robinainthood | In Our Bedroom After the War

Title: In Our Bedroom After the War, 12.5k words (1/1 chapters)
Fandom: Attack on Titan
Pairing: Eren Jaeger/Historia Reiss
Disclaimers: Pregnancy, Grief/Mourning, Relationship & Character Study, Tragic Romance, Alternate Canon

Summary

"And yet, you're here." She replied, looking back up at him. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say I must be pretty special."
You are, he wanted to say, you're everything.
Instead: "I could say the same."

In which Historia receives an unmarked letter.

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we won, or we think we did
when you went away, you were just a kid
and if you lost it all, and you lost it
well, we'll still be there when your war is over
...

— year 854, on a farm in the valley

"It's addressed to us," Luca said, "but there's no name."

Historia's brows furrowed, her hands reaching for the envelope in her husband's hand as he ascended the wooden stairs to their porch. "That's strange. Are you sure it's the right address?"

"It is," he replied, "but not much more than that. Besides what seems to be a cruel inside joke." As the letter passed from his hand to hers, a gasp filled her lungs when she caught sight of it.

"Is everything okay? What is it?" He rushed to her side now, inspecting the face of the envelope as if deciphering its hidden language. Only she could understand what it meant, though, and she certainly couldn't explain it to him now, if ever.

"Fine, it's fine," she sighed, collecting herself, "I just recognize the name as an old friend of mine. It looks like it was sent to the wrong address, after all." She stuffed it into her pocket with a half-hearted smile. "I'll send it over properly when I get the chance. Thank you, dear."

Luca was not satisfied with this but, being newlywed and feeling obligatory for his actions in their childhood, he didn't press the issue. Grateful as she was, she couldn't help the guilt that crept up as he turned to continue his work in the yard, looking defeated. With her hand resting on her swollen belly, she lifted herself laboriously out of her rocking chair. Hearing the commotion behind him, Luca cursed and rushed toward her again.

"I told you to rest, the doctors made it very clear—"

"I'm glad you're here, Luca." She interrupted, earning a flustered scoff as she balanced herself on his arms. There was silence for a moment, then: "I'm glad we met again, after all this time."

And she meant it.

Luca averted his gaze with flushed cheeks, surely uncertain what to say. It all happened so fast, their arrangement. Horrible as it may have been, she needed a cover-up for the baby and… well, he happened to be there, happened to like her, and just so happened to feel indebted. It was lucky and it was wrong.

She'd made worse decisions.

"I am too, honey." Honey. So official, so married. He placed a gentle kiss on her cheek and beckoned her to sit back down, but she stood her ground. Looking out at the field, she selfishly thought of Eren. How he'd walked up to this very fence and promised to protect her yet again from a world that wanted to use her. Where he promised to give her, and their child, a world worth living in.

"We should build little playthings for the kids out here." She blushed at her bluntness, "Assuming you'd like multiple, of course."

When she looked over at Luca, to her surprise, he was beaming. "Yes, that's a great idea! My father built a treehouse in our backyard when I was a young boy. I spent more time in that treehouse than in my own bed, I swear. The kids would love it." He grabbed her hands and offered a shower of kisses, then on her face, her neck, her shoulders, her head. She giggled at the affection.

"Well, it's settled then. I can help once I'm no longer incapacitated by my own body."

They enjoyed each other's company after that, Historia sitting in the grass as she watched Luca toil away at their yard, sweat coating his skin in the summer heat. She placed a hand in her pocket, her fingers playing with the edges of the envelope that hid there. The indentations on the page, a result of Eren's heavy-handed penmanship, could be felt with gentle fingertips. There was never time for them and there never would be. This letter was a reminder of that lack of time, stood still and never to be fulfilled. Historia fought the lump in her throat as her husband glanced at her with a smile, her fingers dragging across the paper Eren's tender hands had once touched as if searching for him, as if she'd find him there and pull him out from between the pages therein, to say goodbye, I love you, please stay.

As her fingers gripped the envelope for dear life, like it would float away and disappear otherwise, she wished she'd said those things to him properly. That she could relive their brief moments in time together again and again, then once more for good measure, until they erased every filthy nightmare that had tortured him since the day he was born.

Replaced with a dream.

The booming noise and deep trembling of her little home startled Historia awake, shocking Luca awake in the process. They both peered out the window from their bed in a half-woken daze, unable to make out much of anything besides white smoke.

"What on Earth…?" Luca began, getting up and tossing on a robe and slippers.

Historia followed close behind, as quickly as her pregnant state could manage, and gaped at the sight before her as the fresh dew on the surface of her porch tickled her bare feet.

"My god…" Luca muttered, stepping back as if afraid he'd gotten too close. They were far in the distance and wouldn't reach them, she knew this, but it didn't settle the pounding in her chest regardless.

He did it. The rumbling was happening, really happening, right before her eyes. And she'd helped him get here.

"We should get inside." She said, her voice too steady given the situation. Luca looked back at her incredulously, eyes wide.

"How will that protect us?" He asked, "We need to pack up and get somewhere safe. I can try to send for—" Before he could finish his sentence, he'd caught Historia just in time as she began to fall unconscious. A fainting spell? she thought, really? But given her hand in this, the role she played in the destruction of mankind as it's now known, it was all she could do from having a mental breakdown.

"Historia, honey, take it easy." Luca helped her sit in the rocking chair on the porch, the sound of giant footsteps sounding in the background, "Can you hear me? Are you okay?"

"Yes," she whispered, rubbing her pounding temple. She'd never been prone to headaches but figured today was as good a day as any to have one. "I'll be fine, I just need a second."

This headache was searing and had come from nowhere almost instantly. With every booming step in the distance, every breath she took in, the splitting in her head only intensified.

"Luca, fetch me something for my head." She moaned, "It's killing me."

As he left, she fought back tears of guilt. What had she done? She could've stopped this, could've helped him find another way. The blood of the trampled would be on her hands as much as his now and, god, she could have done something.

The thing was, he was set on this plan before he'd even spoken to her all those months ago. There was no changing his mind, no talking him out of what he'd set out to do. That was the thing about Eren; every choice he ever made in life was his own, and no one else's. This—the rumbling—it was no different than choosing to warn her about the Military Police, choosing to save her time and time again from sacrifice, and no different than choosing to make a life with her only to leave that life in a world of ruin. Eren made choices every day that no one understood, but she did. He was no hero; that much was indisputable. The beauty of it, though, was that he didn't have to be... because he was free.

Wasn't he?

Luca had come back with two pills and a glass of water—bless his heart—and Historia didn't hesitate to take them. As she gulped down the pills, her headache cleared almost completely at the same rate which it had appeared in the first place. She lifted a weak hand to her head, looking up at her husband with furrowed brows.

"What is—"

"To all subjects of Ymir,"

Historia gasped, the environment around her changing to somewhere she'd never seen before, then disappearing as quickly as it had come. When she came back to, Luca was on the ground raking up the glass she had apparently dropped in her trance, water staining the wood underneath her feet. Before she could apologize, she was back there again, this… place. It was vast, dark, and barren; a giant beacon of light in what appeared to be the middle of this mysterious place, almost resembling a large tree, stretched so far up it was impossible to see its end. And then, he spoke.

