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Where he stands now, he can see how the skies match the body of water beneath it. A perfect blue stretching out far into the horizon, some wonder what lies beyond the edge. Because all things end, or at least come to an end.
This view is not for him.
When boots reach the shore and he glances down at the reflection looking back at him, sides remain barren, lacking that vital human part of feeling whole. This shouldn’t feel like the end.
“ Rivers, “ he hears Armin say one day when they’re still cadets in training. Clutching that worn out book close, flipping through the pages with bright blue eyes and a smile, “ rivers! You could say they’re something like… let’s see. We have veins running through our body. Smaller rivers come together to join larger ones, and larger ones come together to make the ocean. “
Shining eyes that couldn’t be brighter. Just as enthused, albeit confused, Eren shrugs. Everyone around them is so invested. “ so.. what? We follow the river’s course? “
What a giddy eyed conversation, Floch thinks as he sips from his drink, gazing from the corner of his eye, because seriously —what weirdos. “ yes. If we follow the river’s course then eventually we’ll come to the ocean. It’s like our main bloodstream— but blue! So blue...
Our world would be nothing without the ocean. “
It’s not all that, he thinks.
Though it probably is— it’s a beautiful sight, so pristine and tranquil. The sun gleams off it’s surface like the pretty stained glass seen in the Trost churches, with waters so clean and pure enough to see the light filter through to the sand beneath.
So it is pretty, at least to most. Laughter bubbles through the air along with the splash of water; most of the scouts are thrilled at the experience of seeing the world’s largest body of water for the first time. This is— a win for the scouts. A new discovery, to move mankind forward like they had always intended.
Sasha’s laughter is amongst the chaos, likely at Connie and somehow he hears Jean scream about salt. Floch, on the other hand sees grey in the waves, as though all the life had been drained from it. That domineering lack of presence is all but appealing, it haunts him side by side when he walks and navigates the sandy shores. It’s all so pretty on the eyes, and ugly on the inside. That large body of water signifies victory, yet he can only feel such an overwhelming loss looking out into its depths; because Sandra would have loved something like this, especially how pretty the sun would glint across the ripples like stars. He can hear her squealing in the water, dragging him in by the arm because ‘it’s our first win, show a little enthusiasm!’ — it’s all so terribly ruined by the fact that the last thing he ever heard from her was the sound of her throwing up on the floor before the charge.
Heavy steps into the shallow tide, he can’t bring himself to walk in any further than shin depth. Its.. not right. Sandra isn’t here to throw water at his face, and he can’t even think about Gordon without paling at the thought of his entrails scattered across the floor. Even Marlowe—
Floch shuts his eyes and inhales.
It’s when he turns to gaze over at Eren that their eyes meet, and he swears there’s something sullen and sunken about the way the boy doesn’t care about the sea anymore. A sudden realisation sinking in, slowly.
— He understands.
“ you’re dry! “ a brilliant observation made by none other than Sasha herself; she always had an eye for pointing out the blatantly obvious. The three are dripping wet, standing there without a care in the world. They look like they’d had the time of their lives— probably did.
“ of course, he didn’t get dunked underwater like you did, stupid . “ Connie snickers which earns an elbow to the side, Sasha complains about drowning. They’re all so weird. “ at least I didn’t try to eat the ocean like Jean did. It’s not edible! “ Jean rolls his eyes, and Floch turns away as a means to get away from all of —this.
A hand on his shoulder stops him from leaving. “ you didn’t have to be on your own, Floch. “
Easy for him to say. It’s all so easy on the ears. Nice guy, Kirstein, for the most part but he’d never wanted to hit a person in the face so badly until now. Lips part in sudden retort, only halted by the sudden appearance of arms around his neck. Slung over in a casual, friendly manner though the wet bodies dampen his clothing— favourite shirt too. The smell of salt sickens him as it overwhelms his senses.
