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Summary
The dead don’t return. That was the comfort. That was the rule. But this man never followed the rules.
Not mortal. Not quite alive.
Eren Jaeger.
A dead man walking. A nightmare made flesh.
And now here he was, dragged from the depths of whatever hell he'd forged for himself, as if summoned by the stray thought of Levi’s tired mind.
A tragedy, knocking. Unfolding again at his feet.
Standing on Levi’s porch. Nothing between them but breath.
Eren spoke. Not loud. Not sure. The words felt pried from a rusted cage inside his chest. “I… shouldn’t have come.”
“Yes, you shouldn’t,” Levi said simply. “But here you are. So I ask you again, Eren Jaeger… why”
“I thought that maybe… you,”
Levi knew, all at once—and not quite at all—what lived at the end of Eren's unfinished line. His heart ached both for himself and for Jaeger, or maybe for the sheer unfairness of honesty turned burden.
There was a time when Levi would have acknowledged the underlying meaning with a curt nod.
I know. I see you. I feel it too. But we are both bound to things greater than this. Take solace in knowing. It’s what I can offer.
One a privilege—lost. The other, a gift returned.