"My name is Eren Jaeger." Nothing could've prepared her for hearing that voice again after all this time, and yet: "I'm using the power of the Founding Titan to address all Subjects of Ymir. I've undone the hardening of all the walls on Paradis Island, and all Titans entrapped within them have started marching."

Whatever ailing Historia had previously felt was wiped swiftly away at the sound of Eren's voice, grounding her back to reality. She was calm now, calmer than she'd expected to be when this time came, and listened intently as he spoke.

"My goal," he continued, "is to protect the people of Paradis, the place I was born and raised. However, the world wishes for the annihilation of the people of Paradis. Not just the people of this island, but until all of the Subjects of Ymir have been eliminated. I reject that wish. The wall titans shall trample all surface of the land outside of this island. Until all lives existing there have been exterminated from this world."

Just as suddenly as she'd been forcefully thrust into this trance, in a place unfamiliar, she'd been forced back to reality. Luca was standing before her, looking at her but through her, his face blank as he processed what they'd just experienced.

"How could he…?" He trailed off, his mind clearly somewhere else. When she thought he'd be stuck like this he saw her at last, rushing to her side as if sobered up. "Are you alright?"

Historia hadn't realized she'd been crying until Luca was wiping her tears away.

"Yes." She said again, although perhaps this time, she meant it. What could she do now that it was too late to change things? This was always going to happen no matter what she'd said to him. And maybe, despite the choices they'd all made to arrive at this end, there were never any other ones to make in the first place.

"Historia…" She looked at her husband then, his gaze aimed toward the floor beneath her feet. When she looked down, a puddle of liquid was leaking from her chair and soiling the bottom of her dress. It wasn't until she saw it that she realized it was coming from her, echoes of contractions beginning to swell from within her abdomen.

Fucking fantastic, she thought, placing a hand on Eren's legacy, what a day to be born into the world.

The pain was the most unbearable she'd ever experienced. Despite her status, she had little luck gaining access to the kind of medication she needed to quell the agony she was in.

Luca was kneeling behind her as the doctors surrounded her bed, tears running down his face and hands held together before him as he prayed. In spite of the pain, she caught a glimpse out of her bedroom window to see a small group of Military Police guarding her porch. One of them looked back and locked eyes with her, giving her a look akin to reassurance before averting his gaze once again. The rest of them watched the trampling beyond the walls, hands gripping their guns tight with every step.

Everyone here thought she'd have more time, months before she'd have to deliver. By design, of course, because how could she be honest about the timing of her pregnancy? It'd be too suspicious given the information she was provided ten months prior. Despite not knowing the details Luca was reluctant but happy to support her lie, which only made her feel worse about the situation than she already did.

"You're almost there, honey, just keep pushing!" The doctor's voice rang in her ears. Grunting, she pushed harder, tears spilling from her eyes and sweat soaking through her soiled nightgown. This went on for what felt like hours of miserable labor, her insides feeling about ready to tear open.

It was time.

"Yes, there's the head! Push, miss!"

It was blinding and it felt like forever in a moment until finally, finally —a cry.

"Thank goodness," Luca breathed, rushing to Historia's side, "You did it, Historia. It's okay." She was crying now, more than before, overwhelmed by the sensations in her body, the commotion outside her window, and the emotions that pushed their way into her chest as she saw the little body held in her husband's hands.

"Hold her head like this." The doctor instructed him. Her.

Luca walked carefully, quietly over to Historia with her child in his hands, tears slipping down his cheeks as he gazed at her wailing face.

"She's beautiful," he said, and he lowered her to Historia's level to show her. "Here."

With toilworn arms she created a pocket for the baby to fit into and held her there, watching her crying face with a weak smile on her own.

"I'll fetch Her Majesty some water," said one nurse, shuffling away to the kitchen. "The baby will need to eat soon and you should be hydrated."

While the doctors began cleaning up the mess made during those long hours of labor, two of the MPs from outside had invited themselves in.

"Forgive the intrusion, Majesty," one of them said, stopping at the door, "but we noticed you've delivered and, well, we're needed back in Shiganshina."

Historia simply nodded, looking down at the distressed baby in her arms. "Thank you for being here. You're free to go."

"The titans appear to be moving exclusively outside the walls," the other continued, "Your family should be safe so long as you stay on the farm." The men turned to leave but one lingered in her doorway, contemplating. With trembling hands and a ghostly complexion, he added: "It's been an honor serving you, Your Majesty."

The pit in her stomach deepened as he rounded the corner, catching a glimpse of the tears that fell from his eyes. It didn't feel like he was addressing her just then—at least not just her—but those he likely wouldn't have the chance to see, hold, or thank again. His comrades. All of Paradis.

Luca placed a gentle hand on her shoulder that said I know, the little one continuing her relentless crying in her arms. She'd gone through a traumatic thing, after all; being born into the world wasn't an easy feat and certainly not during such an event. Even through her freshly exposed baby face she really was the most beautiful thing Historia had ever laid eyes on.

An ache grew in her chest at yet another selfish thought: I wish he was here, to see what we made.

"What will you name her?" Luca asked, offering a comforting squeeze. When she looked at her daughter's face, all open-mouthed and pained, she thought of those she'd loved most in this world. Two people who would always be with her, so long as this little girl breathed.

"Ymir." She said plainly, her smile growing as the girl's tiny hand gripped Historia's finger, and thought— Ymir Jaeger.

Luca prepared their bed at the same time Historia laid Ymir down to sleep, the sun peaking ever so slightly over the horizon outside their bedroom window. It'd been a long, exhausting day and she was in desperate need of some rest. It was a miracle little Ymir had managed to fall asleep with the sound of earth-shattering footsteps in the distance, but at the very least those footsteps would never reach the farm. They were safe.

"I'm gonna use the bathroom." Historia whispered, wobbling out of the room with measured steps. Her whole body was sore and aching from the physical turmoil she'd been through all day, and walking proved to be more difficult than she'd hoped.

"Let me help—"

"That's alright," she interrupted, looking back with a small smile, "I just need some privacy. Just for a minute."

Luca simply nodded as she rounded the corner and down the hallway, using the walls as support as she found her way to the bathroom. Shutting the door, she shuffled toward the hamper in the corner and fished out her nightgown. It was filthy and battered but when she pulled the letter from its pocket, it was still intact. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she sat on the closed toilet, staring at the face of the envelope held upon her lap.

It was written carefully, she could tell, like it was precious; and it was. She held it there for what felt like an eternity, reading the same words over and over again until they no longer felt real. What could he have possibly said in this letter that he couldn't have said to her face? Why would he send this knowing she'd want to write back, to hear from him again, to know that he's okay? How could he leave her with nothing but a piece of paper that couldn't possibly be long enough to satisfy the time she craved so desperately with him?

How could he leave her at all?

