.
Clutching the cigarette pack in his uniform pocket, he manages to get as far as two floors down before Historia catches up. She’s been calling out to him since she gave chase.
“Hey!” she yells. He was stupid to head for their usual spot. There’s a corridor in this building that’s gone unused for a while that they found, once, when it was their turn for cleaning duty. It’s been theirs since then, and one of the windows has the best view of the city right outside the internment zone’s walls—and the zone entrance itself. So they don’t forget what they’re supposed to do.
“Eren!”
She’s starting to lose her breath, unable to match his longer strides. His footsteps start to slow, right as they reach that window. He turns around when hers stop too.
Hands still in his pockets, he stares down at her. “What is it?”
Historia glares at him, dignified even as she tries to catch her breath. “What the hell are you doing?”
Eren fishes out the cigarette pack from his pocket and shows her. It’s really Zeke’s, but he figured he’d need it after today. He isn’t wrong.
She scoffs. “Since when do you smoke?”
“I’m going to be a shifter,” he shrugs. “It doesn’t matter much now, right?”
Historia shakes her head, smart enough to ignore the diversion. “Eren, what the hell was that? I thought… I thought we understood each other.” Always to the point. “I thought you and I would become Warriors together. Change things from the inside and convince the others to do the same.”
The truth of her confusion, her frustration and growing anger pulls at him. She’s everything she didn’t used to be, back when she was still playing the perfect little Warrior who unnerved him so much. It’s exactly why he needs to keep a straight face.
“Ah… yeah. Sorry about that,” he murmurs, his tone completely level, fingers pinching at the cigarette pack in his fist. “I just gave it some thought, and… I think Reiner would be better as the Armor, not me. So—that left me as the Attack Titan.”
The pain in her eyes is almost too much for him. If only they were cold, just like she’d been the moment he saw her true self for the first time. That way he could crystallize himself in them and shatter instead of having to face her like this. But she hasn’t been cold for a long while, and the warmth in her gaze even after his betrayal does him in.
“You’re lying,” she realizes the moment his gaze flickers away from hers. Eren curses himself for it. “You once said you could always tell when I was being fake. You think, after everything we’ve been through, that I wouldn’t know it with you either?”
Eren bites his tongue and forces himself to meet those eyes again. He reminds himself why he did it. It’s all that keeps his hands steady as he carelessly flicks the cigarette pack open and reaches for a stick. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Historia swipes her hand at his, knocking the pack from his grasp. It hits the ground with a pathetic smack. “Don’t lie to me, Eren!” she says, pleads even when she’s angry, because they’re friends, aren’t they? If only that were all she is. “You know I deserve more than that. Why are you doing this!? We were going to become Warriors together. We were supposed to have thirteen years together!”
She’s free to vent her frustrations in the hallway like they always have with each other, voice shaky and shakier still as the grief escapes her. By the time she mentions that number, Historia is on the verge of tears, but she blinks them away with the fury that remains. How unlike him, who wants to fold more than anything, feeling like the slightest breeze, the slightest word from her can knock him over. He can only stare at the ground as he swallows down the emotion rising in his throat, and that’s when he realizes it. She’s right, like she always is. He can’t stand lying to her.
The prospect of having to utter his next words terrifies him more than the idea of paradise. But he manages it, because she deserves to know the truth.
“You know why,” he says, trembling only at the last word. Shamefully, face red with self-disgust, he lifts his eyes to hers, fearing the worst.
She catches his meaning. Of course she does—she knows him best. He expects her to leap at him, punch him, anything that will make the guilt of his selfishness ebb even just a little, but she only stands there. Shocked, and then her cheeks flush in only the most beautiful way. He already knows he’ll never forget how the light from the windows illuminates her face like this.
But then her brows furrow, shoulders raising angrily, and she stomps her foot on the ground. “Am I supposed to be grateful for that?” she snaps. “Should I say thank you for making this decision without me? What about what I wanted?”
“No!” Eren stammers, hands up in submission as if that will placate her. “Of course not! I didn’t do this for your gratitude!”
“Then why did you do it?” Her voice is still raised, but her tone is resigned. Historia knows that even if she gets the answer, Marley’s decision is set in stone.
That’s the thought Eren takes comfort in. The tears that dampen his eyes are tears of relief, no matter his shame, no matter his remorse. And here he thought he’d grown out of this when he turned sixteen.
Pressing his lips into his teeth in an attempt to maintain his composure, Eren lets his gaze drop again. “I want you to live,” he admits, so quietly she almost misses it. “I want you to grow up and have a family like you wished you could, if you weren’t pushed into this when we were children. Get married, have children you’re free to love the way…”
He trails off. The last thing he wants to do is mention her mother. He knows she understands when she doesn’t press him to finish.
“I want you to grow old,” he continues. “Live past thirty. Get to fifty, seventy… Then you can be as grumpy as you want to be without anyone saying it doesn’t suit you. I want you to be happy.”
A slight hiccup leaves his throat, one Historia misses only because she does the same. Eren swallows it down, but his nose is already stuffy. When he looks at her again, he’s the most serious he has ever been, and it's no performance. He reaches for her hands.