“ the ocean is fun, Floch! Get yer feet wet, it’ll be— “ Connie interjects. “ I bet you could make a splash, huh? “
He really doesn’t have time for this, albeit the atmosphere is loud and overbearing. Perhaps picking up on this, Jean is the last to speak .
“ stay with us next time. “
If he smells anything more like salt, (like copper. Like the red scattered across that cursed field, like blood—) then he’ll have no stomach for dinner. Cedars remark the hand reassuringly gripping his shoulder before pulling away without another word, shrugging kirstein and the others off before heading off to get changed, murmuring out “ maybe, maybe next time.. “
It’s all so easy on the ears.
Floch visits the ocean when it’s night. The moon is bright in the sky, nearly at a full glow. The waves underneath are less calm, not as still as they had been during the day. Each time they pursue the shore, they drag a part of the land away with it. Floch let’s the icy water engulf his boots, a cold wake up to reality as the lack of warmth reaches his feet. He never sleeps lately, he couldn’t even if he tried.
Sleeping is far less easy, more frightful than any other hour of the day. Distortions of horror written across his comrades faces as they charge into hell and feel death reach them before the shattered stone can. In the end, left behind to serve a purpose that seems so obscenely out of reach; unredeemable, unable to find the meaning to his own life. Finding the Devil is so narrow minded: after the loss of their Commander nobody else could possibly fill the role… at least, nobody to name.
He wades further into the sea, let’s the tide pull him in. The water reaches just below the knee under where his boot ends, any further and the water will fill his shoes. Nothing to stop him from walking further into the depths, to let the water weigh his boots down like stones and pull him down under the surface. He swallows— shakily so. Can picture it now, head cracked open at the bottom of the ocean on the rocks just like his fellow comrades. Missing a chunk of his head like dear Marlowe, whose thick, dense skull did nothing for him in the end. A frightful thought, the coward’s gut churns at the thought of any more gore.
They don’t give a shit about the fallen, not in a way that really mattered. They didn’t know them personally— just a number in the newspapers for the townsfolk back behind the walls. A shock factor.
Nobody cares about their losses. Their sacrifices mean everything, and yet society recovers as though nothing happened at all. Life moves on— and the dawning realisation sinks in, that anyone could die. He could, right now if he waded further and let the sea shake the last breaths of air from him —he could die if he slipped. There’s no meaning to living so listlessly, stuck in cycles with no answer. He lives on to remember the fallen, to cherish them for who they really were: more than just child soldiers. A thought he tells himself at night, over and over like a mantra, like a mantra. He lives to fill in their shoes, and to remember all of the forgotten.
But it’s useless, even he can see that. He could die at any point and nobody would care, and nobody would avenge the fallen.
Floch turns on his heel, back to the shore. The cold stings his bare arms and his tear stricken cheeks; he can’t do it.
He joins Eren one day by the shore when it’s quiet, let’s his feet touch the sand as the water overlaps skin and bone. These days they get along like the tide at day, and less like the stormy seas at night. It’s calm and still, and he prefers these moments where he can simply stand in another’s company without feeling pitiful for feeling out of place. Eren is his rock, the guide in all of this to keep him at bay. Forster, in return wonders what that means for him: a thought he casts aside. He doesn’t want to think about it right now.
Deep in sea greens, there’s pain. Eren is in mourning, pointing out with a slender digit.
“ I hate the ocean. “
It’s night again, and the waves crack against the jagged cliff side. So strong and so wild that a portion of the cliff comes crashing down into the depthless sea. The moon is hidden behind thick, ashen clouds whilst the torrents unleash its rage on the land.
He doesn’t dare approach the water, know’s he’ll be tossed and turned around like a few pebbles just to end up bloody and broken at the bottom to be kicked aside. A small, insignificant thing swept up by something bigger.
Floch holds his head in his hands and squeezes his eyes shut.
This isn’t the way he chooses to go.
The smell of salt lingers just about anywhere. No use in scrubbing their shirts clean in the saltwater, because it just lingers for longer.