Wiping away angry tears, she stuffed the letter back into her pocket and flushed the toilet. Whatever his reason for writing this letter, a last goodbye or a confession, it didn't matter right now. There was nothing he could say to give her what she wanted, what she really needed: her daughter's father.

When she found her way back to the room, Luca was already laying in bed seemingly asleep.

"Luca?" She whispered. No answer. "Luca." A little louder this time. He shifted in place, grumbling under his breath and then promptly ignoring her. A giggle escaped her lips, charmed by his tired state. Some day she would find it in her heart to let him in, to let him love her and to love him back, to make a real family out of their dubious arrangement. Some day. Today, she had no room left in her heavy heart for such things.

With light feet, she tiptoed towards her closet and opened its door. Inside, a green sleeve poked through the bottom of a pile of miscellaneous junk on the floor. Historia dug it out and held it in weak hands for a moment, her fingers rubbing against the smooth fabric. When she heard Luca shift in bed again she quickly tucked it away beneath her unused things, along with the unopened letter, joining him in bed and promising to no one in particular that she would read it when she was ready to say goodbye.

As the wall titans trampled the earth beyond the farm outside her window, her eyes continued to spill over onto her pillow.

Tonight, she thought, was not yet goodbye.

— ten months ago

It was blissfully quiet; the air fresh, breeze cool, the sound of birds chirping away in the distance soothing the ache that swelled in his chest. Historia was approaching from the other side of the wooden fence, her garb fitting the role of a farmer girl quite fittingly. Eren couldn't help but grin as she inched closer and closer to him, her feet bare as they tread the soft grass. She wore a smile on her lips, the crashing waves in her eyes reminding him just how much he'd missed drinking them in.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes." she said, placing delicate hands on the fence as she stopped in her tracks. "I was beginning to think you'd never visit. I've sent for you, you know."

Eren placed a hand on the fence in response, his fingers brushing against hers. "Countless times." He confirmed, "It's not easy getting away from work these days." Historia took a quick glance down to observe his uniform.

"And yet, you're here." She replied, looking back up at him. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say I must be pretty special."

You are, he wanted to say, you're everything.

Instead: "I could say the same."

A tender hand met Eren's head, delicate fingers swimming in strands of brown; it sent goosebumps across his skin. "You're in desperate need of a haircut, Jaeger."

Eren laughed at that, really laughed. It was unexpected—the laugh and the comment—and for a moment, for the briefest moment, the weight of his burdens lifted off his back like a black cloud. She'd always had that effect on him.

"You may be right," he offered, "but I'll feed myself to a titan before I let you try."

She laughed too, beautiful and warm was her laugh, and freed her hand from his hair. "I take that as a challenge. At least let me even it out."

"Listen, Historia—"

"I'm even making dinner." She interrupted. "Enough to share. I insist."

There was an unspoken truth between the two of them. One of unresolved desperation and final goodbyes. They both knew why he'd come to see her, why now, but they also knew they shared a longing to freeze time so they could finally just have a chance, just one chance… to…

"Just a trim." He said, defeated smile and all, "I happen to like my hair the way it is."

The clippers snipped on either side of his head as she worked through his hair. Admittedly, it had gotten ridiculously long but he kind of liked it. More than that, he needed it to be long enough to conceal his identity in Marley from those who would recognize him. When the time came.

Through the mirror, Eren watched Historia as her fingers raked through his hair, snipping at the ends with focused determination. Every brush against his scalp and down his neck, the soft sound of snipping in his ears, the savory aroma creeping in from the kitchen all made him feel so tingly it threatened to put him to sleep. To make matters worse, Historia was singing a soft lullaby as she worked. The lyrics were nonsensical to him, sung in a language he didn't recognize.

"What are you singing?" He whispered, barely able to get out a word. It was everything he could do to keep his heavy eyelids from falling.

"Kanska ein Dag." The foreign words rolled off her tongue in a song. "It's a beloved Faroese folk song. My sister, Frieda, used to sing me to sleep in the fields with it." Eren noticed a sad smile on her lips as she said it, her voice distant as if lost in those fields again. "In another life."

"Faroese." He replied softly, his eyes finally submitting to his relaxed state as Historia moved in front of him, setting her scissors onto the sink and picking up a blade. "I thought you were German?"

"It's a nest of islands north of Germany. Faroese is a North Germanic language but not many Germans speak it unless they have family on the islands." The sound of trickling water filled the room, the wet sensation shocking his system as she patted his face down with it. "Faroe is home to some of the world's most beautiful mountains, valleys, and coastlands. I haven't been there since I was very young, but I can remember it like I spent a lifetime in those valleys. I suppose I did."

Eren tried to imagine little Historia being lulled to sleep in a field of grass, the sound of the sea crashing behind her, and in the company of someone as sweet-hearted as she'd grown to be. As he pictured it Historia continued her angelic crooning, the sound of her voice filling the room with an air of mystic quietude.

Despite himself, Eren lifted a hand to Historia's arm as she sang to him, rubbing soothing circles against her skin while she patted his face down with water. He could feel her arm still, tense, and linger in his hand for a few moments, neither saying a word about it, then shift against his palm as she continued to work.

"What does it mean?" He murmured, "The song."

At first, he thought she was ignoring him; her song continued as if he hadn't said anything at all. On the contrary, however, she began translating each line as she sang them.

"Kanska ein dag finna vit frið," She began, and it felt like she was singing for him this time. "Maybe someday we will find peace."

Each word filled him with small doses of bliss as she spread a cool, creamy substance on his jaw, cheeks, and chin.

"Kanska ein dag flúgva fuglar lið um lið." Tingles spread across his temple as she sang. "Maybe someday the birds will fly side by side."

The brush of her fingers against his neck gave him goosebumps, traveling under his chin and lingering there to hold his face steady as she administered gentle strokes across his skin with the blade.

"Kanska ein dag tá høga aldan hevur lagt seg. Maybe someday the high waves will calm."

Her breath cooled the wet surface of his skin as she sang. Eren sat there with a heated face, racing heart, and shallow breaths but damn him if he didn't want her to keep going.

"Kanska ein dag so finna vit frið." She continued, dragging the blade across his skin in a rhythmic pattern, almost as if with the song. "Maybe someday we'll find peace."

This must have been the last translation in the song because she sang only in Faroese now, the words growing more and more familiar as she repeated them. After a few minutes of her singing and working on his face Eren found himself humming along, matching each note as she continued to sing her sweet song. The words were a painful mnemonic but when she sang them, when he heard them in her gentle, soothing voice, there wasn't a single worry in the world that could shatter the quiet bliss it provided.

"Aaaand…" she sang, "all done." A tap on his shoulder opened his heavy eyes. Historia moved behind him, beckoning him to turn towards the mirror. To his relief, she'd heeded his request, even given him a clean shave. Though he knew he'd have it grow back out again, it was nice for now.

"Impressive." He said, inspecting his new look in the mirror. "I look mildly decent, now."

She giggled at his joke, raking her fingers through his hair as she looked at him through the mirror. The sensation of her fingers scraping against his scalp as she styled his hair the way she wanted sent more tingles down his spine. Once she was satisfied, she began cleaning up the mess she'd made on the bathroom floor. With his help, they worked in silence to clear the floor and sink of his hair.

