[I don't want to kill you slices through his chest and-
I want to know you and I think I know you better than anyone twist, twist, twist a knife deep into his gut and-
He hates Eren.
It's two warm hands pressed against his in crowded clinic halls, it's a a friend-
Someone that was a friend. A person who could have been a friend. A guy who played pretend with him like they were friends as they whispered in jazz cafes and drank coffee by flickering vending machines and-
It's irrelevant. It always is. It's meaningless. It always is. It's pointless. It always is. He hates Eren. He hates Aubrey. He hates Joker.
A nobody who thinks there's a secret to worming into his mind - that he knows something. Boy turned god pretending to wield all the powers behind that.
He can't talk, for a moment. Words in his throat, retorts on his lips and bitter barbs swallowed.
All he does is smile - saccharine and soft.]
I am who I am, Eren. Why would I ever be lonely, when I find myself surrounded by so many here?
[Eren sighs. He pushes himself up to stand. His clothes are soaked with blood from the waist down, the end of his long black coat still swishing around in the waves.]
You know everything now. There's nothing you can say that would scare me.
[He turns to face Akechi; extends a hand, slowly dripping red tar into the rancid sea.]
It's getting tiring pretending we won't end up friends. I know what you are.
Call it what it is, then. [Because he knows - he knows - how lonely that feels.]
Eren doesn't know a goddamn thing. Can't possibly fathom a single thought that goes through his head, the goals that drive him, the dreams that bury and bruise and rip him apart and-
The presumption infuriates him. Makes him want to slap that blood coated hand away and push him into the depths of rot where he belongs.
But-
A hand grasps Eren's before he registers any movement in his body. A fleeting thought to blame it on the dream. A subconscious push forced him into doing it. There's no other reason for it.]
I'm not opposed to being friends - we're close enough by now, aren't we? It seems like a logical next step.
[Lying to ants or gods, it's all the same. The label doesn't matter, when it's the result he wants and Eren-
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no subject
I want to know you and I think I know you better than anyone twist, twist, twist a knife deep into his gut and-
He hates Eren.
It's two warm hands pressed against his in crowded clinic halls, it's a a friend-
Someone that was a friend. A person who could have been a friend. A guy who played pretend with him like they were friends as they whispered in jazz cafes and drank coffee by flickering vending machines and-
It's irrelevant. It always is. It's meaningless. It always is. It's pointless. It always is. He hates Eren. He hates Aubrey. He hates Joker.
A nobody who thinks there's a secret to worming into his mind - that he knows something. Boy turned god pretending to wield all the powers behind that.
He can't talk, for a moment. Words in his throat, retorts on his lips and bitter barbs swallowed.
All he does is smile - saccharine and soft.]
I am who I am, Eren. Why would I ever be lonely, when I find myself surrounded by so many here?
[It aches, it burns, it rebels and it rages.]
No, not in the slightest.
cw: like...gross description of blood lmao
[Eren sighs. He pushes himself up to stand. His clothes are soaked with blood from the waist down, the end of his long black coat still swishing around in the waves.]
You know everything now. There's nothing you can say that would scare me.
[He turns to face Akechi; extends a hand, slowly dripping red tar into the rancid sea.]
It's getting tiring pretending we won't end up friends. I know what you are.
Call it what it is, then. [Because he knows - he knows - how lonely that feels.]
no subject
Eren doesn't know a goddamn thing. Can't possibly fathom a single thought that goes through his head, the goals that drive him, the dreams that bury and bruise and rip him apart and-
The presumption infuriates him. Makes him want to slap that blood coated hand away and push him into the depths of rot where he belongs.
But-
A hand grasps Eren's before he registers any movement in his body. A fleeting thought to blame it on the dream. A subconscious push forced him into doing it. There's no other reason for it.]
I'm not opposed to being friends - we're close enough by now, aren't we? It seems like a logical next step.
[Lying to ants or gods, it's all the same. The label doesn't matter, when it's the result he wants and Eren-
Blood tinted Eren, world destroyer Eren-
Is a good ally to have.]
no subject
Alright. Wake up.
no subject
Then a blanket half drawn over his body, a cold floor against his back.
And he's awake with a hand coated in frigid damp sweat instead of splatter from a friend's bullet wound, from an ocean of blood.
He doesn't call Eren. Doesn't text. Doesn't say a goddamn thing at all.]