He shrugs off his shirt to reveal pale skin and a lithe, shirtless figure. Gazing out into the horizon, he’s starting to feel less sick.
But he still hates the ocean.
He joins Eren for the last time by the shore, knee deep in the tide. Nothing has changed, and yet with the coming dawn a new light will shine over Paradis. A beautiful sight to behold once the operation kicks into full gear; there will be changes made. As it stands, this will be the pivotal turning point in the pages of Eldia’s history books.
Remarkable, he thinks, there is nothing more inspiring. Floch looks on with renewed vigour, hopeful of the future. It’s not optimism— can never be so careful as to let his expectations betray him. At heart, he is still a pragmatist all too aware of everything that could go wrong. He’ll need to be on high alert, always. History demands it.
Eren says nothing as Forster joins his side, either blissfully tranquil or drowning in those thoughts again. For the first time in a while his right hand man can barely decipher what lies in those fern hues.
Eventually, the clouds part. Bright sunlight filtering down upon tanned features, “ Can you swim, Floch? “ if it’s a joke to lighten the mood, his loyalist makes no sound to laugh. The breeze takes its place, running through long brunette tresses and ginger bangs. It doesn’t feel like so much of a joke, more of a demand.
Serpentine hues still expect an answer.
“ I’d rather not swim. “ And if Eren had asked, he would still do so. If Eren had asked him to swim, then he would face the tide with little regard for himself— if Eren had asked, it was his job to set the ocean ablaze.
“ but if I had the choice, I’d take a boat. “ funny to his own ears, but the brunette turns away with the same weary scowl at the response. Never so enthralled by dull conversations, seemingly tired of it all. He lacks humour.
“ If I tell you to drown, you’ll do it. “
He would. Floch held so little regard for his life and held so much faith for those he’d put on a pedestal, that he would follow through- though not without questioning why. He had a right to, after all. A contract if it meant he’d be giving up his life.
“ you’d still do it, and I know you hate the sea. “
Floch struggles to find the words. How shockingly perceptive. “ Eren— “
“ When you find yourself drowning, think about who you are. Fight. “ Cryptic meaning, always talking as if he knows everything. “ fight for yourself, “ As if his word is truth, and would eventually become true no matter what; Floch doesn’t know what goes on in that head of his during more turbulent days. There must be overlapping waves cracking against the cliff side, tearing down the stone and the foundations keeping him together. Sometimes, he can see it behind his eyes.
Floch balls a fist to his chest above the heart. It still beats, his blood is pumping. If Eren is the stormy waves crashing against the shore, then Floch, his moon will be the foundation that draws back the inner turmoil until it calmly flitters under the sky. Loyalists were bound, after all.
Cedars remark the sky before they fall to the torrents below. The edge of the tide barely reaches his boots, and the setting sun merges oranges with deep blues. It’s gorgeous, undeniably aesthetic to the human eye. Saying the air felt fresher now that freedom was on the horizon felt cheesy、like an overused cliché used in all the books he’d used to read— but it was true.
“ I’ll come back here, “ he’d never thought about what to do when the war and the killing was all over, if and when this would be all over. He didn’t have a thing planned for the future, a family seemed wrong and he didn’t see himself as a father. Something.. less long term would be fine for now, to let himself cling to. he would return to the shore to enjoy the sight and cast aside the last of his sorrows for the fallen. To relieve himself of the burden, to find peace with the one thing he refused to have taken from him too.
Eren doesn’t look back at him, for whatever reason. He doesn’t have to. Forster’s hand slips around his wrist with gentle dexterities, gives his Devil a reaffirming squeeze.
“ I thought you hated the ocean. “ a derisive grunt, could be a scoff for all he knows. Anything from Eren sounds like dirt.
Floch shrugs, letting his hand fall. To turn on his heel and head back to the camp set up before they’d march off at dawn.
“ Of course I do. “