It felt like he'd experienced something special tonight, like they'd shared something only they could understand. She didn't speak a word of the matter as she put her things away, but he could tell it meant just as much to her as it meant to him.

"So, what's for dinner?" He asked, lifting the chair from its spot in front of the sink and placing it back where it belonged at the writing desk. He was out of his element with her now, and in desperate need of a change in topic.

"Glad you asked!" She said, like she'd read his mind. The aroma of whatever she'd spent the day cooking was driving his stomach wild with anticipation. "It should be about ready."

As he watched her prance out of the room towards the kitchen, he couldn't keep away the thoughts of guilt that ran rampant in his mind. He shouldn't be allowing this to continue, he never should've allowed it to start in the first place. He was being selfish staying here with her, drinking her in just to leave her. Worst of all, he desperately didn't want it to end.

"Ta-da!" Historia presented a plate before him, filled with a slew of vegetables, seasoned meat, and potatoes. In her other hand, a bottle of wine.

"Wow, Historia…" He took the plate from her, taking a whiff of its contents as he grabbed the bottle with his other hand. "I can't believe you did all this."

She waved a dismissive hand. "I've had nothing but time on my hands these days."

She was already off into the kitchen to grab herself a serving. While she was gone, he dug right in. The wine paired surprisingly well with the meal, although he didn't know anything about fine dining. Savory, spicy, and sweet all at once, he wondered where Historia learned to cook like this. There were no words to describe the pure ecstasy he felt in that moment, his tongue bursting with flavors he'd never had the luxury of tasting before. It was euphoric.

By the time she'd come back, he'd already scarfed down half of his meal.

"Slow down, dummy, or you'll make yourself sick!" She pleaded. Though she was serious, he could tell she was happy to see him eating.

"Thank you so much." He said through a mouthful of food.

A scoff followed by, "Manners," and yet; she smiled.

Eren finished his food long before Historia, so he took his plate to the kitchen and began cleaning up the mess she'd left there. It was the least he could do considering how hospitable she'd been.

As he got to work on the pots and pans, his stomach flipped at the ghost of Historia's breath on his skin, singing sweetly as she pampered him. He began humming the song to himself as he washed away at the grime, his hand gliding across the surface of the pan in the same rhythm she'd used on his face with her blade. Goosebumps rushed across his skin as if he were genuinely reliving that precious moment, the glasses of wine he'd lost count of making him warm and agreeable.

"Kanska ein dag… hm… mm… lið um lið…" He sang to himself, unable to recall every word but satisfied with himself for recalling the melody. With every dish he finished, he got more and more lost in the song. He wanted to ask Historia to sing it again, then again, and again, and to never stop singing it because he wanted to know every word like he wrote it, because he may as well have, because it suited her so well.

Placing the last pot onto the counter to dry, Eren finally shut the faucet off. With the pots and pans done, his plate and wine glass clean, and the counters wiped down, all that was left was…

Historia approached Eren from behind, resting her free hand on the small of his back and extending her other arm toward the sink to discard her plate.

"I've got mine." She said, shooing him away. "Thank you for your help!"

She smiled at him, a warm and forgiving smile, making it damn near impossible for him to look away. Her pale skin was slightly flushed from the alcohol, a sight he'd never had the pleasure of seeing before now. Historia was making him weak and, of all the things he should be feeling right now, weak was definitely the least convenient.

"Don't mention it." His voice was low, almost a whisper. He towered over Historia as she waited for him to move, but he was paralyzed. No matter how hard he willed it, he couldn't manage to shift his feet even an inch. Whether it was the wine or the day's events that left him susceptible to her gaze, he didn't care. She was intoxicating.

Historia's chest rose and fell as she stood there silently, Eren's gaze becoming increasingly intense.

"I know you said it wasn't a big deal," he continued, "but thanks again for the meal, Historia. It was the best one I've had since I was a kid."

Historia seemed to blush at that, averting her gaze as she shifted uncomfortably with embarrassment. This awakened something in Eren, something he feared would ruin his friendship with Historia for good if he were to feed it. The thought awakened something else, something he'd have a lot more trouble hiding if he didn't leave.

Why did he let her give him wine?

"I should probably get going, though." He said, stepping away at last, an awkward hand on the back of his neck. Historia looked up at him, her eyes big and blue, shining in the warm glow of the kitchen light. Those eyes were dangerous. "Before I do, though, there was something—"

"Stay with me tonight."

Eren was stunned into silence. This was a bad idea. It was a bad idea hours ago but this, by far, was the worst idea they've had yet. Even still, it was taking everything in him to resist temptation.

"Historia…"

She turned the sink off—when had she turned that back on?—and stalked toward him. Eren's mind was somewhere else, somewhere dark and dangerous, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to pull himself out of it.

"I know what you're gonna say," She retorted. "but don't. Just give me the night. Please."

"What are we doing?" Eren took another step back as she approached him, heart racing in his chest as she stood before him. "I'm leaving, Historia. I'm dying. I'm going to commit the most despicable act of violence against humanity in history and you know that. Why are you doing this?"

Backed into the wall with nowhere to go, Historia finally reached him, her hands balled into fists at her sides. She was angry and flustered, he could tell, but more than that she was determined.

"Why?" Her voice rose, eyes wide as they danced with his, "Because as much as I wish I could be a better person, as hard as I try to be selfless when it comes to you, I can't. You and I are enemies of humanity, Eren, and when you walk out that door for good, when I never see you again, when the whole world turns against you, I want to remember you like this ."

Her hand flew to his chest, his heart beating under the surface of her palm. Tears began to well in his eyes and he instinctively looked away. To his chagrin, she brought her free hand to his chin, forcing him to look at her.

"Because when the time comes…" she continued, quieter now, her eyes softening with every word, "...I want you to remember how the worst girl in the world loved a devil."

It wasn't right. It was so, so wrong. He knew that, but her hands were searching his body for any sign of validation, sending shivers across his skin at her touch. They'd danced around these feelings for each other for so long it had become a familiar, underlying emotion—a quiet yearning, an unspoken desire. Now that he was doomed to fate, when they previously had so much time and yet never enough, were they finally allowing themselves to feel it.

With heavy eyelids he let out a sigh as she held his face in her hands, tears finally making their way down his cheeks. Historia wiped them swiftly away with steady fingers, never tearing her gaze away. There was nothing he could do about the future, as hard as he'd tried to change it, but could there be something he could do to change this? To save her from the heartache of losing someone before she even had them?

"Eren…" She whispered, shaking her head as if shaking away the thought. Still, she asked: "What would you think… about me having a child?"

Eren's heart stopped, or may as well have, stomach dropping at her overwhelmingly loaded question; the prospect of a child— his child—running around in the very field outside flashing in his mind. No, he thought, this is ludicrous. He couldn't bring a child into this world; not now, not like this. And more than that, this was not how he wanted to do this with her. She was asking a lot of him, they both knew it, but they knew something else, too: that he would turn the world upside down twice over if it meant making her happy.