“I’m not prepared to sacrifice your life for our cause,” he confesses. Eren imagines he could bear never to look out that window and see the walls torn down, the way they’ve dreamt together for the past few years, if it means she will live to see it herself long after he’s gone. He’s not articulate enough to say it, his ears and his throat so full with everything he wants to tell her in this moment that he’s speechless. How can he be otherwise, when she’s looking at him like that? All he can blurt out is, “I’m sorry.”
A silence brews between them. Eren wonders if it’s time to step away, to leave her to her thoughts. Maybe he can still beg for forgiveness later.
He loosens his grip on her hands, meaning to wipe his eyes, and that’s when she seizes his. “You stupid crybaby,” she murmurs quietly, fondly, “do you really think I’d be happy knowing you sacrificed yourself for me? Why do you think I promised you that we’d complete our mission within the next thirteen years?”
Eren can only look dumbfounded.
“I wanted to spend them with you, you idiot,” she gives him, even as her voice quivers with the same desperate longing he’s felt ache in his chest for as long as he can remember now. “I would have been happier spending thirteen years with you, fighting together, than sitting out the fight and living the rest of my life without you. Isn’t that what we agreed on? To work toward what we promised? Together? What did you think I meant by that?”
Eren opens his mouth, body drained of the cool facade he’s found solace in the last few weeks since he came to terms with his greed.
“Historia,” he breathes. Remembers to. “You—?”
She’s had enough of him, he can tell by the look on her face—but he’s wrong again, because Historia grabs him by the collar and pulls him down to her, meeting his mouth with hers in a bid to help him see the truth. His fingers find her face on instinct, lips parting as they kiss so he can partake of her further.
A moment, a hum from her and something stirring deep inside him, and Historia pulls away as if in punishment. She’s flush again, glaring until those blue eyes soften at his stupid expression.
“Get it yet?” she asks.
His thumbs slide across her cheek, a small grin pulling at his mouth. She really is the ocean, Eren thinks, and dives in again, drinking of those soft lips, drowning in the scent of her hair, the feeling of her hands sliding down his chest. She’s everything.
What feels like both a moment and an eon passes as they stand there, him bent down as he kisses her, her tiptoed to grant it to him, until they eventually part. Only a little, because they can’t bear the distance just yet. Just so their foreheads are pressed together.
“I’m sorry,” Eren murmurs, before he’s lost in her again. “I didn’t know.”
Historia’s lashes flutter as she blinks away her own tears. This doesn’t change the consequences of the decision he’s made on his own, but she knows she can’t give him up, either. When she opens her eyes, she’s more resolute than he’s ever felt in his life. “There has to be a way,” she tells him. “Go to Paradis. Retake the Founding Titan… and come back. Then we’ll do as we promised.”
“Change the curse,” he replies, like they’ve planned, looking out at the stars from his roof in the zone. “Free our people.”
Historia nods. “No matter what.”
“No matter what,” he agrees.
She smiles, and he can’t help that the way her lips purse when she tries to stifle it moves him. Eren draws closer—
“There you are!”
—and nearly stumbles as he and Historia untangle their limbs from one another, practically standing at attention when they hear his brother’s voice and Marcel’s surprised ah.
Unfortunately, not even the most perfect posture can erase the affection still blooming in their cheeks, or the slight swell of their lips resulting from that affection. Or the smiles they just can’t help for one another.
Zeke squints. Also unfortunately, nothing gets past this asshole. “Oh, so it finally happened?”
Marcel glances between the two of them, coming closer. “Seriously?”
Zeke snorts, palm open to the new Jaw. “Pay up, Galliard.”
Marcel scoffs. “Come on. Is it really fair if you had inside information?”
“Are you kidding? My baby brother tells me squat.”
“Oh. Yeah, I mean I guess I understand that…”
Historia lets out a very audible sigh. “Can we help you?”
Marcel meets Eren’s gaze, gratitude and apology in his smile, while Zeke tries on his new Warchief role for size. He clears his throat.
“Now that Porco and Reiner have settled down, Bruning and Magath want to see us again. Discuss our steps going forward, run tests on the new Warriors… The works. Time to go.”
Marcel sighs. “Talk about eager.”
“All right,” Eren says, finally, because he prefers serious Zeke to his annoying brother right now. He feels vulnerable enough, and he doesn’t care to be that way in front of these two. Or anyone else but her, really. “Lead the way.”
Zeke and Marcel turn to leave, starting to argue the terms of their wager as they disappear around the corner.
Historia and Eren look to each other. A shy smile finds its way to his face as he offers her his hand.
“By the way, Eren,” Zeke pokes his head into the corridor again, finger waving at the mess of sticks on the floor, “you owe me a new pack of cigarettes. And clean that up.”
Eren groans. “Shut up!”
“But that was my favorite brand! The things I do for love,” his brother whines, to Marcel’s quiet chuckling, and finally they leave for good.
“Sorry about that,” Eren mutters. Not that Historia hasn’t seen him like this before.
She only laughs as she accepts his hand. When she shakes her head, smiling as she pulls him forward, he feels like they might actually do it. That they might be able to find a way past those thirteen years.
And even if they don't, he can’t feel regret. As long as they’ve managed to accomplish their mission… No, as long as he can ensure that Historia lives on, he’ll pay any price.
No matter what.