"Before you lecture me…" Eren heard Historia's voice, albeit distantly. She was rambling assurances to him, assurances of protection, of stalling the MPs, of helping him. It was the worst feeling in the world watching as he dragged her slowly into his mess, corrupting any innocence she may have had in all this. He wanted more for her than this, promised her, owed it to her.

"Historia," he interrupted her tirade, his hands latching even tighter to hers as he quieted the swarming thoughts in his head, "You and I were brought into this world, not for its own sake, but to serve a purpose. We've been pawns in a game of corruption and exploitation since then, never free to make our own choices. Why would you want to continue the same cycle our parents subjected us to?"

Guilt tore away at his chest as the ocean in her eyes threatened to spill over. She blinked them away, averting her gaze dejectedly. They didn't speak for a few long moments, standing in uncomfortable silence as the sky beyond the kitchen window began fading to black. Without thought, he lifted a hand to her face, brushing her hair behind her ear. She turned to face him at that, tears having found their way down her cheeks despite herself.

"Because I'm selfish." She finally offered, "I don't care about protection or any of the nonsense I came up with to persuade you. Eren," She lifted a hand to his face now, her palm resting softly against his cheek. "I want to do this with you because there's only you."

This was everything he had ever wanted and everything he was now trying so desperately to prevent. They never had time before and, no, of course, it wasn't fair but dammit they sure as hell didn't have time now.

"I can't…" He wanted to say that he couldn't, that he wouldn't, we shouldn't, but she was staring up at him with a sadness in her eyes, a longing that they'd both shared for longer than they could admit and it was all he could do to maintain the ever-closing distance between them.

Historia blinked away more tears, pleading with her frantic eyes and her fingers in his hair and her lips on his—

It was sudden, almost anticlimactic, but Eren melted into her kiss more and more with every second that passed. Her lips were everything he'd dreamed they would be, everything he craved so desperately and would never admit. They were sweet and soft, demanding, pleading. Pulling closer because close was never enough.

When she pulled away—as hard as he'd tried, he couldn't be the one to do it first—she maintained a hold on his face with sticky streaks staining her flushed cheeks. She was so heartachingly beautiful and he didn't deserve it but god he wanted to be selfish anyway, to take her into his mouth again and breathe her in and breathe into her until they were inseparable. Until the world went on without them.

"So," A chilling whisper. "Eren…"

A devil fell in love with a queen. The queen asked for the world and the devil knelt before her, resting his heavy head in her hands.

This is all of me, said he, blood-stained fingertips sullying her precious throne, your world. It was always yours.

— 9 months later, in liberio

The days dragged on monotonously. It was becoming burdensome witnessing the oppression of these people— his people—every day he stayed in this pitiful city. Eldians and Marleyans alike, he'd come to realize, weren't so different. Yet here his own people remained subjugated under the oppressive fist of the Marleyan Empire, doing unto their own people as Marleyans have done unto Eldians on Paradis for years.

It was barbaric.

After his daily check-up with the nurse, Eren returned to his new home away from home. It was a cold, dank hospital room tucked into the corner of a dark, lonely alley; hidden away from the bustling streets of Liberio.

To take his mind off things, he sat at the small desk against his window and fished out the paper and pen his brother had given him from its drawer. It was a bit early to craft a letter, he thought, but it might be what he needs to quiet the incessant buzzing in his brain. Gripping the pen between clammy fingers, he began:

~~Survey Corps,~~

~~Commander Hange & Scouts,~~

~~My friends,~~

Eren huffed, tossing his pen to the side and crumpling up his paper. Why was it so difficult, just to address them? They didn't need to forgive him, nor did he expect as much. It was enough that they were free to make that choice at all, that they were free to live and to die as they chose. Through this, he would give them that freedom.

With a deep breath, raking his fingers through overgrown hair and scrubbing his face with calloused hands, he retrieved his pen.

SC,
Before I say to you what I need to say, know that I have my reasons. Know that, with or without you, it will be done.
Liberio is hosting a festival of celebration to welcome ambassadors around the world, a noble of powerful descent—Willy Tybur—to provide a speech that will shake that world to its core. With Tybur's planned speech and combined military forces, the world will see fit to wage war against Paradis Island. My plan is to strike first.
Sending a message is their motivation for holding this festival, as is mine for this attack. What I ask from you is your cooperation. Zeke's death will need to be staged so he can return to Paradis Island undetected (I'm entrusting everything to him so it's imperative that he makes it back alive). Any lives sacrificed for this purpose will have been necessary.
Let me be perfectly clear: with or without you I will send this message to Marley, and to the world. I only hope you'll be by my side when it goes down.

Setting the pen on the desk, Eren leaned back in his chair, stretching the weariness from his back with a sigh. It was selfish to ask this of them. More than that, though, it was imperative to their survival. The world needed to see them for what they are; capable, honorable, human. It would only work if he did everything he could to force their hands, which regrettably meant tainting his.

Moments passed as he stared blankly at the paper, his handwriting scrawled across the page dancing with guilt, loneliness, sorrow. He had no right to feel melancholic, he knew it, but he knew above all else that he would never come back from this. Never.

He held the pen again.

~~I'm sorry.~~

~~I wish there was another~~

You don't have to understand.
E.J.

A knot formed in his chest at the thought of his friends and comrades losing all faith in him when the time came. There was nothing to be done about it, nothing he could change even if he wanted to—and god did he want to—but they were still his friends. If only they knew how badly he wished things could be different, how tormenting it was to live with the memories of past, present, and future all at once. If only they'd said something all those countless times he'd been unknowingly caught in a troubled state, the world's dismal future at the edges of his mind on a ceaseless loop. It wasn't that they hadn't noticed, of course; they just didn't want to. Perhaps he couldn't blame them.

The one person who wasn't afraid to see him for all his ugly happened to be the only person in the world that could truly understand him. Who saw herself in his actions, his words, his past, and saved him from himself despite—no, in spite of humanity. This girl was the only thing getting him through these dreadful months and, to his grief, he would never see her again.

Eren let out a heavy sigh as the chair creaked underneath his weight, filling the lonely silence with sounds of burden. With spent hands, he brought the pen to yellowed paper once more.

Historia,

Small hands gripped the wrinkled paper from between Eren's calloused fingers, the last one he'd force this unassuming child to send on his behalf. It was the middle of the day but dismal, the frenzied chill sending everyone in an endless search for shelter from its relentless cooing.

A storm was approaching.

"Last one?" Falco's small voice spoke, his eyes fruitlessly scanning the envelope with wonder. "Does this mean you'll be seeing your family soon?"

Eren felt a pain in his chest as he said it, so unsuspecting. So innocent. "Yes," he replied, "I've told them about the festival. I think they'll be coming to see it for themselves if luck is on my side."

It was deplorable, involving this kind, blissfully unaware child in his filthy plans. Plans that would lead to the shattering of poor Falco's world, nothing but ruin to show for it. He wished he could go back to the child he used to be, the one with wonder in his eyes and ambition in his heart. The one unsullied by the world's demons.

Perhaps that child never existed.

"This one's addressed differently than the others," Falco observed, "I don't know if they'll validate this letter without a proper name."

"It'll need to be sent through other means, anyway. Do you think you could pass it on to someone for me?"

Falco looked down at the letter, his thumbs tracing the edges tentatively. "I could try. I'm not allowed to leave the internment zone, though."

"You won't have to." Eren replied, "My friend is staying in Liberio for the time being, in a small apartment on the outskirts of the wall. He'll be waiting outside for you tomorrow night, just before the sun goes down."

"Tomorrow night," Falco repeated, "The festival is tomorrow night."

Eren hummed. "The perfect opportunity for smuggling illegal goods out of the city."

Falco let out a small laugh, shaking his head at Eren's quip. "That's not funny."

"Don't worry," Eren assured, offering an awkward but reassuring smile, "You'll have plenty of time to make it back before the performance."

Falco's feet shuffled awkwardly under the bench, his fingers gripping the envelope tighter. "What's so secret about this letter, anyway? It doesn't even have a return address."

It shouldn't be a secret, he thought. Yet writing her name on that envelope would make her an official accomplice in his schemes, putting her at the same risk he'd worked so hard to prevent. Their love affair would always only exist in the underbelly of the universe, never to be seen or heard, only felt by them. Quietly.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Mr. Kruger," Falco continued, "But it seems like you have a lot of people you can't face."

Eren's lips turned up as he stared at the dirty brick wall ahead, amused he'd remembered that small detail from their previous conversation. "Maybe." He shifted in his seat, the pain beginning to swell in his amputated leg. "Or maybe it's just a matter of time. In any case, take extra care with this one," he said, pointing to the letter in Falco's hands, "This letter may be your most important delivery yet."

With that he stood, adjusting his crutch accordingly and turning painfully away from Falco.

Whistling winds, crashing waves, empty streets. Armbands and segregated cities. Another wall across the sea. No one was free here, Eldian or not.

It was a ghost town, Liberio; this city was filled to the brim with ghosts.

Without looking back Eren paused in the street, calling out to his little companion for the last time. "I hope you live a long life, Falco."

The sound of paper being stuffed into a pocket filled Eren's ears, small footsteps following shortly after. "You've already said that." He could hear the slight amusement in Falco's voice as he approached him. "My plan hasn't changed since then. No matter how hard I have to fight for it, I won't let my friend inherit the Armored Titan. If that means inheriting it myself or giving my life to stop it, then that's a price I'm willing to pay. So she can live a long life."

Eren grinned silently at that. This boy was so much like himself, driven by an innate desire to protect his friends, and yet so different. Where Falco was motivated by pure, selfless intentions, Eren was led by deep-rooted and self-serving motivations born from resentment. He thought about turning around, grabbing Falco by the shoulders, and shaking some sense into him. Warning him of his bleak future, straying him away from the path he himself wished he hadn't been forced to take.

Instead, he dragged his heavy foot forward again, the first droplets of rain hitting his nose and an ache brewing in his temple.

"You're a good person." He offered, "Whoever she is, she's lucky to have someone like you looking out for her."

As he and Falco parted ways, he wondered if his friends would ever feel that way about him again. And if they ever did.

— one month later, in the paths

"Founder Ymir! Take away from all of Ymir's subjects their ability to reproduce!" Zeke's voice grumbled in the endless expanse of the Paths, reverberating in Eren's ears as he stood before him. He stumbled, looking back on Ymir as she began to follow his brother's command.

"The Coordinate!" Eren growled, attempting to swivel around but getting caught in the chains that suffocated his wrists. A wave of panic washed over him but washed away as quickly as it had come, replaced instead with a feeling familiar, one that's gotten him far enough to face the Founder in this wretched place.

Rage.

"Grisha…" Zeke's voice was lower now, calmer, "He told me to stop you. That he regrets having followed you."

Eren tried to ignore him as he struggled, anger building up in his chest and heating up his face with every precious second that passed. It hurt like hell, even here, but Eren pulled at the chains with all he could, his wrists contorting and cracking with every inch. It was mind-numbingly excruciating, every nerve in his arms singing in pain as he felt the skin on his hand start to budge under the pressure. He grunted, tears stinging the corners of his eyes.

"I don't know what future you might have seen in father's memories," Zeke continued, seemingly unfazed by Eren's attempt at escape, "but you must not have seen all of it. Like how you can't use the Founder's power here." Eren felt the weight of his pain begin to boil over, the chains becoming slick as they dripped with his blood. Zeke's voice found its way to him nonetheless:

"You are still helpless."

Eren's voice burst from his throat, a cry of pain and anger bellowing in the chasm of emptiness that surrounded them. It burned. It burned so badly it threatened to force him into unconsciousness, his vision fading with every tendon that snapped in his wrist. Before he could be dragged into nothingness, his hands tore apart and ripped free, sending Eren tumbling to the ground face-first. He didn't think. Without hesitating, he picked himself up and charged for Ymir like his life depended on it, because their lives depended on it, but most importantly because the life he'd brought into this world depended on it. The life he chose over the hate, the corruption, the blood, the resentment, against even his own better judgment. The life he chose in spite of those things.

That life was worth every finger on his hand, every ounce of pain in his bones, and every single body he planned on laying to rest today.

As he charged for the Founder, he found himself thinking of the woman who carried that precious life. Of how badly he'd wanted to give her the world, and how that world was approaching an end. He wouldn't let it. Not after everything she'd been through, not after the responsibility he so selfishly burdened her with and, most of all, not after the small dose of bliss she'd offered him at a time he needed it most.

Eren threw himself toward the trammeled child-god at last, gripping for dear life as tears threatened to spring from his eyes. He did everything he could to choke them back, the weight of the world heavy on his shoulders.

"I will put an end to this world!" He exclaimed. "Lend me your power!"

He could hear his dear brother's faint shouts from behind him, attempting to stop him from making what he'd call a mistake. The urgency in his brother's voice, and the sound of his feet hitting the ground as he ran frantically towards them only served to encourage Eren further.

"You're not a slave," he continued, "nor are you a god. You're just a human. You don't have to obey anyone! You can decide. You get to decide. You choose!"

Zeke shouted urgently at Ymir, attempting to break through to her before he was too late. Eren sighed, the overwhelming realization washing over him. This was his moment. This was his chance to save the people he cared about. The people he loved.

"I'm telling you," Zeke screamed, "to take the ability to reproduce from all subjects of Ymir!"

"What would you think…"

"The one who led me here," Eren spoke softly to Ymir now, mind racing. "was it you?"

"Do it right now! Ymir!"

"You've been waiting, haven't you?" He whispered, his eyes beginning to fall with exhaustion, his grip ever tight on poor Ymir's trembling body. "Waiting two thousand years…"

"...about me having a child?"

"...for someone."

A tear fell down his cheek despite his best efforts, holding a sobbing Ymir in his arms. It was hard not to think of Historia's small frame, too, a feeling he'd miss when the inevitable stripped him of all he'd come to care about. He liked to imagine she'd found someone in the small amount of time they'd been apart, someone to help her raise their beautiful child into someone free of fear. To give his family the life they deserve, and hope to a child who had no idea just how special they were.

Because they were born into this world.

— year 857, where time stood still

It was the silliest moment, really. When her children were tucked into their beds asleep. When she ran her cold hands under the faucet, feeling the sting of warm water shock her system awake. When she found the mess of her son's first haircut on the bathroom sink, peppering the wood with hair dark enough to remind her of him.

This, of all moments, was the one where she'd decided she was ready. Silly as it was, she was ready to open up her wounds once more in hopes that this would mend them and make her whole again. It'd been three years since she last saw his face, yet she remembered it like it was this morning—sunken, tired, pained. Beautiful.

Slipping through the shadows of her hallway, she padded into her room and fanned quietly through the contents of her closet. She couldn't recall where she'd put it, but knew it was stuffed here with the rest of her forgotten things. This was the place where memories went to die. Or maybe to stand still in time, waiting to be brought back to life by someone willing to endure what they offered.

Her hands shoved things around, fingers picked things out and tossed them aside until, finally, she found it. Laying there on the floor, folded neatly in the corner as she'd left it all those years ago, was Eren's old Scout longcoat. The green was beginning to fade with time and the leather belt wilting, but everything else was perfectly intact; not a fabric or patch out of place.

With shaky hands, Historia extended an arm into her closet and gripped the coat, carefully, gently, pulling it out and onto her lap. She sat there staring at it for a while, imagining him wearing it as he kissed her hand for the first time. She felt the remnants of that kiss on her hand now, rubbing comforting circles on the surface as if rubbing away the anxiety she was feeling. With sweaty hands, she gripped the coat and brought it to her nose. To her surprise, it still smelled like him. After all these years, his scent was trapped within the fabric of this coat that had gone untouched since he'd mindlessly abandoned it. Or perhaps it was intentional; a token to remember him by.

The latter sounded better, she thought.

She almost reconsidered her readiness. But with every move she made—her hand filling the front pocket, her fingers gripping the long untouched envelope, her arm pulling back to reveal Eren's handwriting scrawled on the front—she found strength to push on.

To the worst girl in the world, it read, with surprisingly neat penmanship across the face of the envelope. Historia's heart skipped a beat. The letter had no return address and no stamp of approval; it was sent in secret. Of course, she'd known who it had come from. Where it had come from. Back then, she was nowhere near ready to read what lied within this envelope because to read it meant to say goodbye, a real goodbye this time. It meant he was really gone and he was never coming back. It meant that the words in this letter would be the last words she'd ever hear from him again. It meant letting him go.

So much time had passed since that harrowing year, the emotions surrounding her memories of Eren shifting from longing to mourning to now longing yet again, like he was still here. Like he'd never left.

Clipping the wax seal with her fingernail, Historia pulled open the envelope and fished out the paper inside. To her surprise, something else had fallen out from between the folded paper, landing on the coat with a small thud.

"Oh, my…" Historia gasped, heart racing as she reached for the item on her lap. Tears were beginning to well in her eyes already as she picked it up, a beautifully woven gold band. It was intricately designed; a floral branch with the smallest specs of emerald embedded into the impressions of its leaves.

It was beautiful.

Carefully, she shimmied the wedding ring on her finger loose, placing it on the floor beside her. With her ring finger now bare, she slid the golden ring where her other one had left an imprint from regular use, fitting it snuggly against her skin. A tear fell down her cheek and onto the paper in her trembling hands, rewetting the ink that lived there. Embarrassed by her hot cheeks and butterfly-filled stomach, by the ridiculously goofy grin plastered on her lips, she looked behind her to see that her husband was still fast asleep in their bed.

It was all so silly; she felt like a giddy teenager again. Yet at the same time, she felt grief. It was a strange feeling; excitement at the chance of gaining another piece of him—frozen in time, existing always and everywhere but never and nowhere at once—and pain for the loss she never allowed herself to mourn. Memories of Ymir snuck their way in too, headstrong and troubled as she was, who had said in a letter Historia still kept the very words Eren was saying through this ring:

I’m gonna die soon, but I’ll die without regrets… or that’s what I’d like to say. Truth is, I do have one: I never got to marry you.

What luck was on her side to be loved by a goddess and a devil in one lifetime?

At last, she opened the letter, drinking in his handwriting inscribed as if with careful deliberation across the pages. This was likely the last beautiful thing his hands had ever made.

With bated breath and tears slipping through the corners of her eyes, she began reading.

Liberio, Marely — summer 854
Historia,
When you told me to remember you, to remember our time together when I begin to lose myself, to remember how you loved me… well, I was prepared to forget anyway. To throw it all away without a second glance because things would be simpler that way, because you would fare better, because I don't deserve it. I'll live up to my title as Devil of Paradis. Devil of the World.
Devil. Have I really sunk this low?
Even still, and against my own volition, it happened. It happened at the worst time as I prepared myself for the end of days to offer a new beginning, a fresh start for those left behind. For our friends, our people, our child. For you. It happened while dragging these pitiful legs down the streets of Liberio, littered with an assortment of local street carts, that I thought of you.
You wouldn't believe the kinds of things they sell here, by the way. It's surreal. Sweet things that melt in your mouth, trinkets that children can play with, colored charcoals and paints (I thought about buying some for Jean), fruits and vegetables you've never heard of, snacks that exist solely for their own sake. The people of Marley are quite spoiled—at least the ones deemed worthy of it.
Of course, when I saw this ring—this ring of gold and Earth and beauty—I saw you; your hair of liquid gold, your eyes the color of the ocean, your smile as warm as the sun. I saw this ring and heard your mesmeric voice singing tales of red oak trees, blue winters, and peace. As I stood there, holding this piece of you between hardened fingers, I saw for a brief moment the future I have longed for since you saved me all those years ago.
You might not appreciate the sentiment, and to that, I'd understand. I won't ask you that painfully loaded question, I won't ask for an answer, I won't even ask you to wear it; not for me, anyway. Think of Ymir when you wear this ring, instead, and think of me when you tuck it away from the world for safekeeping, our eternal secret.
In any case, know that I've written your words to me in a letter, one I'll carry with me until the very end to remember what I don't deserve. You told me you wanted me to remember, H, and I ask this in return: how on Earth could I possibly forget? When the world is falling out from under your feet and threatening to take you with it, to carry you away to nowhere, to where you belong, you grab a hold of anything your tired hands can find and clutch for dear life.
Well, darling, my hands are exceptionally weary.
As I hold this pen to paper, these bloodied hands tremble with the sins I've yet to commit, and those I already have. A young boy has been delivering my damnable letters and will deliver this one to you today. I've involved this innocent child in my affairs and will never forgive myself for it. Falco—that's his name—is kind, curious, honorable, and protective of those he loves. I want him to live a long life, to build something beautiful out of my sin, and yet I cannot choose who lives and who dies outside the walls of our home. Every day, I'm faced with people like Falco who have just as much right to life as you and I, who want an end to the suffering just the same, and yet…
I must say it's getting harder and harder to push on. You know as well as anyone—better than anyone—that I don't have to be good, nor do I want to be. What I want can't be negotiated, bought, solved with sterilization or your sacrifice. So long as humanity outside the walls exists, the cycle of hatred and the suffering of our people will never end. It's us or the world and, as I've come to discover, the world has proven to be a colossal disappointment.
~~God, I have to do this, don't I?~~ I have to do this. I need to do this, but more than that—worse than that, Historia—I want to.
When you asked me that terrifying question, for the briefest moment in time and for the first time since I've known you, I found myself questioning your priorities. 'How could you be so selfish?' I thought. Then I realized something, likely the most alleviating epiphany I could've had in that moment: It was a choice made all on your own. Just like choosing to tear those chains from my wrists and declare humanity the problem. Just like taking the role of queen into your own hands. It was another one of your choices made not for anyone else's benefit, or even for your own, but because if the world was going to force you into something, you'd do it on your own terms and no one else's. Set fire to the path carved for you and forge your own with the ashes.
As twisted as it may be, I saw myself in you then.
Still, the qualities I've seen in Falco are ones I hope and expect our own child to have because with someone as kind and generous as you it can't be helped. Just be yourself and that will be enough. It's always been enough for me.
I've said it as many times as infinity, but infinity will never suffice: please forgive me. Forgive me for what I must do, for what they've forced me to do. Forgive me most of all for making you an accomplice, for saddling you with the burden of my sins, for leaving our child without his father, for my self-serving behavior with you all those months ago, for asking so much of you when you're an ocean and a lifetime away. Forgive me and then, please, you must condemn me.
This will be the last time you hear from me, H. If I could make a request in return, it would be for you to remember me like this. Remember me as the boy who sought freedom. Remember me as the man who loved you so much he'd destroy the world if it meant protecting his. Remember these three words when your eyes lay upon what we've created together, three words I've uttered to not another living soul on this Earth but yours, beautiful and all-consuming as you are: I love you, Historia.
Please forgive me for that, too.
Yours,
E

Historia flipped the last page over and fanned through the rest in desperate hope that there was another one she'd missed somehow, that he had more to say. With burning and tired eyes, she scanned the words again as if searching for new ones, lingering on that line— I love you, Historia —reading it over and over to burn it into the recesses of her brain. They'd never said it explicitly, either of them, at least not with words. It was always implied; when he gave her a smile in his worst moments, when she offered her help at the world's expense, when they protected each other unconditionally. They never had to say it. They just knew.

Moments passed as she sat there, tears staining her face and heart still racing, scanning the words obsessively as if afraid they'd jump off the page and never return. The ring on her finger glinted in the faint moonlight peeking through her window, a ring she never wanted to take off.

"Did it work?"

She jumped at the sound of her husband's voice behind her, whipping around with a tight grip on the pages in her hands. He was sitting up in bed now, arms resting on his knees as he looked down at her.

"Honey," she whispered, heart pounding in her chest, "I was just…"

If there were any convenient excuses for being awake at this hour and on the floor of their bedroom, she couldn't think of them. There was just guilt and shame.

"Did it work?" He repeated, unmoving. "Did it take the pain away?"

A lump formed in her throat again. "I don't know what you—"

"I know." He interrupted, removing the blanket from his legs. "No use hiding it anymore."

At that, he shuffled out of bed and approached her, kneeling down to her level on the floor. Tender hands met her face, wiping her tears away with a gentleness that was afraid of breaking. Historia melted into his touch, her heart settling as he held her in his hands.

"I wasn't sure, really." He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear as he spoke, "Not until you finally opened that letter. But deep down I always knew. The way you change whenever anyone mentions his name, or shrink within yourself when this day of the year rears its ugly head. The way you look at Ymir sometimes, like she's a piece of something you've lost. Frankly, in these moments, you look just like Mikasa."

Historia shook her head, averting her gaze. After a moment of silence, all she could think to mutter was, "I'm sorry."

To her surprise, he brought gentle fingers to her chin and encouraged her to look at him, a sad smile on his lips. "Apologizing for being in love is hardly necessary."

Tears ran down her face again and Luca wiped them swiftly away as they fell, pulling her head into his chest as she sobbed.

"I still don't understand what the two of you had together," he continued, "but I know that before any of this, he was your friend. That he meant something to you—all of you—and I never blamed you for caring about him. Not once."

Gentle hands stroked her head as she cried into his chest, her newly ringed hand gripping his arm like it was her lifeline. They sat there for a few minutes while she released her grief into his shirt, him placing occasional kisses atop her head and her struggling to stop her ceaseless weeping. The more she tried, though, the harder it became.

"Why have you never said anything?" She asked between sobs, sniffling as she attempted to contain herself. His hand moved from her head to her back, rubbing soothing circles over her shirt.

"It was never my business to tell." He said plainly, "When you love someone… as much as you seemed to love him… it's not something that can be helped. What good would it have done, anyhow?"

Silence followed for a moment, then:

"Truth is, Historia, I understand the sacrifices made for the people you love. Because I love you just the same."

With that, she looked up at him. There were tears in his eyes too, a silent lament to make room for hers. More than guilt she felt gratitude, like he'd given her something she didn't realize she needed to finally put her grief to rest, to allow herself to move on. Without thinking, she grabbed his face and planted her lips on his, a thank you, an I'm sorry, an I love you, too, all the same.

They held each other for a few long moments after that, a quiet understanding filling the silence between them. A pang of guilt crept its way in as she thought about Luca having known all this time without ever saying a word about it, and how she could have just told him. Talked to him like a married couple should, like she loved him enough to trust that he would understand. But how could she have expected him to understand when it was Eren Jaeger, Devil of Paradis, that had stolen her heart?

"Mama?"

Both Luca and Historia jumped at the sound of their child's voice sounding from their doorway, rubbing at her eyes with her small hand.

"Ymir, honey, what are you doing up?" Historia rose from her position on the floor and extended her arms toward her half-asleep daughter, picking her up and holding her on her hip. "Did mommy wake you?"

Ymir hummed in response as her tiny fingers fiddled with her blanket. Luca stood, placing a gentle hand on the small of Historia's back and squeezing lightly. She looked up at him at that, a small smile on his lips that infected her own, and he gestured toward the window. The sun was beginning to peak over the horizon, a faint warm glow painting the surface of the farm and bleeding into the room.

It was the beginning of another beautiful day. Since the rumbling, this day was tainted with persistent memories of Eren; the pleasant, the painful, and the formidable. It was the day Historia's mourning began, even though he wasn't yet gone. It was the day he couldn't return from, sacrificing his own life to ensure that those left behind wouldn't have to sacrifice theirs. It was the day he'd commit a horrible and selfish act of violence to achieve it.

It was also the day he left behind a beautiful legacy in the form of Ymir, a child who would break the cycle of necessity and sacrifice, a new beginning.

"Look, Ymir." Luca chirped, pointing to the rising sun beyond the window. "Guess whose birthday it is."